Of  Elvis, Trampolines, Rabbis and Faith

Rob Bell’s Velvet Elvis: Repainting the Christian Faith

A Review and Rejoinder

by Matthew Turnbull

“ . . . the Christian faith is alive only when it is listening, morphing, innovating, letting go of whatever has gotten in the way of Jesus and embracing whatever will help us be more and more the people God wants us to be.” [1]

A Word About Why

It was never my intention to write a long book review.  I don’t like adopting the critical stance that a critic must naturally take.  However, Rob Bell has undertaken a grand project: the repainting of Christianity.  And while he has done so on many pages with earnest humility and self-effacing honesty, and while many of his points are quite refreshing and thought-provoking, he has also failed, in my mind, to be sufficiently careful and clear in his proclamations on subjects absolutely crucial to Christian faith.  For this reason—and for the sake of those many young readers and young Christians who find Mr. Bell a compelling figure and an attractive teacher—this review is designed to serve as a counterweight.

An Old Book Meets a New One

I didn’t mean to do it.  It happened apparently quite by accident.  It was while reading Augustine’s City of God, that I picked up Rob Bell’s contribution to the reformation “of the way Christian faith is defined, lived and explained” (Velvet Elvis 12).  To read them both simultaneously proved an odd juxtaposition. 

Both authors are seeking to articulate Christian belief to their culture. Augustine’s book was, at least initially, a response to the charge by the pagans in the Empire that the recent sack of Rome by the Vandals (in 410 A.D.) was due precisely to the fact that Christians had outlawed the sacrifices owed to Jupiter, Juno and their associates. These gods, they asserted, were angry and removed their protection from the eternal city and thus it was ruined and violated.  Augustine handily refutes such charges and goes on to write a lengthy theological work that ranges from the sufferings of Job to the glories of the Eternal City in the heavens.  It is decidedly one of the towering monuments of Christian scholarship, well-wrought apologetics and biblical reflection to dominate the theological landscape of the past 2000 years. 

Rob Bell also seeks to speak to his culture. In the opening pages of his much shorter work (172 double-spaced pages compared to Augustine’s 867 single-spaced pages) he explicitly defines his goal: to join in what he sees as a centuries-old tradition of repainting Christian belief in such a way that provides “a fresh take on Jesus and what it means to live the kind of life he teaches us to live” (Bell 14). 

While their aims are similar, their methods and approaches are, not surprisingly, quite different. Whereas Rob Bell uses many word-pictures (like a painting of Elvis on velvet) to draw his points and to make comparisons that are intended to help the reader view Christian faith in a new light, Augustine’s style, while full of comparison, is also didactic, thorough, exact, reverent, and intense. Augustine’s work is notably heavy reading while Bell’s is admittedly intended to be light—portioned in short sentences and diminutive paragraphs. For example, both authors treat the first sin by Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden in ways very much in keeping with their manner and approach to the doing of theology.  First, we see Bell’s thoughts on this important subject:

These first people have a choice: to do something with [creation] in harmony with God or to use it for their own purposes. And not doing something with it is a choice as well.  It would be a sin to abuse creation . . . but it would also be a sin to do nothing with it.  Because doing nothing with it would essentially be saying to God, “You have made nothing of interest to me.”  So the issue of eating the fruit is far bigger than Adam and Eve simply disobeying God.  They are throwing off the whole deal . . . God has given us power and potential and ability.  God has given this power to us so we will use it well.  We have choices about how we are going to use our power.  The choices of the first people were so toxic because they were placed in the middle of a complex web of interaction and relationships with the world God had made.  When they sinned, their actions threw off the balance of everything (159).

Now we see Augustine’s view of that same subject:

Man then lived with God for his rule in a paradise at once physical and spiritual.  For neither was it a paradise only physical for the advantage of the body, and not also spiritual for the advantage of the mind; nor was it only spiritual to afford enjoyment to man by his internal sensations, and not also physical to afford him enjoyment through his external senses.  But obviously it was both for both ends (458) . . . . Our first parents fell into open disobedience because already they were secretly corrupted; for the evil act had never been done had not an evil will preceded it.  And what is the origin of our evil will but pride?  For "pride is the beginning of sin." Sirach 10:13  And what is pride but the craving for undue exaltation?  And this is undue exaltation, when the soul abandons Him to whom it ought to cleave as its end, and becomes a kind of end to itself.  This happens when it becomes its own satisfaction.  And it does so when it falls away from that unchangeable good which ought to satisfy it more than itself.  This falling away is spontaneous; for if the will had remained steadfast in the love of that higher and changeless good by which it was illumined to intelligence and kindled into love, it would not have turned away to find satisfaction in itself, and so become frigid and benighted (460) . . . Therefore, because the sin was a despising of the authority of God,—who had created man; who had made him in His own image; who had set him above the other animals; who had placed him in Paradise; who had enriched him with abundance of every kind and of safety; who had laid upon him neither many, nor great, nor difficult commandments, but, in order to make a wholesome obedience easy to him, had given him a single very brief and very light precept by which He reminded that creature whose service was to be free that He was Lord,—it was just that condemnation followed, and condemnation such that man, who by keeping the commandments should have been spiritual even in his flesh, became fleshly even in his spirit; and as in his pride he had sought to be his own satisfaction, God in His justice abandoned him to himself, not to live in the absolute independence he affected, but instead of the liberty he desired, to live dissatisfied with himself in a hard and miserable bondage to him to whom by sinning he had yielded himself, doomed in spite of himself to die in body as he had willingly become dead in spirit, condemned even to eternal death (had not the grace of God delivered him) because he had forsaken eternal life (462-463). [2]

W hile it is admittedly impressionistic, another comparison appears reasonable before we proceed. Velvet Elvis and The City of God could be compared to two very diverse meals. Reading Augustine was like sitting down to Thanksgiving Dinner. The table was laden with ample portions of meats of every variety and rich, dark breads and fine, steamed vegetables. Every dish had been chosen as a complement to the whole and each portion was cooked with great attention. By contrast, reading Rob Bell’s book was like eating at a hors d’oeuvres buffet.  Each topic is raised purposely to arouse questions in the reader and, like serving a dwarf salad, is so hastily discussed as to leave that reader hungry.  There is, as far as I can see, no thematic or systematic connection between the chapters. Thus, when the book ended, it was with that feeling one has when eating at certain restaurants where the portions are enticingly small, where dishes are set out and then cleared without allowing the diner to clear his plate, and where the check comes before one has had a chance to wipe his mouth.  Compared to Augustine’s, Rob Bell’s theological writings are incomplete and inchoate. 

If it is the case that comparing Rob Bell’s book to Augustine’s is possibly unfair, perhaps my concern over substantial portions of Velvet Elvis can be more fairly expressed by addressing its content. While the book ranges much farther than this review can trace, there are five major aspects of Rob Bell’s “repainting” that seemed to warrant reflection and studied analysis.  These aspects include the following topics, all crucial to Christian belief: a) Bell’s notion of authentic faith; b) his view of how human beings can and should approach the Bible; c) his thoughts on Christian missions; d) his understanding of the nature of truth; and finally, e) his idea that God has faith in people.  Given the weighty nature of these topics, I felt free to respond at some length as the subject matter deserved. 

Taken as a sort of manifesto of a large and growing movement in the current church, Velvet Elvis marks a shift.  This shift elevates the savvy phrase over the well-wrought proposition, the angst-tinged question over the substantive Scriptural answer, and the perpetual quest over the wonder of being truly found by a merciful God.  And while Rob Bell is eminently adept at diagnosing and voicing the central quandaries that plague and drive and goad the current generation, his prescriptions, at times, seem to offer merely superficial salve.  Such an approach to the momentous task of repainting the faith requires a rejoinder.

