Examining Our Hermeneutical Inconsistencies
In my last post, I shared my journey from certainty to questions—how leaving and returning to the churches of Christ changed everything about how I see our tradition. If you missed it, the short version is this: I spent 61 years knowing we were right, then discovered that certainty might have been our biggest problem.
Today, I want to dig deeper. Let’s talk about some specific theological issues where our interpretations might not be as airtight as we’ve claimed. And more importantly, let’s ask a question that should make all of us uncomfortable:
When we interpret Scripture, do our conclusions make us sound more like Jesus or more like the Pharisees?
Fair warning: this is going to step on some toes. Including mine.
The Hermeneutical Shell Game
We pride ourselves on a simple approach: “Speak where the Bible speaks, be silent where the Bible is silent.” It sounds so straightforward, so biblical, so pure.
But here’s the problem: we don’t actually apply it consistently.
We’ve created an interpretive framework that we use when it suits our conclusions and abandon when it doesn’t. Let me show you what I mean.
The Instrumental Music Argument
The classic church of Christ position goes like this:
- The New Testament mentions singing but never mentions instruments in Christian worship
- Silence on a matter means it’s forbidden
- Therefore, instrumental music is sinful
But then consider:
The New Testament also never mentions:
- Church buildings (they met in homes)
- Multiple communion cups
- Sunday School classes
- Paid ministers who don’t work a trade
- Song books
- Microphones and sound systems
And while Romans 16:16 says “the churches of Christ salute you,” Paul used that as a descriptive phrase (churches belonging to Christ), not as an exclusive denominational label the way we use it today. He also called them “churches of God” (1 Corinthians 11:16), “churches of the saints” (1 Corinthians 14:33), and just “the church” throughout his letters.
On these issues, we say: “Silence gives us freedom. These are aids or expedients that help us do what’s commanded.”
On instrumental music, we say: “Silence forbids it. It’s an unauthorized addition.”
So which is it? Does silence permit or prohibit? And who gets to decide which category something falls into?
We’ve essentially created two interpretive categories—aids and additions—that aren’t found in Scripture itself. Then we sort things into whichever category supports our predetermined conclusions.
That’s not exegesis (critical explanation or interpretation of a text, especially of scripture)… That’s eisegesis ( the interpretation of a text by reading one’s own preconceived ideas, biases, or agendas into it, rather than drawing the meaning out from the text itself) with extra steps.
The Translation We Never Questioned
Here’s something most of us never considered: every English Bible is both a translation and an interpretation.
The men who translated our Bibles had to make choices—which Greek or Hebrew meaning to use when words had multiple options, how to render idioms in English, which manuscript variants to follow.
And those choices were influenced by their theology, their culture, and the manuscripts available to them.
Take Acts 2:38: “Repent and be baptized… for the forgiveness of your sins.”
That little word “for” translates the Greek eis. But eis can mean:
- “In order to obtain” (our traditional reading)
- “Because of” (forgiveness prompts baptism)
- “With reference to” (in the context of forgiveness)
The same Greek word appears in Matthew 12:41: “They repented at [eis] the preaching of Jonah.”
Did they repent “in order to obtain” Jonah’s preaching? No. They repented “in response to” or “because of” his preaching.
My point isn’t to argue against baptism for forgiveness. My point is that translation involves interpretation, and we’ve built doctrinal certainties on interpretive choices we never acknowledged were choices.
We’ve treated “the Bible clearly says” as if English translations dropped straight from heaven, when really they represent scholarly decisions that could have gone different ways.
That should create some humility in us. It hasn’t.
The Woman and the Stones
Let me tell you a story you already know, but maybe need to hear differently.
A woman is caught in adultery—in the very act. She’s guilty. No question about it. The religious leaders drag her before Jesus, throw her at His feet, and quote Scripture: “Moses commanded us to stone such women. What do You say?”
They were right. Technically, legally, biblically—they had the facts on their side. Leviticus 20:10 was clear. The Law said stone her.
Jesus had the woman. And grace.
He bent down and wrote in the dust. Then He said, “Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone at her.”
One by one, from oldest to youngest, they dropped their stones and walked away.
Jesus looked at the woman. “Has no one condemned you?”
“No one, Lord.”
“Neither do I condemn you; go, and from now on sin no more.” (John 8:3-11)
Notice what Jesus did: He upheld truth (sin is real, adultery is wrong, “go and sin no more”) while extending grace (I don’t condemn you).
The Pharisees had doctrinal correctness. Jesus had both truth and grace.
Here’s my question: In our Churches of Christ, who do we sound like more often—the Pharisees with their stones, or Jesus with His grace?
Two Men Went Up to Pray
Jesus told another story about two men who went to the temple to pray.
