Eisegesis, Exegesis, and Wonder

Mike Leake

At-Home Support for a Limping Dog - Ortho Dog
A dog, limping and whimpering, hobbles over to a preacher. He’s seen this before and knows that the poor pup has been hit by a car. Having a well-oiled imagination, this preacher is quick to concoct an enchanting origin story for his new pet, Lucky.

He’s hosting the prayer meeting for local pastors this week, he’ll joyfully bring his new pup and tell everyone about how he rescued it after it was clipped by that speeding teenager. It might even give him an opportunity to wax eloquent about the need for a speed trap in that area.

When the morning of the prayer breakfast comes our pastor begins to weave his tale. His excitement soon turns to horror as the Reformed pastor informs him, and the rest of the crowd, that this dog hasn’t been hit by a car. It has a thorn in its foot.

Our Reformed pastor had taken a closer look. All of the context clues surrounding that dog told him that it hadn’t been clipped by a car. “Lucky” seemed to be favoring his paw—not what you might expect if he’d been drilled by a fender. Rather than simply pulling a story out of thin air, he was able to rightly diagnose the issue and help the dog.

Eisegesis and Exegesis

This is the difference between eisegesis and exegesis. Those are fancy words for saying that the first pastor imposed a story onto the “text” (eisegesis) and the other pastor started with the “text” itself (exegesis) and was able to discern an accurate meaning. By doing this he was able to help the dog and guard everyone else from the silly story concocted by the rambling preacher.

Thankfully, we’re training our pastors these days to focus upon exegesis and leave eisegesis dying on the side of the road where that first preacher should have left his imagination. “It doesn’t matter what you think about the text”, we say. “It only matters what the text meant to the original author.”

We exegetical preachers can be disheartened when seeing sanctuaries swarming with people to hear the story-teller. They lack substance, often leaving people entertained instead of helped. But we have to confess, a narrative like “Lucky the dog who miraculously limped his way to a benevolent pastor after being struck by a speeding teen” will invariably attract a larger crowd than a straightforward account of “Lucky the dog who stepped on a thorn.”

We console ourselves by remembering our calling. We aren’t supposed to attract a crowd. We’re just supposed to be truth-tellers. And because of this commitment we become highly skilled in magnifying glass usage. We’re able to spot thorns and thistles and save all the puppies of the world from the fluff of eisegetical preaching.

The Need for a Third Preacher

The only problem is that after years of this focus you begin to lose sight of the dog itself. You can go back to that prayer breakfast and listen in to how the story shifted off Lucky and onto the danger of thorns. Soon, everybody is telling their own thorny tales, save for the embarrassed preacher who is silently licking his wounds.

Nobody has noticed that Lucky, no longer having the thorn in his paw nor being the topic of conversation, has now wandered off. The first preacher not only lost his story but also his pet. And even our exegetical preacher seems to have lost the plot. He’s left holding only the thorn he picked out—and somehow missed that there was ever a dog there.

We might change a word here or there to get it to fit our theme, but I think all of this is why Os Guinness speaks of appealing to “thinkers” instead of “intellectuals”:

Too many so-called intellectuals think solely within their own minds. They leave their conscience out of the discussion, and they have lost all sense of wonder. They are one-tool thinkers who have blindly devoted themselves to what can be discovered by reason, and by reason alone. As a result, they’ve become as shortsighted as mole. (Guinness, The Great Quest, 35-36)

Guinness is telling us that we need a third pastor at that prayer breakfast. This is a pastor who also noticed the thorn but after pulling it out he keeps his focus upon the dog. His sense of wonder is not satiated simply because he has now solved the riddle of the dog’s pain. He wants to know how that dog came to get a thorn in it’s paw. He’s still intrigued by the dog and the story it has to tell.

That third preacher, still firmly in the school of exegesis, adds to the equation a dedication to wonder. He realizes that the point of exegesis isn’t about thorns, or even making sure preachers don’t spin yarn, but his purpose is to grab that dog by the scruff of its neck and joyfully play with it. Lucky enjoys stirring up joy and dogs stick around for these things.