The Unbearable Coolness of a Book Cover

Perhaps the most striking first impression made by Velvet Elvis is its physical presentation. The formatting of the book was obviously meant to represent the culture at its cutting-edgiest.  The title is written vertically on the front cover.  The page numbers are vertically aligned. The opening and closing pages are tinted in hip aqua and the type face is decidedly relevant. And though I learned as a young man never to judge a book by its cover, because Mr. Bell places such priority on metaphors and images, one must consider that the picture of the barefooted, bearded young man falling or floating through the air on the front is actually significant. And this significance becomes clear in the first two sections. 

The Point is to Bounce

 In his preface Bell brings a velvet painting of Elvis out of his basement for the reader’s consideration.  “What if,” he asks, this painting of Elvis was “the ultimate painting” and thereafter, no other artistic expression was called for by any other artist?  He states that such a declaration would be ridiculous because, “we instinctively understand that art has to, in some way, keep going . . . keep exploring, keep shaping . . . and bringing in new perspectives” (10). From this consideration of the nature of Art, he asserts that theology and biblical interpretation are of a similar nature. Whether or not there is in fact a direct correspondence between Art and Theology (having as they do in many cases very different objects and aims), he assumes that real theology is always changing. That is, “the Christian faith tradition is filled with change and growth and . . . is alive only when it is listening, morphing, innovating, letting go of whatever has gotten in the way of Jesus” (11). 

With this assumption as his launching point, chapter one (actually, the chapters are called “movements” and there are seven of them) opens with a story of Rob Bell bouncing on a trampoline with his young son. Like the velvet painting, the image of the trampoline governs his initial theological reflections. As he so clearly states, “it is on this trampoline that God has started to make more sense to me” (18). He reflects that just as everyone who climbs upon a trampoline bounces, so every person who finds themselves on the earth exercises faith of some kind.  Bouncing becomes a metaphor for the human tendency to believe in something.  One cannot refuse to bounce when on a trampoline.  Likewise, though it may not be faith in Christ, “everybody has faith in something and somebody” (20).  Whether their faith is in God or something else, living, like bouncing, is actually an activity that involves a commitment of faith. Like Pascal’s assertion that everyone must wager, so Bell states that all people exercise faith. And so the metaphor of bouncing serves for Mr. Bell as a dominant symbol of what it means to exist and, thus, to exercise faith. 

The image of the trampoline itself also becomes symbolic.  Next he compares the springs in a trampoline to the doctrines of Christianity: the “springs are statements and beliefs about our faith that help give words to the depth that we are experiencing in our jumping” (22).  He is very emphatic that these springs are not the Bible nor do they represent God; rather, they are the words we have crafted to express and understand our faith that we commonly call doctrines.  As he states on page 25:       

[Doctrines] help us put words to realities beyond words. They give us insight and understanding into the experience of God we’re having. Which is why the springs only work when they serve the greater cause: us finding our lives in God. If they ever become the point, something has gone seriously wrong. Doctrine is a wonderful servant and a horrible master.    

 He continues this theme with a very arresting example.  “What if,” he asks, “tomorrow someone digs up definitive proof that Jesus had a real, earthly, biological father named Larry . . . and prove[s] beyond a shadow of a doubt that the virgin birth was really just a bit of mythologizing” (26).  It is at this point that Bell’s repainting of the faith starts to seriously matter. He goes on to wonder whether or not one could “keep jumping” if the spring labeled “virgin birth” is removed. While he very rapidly follows such an idea with his own affirmation of “the historic Christian faith, which includes the virgin birth and the Trinity and the Inspiration of the Bible” he also asserts that “if the whole faith falls apart when we reexamine and rethink one spring, then it wasn’t that strong in the first place” (27). 

To complete this metaphorical musing, he compares this trampoline faith of his, to the faith of another man for whom Christianity is like a wall of bricks.  “Each of the core doctrines for him is like an individual brick that stacks on top of the others, if you pull one out, the whole wall starts to crumble” (26).  Bricks are, in Bell’s estimation, decidedly inferior to springs. Bricks “can’t flex or change size” and, since they are used to build walls (not help people bounce) they are ultimately used “to keep people out” (28). Further, the problem with “brickianity” or the “brickworld” as he terms such a faith is that “the focus often becomes getting people to believe the right things so they can be ‘in’” (34).  The rest of the chapter is devoted to affirming that “the art of questioning God” and doubt is “central to the Christian experience.” He boldly affirms that “questions, no matter how shocking or blasphemous or arrogant or ignorant or raw, are rooted in humility” and thus are the sign of real faith (30, 31).

 The Beauty of Bricks

 Let us deliberately consider these first brush strokes in Rob Bell’s “repainting [of] the Christian Faith.”  To interpret his intended meaning as charitably as possible would lead one to assume that the author is simply trying to draw the very real and crucial distinction between what one believes and who those beliefs describe.  If this interpretation of his point is correct, he is nobly trying to help believers avoid a common danger: that of holding the doctrines of Christianity as one would a prejudice—much as one defends and roots for their favorite baseball team, not because they trust or love the players on the team, but because those players and that team have somehow become a part of how one conceives of himself.  To the degree that a person treats the doctrines of Christianity as the Weird Sisters in “Macbeth” regarded the ingredients of their spell—as something to be manipulated or to be used upon their enemies—that person has clearly missed the point. Therefore, in this light, it would appear that Mr. Bell is seeking to keep people from missing the real spirit and meaning of Christian doctrines—which is ultimately about Christ Himself and a relationship with Him and God’s glory. The very real problem, however, is that Mr. Bell is not precise enough in his assertions for one to determine if that is quite what he meant.

 Contrary to Rob Bell’s perceived thesis, doctrine actually is the point.  Doctrine is simply a term we use to designate that set of concepts that, as accurately as possible, describe the essentials of who Jesus Christ is and what He said.  Understandably, there is a difference between the particular words we use to describe God’s goodness—as an example—and the actual realities of His goodness.  But the amazing thing about the Bible is that it implies one very great and glorious fact: God has actually deemed human language a sufficient vehicle for describing Himself, if not exhaustively at least accurately.  To hold doctrine as somehow suspect in itself is to cast the entire process of written and verbal communication—even God’s (or Rob’s)—under the shadow of ultimate doubt and suspicion.  Ironically, though Rob Bell is trying to free people from the limitations of their culture and cultural impressions of real Christianity, this kind of sideways glancing at the process of doctrinal formulation is actually to allow the spirit of the age to thoroughly color one’s assumptions. 

In these postmodern times, written and verbal communication are considered to be the most frail, faulty, corrupt and manipulative of human activities. As though we all were forced to labor in the gulags of Jacques Derrida, we go around skulking in his shadow, hesitant to communicate and allergic to commit to ideas embodied in human language.  To do so is seen as unenlightened and deceived.  Of all human orifices, the mouth as the source of communication, is the dirtiest.  For from it proceed words, and words, in this age, are known to be nothing but winged demons sent out to sell or wheedle or abuse or capture.[3] But the very existence of the Bible utterly explodes such notions. 

 What we believe when we believe in Christianity is that God Himself has communicated with His creation and He has had the audacity to assume that human beings, as frail and benighted as they happen to be, can, under the influence of His gracious power, actually derive ultimate truth from what He has said.  The Bible exists as a counterargument to the culture of suspicion and doubt.  It speaks incessantly and it assumes a real audience. To suppose that we cannot accurately articulate our faith is, in a sense, to be faithless.  To assert that we cannot understand what God’s words really mean is to deprive human beings of what God obviously intended to give them in those words: a sure foundation.  It is to fill the waters around the Titanic with lifesavers that collapse as soon as drowning men seize them.  That flavor of uncertainty, that saturated suspicion, is nowhere found in the Bible.  That is why doctrine is the point; or, to put it another way, that is why—as Miss Sayers says—the dogma is the drama. 

