Rejecting Martin Luther's Teachings: The Real Presence of Christ in the Blessed Sacrament

I was recently challenged by a friend of mine regarding my entry into the Catholic Church this Easter.  He is confused how I can make such an abrupt departure from my Protestant theological background and embrace the gaudy, gilded world of Catholicism. More specifically, he asked how I could so easily discard the teachings of Martin Luther and John Calvin.  "After all," he continued, "these are great theologians who have studied the Catholic faith and have found it wanting.  How can you toss aside their conclusions so easily?"

Our conversation ended cordially and we agreed to get together again in the near future to continue the dialogue.

Since that breakfast about a month ago, I've been thinking.  And reading.  And starting to jot down a few notes and thoughts.  Here's where I think I'll begin....

The question raised is a fair question.  And a good one:  how can I so easily discard the teachings, writings, thoughts and conclusions of great theologians like Luther or Calvin?  Before I try to answer the question as honestly and clearly as I can, I'd like to first remove the word "easily" from the question:  this journey and rejection of Luther's and Calvin's conclusions was not "easy".  It was long, painful, terrifying and finally, abundantly clear, but never, never easy.  Secondly, before going on to my answer, I'd like to start with a question of my own:  How can you so easily discard certain teachings of Martin Luther and John Calvin?

For example, let's look at Luther's belief in the very Catholic doctrine of the Real Presence of Jesus in the Eucharist.  In Luther's Collected Works we read Luther as he laments a new symbolic interpretation of Christ's presence in communion that was starting to arise:

Who, but the devil, has granted such license of wresting the words of the holy Scripture? Who ever read in the Scriptures, that my body is the same as the sign of my body? or, that is is the same as it signifies? What language in the world ever spoke so? It is only then the devil, that imposes upon us by these fanatical men. Not one of the Fathers of the Church, though so numerous, ever spoke as the Sacramentarians: not one of them ever said, It is only bread and wine; or, the body and blood of Christ is not there present. 

Surely, it is not credible, nor possible, since they often speak, and repeat their sentiments, that they should never (if they thought so) not so much as once, say, or let slip these words: It is bread only; or the body of Christ is not there, especially it being of great importance, that men should not be deceived. Certainly, in so many Fathers, and in so many writings, the negative might at least be found in one of them, had they thought the body and blood of Christ were not really present: but they are all of them unanimous.  (Luther's Collected Works, Wittenburg Edition, no. 7, p. 391).

Luther's covering a number of important points here:  first, that scripture is not claiming that the bread and wine of Lord's Supper is a mere sign of Christ's body and blood.  Secondly, he invokes the Early Church Fathers and makes a very common Catholic assertion:  "Not one of the Fathers . . . ever said, It is only bread and wine; or the body and blood of Christ is not there present."  He goes farther and points out that with all the discussion the Church Fathers had regarding the Blessed Sacrament, none of them make the claim that the "body and blood of Christ were not really present."  He concludes:  "they are all of them unanimous."

Luther's argument is simple:  the text of the Holy Scriptures is clear:  Christ's words leave no room for a translation or meaning other than that Christ's body and blood are really, truly present in the Blessed Sacrament.  He then demonstrates that a mere symbolic interpretation is not only against Scripture, but also against all of Christian thought and understanding and belief.

And don't think this was an easy stance to take.  On the contrary, in regards to a controversy that arose between Luther and those who felt that Christ's words were simply symbolic, Luther states:

If five years ago D. Carlstadt, or anybody else, had been able to persuade me that there is nothing but bread and wine in the Sacrament, he would, I confess, have rendered me a great service.  I have undergone severe struggles and have twisted and turned to get over it (belief in the Real Presence), because I was fully aware that it would have been the most severe blow which I could have dealt against Popery . . . .  But I am in prison.  I cannot escape, the text ('This is my body') is too powerful, and no words can make it mean anything else."  (pg. 39-40)

His point is simple:  if he could be convinced of the symbolic interpretation, he would be grateful because then he could deal a "severe blow . . . against Popery."  Yet, he admits that the words of Scripture are too clear, too obvious, "too powerful".  He cannot escape their obvious meaning and cannot make Christ's statement "mean anything else".  