Spotify and Biblical Counseling

Mike Leake

spotify-logo-1920x1080The other day I listened to about 20 minutes of Billy Joel.

It’s more Billy Joel than I’d like to listen to. Don’t get me wrong, I can jam to We Didn’t Start the Fire and it’s hard to beat She’s Got a Way as a love song. But Summer, Highland Falls is a song that makes fingernails down a chalkboard seem like a welcome relief.

It was that song that finally jolted me out of my stupor. Spotify’s newer feature, an AI DJ, decided that I wanted a set of Billy Joel songs. Not a horrible suggestion—but not really a good one. I can maybe name 300 other artists I’d rather listen to than Billy Joel. And yet, here I was enduring not only Billy Joel but the absolute worst song he has ever sang.

How does this happen?

It’s because Spotify, for some unknown reason, has decided it will only add a “I don’t like this song” button to its Discover Weekly. And even then, it’s really only deleting the song off your playlist for that week.

This has led to some rather irritating moments in my relationship with Spotify. They still think that King, by The Bundy’s, is one of my favorite songs. I’ve requested it zero times. Every single time it played it was because of a recommendation from Spotify. I don’t like the song, but it kept playing on my radio. And the more times it played, the more Spotify became convinced that this song is my jam.

How Does This Relate to Biblical Counseling?

Now, why am I telling you about my eternal battle with Spotify? Because I think it can teach us something about pastoral counseling—or really any kind of discipleship relationship with other people.

The central problem with Spotify is that they do not have a feedback loop. There is no way for me to communicate with them that I absolutely do not like Summer, Highland Falls. They think they know me, but without having the ability to tell them when they get it wrong—it’ll never be as accurate as it could be.

The same can be true if we aren’t good listeners when it comes to engaging the inner world of another. Without a feedback loop we can confidently lock a person into a perceived position and throw away their keys.

Entry Gates and Feedback Loops

I get why Spotify might think I like some of the songs that I do. I’m pretty eclectic in my musical tastes. If I’m having a kick where I’m listening to quite a few songs from the 80’s or soft rock, then an assumption that I might want some Billy Joel isn’t far off base.

Let’s consider a friend who lost his job. Just like with Spotify, your “algorithm” will bring to mind a host of suggestions. He’s probably worried about finances. Maybe I could point him in the direction of the local food bank. Or perhaps let him borrow some Dave Ramsey material. That’ll help…

Other things might come to mind. How will he tell his wife? Will this impact his relationship with in-laws? What will his kids think? Will they worry?

Given these assumptions you chart your course for “counsel”. You make your suggestions and talk about some of these various themes to provide help. This is your way of saying, “I think you really want to listen to Billy Joel…”

True, you’re probably somewhere in the ballpark in understanding what this person is struggling with. You’ve maybe been at this long enough that you can see patterns and where dots are connecting. But what if you’re off base? Do you have a feedback loop? Have you created your own entry gate into this person’s inner world?

Paul Tripp, in his book, Instruments in the Redeemers Hands, talks about entry gates. These are avenues where we can enter into another person’s world. Tripp notes that the problem, the situation, or even another person is not an entry gate. But rather, “An entry gate is a particular person’s experience of the situation, problem or relationship.” He then informs how to recognize an entry gate:

To recognize an entry gate you do not ask, ‘What are the problems in a person’s life?’ Instead you ask, ‘What is this person struggling with in the midst of the situation? Or, ‘What has this person in its grip right now?’ The entry gate is not what you think the person is struggling with; it is the struggle the person confesses. People will tell you how they are struggling, and their struggle will give you common ground with them and a door of opportunity into a deeper level of ministry. (Tripp, Instruments in the Redeemers Hands, 127)

As you listen for how your friend is dealing with this job loss, you’ll pick up on emotional words he is using. Is he angry with a boss? How is he interpreting this situation? What is he saying about himself? Is he saying he’s a failure? What’s he saying about God in all of this? Is he even mentioning God?

You’ll listen for some of these and start to pull on the threads. “Would you like to listen to Billy Joel today…?”

If you’re a Spotify-type of counselor you’ll lock them into this theme. No, I think you really do want to listen to The Piano Man. Here are 5 songs…Or, rather here are 5 tips for breaking this news to your wife. And you’ll have no off-ramp.

