Presumption | Knowable Word

Bruised Reeds and our Inclination to Presume

April 22, 2015 By Peter Krol

Sometimes we don’t observe well because we’re too familiar with a passage. Then we presume the meaning of a text and stifle ongoing curiosity. In the end, things stay the same, and inertia prevents vibrant application.

Sure, we can see the problem in others. Jehovah’s Witnesses miss the point of John 1:1. Theological liberals miss the mark on John 14:6. Many presume upon Romans 1:26-27 and mistakenly consider it irrelevant to the contemporary same-sex marriage movement.

But can we see the problem in ourselves? We, who claim to love God’s knowable word and who work to study it and submit to it? The deadening progression from familiarity to presumption to inertia is subtle enough that we usually can’t see it, even when we’re aware of the danger.

That’s why I decided to tackle one of evangelicalism’s most hallowed mottos: “Jesus didn’t break a bruised reed.”

The metaphor seems self-evident. “Bruised reeds are people who are broken and needy, people worn out and tired and exhausted with life’s circumstances, people neglected by the world, but accepted by Jesus.” We casually toss the phrase out like a trump-suit ace impervious to counter-play. No need to explain; just assert: “Jesus never broke a bruised reed.”

But have you considered why the reed doesn’t get broken? Look at the text carefully, and you might find you’ve become a little too familiar with this biblical phrase and perhaps have missed a profound point. In fact, hastily assuming the “what” may have obscured your insight into the “why.”

My point is not that we shouldn’t have compassion on needy people (of course we should). My point is that this biblical phrase means something other than what we’ve come to presume.

Check out the full article at Desiring God.

What Frozen Taught Me about Bible Study

February 7, 2014 By Peter Krol

I’ve seen this movie a million times. Not this exact film, of course, but many like it. O Disney, how you love your clichés; let me count the ways:

Cutting edge, beautiful animation? Check.
Pleasantly catchy tunes? Check.
Adventurous young princess pushing boundaries? Check.
Handsome young feller rolling over for his sweet crush? Check.
Skin-deep, feelings-driven love at first sight? Check.
Confusing this love with “true love”? Check.
Promises of gooey sentimentality? Check.
Look inside, find yourself, break free, follow your heart, “Let It Go”? Check. Check. Check. Check. Check.

The movie’s action turns on the declaration that “only an act of true love can thaw a frozen heart.” Upon hearing such drivel, I begin preparing an agenda for discussion. I think, My daughter—mesmerized by her first theatrical experience—must learn to see through these lies. I’m glad we came, for it will be a good exercise in discernment.

However, something shifted. I need to see the movie again to remember exactly when and how it shifted, but the shift was clear. The seeds of drivel sown throughout the movie never bore fruit. In fact, those seeds were trampled on, dug up, and burned in the fire (or should I say frostbitten and discarded?).

Everything got turned on its head and flipped around, such that infatuation proved unsatisfying, self-indulgence had to cease, and true love required personal sacrifice.

Now here is something to celebrate.

What did this movie teach me about Bible study?

I could write about the Bible’s message of true love—the sacrifice of the only innocent one, who thaws our frozen hearts and restores us into God’s royal family—but I don’t want to give away any detailed plot spoilers from the movie. (I recommend this excellent reflection on Frozen by my friend Sarah Monticue.)

I could write about the bankruptcy of self-actualization, but it’s way too easy a target.

Instead, I’ll write about how Frozen reminded me not to presume an interpretation simply because I’ve observed something familiar.

The clichés were familiar. The message was familiar. The cinematic devices were familiar. The movie’s direction seemed familiar.

This familiarity led me to presume the movie’s main point. I was preparing to rebut the message of inward sovereignty and misdirected authenticity. But if I had stopped watching and hearing, I could have missed the film’s true intention.

So it is with the Bible. The more we read and study, the more likely we are to find ourselves in familiar territory.

And such familiarity comes at great risk. We presume to know what we’re reading. “I know that story,” “I’ll skim the part I’ve been through before,” and “I understand this; it’s time to move on” all put us in danger of missing the point. And since the point is to know Jesus better, I presume we won’t want to miss the point.

“Therefore we must pay much closer attention to what we have heard, lest we drift away from it” (Heb 2:1, ESV).