There is much more that could be said about Luther's belief in at least some version of the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist, but that is enough for a blog post.  I'll end by repeating my initial question:  most modern Protestants who hail Luther as a hero and a biblical scholar extraordinaire also utterly reject any notion of Christ's Real Presence in the Blessed Sacrament.  How can these modern Protestants so easily reject Dr. Luther's teaching on something of such great importance?

And Lead All Souls to Heaven...

"O my Jesus, forgive us our sins, save us from the fires of hell, and lead all souls to heaven, especially those in most need of Thy mercy."

The Fatima Prayer.  It's often prayed at the end of each mystery of the Rosary.  I've prayed it hundreds of times. 

But do I mean it?

Oh, the part about myself I mean:  forgive me of my sins, Lord. Yes!  Save me from the fires of hell!  Yes, yes, I mean that part.  

But what about the second part?  Do I mean that as well?  Lead all souls to heaven? Do I mean that?   

Definitely.  

Well, most likely.  

At least I think so.

Probably.  

Maybe.

Doubts begin to creep in regarding my sincerity because the more I think about that phrase, that line, that prayer--lead all souls to heaven, especially those in most need of They mercy--the more I think about that phrase, the more I realize that it's not just about my family.  My friends.  My coworkers.  My neighbors.  

It's not even just about the nice people I meet while shopping.  Or at a restaurant.  Or at my sons' little league games.

The prayer's bigger than that.  See, it's not just for the people I talk to, the people I relate to.  It's also for Kermit Gosnell, the abortionist who was just today convicted of murdering 3 babies born alive in his abortion clinic.  He snipped the backs of their necks with a pair of scissors to extinguish their lives.  Especially those in most need of Thy Mercy:  that's a man like Kermit Gosnell. 

It's also a man like LeRoy Carhart, another late term abortionist who, in this recent video, compared a terminated baby in the womb to "meat in a crock-pot" and then joked about his toolkit for abortions that includes a "pick-axe" and a "drill bit."

    

When I sincerely pray that prayer, I'm also praying for the Joe Biden's and the Nancy Pelosi's and the Barack Obama's and all the other politicians--Republican, Democrat, Independent--who all seem to have no conscience and no problem supporting an industry with so much blood on its collective hands.

But the prayer is even bigger than that, because the prayer covers the Boston Bombers.  When I say that prayer and mean it, I'm praying for the souls and the conversion of those cowards who took the lives of the innocents at the marathon. 

I'm praying for the man who kept those three girls locked up in his Cleveland home for 10 years.  The man who raped them and then beat them to induce abortions.  And the brothers who may or may not have known what was going on and didn't say anything.

I'm praying for the next Osama Bin Ladin.  For the tyrant in North Korea.  

And the list could go on indefinitely.  When I pray that prayer and mean it, I'm praying for the most hardened, most vile sinners on the planet just as I pray for those we'd all call "good."  

Am I up for that?  Do I honestly long for the salvation of these souls?  Do I sincerely long to learn of their conversion to Christ?  Do I truly want to pray for the mercy that will bring about repentance and open the gates of heaven to the likes of these?

I don't know.  But I hope so.

I hope that when I say that prayer and conjure an image of the faces of those who support or perpetrate such horrific evil in our times, I hope that I truly ask for God's mercy with more than just my mouth.  

Because that is the heart of the Gospel:  Mercy for the undeserving.  Mercy for the sinner.  Mercy for the repentant heart.  Mercy for my family.  Mercy for me. Mercy for Kermit Gosnell.