 Furthermore, in some very crucial ways a brick wall is a better metaphor than a trampoline.  Brick walls have uses other than shutting people out.  When joined with other walls they become a shelter for the weary and heavy-laden.  They serve as a refuge for those blasted by the storms of sin and darkness.  It is in the best of all such structures—the home—that some of the greatest moments in the history of humanity have transpired.  There, inside brick walls, some children have received and understood real love as God defines it.  There, in such structures, a family can be nourished and thrive in a way that God intends.  It is often around the glowing hearth that truth has been passed from generation to generation. 

But the brick wall also serves to illustrate one very crucial feature of Christianity that the trampoline cannot.  As Mr. Bell acknowledged, if the wrong brick is removed “the whole wall starts to crumble.”  Indeed he is right about “brickianity” and it so happens that Christianity is no different.  Christianity is a system of beliefs which, like a wall, has a foundation.  The stability and existence of the entire structure rests upon a crucial set of truths and ideas.  And the constituent parts of the structure depend for their own integrity on the other parts.  The example he chooses to illustrate his point—that the virgin birth is one day proven to be false—actually illustrates this point as well. 

 The Missing Spring

Let us consider what happens to Christianity, and to Christian doctrine, if Christ were to have had a human father as opposed to a divine one.  The very deity of Christ is predicated on the idea, clearly communicated in the Bible, that Mary was “found to be with child by the Holy Spirit” (Matthew 1:18).  If the child in her womb was not divine then Christ, like all of his brothers, was a mere man.  Perhaps this does not seem such a crucial issue at this stage of our considerations and to the degree that Rob Bell probes it, but as we proceed to consider the implications they become devastating to the fabric of faith.

If Jesus Christ had a human father then, of course, he had a human nature.  Now we do assert as a matter of faith that Christ did have a human nature, that he was in every way fully man.  But equally essential to our understanding of the Incarnation is the idea that Christ was also in full possession of a divine nature.  As the Chalcedonian Creed so succinctly states: Jesus Christ is affirmed to be “truly God and truly man . . . consubstantial [co-essential] with the Father according to the Godhead, and consubstantial with us according to the Manhood.”  Thus, a belief in the deity of Christ rests squarely upon the notion of the Virgin Birth.  Furthermore, upon the notion of His deity other essentials rest.  For example, if Christ was not God then His sacrifice on the cross was confined by the finitude of his nature.  As one man, if he did actually live sinlessly (in Mr. Bell’s hypothetical example), Jesus could only give his life as a sacrifice for one other man.  But as God, sinless by nature, infinite in power, He could atone for the sins of all of humanity through His one death.   It would be possible to realize other ramifications, but such a reflection is sufficient to demonstrate that if Jesus had a dad named Larry, He is no longer our Saviour. 

According to Rob Bell, a faith that crumbled if one brick was removed “wasn’t that strong in the first place” (27).  Such problems with this faith are, according to his metaphor, solved by considering the doctrines of Christianity as separate, independent springs supporting a trampoline.  If one breaks, the others hold and the bouncer still can bounce just as believers still can believe.  But to make his comparison more accurate, instead of removing one spring if the virgin birth proves false, the entire stretched fabric upon which a person bounces evaporates like a mist in the sunlight.  The same thing happens if we take away the truth of the Resurrection, or the Inspiration of Scripture, or the humanity of Christ. In trying to demonstrate the purported weakness of the brickwall version of Christianity, he has utterly swept every version of Christianity from the reach of believing men.  If his illustration demonstrates the weakness in “brickianity”, it is the weakness of every single belief system ever held by human beings.  Every philosophy, worldview and theory contains crucial foundational assumptions. Prove the basic laws of Physics false, for example, and the whole articulated scientific understanding of the universe crumbles.  Deny that Christ’s Father is God Himself and the crucifixion becomes farcical and—just as Paul noted if there is no resurrection—we are “still in our sins” (1 Corinthians 15:17) [4]. 

In no way is this a critique of Mr. Bell’s orthodoxy, for he affirms his commitment to the essential doctrines on the very same page.  However, let this serve as a critique of his method.  What exactly is the point of such a thought experiment?  Is he seeking to rattle the “believer” who is content simply to sign off on a set of doctrines?  Is he trying to loose people from what he may consider the “bondage” of creeds and orthodox understandings of the faith?  Or is he simply trying to encourage his readers to think?  If he is, as a writer who wants to lead people into a more thorough understanding of the beauty of real Christianity, then in the interest of those readers he would do well to tighten his illustrations and make his points precisely.  At the least he exemplifies muddy thinking for some, at most he possibly upsets the faith of others. 

That Difficult Book

After an opening story describing how he had his beginnings as a Bible teacher, Mr. Bell proceeds to offer a  terse summary of movement (chapter) two: “the Bible is a difficult book” (41).  To forcefully prove the truth of this assertion he musters three troubling examples.  First, he refers to the God-ordained slaughter of every man, woman and child in Jericho by Joshua and the Israelites as they entered the promised land. “God was with Joshua when he killed all those women and children?” he asks, and then further wonders “what . . . a thinking, honest person [does] with a story like this?” (42).  Second, Bell cites Paul’s words in 2 Corinthians 11:23 where the apostle tells his readers: “I am out of my mind to talk like this.”  Mr. Bell follows this citation with a barrage of questions seemingly intended to help his readers grasp the great difficulty of accurate biblical interpretation: “A man named Paul is writing this, so is it his word or God’s word? Is God out of his mind? Is God out of Paul’s mind? Is Paul out of God’s mind? Or does it simply mean that Paul is out of Paul’s mind?” (42).   (One might reasonably ask if it is possible that Paul is using a figure of speech.)  Finally, with just a modicum of context, Bell cites Paul again in just part of 1 Corinthians 7:12:  “To the rest I say this (I, not the Lord) . . . . “ To this verse he offers another probing question: “So when a writer of the Bible makes it clear that what he is writing comes straight from him, how is that still the word of God?”[5]  The point, obviously, is that the Bible “is a difficult book.” The point, further, seems to be that it is a book that presents many challenges for the person who would seek to decipher what is meant by the words found within its pages.

From troubling passages in the Scripture, Mr. Bell turns to consider behaviour and priorities in other Christians and Christian groups that make him “want to throw up” (42).  His list includes believers who repudiate the “opinions of man” and yet formulate their doctrine in accordance with extra-biblical phrases (coined by men) such as the concept of a “personal relationship with God” (43).  Moreover, he cites the recent decision of a large denomination to reaffirm “the importance of the verse that says a wife’s role is to submit to her husband” as being disconcerting.  In response to these and other examples Bell expresses his earnest concern: “Sometimes when people are backing up their points and the Bible is used to prove that they are right, everything within me says, ‘There is no way that’s what God meant by that verse’” (43). 

Then Bell attempts to show how very involved an enterprise it is to actually apply the Scriptures.  He asks his reader to contemplate the problems with living out one of the greatest (and most “basic”) commandments, that of loving one’s neighbor as oneself.  In rapid fire fashion, he poses a series of questions aimed at illustrating how complicated the understanding and application of this verse really is:  “What does it mean to love? What isn’t love? Who decides what is love and what isn’t love? . . . Who is your neighbor? . . . And what happens if one person’s definition of love and another person’s differ?” (46).  In this light, it is clear to Bell that “even a verse as basic as this raises more questions than it answers . . . and that’s because the Bible is open-ended.”  He continues:

It has to be interpreted. And if it isn’t interpreted, then it can’t be put into action. So if we are serious about following God, then we have to interpret the Bible.  It is not possible to simply do what the Bible says.  We must first make decisions about what it means at this time, in this place, for these people (46). 