Conclusion

Can I tell you how frustrated I am with Spotify when it does this? I know its silly but I feel unheard. I feel a little trapped. My AI DJ isn’t listening to me and I’ve given up hope of trying to “train” him into dropping songs like The Bundy’s off my playlist. I’m just stuck in this cycle until Mr. DJ gets something else in his mind that he’d like to chase with me.

How much worse is this when we do this to someone who has come to us for help? How horrible does it feel when you get to that moment to open your heart up to another person and they don’t actually listen?

That’s why we would do well to ask good “entry gate” questions. (Tripp has a great list of these in his book). Ask questions to find that entry gate. And when you think you’ve found one see if you have the right ticket to enter. Have a feedback loop. Am I right that this is a thread we should pull on?

Our primary goal isn’t to make sure we are heard. It’s to make sure they are heard.

I hold out few hopes that Spotify will get this. Perhaps believers can do this better…

How “Throw My Body In the Ditch” Theology Relates to Sexual Ethics

Mike Leake

empty graveWhat started as a new dishwasher turned into an expensive kitchen remodel. When we pulled our broken dishwasher out of its happy spot, nestled under our cabinets, we soon discovered a rotting floor. We had mold.

We decided to keep pulling up floor, tile, cabinets, walls, whatever, until there was no more mold. We came to a stop when we got to our bay window area over the kitchen sink. The whole wall, studs and all, was covered in mold. That outside wall had to go.

When we got further into the project we discovered an even bigger problem. The issue which gave rise to all of our problems was a faulty foundation. Apparently cinder blocks holding hands does not a foundation make, especially when there is no drain to move water away from the house.

I could have rebuilt without touching the foundation. We could have kept fighting all the battles above the surface, and maybe even won a few of those. But it would only be prolonging the inevitable. Once the foundation is surrendered the whole thing will eventually give way.

The same is true with our Christian response to current issues of sexuality. I would argue that we are “losing” these battles because we surrendered the foundation long ago. We don’t have a leg to stand on. Today, I’ll explain one of these foundations.

Just Throw Me in a Ditch!

I’ve heard more than a handful of Christians joke that they don’t care what happens to their body after death. “Just throw me in a ditch,” they’ll say, “I’ll be in heaven with Jesus.” The idea is that our earthly body is just like a tent you’d take for a weekend camping trip—it’s only temporary. But it’s also kind of an icky and dilapidated tent that gives us all kinds of problems.

Undoubtedly, such language is taken from 2 Corinthians 5. Here Paul refers to the body as a “tent”. And he says that our preference would be “away from the body and at home with the Lord.” In other words, when I’m home with Jesus just throw that tattered old tent in the ditch.

But is that really what Paul is arguing?

If he is, it would go against not only his Jewish upbringing but also the early church. Jewish tradition completely rejected the idea of cremation and stressed a need for burying the dead. It was sign of dignity and showed the worth of the created body. Rather than moving away from this tradition, the early church continued in this.

Let’s briefly go to Paul again. Notice 1 Corinthians 15:3-4,

For I delivered to you as of first importance what I also received: that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the Scriptures, 4 that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day in accordance with the Scriptures… (emphasis mine)

Why does Paul add “buried” in there? I mean, if he died and was resurrected, isn’t it kind of redundant? And why does John tell us all about Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea and the tomb that Jesus was placed in?

For one, it’s to show that He was truly dead and truly resurrected. But it’s also to show us that Jesus was buried as a king. What happened to His body mattered. Because the body matters—even in death. A buried Savior is just as much a part of the gospel as death and resurrection.

In 2 Corinthians, then, Paul isn’t arguing for some preferred disembodied existence. Bur rather, as Seifrid notes, “he is reminding the Corinthians that the hope of the Gospel is a resurrected body, and not the bodiless existence of the naked soul.” (Seifrid, 227)

The resurrection doesn’t make less of the body—it makes more of it. We’re trading in our tent body for our temple body. We’re not casting off our evil fleshly body in exchange for a spiritual existence.