So, Lord, for my sake and for the sake of my family and friends, and for the sake of the eternal souls of Kermit Gosnell and all those who commit or support evil:  O my Jesus, forgive us our sins, save us from the fires of hell, and lead all souls to heaven, especially those in most need of Thy mercy.  In Nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.  Amen.

 

What Do I Want to Be?

“What do you want to want to be, anyway?"
"I don't know; I guess what I want to be is a good Catholic."
 "What you should say"--he told me--"what you should say is that you want to be a saint.”
 ― Thomas Merton, The Seven Storey Mountain

What do I want to be?  

Hmmm.  There are a lot of things I'd like to be.  And if I were to list all of them, the list would probably take up a couple pages. And in those pages of  numbered lines, I'm not sure where "to be a Saint" would end up.  Number 123?  249?  Honestly, I'm not even sure it would place at all.  

Oh, not because I don't want to be a Saint.  Of course, I do.  I want to be a Saint because God has called me to be one.  It's life's most worthwhile goal.  It's why we were created.  

So, of course I want to be a Saint.  I just don't believe it would place on my list because I don't think I would think about it.  It simply wouldn't come to my mind as quickly as "to be a good father," or "to be a good husband."  

And that brings me to another question--the biggest question.  If it wouldn't naturally and easily come to my mind--if being a Saint doesn't top (or even place) on my list of "what I want to be"--am I all that safe in assuming I'll become one? 

How many baseball players end up playing in the majors without putting that dream on their list?  How many doctors become doctors without placing that career on their list?  How many teachers become teachers, pastors become pastors without first setting their sites on that achievement, that goal, that path?   I would wager the numbers are pretty low.

Now, if every single career or goal in life is attained only with work, vision, sacrifice and drive, why do I find it so easy to assume I'm going to slip backwards into Sainthood while able to keep my eyes focused elsewhere?  Is Sainthood easier to achieve than a degree in medicine?  Am I presuming God will let me slide by because I'm a good guy?  Or am I simply lazy?  Spiritually lazy and lacking in ambition and energy and drive?  

I don't know the answers (for I assume it's not just one of those things, but rather a combination) to that question.  All I know is that when I look at my list of "what I want to be", being a Saint isn't there.  Not right now.  Not if I'm honest.  And that's frightening.  It's time to rewrite the list.  And, more important, it's time to start living accordingly.

The Pope Says Most Will Be Saved? Not So Fast: A Response to Father Robert Barron

Dr. Ralph Martin, Professor of Systematic Theology at Sacred Heart Seminary in Detroit, has a new book entitled "Will Many Be Saved?" Admittedly, I haven't read the book, though it's on my Christmas list (my wife has imposed a rule about buying things when we're this close to Christmas.  The rule is:  we don't.) 

At any rate, even without having read the book, I've still read enough to be able to summarize Dr. Martin's argument.  He believes that the growing belief in the Church that many (if not nearly all) will be saved is a misreading of the Vatican II document, Lumen Gentium (particularly paragraph 16).  

But Martin's book isn't the point of this post.  What I want to focus on here is a particular review or response to the book by the well-known Father Robert Barron. 

Father Barron, in an article entitled "How Many Are Saved?" praised Martin's book as "important", but, in the end, found himself in disagreement with Martin's conclusion.  Here's Father Barron's summary in his own words:

So who has it right in regard to this absolutely crucial question? Even as I deeply appreciate Martin’s scholarship . . . I found his central argument undermined by one of his own footnotes. In a note buried on page 284 of his text, Martin cites some “remarks” of Pope Benedict XVI that have contributed, in his judgment, to confusion on the point in question. He is referring to observations in sections 45-47 of the Pope’s 2007 encyclical "Spe Salvi," which can be summarized as follows: There are a relative handful of truly wicked people in whom the love of God and neighbor has been totally extinguished through sin, and there are a relative handful of people whose lives are utterly pure, completely given over to the demands of love. Those latter few will proceed, upon death, directly to heaven, and those former few will, upon death, enter the state that the Church calls Hell. But the Pope concludes that “the great majority of people” who, though sinners, still retain a fundamental ordering to God, can and will be brought to heaven after the necessary purification of Purgatory. Martin knows that the Pope stands athwart the position that he has taken throughout his study, for he says casually enough, “The argument of this book would suggest a need for clarification.”

