Why do I believe what I believe?
One morning long ago, my father and took our family to visit an aunt’s small, new farm. I was 12, a gung-ho Boy Scout. Auntie met us in the yard and immediately warned me to stay away from a bushy vine climbing a nearby fence. Poison ivy, she said. It happened our Scout troop had just studied the noxious plant in the wild. One glance told me Auntie’s vine was harmless, though it resembled poison ivy. I walked over, grabbed an armload, and ripped it from the fence. Auntie went ballistic. “Go wash! There’s Fels Naphtha in the bathroom. And get out of that shirt!” No amount of explaining would dissuade her.
The man who sold her the farm had said the vine was poison ivy and certainly he would know. Auntie believed what she had been taught by a person she trusted, and that’s why be believe what we believe.
I spent my early years dead sure we Baptists had the Bible right: verbally inspired and inerrant. We read the King James’ version viewed through the lens of the Scofield reference version. Any other view was just plain wrong. Science and evolution were out to destroy the true faith.
As my world began to broaden, certain questions troubled me. But our gurus always came up with an answer, plausible or not. My uncertainties persisted.
Then, one sentence in respected theologian’s lecture, and a seminary professor’s doctoral dissertation set me free.
So, am I dead certain today I finally have everything right? By no means! But I’ll gladly tell you what I believe and why I believe it. Being right not all that important. God isn’t waiting on our understanding to fulfill his purposes.
Old Grandpa Lloyd