The first was a Pharisee. Listen to his prayer:
“God, I thank you that I am not like other men—extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week; I give tithes of all that I get.” (Luke 18:11-12)
Everything he said was true. He wasn’t an extortioner. He did fast. He did tithe. He was doctrinally sound, behaviorally compliant, and religiously precise.
The second man was a tax collector—a collaborator, a sinner, someone on the wrong side of every religious boundary. He wouldn’t even lift his eyes to heaven. He just beat his breast and said:
“God, be merciful to me, a sinner!” (Luke 18:13)
Jesus’ conclusion?
“I tell you, this man went down to his house justified, rather than the other.” (Luke 18:14)
The Pharisee was right about everything. The tax collector was right about nothing—except his desperate need for mercy.
Which one resembles us when we look at those “denominational folks”? When we assess someone’s baptism? When we judge someone’s past?
Are we the ones thanking God we’re not like them—we have the right church name, the right worship, the right organization?
Or are we the ones beating our chests, admitting we’re sinners desperately dependent on grace?
The Grace-Truth Tension We Can’t Balance
John 1:14 says Jesus came “full of grace and truth.” Not grace or truth. Not grace instead of truth. Grace and truth together.
We’ve struggled with this balance for decades.
Some churches of Christ emphasized truth without grace:
- Doctrinal precision
- Correct patterns
- Fellowship boundaries
- “We’re right, they’re wrong”
- Harshness masked as “standing for truth”
Others, reacting to that harshness, swung toward grace without truth:
- “Just love everybody”
- “Doctrine doesn’t matter”
- “All sincere believers are saved”
- Compromise that looked more like capitulation
Jesus held both. Firmly. Simultaneously.
To the woman caught in adultery: “Neither do I condemn you” (grace) + “Go and sin no more” (truth).
To the rich young ruler: Deep love for him (Mark 10:21) + Hard truth about his idolatry.
To Peter: “Get behind me, Satan” (truth) + Three chances to affirm love after denial (grace).
Here’s what I’ve realized: We’ve been really good at the truth part. We’ve been terrible at the grace part.
And when push comes to shove, we’ve chosen truth over grace almost every time.
Which Response Sounds More Like Jesus?
Let me give you a scenario.
Someone comes to you with questions about their baptism. Maybe they were baptized as an infant. Maybe they were baptized as a believer but didn’t fully understand it was “for the remission of sins.” Maybe they’re just uncertain.
Response A: “That wasn’t biblical baptism. You need to be baptized correctly, or according to Scripture, you’re not saved. I’m not judging you—I’m just telling you what the Bible says.”
Response B: “The New Testament shows baptism following conscious faith as a response to the gospel. I’d encourage you to be baptized as a believer if you haven’t. But ultimately, God judges hearts, not just ceremonies. I trust His grace to cover what we don’t fully understand.”
Now, be honest: Which response sounds more like Jesus?
Which one sounds like the Pharisees who were technically correct but missed God’s heart entirely?
Which one would make someone feel welcomed into the kingdom, and which would make them feel like they’re on the outside looking in?
I know what I was taught to say for 61 years. I also know that response drove people away from Jesus.
Are We Producing Pharisees or Disciples?
Here’s the test of our theology: What kind of people does it produce?
If our teaching creates people who are:
- Confident in their doctrinal positions but harsh in spirit
- Correct about baptism but judgmental toward outsiders
- Knowledgeable about church organization but lacking in love
- Precise about worship patterns but ungracious toward those who differ
…then we’ve failed.
We’ve trained Pharisees, not disciples. We’ve produced people who know the right answers but missed the whole point.
Jesus said, “By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another” (John 13:35).
Not: “By this they’ll know you’re my disciples—if you worship a cappella.”
Not: “If you have the right church name.”
Not: “If you can prove your doctrine from Scripture.”
Love. That’s the mark. That’s the evidence.
And if our theological precision hasn’t made us more loving, more gracious, more merciful—then what was the point?
Make People Think
So here’s what I’m asking you to do: Think.
Not just about whether our positions are technically defensible. Think about whether they produce Christ-likeness.
Think about the people who’ve walked away from Christianity because of how we treated them. Were we right, or were we Pharisees with stones?
Think about the hermeneutical inconsistencies we’ve never questioned. Are we really “speaking where the Bible speaks,” or are we speaking where our tradition speaks and calling it biblical?
Think about grace—real grace, the kind Jesus showed. Are we extending it? Or are we hoarding it for ourselves while demanding perfect compliance from everyone else?
Most importantly, think about this:
When you interpret Scripture, when you apply doctrine, when you interact with someone whose theology differs from yours—are you sounding more like Jesus or more like the Pharisees?
Because at the end of the day, being doctrinally correct but spiritually bankrupt is no victory at all.
In my next post, I’ll talk about what happens when we realize we’re not the judges we thought we were—and why that might be the most liberating truth we could embrace.
Until then: Are we like Jesus? Really?