In the remainder of the chapter Bell makes several significant points in regard to the process of interpretation.  Let us summarize them briefly for the sake of clarity.  First, since the books of the Bible were originally addressed to people in the context of church gatherings, and since individual Christians in the early church would likely not have had a personal copy of the Scriptures, the Bible originally came to people in the context of a community. An individual then would have heard the words of Scripture in the midst of a community gathered for worship and teaching. (Contrary to his blanket assumption, however, this principle does not maintain for such epistles as those addressed to Timothy, Titus, and Philemon.)   The role of the community is thus central to the process of interpretation, according to Bell.  “Binding and loosing [the act of interpretation] can only be done in community with others who are equally passionate about being true to the words of God” (52). Second, no one is objective.  “Everyone’s interpretation is essentially his or her own opinion” (53).  For that reason we must realize that the “Bible is always coming through the interpretation of someone . . . everybody is resting on a set of interpretations and we need to be honest about it” (55-56).  Bell considers what this looks like for particular churches:

The church that’s growing in numbers is probably growing for a lot of reasons, but the teaching-the-Bible reason is that they are teaching a particular understanding of the Bible.  A yoke.  They aren’t objective, and they aren’t just telling people what it says.  They have interpreted it and made decisions about it, and this particular yoke they’re spreading resonates with people.  This version—their version—is striking a chord with people, and so they are coming to hear more of this take on the Bible (55).

This distinct lack of objectivity extends to the apostles; he even insists that “the writers of the Bible had agendas” (66).  And thirdly, Bell explains his view of inspiration when he states that “the Bible has the authority it does only because it contains stories about people interacting with the God who has all authority” (65).  “The Bible tells a story.  A story that isn’t over.  A story that is still being told.  A story that we have a part to play in” (67). 

Before responding to Bell’s view of the Bible and biblical interpretation it may serve the reader to briefly review his major points. 

1. The Bible is a “difficult book.”  For example, the Bible contains stories that are deeply troubling to “thinking” people and statements that are difficult to interpret.

2.  The statements and behaviours of some Christians and churches are also troubling to Mr. Bell.  He is repulsed by the distinct lack of self-awareness of Christians who claim to only respect or teach the Bible and yet very obviously rely on the interpretations of others for their understanding of the Scriptures. 

3.  The Bible, since it “raises more questions than it answers” cannot be simply read and applied.  It must be interpreted in reference to the context of the writers as well as the context of  the modern hearers. 

4.  A particular interpretational approach is referred to as a “yoke” and all people ascribe to one or more yokes as they interact with the Bible.  Because no person is objective, (not even the writers of Scripture themselves) everyone relies on such yokes in order to understand what the Scriptures say and may possibly mean.

5.  Christ, in Matthew 18, gives his followers the authority to “make new interpretations of the Bible.”

6.  The Bible’s authority derives only from the fact that it contains stories of people interacting with God.  God has ultimate authority.  When He interacts with His people, and those stories are recorded, then those writings share in the authority of God.

7.  This story is not over.  We, today, have a part to play in the story. 

Interpreting Mr. Bell’s Interpretation of Biblical Interpretation

To discern a systematic understanding of the Bible and the glorious challenge of interpreting the Bible from Rob Bell’s crucial chapter is, in itself, no small interpretational task.  It is solely because Mr. Bell has chosen to “repaint” our view of the Scriptures—the very source from which we derive nearly all of our knowledge of God and His salvation—that this section of the book warrants ample and considered scrutiny.  If the Bible be flawed, or—equally as disastrous—if it be interpretationally inaccessible to us, then all of Christian belief is necessarily called into question.  We are left with hopes, but no ultimate truth.  In this light, let us examine several of Bell’s most prominent ideas.

It must be granted that the Bible is a difficult book.  As a revelation of God, it is naturally as high and majestic and at times as perplexing as its ultimate Author.  However, that is not to say that the Bible is merely a difficult book.  We have only to read the stories in the Old Testament, or to walk alongside the disciples in the New Testament to realize that God uses His words to reach the lowliest and most rustic of people.  If barely-educated fishermen from obscure, rural Galilee can actually understand Christ’s words and live and die in obedience to them, is the Bible too difficult for us to embrace and comprehend?  If these unpolished fellows are, as they seem to be, actually the beginnings of the Church and are therefore accounted as catalysts in the transformation of countless lives and cultures throughout the last two millennia, is it really that incredible that we  (simple folk that we undoubtedly are) would be able to read and understand and believe?  Bell purposefully cited passages that present some superficially complex interpretational challenges.  For every one of those, there are mountains of verses that yield their meaning gladly to the student who will apply his mind diligently to the text and the context.  The Bible is difficult, yes, but it is more than that.  It is comprehensible. 

Another of Rob Bell’s major points—that the Bible raises more questions than it answers—deserves some consideration.   It is to be affirmed that interpreting the Bible requires great care and special consideration to not only observe the biblical context of a passage, but also—to as great a degree as is possible and enlightening—the historical and social context in which the writer lived and thought.  This much we grant.  However, Bell seems to pursue this idea with a force meant to imply that reaching the intended meaning of Scripture is a direly slim possibility.  Recall that he tries to make such an idea evident by considering the crucial command to love one’s neighbor as oneself.  This command purportedly “raises more questions than it answers” such as “What does it mean to love?  What isn’t love? Who decides what is love and what isn’t love? . . . And what happens if one person’s definition of love and another person’s differ?”

Thankfully, we have only to slow down and weigh his approach to realize that the application of this Great Commandment is not nearly as precarious as he would have us believe.  The questions that he erects as hurdles to obedience are easily overcome by the Scriptures themselves.  What does it mean to love?  It means to do “no wrong to a neighbor” (Romans 13:8).  It means to “lay down [one’s] life for his friends” (John 15:13).  What isn’t love?  Love “is not jealous, love does not brag and is not arrogant, does not act unbecomingly; it does not seek its own, is not provoked, does not take into account a wrong suffered” (1 Corinthians 13:4-6).  (In fact, as the reader will remember, that very passage in First Corinthians even goes so far as to precisely define what love is and does: “love is patient, love is kind” (v. 4).)  Who decides what is love and what isn’t love?  Obviously, if we believe that God has spoken in His Word, and (as readers of His Word) we believe that love, of all things, is that which He teaches and prizes, it necessarily follows that God through His Word is the ultimate and decisive Arbiter of what does and does not constitute real love.  What happens if people have differing definitions of love?  They go to the Scriptures. 

In truth, God has revealed so clearly what it looks like to love one’s neighbor and one’s God.  He has done so in two powerful ways.  First, He has provided direct instruction for us: “For this is the love of God, that we keep His commandments ; and His commandments are not burdensome”; “But whoever has the world’s goods and beholds his brother in need and closes his heart against him, how does the love of God abide in him?  Little children, let us not love with word or with tongue, but in deed and truth” (1 John 5:3; 3:17-18).  Secondly, He has also displayed in the grandest pictures what love is by example: “We know love by this, that He laid down His life for us; and we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren”; “This is my commandment that you love one another, just as I have loved you” (1 John 3:16; John 15:12).   It is as though all four of the gospel writers rise up with their books in their hands to say “Do you want to know what love looks like?  Look at the Life lived in this book!”  If we cannot take a step back from the Bible to behold that it teaches and preaches and nearly shouts in words and images of fire, then we must be content to wallow in our purblind darkness.

To Be or Not To Be Objective

Next we must consider that Mr. Bell’s  idea that no one is objective—while it must be granted on the surface—is nevertheless misleading. He (and we) ought to define what we mean by the word “objective.”  In normal parlance, this term refers to the idea that a person can actually gain accurate and true knowledge of something.  If we were to say that someone is “not being objective” we would mean that such a person is allowing their own prejudices or preconceptions or preferences hinder their capacity for accurately understanding some idea.  That is, the picture of reality in that “unobjective” person’s mind does not match or correspond with the actual contours of reality.  To the degree that their picture does match, they are being objective.  To the degree that it does not they are, conversely, being “subjective.”