How can we become better observers?

I notice this danger when I read emails or blogs or books that quote Scripture. I often skip the quotation (since I’m familiar with the Bible already) and dedicate my attention to what’s new (what this person wrote about the quote). The more I notice myself doing it, the more I realize the frequency with which I do it.

And I’ve realized that I do it in my Bible reading as well. As soon as I hit the familiar parts, I fly through them to get to something more innovative and exciting.

We must be aware of this tendency so we can resist it. Let’s master observation so we can perpetually build on what we know, but without presuming that there’s nothing more to learn. Let’s learn not only to see but to observe.

One thing that helps me to fight deadening familiarity is to read a different translation each year. Also, I like switching Bibles from time to time, so a familiar text isn’t on the same part of the page. But not everyone is like me. What do you find helpful in resisting familiarity and presumption in Bible study?

Perhaps you find my advice a bit cold, as though I would prefer unfamiliarity over familiarity. Please know that I’m arguing not for ignorance but for careful observation.

And, well, the cold never bothered me anyway.

Presumption Kills Bible Interpretation

October 11, 2013 By Peter Krol

Kate Ter Haar (2012), Creative Commons

Presumption is the act of drawing conclusions from limited evidence. Courts presume defendants to be innocent until the body of evidence convicts beyond all doubt. When you drive through a green light, you presume the opposing traffic sees a red light. Furthermore, you presume those drivers won’t hit the gas until they see green.

Since you’re not omniscient, every decision you make is based on presumption. There’s nothing inherently wrong with presumption, and avoiding it completely is impossible.

However, presumption is deadly when it trumps careful investigation. Unrestrained presumption can obstruct the process of interpretation.

Let’s say you want to buy a house. You find one you like, and you sign a contract to purchase it. You pack your belongings and prepare to relocate your family. But on move-in day, you discover that the “seller” didn’t actually own the house. He’s powerless to hand it over to you. When you try to move in, you find another family living in the house with no intent to move out. You’re stuck, partly because you presumed too much.

Presumption can be devastating in big life decisions, but it also causes trouble in the mundane. We presume a curt reply to imply anger. We mistake friendliness for attraction. We impute motives. We scold and convict a child on the testimony of a single embittered sibling. We rush to our conclusions and find security in the strength of our convictions. We admit no further evidence.

Careless presumption will kill your Bible study. It will strangle observation and bear stillborn application. It will make you look like the stereotypical, narrow-minded Christian, and it will diminish your influence for the Lord. By strengthening your confidence in questionable conclusions, presumption will cloud your relationship with Jesus and your experience of his grace. At worst, it may clog your pipeline to God. Guard yourself against every form of unexamined, unhindered presumption.

Relativism can be a form of presumption, when we believe a text means whatever we want it to mean. We’re not compelled to investigate the evidence, so we’re “tossed to and fro by every wind of doctrine, by human cunning, by craftiness in deceitful schemes” (Eph 4:14, ESV). We lose our anchor in Christ.

Tradition can be a form of presumption, when it bullies observation, threatens investigation, and demands adherence to a sanctioned message. Now I’m no hater of tradition; it’s both valuable and necessary. But when it drives—and isn’t driven by—interpretation, it rampages and destroys like a toddler in a Lego city. Unexamined tradition trains people to think only what they were taught to think. And what they were taught to think may or may not be the truth.

Education can be a form of presumption, when, like tradition, it generates thoughts but not thinkers. Irresponsible education—whether theistic or atheistic—results in students who presume to know the Bible, but who have ceased listening to it. For such learners, Jedi Master Yoda may prove instructive: “You must unlearn what you have learned.”

Premature application can be a form of presumption, when we jump to conclusions in the name of relevance. We read and observe the text, but we move straight to application. We want our answers to be quick and practical, but we fail to nurture curiosity.

Authority can be a form of presumption, when we carelessly trust what the experts (be they pastors, professors, commentators, or Knowable Word bloggers) say about a text. We might learn to regurgitate their conclusions, but we won’t learn to reach them ourselves. Our teaching will lack substantiation, and the next generation will grow disillusioned by what it perceives to be hollow.

Tradition, education, application, and authority are all good things. In the right context, presumption is a good thing. But unchecked, it will defy the discovery of meaning.