That’s Gnosticism, Patrick…(If you don’t get the reference: here)

The Battle With Gnosticism

Gnosticism was one of the earliest rival philosophies that the church had to battle. Foundational to their belief was that all matter was evil and the spirit was good. In their understanding our human spirit is trapped in these evil bodies—and redemption is to cast off the body. Who I really am, is who I am in my spirit. That is my true existence.

This might explain why John spent so much time on the death and burial of Jesus. It’s certainly why he says some of what he does in 1 John. There were already those in his context who were denying that Jesus was truly human (incarnation), that Jesus really died, that he was buried and that He was truly resurrected.

The church fought to teach that Jesus Christ “suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died and was buried;” But it wasn’t only doctrine about Christ they fought for. They also taught “the resurrection of the body.”

The early church placed great importance upon the body. What we do in the body matters. What happens to our body matters. The church didn’t separate flesh from spirit as we do. And they certainly didn’t have a “throw me in a ditch” theology.

We, however, think can get away with “throw me in a ditch” theology these days because we have the mistaken assumption that Gnosticism is one of those long-gone beliefs. But I would argue giving up this foundation is shown in the consequence of our battles over sexual ethics.

How This Relates to Today’s Sexual Ethics

In his book, Strange New World, Carl Trueman argues that “expressive individualism” is the water in which we swim. Our understanding of self is the core issue confronting us in issues of sexuality. He defines the self this way:

When I use the term self in this book, I am referring…to the deeper notion of where the ‘real me’ is to be found, how that shapes my view of life, and in what the fulfillment or happiness of that ‘real me’ consists. (Trueman, 21-22)

He goes on to say:

…the modern self assumes the authority of inner feelings and sees authenticity as defined by the ability to give social expression to the same. The modern self also assumes that society at large will recognize and affirm this behavior.” (Trueman, 22)

In other words, who you really are is immaterial. “Throw my body in a ditch” is synonymous with “surgically change my genitalia” because that isn’t who I really am. It’s a similar argument.

Consider these words from Katie Leone:

“In fact, being transgender does not mean that I was born in the wrong body. Being transgender means that God has placed me in a body that looks like one gender while I identify as being another. It is neither right nor wrong that I am a female in a male body, as much as it is neither right nor wrong that I am six foot tall and left-handed. These things just are.” (source)

Do you hear the language there? “Who I really am” is not an embodied question. At it’s core this isn’t entirely different than believing the the naked soul is who we really are. Again, both are basically saying “throw my body in the ditch”. One just still has a beating heart pumping blood through it.

What does all of this mean?

Conclusion

I’m really not intending to argue here about sexual ethics and such, but only to say that at least in this regard we’ve already surrendered one leg of our argument for a God-defined sexual ethic. Instead, I’m arguing that we really need a solid understanding of the body if we’re going to have these discussions. And if we hold a “throw my ditch in the body” theology, we’re already moving away from a Christian foundation for our argument.

To be clear, I don’t think this is all that needs to be said about discussions of sexual ethics and transgenderism. There are complexities here that I haven’t mentioned. For one, how do we define “body”? Is it merely genitalia? How does biochemics, genetics, hormone levels, and other issues help us define our mutually fallen human bodies?

But it does help us to say the body matters. Yes, the body you were born with matters. And the body you die with matters. And as I concluded in another article, “Burial is a last act of faith, and we should choose our method wisely”. Let’s get all that firmly established and then we’ll have better footing to talk about sexual ethics.

Why We Don’t Have a Formal Greeting Time

Mike Leake

Diverse woman shaking hands“Greet one another with a holy kiss…” –2 Corinthians 13:12

That encouragement from 2 Corinthians is now obeyed in the form of “Stand and greet one another…” And we fulfill the obligations of Holy Writ in about 2-3 minutes at the beginning of our Sunday morning worship.

Well, we don’t. At Calvary we don’t have this formal greeting time. When I first came it was still there but we gave it the axe a few months even before COVID. There are a few strategic reasons for this.

What Do Visitors Say?

Many churches have this allotted time for the sake of visitors. After all, we don’t want to risk someone walking through our doors and not be greeted with a friendly face. What better way to assure this happens than to have a 3-5 minute time during the service to do just that.