What Mr. Bell seems to mean by his statement that “no one is objective” is difficult to discern.  Here are two options.  On the one hand, Bell might be asserting that total, complete human objectivity is a myth.  In the main, he is right.  We all know from personal history those cases in which our own understanding of a situation or an idea was distorted, incomplete or utterly wrong because we lacked the power or capacity to reach beyond our own limitations or preconceived notions or desires in order to apprehend the truth about a thing. After time or the advent of new knowledge we have looked back to perceive how it was that we were wrong and thus were able to see our own subjective frailty.  This principle is illustrated in my own changing perceptions of the word “awry”.  For nigh unto 30 years I thought that word was pronounced “AH ree.”  In conversation with my wife one day, I used that term and immediately called forth laughter from her.  I was puzzled.  Things had gone awry.  Finally, when she could contain her amusement she informed me that the normal way normal people pronounced “awry” was “a RYE.”  My eyes were opened.  I, too, laughed.  And it is in this instance, and others much more weighty, we see that human beings can be decidedly mistaken.  Of course, the one glaring exception to this principle—that total human objectivity is a myth—is Jesus Christ.  As the Second Adam, He, it must be asserted, is absolutely objective.  And, as the perfect Man, His perceptions were and are unassailable.

If Mr. Bell means to say that you and I cannot always trust every perception of reality, he is supremely correct.  But if Mr. Bell means to state that human beings, by virtue of being human, are incapable of accurately acquiring and maintaining any truth, he is selling his readers a bill of goods.  These goods are monstrously familiar in our age.  These goods are being hawked at every corner.  And to the degree that is what Mr. Bell means, they are being sold in church. This interpretation of his point would affirm that it is the property of being human to lack objectivity and be somehow encased in a subjectivity that ultimately, if only subtly, colors and flavors all perceptions of reality. Therefore, it is not actually possible for a man or woman to accurately apprehend any discreet item of knowledge or truth.  This position is patently false.  It is to say that having an agenda, having biases, having preferences necessarily precludes the capacity for actually perceiving the actual reality of a thing.

We see the folly of this assertion when we look again at Christ.  Like us, Christ has a human nature.  We know also that he was human like us in that He was affected by emotions: He wept at Lazarus’ tomb.  We know that He had an agenda: to seek and to save the lost.  And we know that He struggled within Himself with competing desires: He prayed in the Garden that the cup of His suffering would pass from Him.  If the possession of emotion, the commitment to an agenda, and the struggle with desires—all very much of what it means to be human—necessarily disqualify a person from attaining objective truth, then we must consider Christ Himself a victim of deception.  This, clearly, is ridiculous.  Therefore human objectivity, we assert, is distinctly possible. 

Now it may be remarked that Christ was not only man, but also God—a status which would insure His absolute objectivity.  But we are considering Christ as man here.  That is, we are looking at the fact that his expressions of humanity in the form of  emotions, agendas and struggles were in themselves not expressions of fallen humanity (and thus causes for lack of objectivity) but of perfect humanity.   Of course, those very features in our lives can and often do cloud our objectivity, but by looking at the True Man we see that in themselves they do not incarcerate us in subjectivity. 

We should also remark that while we assert the possibility of human objectivity, attaining it in increasing measure is a lifelong endeavor.  Though one may see many teachers and students of the Bible (including oneself) making errors or displaying gross lack of objectivity on certain matters, this state of affairs is never a pretext for hopelessness or an invitation to skepticism.  To think so is to join the ranks of those who scoffed at every single man and woman who has achieved the allegedly impossible. We have only to consider how enviably deep is the sense of satisfaction enjoyed by an Isaac Newton or a Winston Churchill or a Jonathan Edwards (to mention only a few) as compared with those who derided them as dreamers.  Rather, despite our bouts with subjectivity, the struggle to attain greater and greater objectivity must be the business of our lives as Christians as we approach God and His Word with the very humility and dependence and hunger and  trust that He has called us to exercise. 

The Bible on Biblical Interpretation

Though we could take time to answer each, let us lump the rest of Rob Bell’s points in a barrel and now simply respond to the overall flavor of his view of the Bible.  First, it must be recognized that if we actually do have the Word of God when we have a Bible, then that book, on whatever topic it speaks, speaks with triumphant authority.  That is, if the Bible is really a revelation of the mind of God, and as such, is actually ultimate truth, then, it follows that whatever the Bible says on whatever the Bible treats is to be considered as the standard and starting point of true human understanding.

Second, this naturally means that we, as people of the Book, must begin our discussion and submit our inquiry into the nature of biblical interpretation with what the Bible says about biblical interpretation.  Thus, the crucial question becomes: what does the Bible say about how it should be interpreted?  Of course, this is not the place for a full treatment of the principles of biblical interpretation, but at least an introduction can be adequately described in a few paragraphs to counter the confusion potentially caused by Bell’s treatment of the topic. 

Let us examine two passages that touch directly on our question.  First we will look briefly at 2 Timothy 3:15-17.  Then we will investigate 2 Peter 3:15-16.

2 Timothy 3:15-17
¹⁵ and that from childhood you have known the sacred writings which are able to give you the wisdom that leads to salvation through faith which is in Christ Jesus. ¹⁶ All Scripture is inspired by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, for training in righteousness; ¹⁷ so that the man of God may be adequate, equipped for every good work.

We know from the context that this passage occurs in the midst of a personal letter written by Paul to Timothy in which he is giving him both personal and pastoral instruction.  As he does in many of his epistles, Paul reminds his readers of things they already know.  Here he is reminding Timothy of his heritage and it is instructive.  According to the plain sense reading (that reading and mode in which the Bible proffers itself) Timothy had contact with the sacred writings as a young child and, even further, he actually knew them.  He knew them so well that it was possible for him to gain sufficient wisdom by them to lead him to salvation.  The strong implication in this verse is that it is actually possible for a person—even a very young person—to know the sense and meaning of the sacred writings so as to be actually saved by God. 

Paul continues by making his point more universal.  “All Scripture,” he says, “is inspired [literally God-breathed]  by God [Himself] and is [therefore] profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, for training in righteousness.”  Thorough study of this passage proves what a careful first reading conveys, that God has actually breathed the words of Scripture and that these words teach and reprove and correct and train those who study and are taught by them.  In fact, there is an assumption of real possibility undergirding this verse; it is obvious that Paul believes that Timothy (and many, many other people) can acquire and be shaped by the truth of the words of Scripture.

Thus we see that Paul was convinced of the very thing we would naturally like to believe about the Scriptures.  He knew that they were divinely given and that a human being, through careful interpretation and grace from God, could successfully cross the desert of his own subjectivity and scale the wall of his cultural assumptions to arrive ultimately at a sufficiently accurate understanding of a sufficient portion of the Scripture to be supernaturally saved by the Creator and, even further, to be furnished for every good work.  This is one place the Bible speaks clearly about the feasibility of biblical interpretation.  Let us consider one more.

2 Peter 3:15-16
¹⁵ and regard the patience of our Lord as salvation; just as also our beloved brother Paul, according to the wisdom given him, wrote to you, ¹⁶ as also in all his letters, speaking in them of these things, in which are some things hard to understand, which the untaught and unstable distort, as they do also the rest of the Scriptures, to their own destruction.

This verse is freighted with relevance to our discussion.  Initially, we see that Paul wrote according to the “wisdom given him.”  Peter seems to be indicating that Paul’s writings are what they are, based on what he received.  He implies that there is an origin to Paul’s wisdom outside of Paul himself. And it is this wisdom that guided Paul as he wrote to his readers.  In fact, in verse 16, he expressly groups Paul’s letters in with the “rest of the Scriptures.” 

Furthermore, Peter acknowledges that Paul’s letters contain “some things hard to understand.”  This statement, like a Medieval longsword, has two edges.  On the one side we learn that there are, indeed, some things that are hard to understand in the Scriptures.  The overarching topic in this chapter of Second Peter—the “these things” he refers to in verse 16—is the coming of Christ, the earth being “burned up” and the end of the age.  These are the things which, in Paul’s writings, can be “hard to understand.”  (I gladly confess that eschatology is one of those biblical topics I have struggled to fully understand.)  The other side of Peter’s statement is worth noting, however.  Peter says that in Paul’s inspired letters there are some or certain things hard to understand.  That is, not all, nor even most of the things written by Paul are hard to understand.  Much or possibly most of what Paul wrote is, by clear and solid implication, understandable.  Such a statement, though it acknowledges the obvious challenge of biblical interpretation, breathes confident life into the entire enterprise of reading and studying the Scriptures.