Obviously, there is no easy answer to the question of who or how many will be saved, but one of the most theologically accomplished popes in history, writing at a very high level of authority, has declared that we oughtn't to hold that Hell is densely populated . . . .  It seems to me that Pope Benedict’s position – affirming the reality of Hell but seriously questioning whether that the vast majority of human beings end up there – is the most tenable and actually the most evangelically promising.  

So, to summarize:  Father Barron's reading of Spe Salvi leads him to conclude that Pope Benedict XVI believes that the majority of people are saved, though after a time of purgation.  From the document, he concludes that Benedict is "seriously questioning whether that [sic] the vast majority of human beings end up there." However, is that a correct reading of the document in question?  Is the Pope really saying that the majority of mankind will be purified in purgatory and made fit for heaven?  Is that what Spe Salvi is actually proposing?

With copies of the document readily available online, I opened a copy and read it, focusing specifically on the paragraph in question (46).  And as much as I respect Father Barron (and as much as I'm unsuited to step into the "theological ring" with him) I can't help but think, after reading the document closely myself, that Father Barron has perhaps read too much into the text.  

Here are Benedict's words from paragraph 46 with my comments in bold:

For the great majority of people—we may suppose—there remains in the depths of their being an ultimate interior openness to truth, to love, to God.  In the concrete choices of life, however, it is covered over by ever new compromises with evil—much filth covers purity, but the thirst for purity remains and it still constantly re-emerges from all that is base and remains present in the soul. What happens to such individuals when they appear before the Judge? Will all the impurity they have amassed through life suddenly cease to matter? What else might occur?

After differentiating in the preceding paragraph between those who are thoroughly evil and those who are utterly pure when they die, Pope Benedict talks about the rest of humanity--the great majority of people.  He points out that this vast majority have at least some sort of interior openness to truth, love and God.  However, if you read the remainder of his comments in context, he's not declaring that this "great majority" all go to heaven.  He's just saying that the great majority of people are not thoroughly and completely opposed to God, truth and love. 

Benedict goes on to say that for this great majority of people, even though they're open, to some extent to things that are holy, their choices in life are covered over by compromises with evil. Certainly, the thirst for purity can remain and still can re-emerge from all that is base, but it also can sink back under the filth again.

Basically, all he's saying here is that these people aren't the utterly vile that were spoken of earlier.  The spark of human goodness is still alive, though perhaps dim.  This is the bulk of mankind:  mired in sin, but not completely rejecting the God, truth and love.  But then he asks an important question: what happens when they appear before the Judge?  Does all that sin cease to matter?  Are they welcomed into heaven regardless of their lives?  Let's see what he says:

Saint Paul, in his First Letter to the Corinthians, gives us an idea of the differing impact of God's judgement according to each person's particular circumstances. He . . . begins by saying that Christian life is built upon a common foundation: Jesus Christ. This foundation endures. If we have stood firm on this foundation and built our life upon it, we know that it cannot be taken away from us even in death.

Here's where Benedict makes an important distinction by mentioning the "Christian life".  He then references 1 Corinthians 3:12-15 to make the point that it truly is the Christian life he is speaking--a life built upon the foundation of Christ.  And the good news, he points out, is that this foundation (Christ) endures.  IF we have stood on this foundation, have built upon it, we know it (the foundation) cannot be taken away from us even in death.  IF we start with Christ as our foundation, we have a firm hope for our salvation.  