But it doesn’t work. In fact, church health guru, Thom Rainer, found that almost 90% of guests were uncomfortable by the practice. (Source) It might be one of the reasons a visitor doesn’t come back to your church.

A Tale of Two Churches

You roll into the Holiness Tabernacle of Good Will and Sanctimonious Saints a few minutes late. Thankfully, they still have a door greeter who seems only mildly perturbed by your tardiness. He points you to the sanctuary where you’re met by a brood of blue-haired Betty’s. They begrudgingly inch over and “welcome” you among their huddle.

It feels icy-cold around you but things warm up a bit when the congregation moves into joyful singing of their weekly reminders of what ol’ time religion ought to look like. After the song, Reverend Jenkins stands behind the pulpit, welcomes everyone and then encourages the greeting of those around you.

Hugs are shared. Stares turn into cackles and the cabal of blue-hairs crack a mile-wide smile. With the gumption of a young boy aggressively trying to win a prize at the carnival, their ring leader is suddenly concerned with you’re feeling welcome. Just as you are beginning to believe the façade, the song leader calls everyone out of fellowship and into the worship of the Almighty.

The service itself was quality. The time of worship through song was encouraging. You might even use a words like vibrant to describe it. The congregation seemed to come alive through song. And the preaching was top-shelf. God’s Word was faithfully preached and relevant application was made.

As the time of invitation wraps up and the sermon comes to a close, you stick around for awhile. Nobody come to say hi…well, there was that one little boy with peanut-butter and jelly remnants on his face who gave you a shy wave…but other than that, nothing. You slip out the door knowing you’ll never be back.

Next Sunday you roll into The First Church of Holy Awkwardness about 10 minutes late. Well, whatever late means to these people. Worship already started but there are enough people in the foyer that you could create a quorum for a Baptist business meeting. But its not stale business these people are engaged in, but warm fellowship.

They call you over to their group with genuine smiles and warmth. They are interested in you, your family, your career, but more importantly your walk with Jesus. You’ve been here 5 minutes but it already feels a bit like home.

After a couple minutes of this happy chit-chat someone makes a joke that y’all had better get into the worship service before Pastor Jenkins starts into his altar call. You enter the worship service, people are engaged but they happily scoot over and welcome you into their amiable little circle.

The service itself was quality. The time of worship through song was encouraging. You might even use a words like vibrant to describe it. The congregation seemed to come alive through song. And the preaching was top-shelf. God’s Word was faithfully preached and relevant application was made.

The sermon ends and you stick around for a bit. This time it’s more than the PBJ-faced that give you a greeting. You are invited to two small-groups, given a phone number, and someone asks if you have any lunch plans. Truthfully, it feels a little overwhelming—but you are most definitely welcomed.

The Point

After reading about those two-services, I know what you’re thinking. I really stacked the cards against that first service. What if your church does a greeting time AND is warm and refreshing?

That’s certainly better. But that leaves me one question. Why bother with the formal time? If you already do it well—and you are fulfilling that command of holy-kissing through donut-stuffing and glad chuckling—then isn’t it redundant?

There are really only two paths here. Either you do “fellowship” and “welcoming” well or you don’t. If you do it well, then your time of greeting isn’t necessary. If you do it poorly, then your time of welcoming is only shining a spotlight on how glaringly horrible you are at making others feel welcome.

The reality is that most churches are somewhere in the middle. What will make you better, though? Will that time of faux-fellowship cause you to be better outside of that 5 minutes? I’d argue that such a thing will stunt your growth in that area. But if nothing is there…well, you’re going to feel the awkwardness and holy travesty of a guest not welcomed. That’ll get you out of your seat and over to shake a hand.

Conclusion

I can say with some measure of confidence that I pastor a church that is warm and friendly. Almost every visitor we’ve had has said that they felt welcomed and accepted. It’s very rare for someone to feel us to be cold. (Though, I think we’ve had some off Sunday’s for sure).

This isn’t because of me. I’m awkward and introverted. But our people are great at this. And I would argue that we’ve only gotten better at this since we cut out the formal time of greeting.