Finally, in this passage we see that there are people who “distort” Paul’s writings on this topic as well as the rest of the Scriptures.  It would appear that we have another sword emerging from this verse.  On the one edge, it is clear that the Scriptures, when handled by “unlearned and unstable” teachers can be distorted—literally “twisted” or “tortured”—to the great detriment of themselves and their hearers.  But on the other, brighter edge, we perceive Peter’s heartening assumption that it is possible for the Scriptures (even those difficult parts of Paul’s letters) to be rightly interpreted and understood by those teachers and students who are neither “unstable” nor “unlearned”.

Now, to be equitable, it must be noted that Mr. Bell did assert that his points do “not in any way discount the power of reading the Bible with no background knowledge at all, which is why these words are so powerful.  We can enter into them at any level and they speak to us” (64).  But this statement strikes this reader more like the fine print disclaimer on a stick of dynamite than as an embodiment of the substance of this critical chapter. 

Doctor, My Eyes!

To conclude this section, another metaphor may be helpful in describing the cumulative effects of Rob Bell’s teaching on the Scriptures.  As any good doctor would want to do for a patient, we must assume that Mr. Bell seeks to impart understanding and light on this vital issue.  However, I felt like that patient who goes to the doctor with eye trouble, only to have the nurse wrap layer upon layer of gauze around his head and over his eyes, until finally, whatever sight that patient did possess, and whatever light he did enjoy, was slowly and gently obscured.  Ultimately then, the prospect of really seeing became like an idea out of a dream, a privilege reserved only for those few healthy seers.  And so with each successive point in this chapter, amorphous doubts and misshapen uncertainties wafted in, like so many sheets of gauze, between the Christian and his Book until finally there is no real conviction that it is possible to know what God said, much less what He meant. And reading the Bible becomes, in the end, a frustrating exercise in intellectual squinting.

Fortunately, this epistemological distance Bell posits between the believer and his Bible does not echo the proportions represented by the Scriptures themselves.  Neither does his theory match his practice.  It is ultimately ironic that while relentlessly implying that the Bible is barely accessible to men and women in our time who are so solidly unobjective, often isolated from community, utterly dependent on a teacher’s yoke, and regularly plagued with manifold questions each time the Bible is opened, Bell lithely interprets each of the verses he cites throughout the chapter.  His confidence is well founded, however.  It is, in fact, a biblical confidence.  The manner in which God’s Word speaks to us implies a directness and immediacy that knows no filmy reserve. “Abide in Me and I in you,” says our Saviour in John 15, “if My words abide in you then ask whatever you wish and it shall be done for you.”  Our Lord knew that His words could abide in His followers.

In the interest of space we will confine our further discussion of Velvet Elvis to three major ideas presented in the remainder of the book.  First, we want to examine Rob Bell’s idea of the nature of truth and the missionary enterprise.  Second, we will evaluate his priority on intense experience as a defining feature of truth.  Finally, we will investigate his idea that Christ had faith in Peter.

Truth and Missions

Rob Bell believes truth is everywhere.  “As a Christian,” he states in his third chapter, “I am free to claim the good, the true, the holy wherever and whenever I find it.  I live with the understanding that truth is bigger than any religion and the world is God’s and everything in it” (80).  His statement that “truth is bigger than any religion” is perplexing.  Does he mean that truth is bigger than all religions?  Does he mean somehow that Christianity, as a religion, is but part of the larger truth that exists in the universe?  Does he mean that Christianity is not a religion, in the normal sense, and so is to be precisely identified here with and as truth?  It is hard to determine what he means by such a phrase.  However, what can be clearly determined is that a portion of his statement is vividly echoing the theme of the first verse in Psalm 24: “The earth is the Lord’s and all it contains.”  Indeed it is.   Bell restates it another way: “If you come across truth in any form, it isn’t outside your faith as a Christian . . . to be a Christian is to claim truth wherever you find it” (81).  It would serve our review to quote him at length on this topic:

To live this way then, we have to believe in a big Jesus.  For many, Jesus was presented to them as the solution to a problem . . . But the first Christians didn’t see Jesus this way, as if God were somewhere else and then cooked up some way to solve the sin problem at the last minute by getting involved as Jesus.  They believed that Jesus was somehow more, that Jesus had actually been present since before creation and had been a part of the story all along . . . The Bible keeps insisting that Jesus is how God put things together.  The writer Paul said that Jesus is how God holds all things together . . . Jesus is the arrangement.  Jesus is the design.  Jesus is the intelligence.  For a Christian Jesus’ teachings aren’t to be followed because they are a nice way to live a moral life.  They are to be followed because they are the best possible insight into how the world really works.  They teach us how things are (82-83).

This view he derives from the clear teaching of Scripture in the first chapter of John (and other places) where we read: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God . . . All things came into being by Him, and apart from Him nothing came into being that has come into being” (vv.1, 3).  He utilizes this overarching view of the universality of truth, exampled in Paul’s approach to the philosophers at Mars Hill (in Acts 17) as the foundation for a view of missions: “It is as if Paul is a spiritual tour guide and is taking his readers through their world, pointing out the true and the good wherever he sees it” (87).  And thus, he concludes that:

Missions then is less about the transportation of God from one place to another and more about the identification of a God who is already there.  It is almost as if being a good missionary means having really good eyesight . . . So the issue isn’t so much taking Jesus to people who don’t have him, but going to a place and pointing out to the people there the creative, life-giving God who is already present in their midst (87-88).

In essence, Rob Bell paints the missionary enterprise with the colors of confidence and hope and boldness precisely because such an enterprise is in fact founded on the notion of God’s sovereignty and His omnipresence.  Because He is the source from which all things derive their existence, there is no sense in which the missionary is ever leaving God’s territory.  Because God is, in the words of Anselm, that “Being which is in all and through all, and from which, and through which, and in which, all exist” there is no such thing as “foreign” missions.[6]  Every missionary, every Christian, enters God’s country wherever he travels and so, as Bell points out, that missionary has only to point to the work of God around and among the people he seeks to reach.  This is why he refers to missionaries such as the apostles as “spiritual tour guide[s]” (87).

To approach missions with such a tone of assurance and resolution is to effectively imitate Paul.  For example, in his speech at the Areopagus, Paul used the altar “to an unknown god” in Athens as the starting point of his message and reminded his hearers that “in Him we live and move and exist” as their own poets had said (Acts 17:23, 28).  Of course, Paul finishes his message in Athens with a bold call for his hearers to repent, particularly in the light of the resurrection of Jesus Christ.  While Mr. Bell affirms the fitness of using elements from the culture of the hearers as a bridge for the message, he does not echo the ultimate thrust of Paul’s sermon: repent for Christ is risen. This is unfortunate. Does the reader have warrant for believing that Bell assumes that as part of the message? We would certainly like to hope that he does. Nevertheless, Rob Bell vigorously strengthens the hands of the workmen in this important chapter and clearly calls all of his fellow Christians to the fields—at home and abroad—with the confidence that they serve the King to whom all truth belongs.  In this aspect, we say “Bravo, Mr. Bell.”

Truth as Intense Experience

Still, one might ask of Rob Bell, as Pilate did of Christ, Quid est veritas? What is truth?  What precisely does he mean by the word “truth”?  Unfortunately, even in the chapter entitled “True” Bell copiously uses this essential term without defining it.  But there is one feature of Mr. Bell’s definition of truth that acquires form over the course of Velvet Elvis, particularly in the personal anecdotes he uses in several chapters.  It is this feature that should be examined.