But what if we don't start with Christ as a foundation?  What if we ignore Christ completely?  What if we build on a foundation OTHER than Christ?  What if we're really good people, but never really cared to dig into that "Jesus" thing?  Pope Benedict doesn't address this aspect of the discussion.  He's only talking about those who build on Christ--not those who didn't.  That's important...

Then Paul continues: “Now if any one builds on the foundation with gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, straw—each man's work will become manifest; for the Day will disclose it, because it will be revealed with fire, and the fire will test what sort of work each one has done. If the work which any man has built on the foundation survives, he will receive a reward [Heaven].  If any man's work is burned up, he will suffer loss, though he himself will be saved, but only as through fire” [Purgatory] (1 Cor 3:12-15). In this text, it is in any case evident that our salvation can take different forms, that some of what is built may be burned down, that in order to be saved we personally have to pass through “fire” so as to become fully open to receiving God and able to take our place at the table of the eternal marriage-feast.

Here's the passage that ties everything together.  He fully draws out the meaning of Paul's writing in 1 Corinthians 3:12-15 and points out that when we build on the foundation of Christ, we're building on a firm foundation.  If that which we build is composed of gold and silver and precious stones, the fire will test it, it won't be burned up, and we'll be ushered into heaven.  If that which we build is hay, wood or straw however, it will be burned up, BUT we will be saved as through fire.

And why will we be saved?  Because we built on the foundation of Christ--the foundation which endures.  We built improperly or poorly on the foundation of Christ--and for that there is a time of cleansing and ordering of our hearts toward God--but the most important fact (in the end) is that we did build on Christ.  That causes us to have a firm hope in salvation in the end, even though we may have to suffer the purifying fire.  Again, if we didn't build upon Christ, this text offers us nothing, neither good nor bad--the Pope's focus here is upon those who live the Christian life, not those who reject it or don't know of it.  

In reading through the paragraph carefully, it's clear that while Pope Benedict does not come out and say "many will be damned" or anything of that nature, neither does he claim that, (as has been suggested) "the great majority will be saved."   The point of the encyclical is not to talk about the numbers of the damned, so it's no surprise he doesn't dwell on that topic.  However, to claim that his statements somehow represent support for the notion that most will eventually be saved, is simply not being true to the text.  He's not really addressing the eternal fate of non-Christians at all.  He's talking about those who build on the foundation of Christ.  And he suggests that IF we do that, we have a reasonable hope of salvation.  Oh, that salvation may come with a stop off in purgatory, but if we build upon the foundation of Christ we won't be abandoned. 

And even if you're still not convinced Pope Benedict is suggesting what I see, I believe at the very least, we can agree with Dr. Martin that the remarks certainly could stand for some clarification.  They are definitely not as clear as Father Barron suggests in favor of the salvation of "most".

Which brings us back to the question at hand:  will most be saved?  Or will more be lost?  My brain isn't suited to answer that.  I'd love to believe that most are saved--after all, God is Love and God is God and can therefore accomplish whatever He wants, right? 

Yet, as much as I'd like to believe all that, I can't shake Christ's own words about the narrow road and the few whot will find it.  I can't shake all of Christ's warnings of Hell.  I can't shake the fact that His last words to the Apostles were "go, make disciples, baptize and teach everyone to follow all that I've commanded" (Matthew 28:16-20).  If most will end up being saved, why the warnings?  Why the commands?  Why the sense of urgency?  

No, as much as I wish and pray that Hell would be/is largely empty, I can't believe it is.  Perhaps I'm wrong. Hopefully, I'm wrong.  But the words of Christ are clear:  Hell is real and it's a very real possibility for all of us.  It has to be both of those things or His warnings are a waste of His breath and time.  

And because it's real, we need to examine our souls, our consciences, on a daily basis.  We need to uncover hidden sin and we need to get to confession.  We need to repent, follow Christ, and spread the word:  

Hell is real.
Souls go there.
Christ is the answer!

