A few distinctions still remain to be made in our discussion of authoritative proclamation. A friend has reminded me that we need to bring another issue to the surface, which is the nature of claims of authority (implicit in authoritative claims) over against claims of infallibility.
And this whole subject is actually trickier than it looks. First, there is a difference between an authoritative source and an an authoritative statement, just as there is a difference between an infallible source and an infallible statement. An infallible source will always give you infallible statements (of necessity), but a fallible source is quite capable of giving infallible statments. Fallible doesn’t mean “wrong all the time.” Fallible means “capable of being wrong.”
This is why I, a fallible source if ever there was one, could in theory write an infallible book. It would have to be very short, ten pages say, with large font, and we would need to have it proofed a thousand times, and each page would contain just one sentence that said something like “two oranges added to two oranges will result in four oranges,” and “the pope lives in Italy,” and “Obamacare is wicked.” Just kidding on the last one, mostly. Just go with the oranges.
When this was done, I would have written an infallible book (for the truth is infallible, is it not?). This does not provide us with any guarantee of future results.
In a similar way, an authoritative source may speak with no authority (like the scribes did), and a non-authoritative source might speak with real authority (for the truth has authority). The best situation is when authorities (pastors, parents, teachers, etc.) speak with an authority commensurate with their office, expertise, and knowledge.
What happens when they are wrong? It seems obvious that they should retract and/or seek forgiveness, depending on the nature of the question and the stakes involved. Suppose someone writes on his blog that the Bible condemns homosexuality most clearly in Leviticus 20:14, when it was actually Lev. 20:13. He should publish some sort of retraction or correction — this is what errata are for. He should also not lose any sleep over it. If a pastor quotes from memory, and gives the people Luke and said he was giving them Matthew, and somebody calls him on it afterwards, his sunny response ought to be along the lines of “so sue me,” and fix it as he has opportunity.
If a dogmatic personality (of the sort that is “often wrong, but never in doubt”) tells everybody that the weather will be perfect for the church picnic tomorrow, and everybody believes him, and they get rained out, then he should apologize. If he is the foreman of a jury in a murder trial and his influence gets everybody to go along with a guilty-guilty-guilty verdict, which turns out later to be wrong, then what is called for is a deep soul-searching and repentance and seeking of forgiveness.
And if the dogmaton involved had been claiming infallibility for himself, and his comeuppance was plain and clear, then the statement should be retracted, and the claim to infallibility repented.
As my friend pointed out, this whole thing is an exercise in risk management. Luther’s advice is pertinent here — “sin, but sin boldly — and repent more boldly still.” The problem with what I am calling dogmatons is that they advance their claims with absolute clarity, but if they are proven wrong about something, everything goes murky and muffled.
Some people are dogmatic about everything because that is the one setting they are stuck on. Others seem dogmatic about a lot because they limit themselves to issues they are checked out on. The areas where they would say that they don’t have much to contribute are areas they don’t seek to contribute much to.
All that said, a bold stroke is much to be preferred to gluing the sword of truth in the scabbard of humility. So to speak.
In sum, a man who speaks authoritatively (in the name of Jesus) should not be claiming that the mantle of infallibility has been draped around his shoulders. He should be speaking authoritatively in the name of Jesus, and he should be willing to put it right if he screws up. And if he screws up routinely, and every Sunday he is taking back what he said the previous Sunday, this is frankly a problem that is going to solve itself. Nobody is going to be showing up after a bit.
Those men in authority in the church who are risk averse are actually taking the real risk. In the parable of the talents, the risk averse servant was taking the greatest risk. He buried the talent in the ground to stay out of trouble with his master, and as a result got in trouble with his master. Implied in this set-up is the assumption that if one of the risk takers had come back with two talents, having started with five, he still will would have been received warmly. Risk involves . . . risk.
This is why safety-first preaching is ironically very dangerous. It is dangerous to the preachers who engage in it, and it is dangerous to the flock. The end of that road is not exegesis of the text only (because of the objection that real world applications of the text are fraught with peril), but the end of that road is no exegesis at all — for it turns out that exegesis is another area where it is possible to make mistakes, and to do so in the name of Jesus. I am more certain, incidentally, that Obamacare is wicked than I am clear on what constitutes a parbar (1 Chron. 26:18). I am more clear on my duty not to kite checks at U.S. Bank than I am about how many blind men Jesus healed at Jericho.
The end of that false road is preaching that sounds like the murmuring of doves in a distant glade . . . throat-clearing, be-that-as-it-maying, learned excursives on the possibilities and challenges before us, self-reports on the preacher’s emotional life in the car on the way to church, and let us not forget the all-important task of wrestling with contours.
It embarrasses me (as it ought to) that the personality I still have now was once engaged in preaching Arminianism, for example. But I would much rather be a man who believes in Truth who is out there making mistakes like that one than a man who is sunk up the armpits in the fetid swamp of faux-humilty. The former (I ought to know) can in principle be corrected, humbled, and abashed. The latter can never be corrected, which is the ultimate irony. “We know he is humble, for he has never changed his mind about anything . . .”
“Whoever gives an honest answer kisses the lips” (Prov. 24:26).