Here is the most prominent of those personal examples:

I remember the first time I was truly in awe of God.  I was caught up for the first time in my life in something so massive and loving and transcendent and . . . true. Something I was sure could be trusted.  I specifically remember thinking the universe was safe, in spite of all the horrible, tragic things in the world. I remember being overwhelmed with the word true.  Underneath it all life is somehow . . . good . . . and I was sixteen and at a U2 concert.  The Joshua Tree tour.  When they started the song “Where the Streets Have No Name,” I thought I was going to spontaneously combust with joy.  This was real.  This mattered.  Whatever it was, I wanted more. I had never felt that way before (72).

He goes on to describe several other experiences as being vividly “true.” He was surfing south of Los Angeles off a famous beach on a perfect day when a dolphin jumped from the water close to him and he “thought [his] heart was never going to start beating again” because it was so beautiful.  He also describes briefly the birth of his son as being a time when he “couldn’t speak” (72).  He then reflects on these experiences:

What I find fascinating is how many of us have had moments like these when we were overwhelmed with the presence of something or somebody so—and it is hard to find words here—so good, so right, so true, so safe (72).

To qualify his point, he goes on to state that “it isn’t just extraordinary experiences when this happens . . . it also happens in the day-to-day ordinary moments.”  He recalls a time when he and his wife and some friends were out late at a restaurant enjoying conversation and time together when he looked “around the table, soaking it in, totally overwhelmed with the holiness of it all” (73).  It is in such times, he says, that “ordinary moments in ordinary settings . . . all of a sudden become infused with something else” (73).  He continues by considering those difficult, intense moments he has experienced whether on the mission field as a first-hand witness to the great suffering of others, or at the funeral of a friend’s wife. 

Bell describes one more instance of importance when he and his wife began attending Christian Assembly in Southern California.  What he saw “changed everything for [him]” (97).  He describes his experience at that church as revolutionary:  “It was like nothing I had experienced before.  This community was exploding with creativity and life . . . there wasn’t a trace of emtpy ritual or obligation anywhere in the place.  I felt like I was going to see my favorite band” (97).  It was his experience of church at Christian Assembly that prompted he and his wife to “talk about what a church could be” and ultimately was formative in his vision for Mars Hill (98). 

The golden thread that appears to connect these events is the idea that truth betrays its presence by producing memorable, intense and emotionally significant experiences. In other words, if one’s experience of church is riveting, it must be more closely resembling the truth than otherwise.  Or, if one experiences joy at a U2 concert, truth must be at the back of that experience. 

Now, there is no doubt that truth is of such a nature that it can and does produce emotionally riveting effects on human beings.  We can see such occurences in the Scriptures.  Take, for example, Paul’s meeting with Christ on the road to Damascus (as described in Acts 9).  Undoubtedly, being overwhelmed with an intolerable brightness and hearing the voice of Jesus Christ would constitute one of the most memorable, emotional and intense experiences of Paul’s earthly sojourn. If truth is indicated by these features, then this, of all experiences, was Paul’s ultimate encounter with the truth.  And indeed, it was his ultimate encounter with Truth.  But the intensity of the experience was not necessarily the seal or sign of that fact. 

We know that not all that is visceral, ardent, or poignant is true.  For example, there was a time, later in his life, when Paul was publicly beaten with rods and then thrown into a prison and placed in stocks in the city of Philippi (recorded in Acts 16).   As the rods were tearing into his flesh, there is no doubt that he was greatly affected emotionally by such treatment and that the memory of this suffering would remain with him (in fact, he refers to the experience in 1 Thessalonians  2:2).  What “truth” was this intense experience whispering in Pauls ear?  Life is pain?  The government is unjust?  God has abandoned you?  You had better stop preaching the gospel if you want to enjoy life?  Whatever it was, I think it was a far cry from the emotions one enjoys in the midst of thousands of fellow concert-goers, gleefully listening to one’s favorite music at volumes designed to produce lasting emotional (and auditory) effects. 

But Paul did not believe the lies that his torturers were hoping to instill in him. Rather, because he knew the truth that trumps experience, he remained faithful to his Lord and to the message he preached.  When Jesus Christ says that He is “the Way, the Truth and the Life” He says this to disciples whom He knows will have intense experiences directly counter to their faith.  They will be persecuted and even killed for their belief and trust in Him.  And He calls Himself the “Truth” just hours before He will endure an experience so intense and so emotionally-charged that He will ask His own Father if He has forsaken Him.  We praise God that Christ did not succumb to the intensity of the moment, but rather “for the joy set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame” and in so doing showed us the way to “walk by faith, not by sight” (Hebrews 12:2; 2 Corinthians 5:7).  Truth, thankfully, transcends mere experience. 

Christ’s Faith in Peter and God’s Faith In Rob Bell

In chapter five of Velvet Elvis Rob Bell again utilizes insights he has gleaned from his studies of Judaism.  In this section, he delineates certain aspects of what he believes was true of the Rabbi/Disciple relationship. 

When a student applied to a rabbi to be one [of] his talmidim, he was desiring to take that rabbi’s yoke upon him.  He wanted to learn to do what the rabbi did.  So when this student came to the rabbi and said, “I want to follow you,” the rabbi wanted to know a few things: Can this student do what I do?  Can this kid spread my yoke? Can this kid be like me?  Does this kid have what it takes? . . . If the rabbi believed that this kid did have what it took, he would say, “Come, follow me”(129-130).

To become a disciple of a rabbi was reserved, according to Bell, for those students who were at “the top of the class” and all the other young men were naturally expected to learn the trade of their fathers.  Thus, when Peter and Andrew are fishing on Lake Galilee, they are, consequently, grown men who took up the family business because they were not judged adequate to become a student of a rabbi.  That is why, according to Bell’s view, Peter and Andrew immediately leave their nets when Jesus calls them.  “To have a rabbi say, “You can be like me” [means] . . . the rabbi believes you can do what he does. He thinks you can be like him” (131). 

Armed with this background understanding, Bell interprets Matthew 14:25-32 (below) with a new twang.  When Christ comes walking on the water toward the disciples in the boat, of course Peter, as his disciple, wants to do what his rabbi is doing.  As we know, Peter gets out of the boat and begins to walk on the water. When he begins to sink, he calls out to Jesus who admonishes him: “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” 

At this juncture in the story, Bell repaints our understanding of what precisely is happening with Peter and thereby injects a theological zinger into the account: “Who does Peter lose faith in? Not Jesus; Jesus is doing fine.  Peter loses faith in himself.  Peter loses faith that he can do what his rabbi is doing” (133).  Bell furthers his point by saying that what frustrates Jesus about his disciples is “when his disciples lose faith in themselves” (134).  Jesus chose them because he “sees what they could be and could do, and when they fall short, it provokes him to no end.  It isn’t their failure that’s the problem; it’s their greatness” (134).  He concludes this chapter with an admittedly controversial rephrasing of his argument:  “I have been told that I need to believe in Jesus.  Which is a good thing.  But what I am learning is that Jesus believes in me . . . what I am learning is that God has faith in me” (134).

To evaluate Rob Bell’s repainting of this episode in the gospels, let us go back to the text: 

Matthew 14:25-32
²⁵ And in the fourth watch of the night He came to them, walking on the sea. ²⁶ When the disciples saw Him walking on the sea, they were terrified, and said, “It is a ghost!” And they cried out in fear. ²⁷ But immediately Jesus spoke to them, saying, “Take courage, it is I; do not be afraid.” ²⁸ Peter said to Him, “Lord, if it is You, command me to come to You on the water.” ²⁹ And He said, “Come!” And Peter got out of the boat, and walked on the water and came toward Jesus. ³⁰ But seeing the wind, he became frightened, and beginning to sink, he cried out, “Lord, save me!” ³¹ Immediately Jesus stretched out His hand and took hold of him, and *said to him, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” ³² When they got into the boat, the wind stopped.