The Way is Shut

“The way is shut. It was made by those who are dead, and the dead keep it. The way is shut."

--J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings

Some days I think I know where I'm going:  the path before me seems to unfold almost miraculously and I explain to myself that I'd be a fool not to see the hand of God in all the twists and turns and coincidences that are too coincidental to be coincidences.  Some days it seems that the heavens open up and God drops a neon arrow in my path that says, very clearly, "This way, please."

And then there are days like today, nights like tonight.  Days when I cannot see the path no matter how I squint; nights when I'm not even sure I'm in the remote vicinity of a path but fear that I've instead wandered off into the briars and the tangles.  Nights when I stumble blindly on, hands outstretched, only to bump into the cold steel of a chained gate.

Let me back up:  for two years I've seen the way before me open up in miraculous ways and I've come to believe that God is leading me to the Catholic Church.  This makes many of my non-Catholic friends roll their eyes, huff a little, and probably click off this blog and navigate to something that makes them less angry or frustrated.  Yet, while I know this personal journey of mine has been publicized (by me) far too loudly and far too often, it's only because it's hard to constrain the joy and excitement and terror I feel as I watch God's hand move in my life.  

This moving is more clear to me than anything else I've ever experienced.  It's not quantifiable, provable, or even visible.  Instead, it's everything a journey of faith should be:  terrifying, dangerous, seemingly insane, full of promise.  In fact, I feel like a miniature, much less epic, version of Abraham.  It's almost as if I've heard this booming voice saying "get up and go to this crazy land of incense and genuflections and statues and 1 million other weird and unusual things."  (To be clear--and in the interest of full disclosure--I've heard no such voice:  it's just a leading that I can't explain any other way.)

And, moving on, I'm trying to be obedient to that leading, but it's not easy:  The Catholic World, after all, is profoundly different from anything this American Protestant has ever experienced.  And yet, over time, as I've come to better understand the weird things, the unusual things, the seemingly unexplainable things, I've begun to find something I never thought I'd find:  true faith and, even more importantly, a a deeper, more personal relationship with Christ than I've ever experienced.

God has clearly been a part of this journey.  His fingerprints are all over it.

But, there's a problem--a problem that clouds everything and brings me back to the darker beginning to this entry:  my wife is neither so inclined, nor so excited, nor so happy.  Her Catholic journey, in fact, seems destined to be much, much shorter than mine.  Whereas I've been drawn to the Catholic Church, she's drawn back to our previous life of Protestantism.  We are both heading in opposite directions and neither one sees how it's possible to reverse our path and go the other's way.

And that's tough to deal with because I know that my journey--as exciting as it is for me--is breaking her heart.  She doesn't want to come with me and yet, neither does she want our family to attend different churches.

Which brings me to the next big complication:  our kids.  All five of them.  What will we do with them?  Do we let them decide on their own? (Many folks on both sides say that's the right thing to do--but I will not simply turn two 11 year-olds, an 8 year-old, a 7 year-old and a 4 year-old loose in the world of theology, suggesting that they "choose for themselves."  That day will come.  But now, I, as a parent, must train.  Yes, it's politically incorrect, yes, it's old school...but you will not change my mind.  It's my responsibility as a father.) 

So, I can let them choose on their own (which I can't do--not at this age), or we could raise them in both churches and confuse them beyond words.

For me, that's not an option either, because I don't just "like" Catholicism better than Protestantism.  It's not about music or styles of worship or the cool little donuts they serve after Mass.  I'm moving toward Catholicism simply because I believe it's the Truth. (And I know this makes my Protestant friends family members angry, but it really shouldn't.  To hopefully defuse any anger, let me ask a question:  why do you remain Protestant?  Why don't you go to the Catholic Church instead from time to time?  The most basic answer is because you don't believe it to be true.  You think, instead, that Protestantism is true and so you stay there.  I on the other hand, believe Catholicism to be True and must go there.  So don't be angry when I say I think Catholicism is true.  I'd be a fool to pursue something this disruptive to my life if I didn't fully believe it to be the truth.)

Anyway, I want to raise my kids Catholic because I believe it's the Truth.   My wife, on the other hand, has different ideas.  Hence the confusion.  Hence the clouded path.  Hence the darkness.  

As a couple, we are at a loss.  We're not angry with each other, we're not dueling.  We're getting along as well as we ever have.  But there's a sadness and a confusion that hangs over everything.

What do I do?  As a father, do I lead even where my family doesn't want to go?  Or do  I step back and let them lead?  Or, do we just "agree to disagree" and each go our own separate ways in regards to our faiths?  And how does that play out for the kids, for us?

The good news is that as dark as this all is . . . it's God's plan.  And when we follow the path to its natural end, we'll be thankful for the journey.  The suffering along the way has value and, when we arrive at journey's end, we'll rejoice in the land He's brought us to. 

But that's somewhere down the road.  First, we've got to get there.  And that means walking.  And right now, we're not sure where to put the next foot. For right now, we're lost.  Tonight we're looking for a path.  We're looking for a way.  The Way. 

But it's shut. 

Fishers of Men

Pray for vocations.

Problems with Sola Scriptura

"Sola Scriptura (Scripture Alone) is the doctrine that the Bible contains all knowledge necessary for salvation and holiness.  Sola Scriptura demands that only those doctrines to be admitted or confessed are doctrines found directly within or indirectly by using valid logical deduction or valid deductive reasoning from scripture."

This is one of the foundational principles of the reformation and yet, it cannot possibly be God's plan for Christianity.

Here's why:

• The first book of the New Testament is 1st Thessalonians and was written around AD 52.   The resurrection occurred around AD 33 or so, meaning that the first Christians had not even a single writing from the New Testament upon which to base their faith for the first 15 - 20 years.

• The last books of the New Testament to be written were penned between AD 95-110.  So, again, before early Christians could go to the Bible to find the doctrines necessary for salvation, they had to wait almost 70 or so years after Jesus died just to have the texts (that, again, contained everything they needed to know for salvation) written.

• The first recorded list of proposed books for the New Testament came about in AD 130-140.  Marcion of Sinope, rejecting entirely the "God of the Old Testament" and the Jewish Scriptures, proposed a list of books that he regarded as fully authoritative.  His list included 10 Pauline epistles and the Gospel of Luke (devoid of any reference to Old Testament Scriptures).  It's interesting that if Sola Scripture were truly the foundational doctrine the reformers suggested, why did it take so long before someone actually proposed a list of books?  If this was truly what believers needed as a true guide--the only guide--then why did even a faulty, scant version of this list take so long to create?

• The complete Canon of Scripture wasn't compiled until almost AD 400.  While there were many lists of "the books of the New Testament" these lists (as we just demonstrated) were often incomplete or, in some cases, included extra works that were later considered "apocryphal" (the Gospel of Thomas, for example).  At any rate, the complete list of New Testament books that we possess today wasn't agreed upon by the entire Church until roughly AD 400, meaning that for nearly 370 years, Christians were unable to know that what they were studying was something that could even by rights be called Scripture. 

• Once the canon was compiled, the production of Bibles was still time-consuming and costly.  It's estimated that the production of a single Bible in the early years of Christianity up until the invention of the printing press could cost anywhere from 1-3 years' wages.  For one Bible.  If Sola Scriptura and the possession of a Bible by every believer was God's plan, why did God wait so long to inspire the printing press?  Why would God create a system for knowing Him--Sola Scriptura--that couldn't be fully implemented until the invention of the printing press?