We must note several key truths in this passage if we are to put Mr. Bell’s interpretation in perspective.  First, the disciples (including Peter) are initially “terrified” at the appearance of a man walking on the water.  One rightly exercises faith in a being (like God) who is capable of causing terror, but one errs in placing one’s faith in a being who is terrified (like Peter).  For Peter to have faith in himself, at this point in the story, would be obviously ludicrous.  Secondly,  Jesus seeks to calm their fears not by telling them to “look within” for comfort or to realize their own greatness, but to look to Him: “Take courage, it is I” He says.  Thus, Jesus is commanding His followers to draw their attention away from their fears and themselves by placing their attention on Him.  He offers them the comfort of His presence.  Third,  Rob Bell’s research on rabbinic tradition notwithstanding, Peter’s request to the Lord that he “command” him to come out on the water could be interpreted very reasonably as an expression of his devotion to his Master.  It is as though Peter is saying, “I trust You, Jesus, enough to enable me to do the impossible.”  I hesitate to think that Peter was thinking that he had it in himself to walk on water.  Fourth, Peter begins to sink precisely at the instant in which he stops concentrating on his advance toward Jesus and begins to be frightened by the wind. It only makes sense. Human beings experience fear when they judge their own capacities inferior to their circumstances.  The fact that Peter felt frightened shows us that it was actually because Peter was thinking of himself in relation to his surroundings (instead of Christ and His power in relation to his surroundings) that he began to sink.   Therefore, when Jesus Christ gently rebukes him for having “little faith” He is not, I believe, essentially scolding Peter for having too low a view of himself and his capacities, but too low a view of his Master.  In fact, there is not one hint in the context of this passage that Christ is chiding Peter for not believing in Peter.  If Peter was encouraged to have faith in himself, we might expect to see him walking on water without the summons of his Lord.  But that is not what happens. Christ rebukes Peter for being distracted from his trust in his Lord by the adversity he was experiencing.  And to cement the point, when Jesus enters the boat he vanquishes the very wind that had frightened his boldest disciple.    

It is true that the gospel narratives are filled with Christ’s rebuke of the disciples for their “little faith.”  But nowhere is their faith assumed to have themselves as its object.  Rather, a simple survey of just two of these “little faith” passages drifts in an entirely different direction.

Matthew 6:30
³⁰ “But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the furnace, will He not much more clothe you? You of little faith!

Note that in this portion of the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus exhorts those of “little faith” to consider that just as God clothes evanescent but beautiful grass, so God will clothe those who “seek first His kingdom.”  It is not their failure to live up to their potential that causes Jesus to call them people of “little faith.”  It is their failure to realize and sincerely believe that God, who cares for grass, even more cares for their very basic needs.  He is the One they can look to for clothing and all else. 

Matthew 8:24-26
²⁴ And behold, there arose a great storm on the sea, so that the boat was being covered with the waves; but Jesus Himself was asleep. ²⁵ And they came to Him and woke Him, saying, “Save us, Lord; we are perishing!” ²⁶ He *said to them, “Why are you afraid, you men of little faith?” Then He got up and rebuked the winds and the sea, and it became perfectly calm.

In this passage (like Peter’s episode on the stormy lake) these veteran fishermen call out to Christ when they have despaired of themselves.  They know that sea and they have likely seen many a storm.  But this storm carried enough force to put them in fear for their very lives.  They cannot rely on their knowledge of boatcraft or their years of experience.  They are convinced that death is imminent. It is then that they ask Christ to save them.  Does Christ reprove them because they did not trust their own capacities?  Does He exhort them here because they so utterly had lost “faith in themselves”?  I think not.  He rebukes these faithless disciples because, in their keen awareness of their menacing circumstances they had forgotten who it was they were with.  To set their doubt and their fears at nought He rebukes the winds and the sea and it becomes perfectly calm.  He is God and that reality is what they had let slip from their minds in the pinch.

Paul, too, understood this concept.  We can see his insight with great clarity in his instruction to the Corinthians.  As unkempt as any herd of sheep a shepherd was ever given, the Corinthian Christians were, in a wide variety of ways, always straying from the bright bounds of the gospel.   However, as a direct result of Paul’s labor among them and teaching by way of letter and earnest prayer on their behalf, the Corinthians make giant spiritual steps during the period between the writing of his first and second letter to that church.  Nevertheless, given all of the great growth that had occurred in the lives of these believers as a fruit of his labor, Paul still refuses to trust in himself.  He abruptly and flatly tells them where his trust lies:

2 Corinthians 3:4-6
⁴ Such confidence we have through Christ toward God. ⁵ Not that we are adequate in ourselves to consider anything as coming from ourselves, but our adequacy is from God, ⁶ who also made us adequate as servants of a new covenant, not of the letter but of the Spirit; for the letter kills, but the Spirit gives life.

 To preempt any confusion, Paul nearly shouts the truth in this passage.  He and his fellow-workers do not “consider anything as coming from [them]selves.” Their adequacy comes directly and only “from God.” 

 Let us consider the words of another apostle on this topic.  Since it was Peter who—in Bell’s view—allegedly lacked faith in himself, we do well to consider his words on the subject  of faith and its proper object: 

 1 Peter 1:20-21

[Christ] was foreknown before the foundation of the world but has appeared in these last times for the sake of you who through Him are believers in God, who raised Him from the dead and gave Him glory, so that your faith and hope are in God.

According to the clear testimony of the apostle in question, God raised Christ from the dead and gave him glory with an express purpose: so that people would place their faith and hope in God.  As the tongue is made for tasting, so the heart is made for trusting in God. 

And when Jesus tells His disciples (in Luke 17:6) that if they had “faith like a mustard seed” they could tell a tree to be uprooted and cast into the sea, “and it would obey” them, He does so in order to teach His followers the nature of faith. He apparently assumes that a mustard seed of faith is sufficient precisely because God is merciful and great and able to save even those who are connected to Him with the slenderest strand of trust.  Even small faith in a big God works miracles. Small faith in small people is, conversely, a pernicious recipe for spiritual disappointment and disaster.  It is not to the wind or to the passing clouds but to the Philippians (in 4:13) and Rob Bell and me and you that Paul confidently confesses: “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”

Provocative Is Not Enough

In the pages of Velvet Elvis, Rob Bell proves to be a master of the provocative statement.  But, if these chapters are indicative of his approach to theology and Christian belief, he lacks lucidity.  When doing theology, the latter is eminently more helpful and ultimately more edifying than the former.  In fact, to neglect clarity when defining matters like faith and the Scripture and the nature of truth is to neglect to check all of the dials and gauges and structures on a spaceship before lift-off.  The ship may look good from afar, and the launch may go well, but the stress of space travel will, as we know only too well, make the unattended details deadly.  The reader may recall that the most devastating of church controversies in the fourth century A.D. centered around a one-letter difference in the spelling of a Greek word.  Was Christ, (as Arius said) homoiousios—of a nature “like” that of God’s?  Or was Jesus Christ (as Athanasius believed) homoousios—of a nature the “same” as God’s?  For Arius, Christ was the highest point of creation, but a being with a beginning (and thus not God Himself).  To Athanasius, Christ had no beginning, shared the same nature as the Father, and thus was God, Himself.  What a difference the detail makes!  It is this kind of clarity and care that theology, just like rocket science, demands.  As in space travel, the lives and souls of human beings are at stake when we describe truth and Christian faith.  And when one embarks on a journey to the stars and very ambitiously calls it a “Repainting of Christian Faith,” one obligates himself to be careful and thorough and exact and clear.  Love for one’s readers demands it.  God’s greatness warrants it.

There is a reason Augustine’s book has been read for centuries. It is precisely what Augustine’s book has, and Bell’s lacks that accounts for the likely fact that in twenty years Velvet Elvis will, I fear, occupy the same position that most people’s velvet paintings do—in the basement behind some boxes. 

Author's Note

Thank you for taking the time to read.  I would appreciate hearing your comments.  Please write to me at  tutor.alexandria@gmail.com.