• Even after the printing press, not everybody could read.  The internet has made available--at our fingertips--books written in all kinds of languages.  Hungarian for example.  I purchased a Hungarian Bible a few years ago for a friend.  When it was delivered, I discovered upon opening it, that I couldn't read it.  The mere availability of the book in Hungarian did not--obviously--instill within me the ability to read Hungarian.  Likewise, illiterate people with a book, even if that book is a Bible, still can't read it.  The words still look like gibberish and scratchings.  So, for Sola Scriptura to make any sense as a foundational principle for knowing God, we would need, not just the printing press and readily available Bibles, but also the ability to read (and understand) the written word.  Even today, we don't have a universal ability to read and comprehend.  So, once again, God's system--if it is His, which begins to seem more and more doubtful--is flawed.

Now, it could be argued that Sola Scriptura doesn't so much mean that we need to, each one of us, possess a Bible of our own.  Rather, it could mean that we simply look to the Bible as the source for every doctrine we believe in.  If the doctrine's not there, (explicitly or deducible by "valid" logic), then we shouldn't believe it.  

Unfortunately, there are a number of problems with this reasoning as well:

• Who determines what's "valid logic" and what's not?  I know this sounds silly and we're all tempted to say "clearly, valid logic is 'X' and clearly 'Y' is not valid."  But if it were really that easy, then there would be no disagreements in the world, right?  Look at politics.  Two sides can look at the same issue and see "valid" logic in opposite determinations.  Religion is another topic that necessarily produces wide-ranging opinions and conclusions.  Often, what's valid logic to one party is invalid to another.  Which brings us back to the question:  who determines what's a valid teaching and what's not?  Is it the majority?  What if the majority changes over time?  Does the truth then change with it?  Clearly, that can't be the case.  Yet, if every believer has the right and authority and duty to examine the scriptures using "valid" logic, we're going to end up with a wide-range of opinions as to what the Truth really is.

• Who determines what's explicitly taught?  OK, so maybe extrapolating the teachings of the Bible that aren't clearly taught is complicated as we saw above.  But what about those things explicitly taught?  Surely, those are clear and beyond question?  Not really.  Look at baptism as just one example.  Some groups believe that baptism is clearly taught in scripture as necessary for salvation.  Other groups believe that baptism is a "sign and seal" of a Christian's new commitment to Christ.  Basically, it's a good thing to do, but not necessary.  Still other groups believe that baptism by water is not even necessary as a "sign and seal"--instead, we are baptized by the Spirit.  To take it still further, ask a wide range of Christians who the Bible teaches should be baptized and you'll receive an equally wide range of answers.  Some will say infants.  Others will say only believers who've repented.  Ask again about the method and you'll hear immersion, sprinkling, no water necessary and so on.  And after all of these answers, it will be argued that the Bible is explicitly clear.

• Where does the Bible say such a thing?  No matter how we scour the Bible, we're never going to find a command in the Bible that says that the Bible (or scripture) alone should be used to determine all of the doctrine we believe as Christians.  Basically, the Bible doesn't proclaim the doctrine of the Bible alone.  This is a problem because how can we adopt the doctrine of "the Bible alone" if the Bible doesn't teach us to adopt the doctrine of "the Bible alone".  The Bible says that scripture is important and necessary, but it doesn't say that scripture is all we need.  Instead, we read in 1 Timothy 3:15:  "But if I tarry long, that thou mayest know how thou oughtest to behave thyself in the house of God, which is the Church of the living God, the pillar and ground of the truth."  (Notice, the Bible says that the pillar and foundation of the truth is the Church of the living God, not scripture).

Basically, much more could be said, but it doesn't take long to see that "the Bible alone" just doesn't work in practice.  Now, being raised to believe that the Bible alone is all we needed, I know how horrible it sounds to hear someone say that we can't go by the Bible alone.  But that's not what's intended.  No disrespect is meant to the position and role of Scripture.  However, it's important to put Scripture in the place and let it play the role that God intended.  To give it a lesser place is wrong.  But to elevate it beyond it's place is also wrong--and equally likely to result in mistaken doctrine.