If you're looking for a way to critique the authority of Scripture, there are seemingly endless options. There are historical critiques (e.g., many of these books are forgeries). There are logical critiques (e.g., the Gospels contradict themselves). There are moral critiques (e.g., God is immoral to order the slaughter of entire cities). And there are hermeneutical critiques (e.g., no one can agree on what the Bible means).

In recent years, however, a more foundational challenge has arisen. All of the above critiques are essentially the same; they all argue the words of the Bible are not true. But this newer and more foundational challenge is not about whether the words of the Bible are true, but whether we have the words of the Bible at all.    

At the core of this challenge is the fact that we only have handwritten copies of these books we treasure. And, in reality, we only have copies of copies of copies. And given that scribes made mistakes, and that the transmission process was imperfect, how can we be sure that these texts have been preserved? How can we be sure we actually have the words of Scripture?

Bart Ehrman's best-selling book Misquoting Jesus focuses on this issue as it pertains to the New Testament text: 

What good is it to say that the autographs (i.e., the originals) were inspired? We don't have the originals! We have only error-ridden copies, and the vast majority of these are centuries removed from the originals and different from them . . . in thousands of ways. 

If Ehrman is correct, then he has uncovered the single thread that would unravel the entire garment of the Christian faith. There is no need to critique the content of the New Testament if we don't even have the New Testament.

But is this argument cogent? I think not. There are two places it can be challenged: (1) the role of the autographs and (2) the degree of corruption in the extant manuscripts.

Role of the Autographs

Ehrman's focus on the autographs (or the absence of them) is not unusual in modern critiques of biblical authority. However, this sort of argument often creates the impression (even if it is unintentional) that the autographs are the original text—almost as if the original text were a physical object that has been lost.   

But the original text is not a physical object. The autographs contain the original text, but the original text can exist without them. A text can be preserved in other ways. One such way is that the original text can be preserved in a multiplicity of manuscripts. In other words, even though a single surviving manuscript might not contain (all of) the original text, the original text could be accessible to us across a wide range of manuscripts.  

Preserving the original text across multiple manuscripts, however, could only happen if there were enough of these manuscripts to give us assurance that the original text was preserved (somewhere) in them. Providentially, when it comes to the quantity of manuscripts, the New Testament is in a class all its own. Although the exact count is always changing, currently we possess more than 5,500 manuscripts of the New Testament in Greek alone. No other document of antiquity even comes close.

Even though we do not possess the autographs, textual scholars have acknowledged that the multiplicity of manuscripts allows us to access the original text. Eldon Jay Epp notes, "The point is that we have so many manuscripts of the NT . . . that surely the original reading in every case is somewhere present in our vast store of material."

Gordon Fee concurs: "The immense amount of material available to NT textual critics . . . is their good fortune because with such an abundance of material one can be reasonably certain that the original text is to be found somewhere in it." 

Of course, one might wonder why God chose to preserve the text in this manner. Why not just preserve the autographs? Why didn't God just allow Christians to keep the autographs sealed away in a vault somewhere? For one, it is historically unlikely that the autographs could have survived until the present day, especially if they were being regularly used.

But it is also possible that God may have not wanted the autographs to survive. One can imagine how easily (and quickly) such documents would become objects of veneration, if not worship. They might have become the equivalent of Gideon's ephod (Judges 8:27)—a good gift the people begin to treat as an idol.

Of course, we cannot know for sure why God providentially did not preserve the autographs. But, in one sense, it is fitting. It reminds us that the Word of God, like God himself, is not bound to a physical location or to a physical object. It is a Word that is not contained. It is a Word that goes forth.

Corruption of the Manuscripts

If, as we have seen, there are good reasons to think that the original text is preserved across the entire manuscript tradition (as opposed to being contained in a single manuscript), then there is still the question of how we identify the original text. How do we distinguish the original text from textual changes or corruptions? Can this even be done?

Ehrman would suggest it cannot. The reason for his skepticism is that the copies we posses are "error-ridden" and contain "thousands" of differences. In other words, the manuscripts are in such poor shape, so full of corruptions, that no methodology could extract the original text from them. 

Again, this is a vast overstatement. While there are certainly many, many textual differences (hundreds of thousands, in fact), the key point is that the vast majority of these scribal changes are minor and insignificant—e.g., spelling mistakes, use of synonyms, and word-order changes. In the end, these do not substantively change the meaning of the text.

Of course, there are more substantive textual changes (much fewer in number) that do affect the meaning of the text. But these changes would only be a problem if we could not identify them as changes. Or to put differently, these kinds of variants would only be a problem if we could assume that every one of them was as equally viable as every other.

Thankfully, textual scholars can determine, with a relative degree of certainty, which of these readings were original and which were not. There are still some gray areas, some instances where a choice between variants is unclear. But, generally speaking, we can have confidence that the words we read are the words of the original authors.  

Historically, Christian affirmations of biblical authority are often expressly restricted to the "autographs." And there are obvious reasons for this view. Biblical authority does not apply to whatever a later scribe might happen to write down—it applies to what the biblical authors actually wrote.

But does the lack of autographs mean such affirmations of biblical authority are meaningless? No, because the authority does not reside in a physical object, but in the original text. And the original text has been preserved in another way, namely through the multiplicity of manuscripts. 

Editors' Note: This is the first in a series of brief articles from students and graduates answering the question, "What do I wish someone had told me before seminary?"

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What do I wish someone had told me before seminary? First, I wish someone had explained that my time would be a season of preparation in the fullest sense. To grasp this concept has taken me a few years. I had little experience with graduate level study, even less experience with writing, but most significantly I was unprepared for the kind of commitment I was making. In an ethereal, almost metaphysical sense, I had a notion that I was entering a season of necessary discipline and diligence. But I failed to grasp what that meant in the everyday grind of theological training.

I attend Beeson Divinity School in Birmingham, Alabama. It's an incredible institution founded on the desire to build up and prepare ministers to proclaim the name of Christ. Their credo is what attracted me first, their high academic standard second. Though I wanted to be challenged in my faith as well as in my studies, I'm not sure I understood what that would actually require. As I'm sure most seminary students would agree, studying theology, philosophy, and the biblical languages takes concerted effort and copious amounts of time. It's truly a time of intentional preparation.

When my classmates and I began seminary, many of us assumed we'd have ample opportunity to use what we were learning in everyday ministry. But this hasn't always been the case. I'm not proud of this fact; I'm just making an observation. Much like other fields of training, in ministry it's wise to build a solid foundation of learning before undertaking your first "real world" assignment. Seminary provides such a foundation. Many students have ministry positions during their time in seminary, to be sure. Even in those situations, though, it's difficult to give your all to a particular ministry while investing in the future. This by no means excuses ministry laziness while in seminary; instead, it calls to attention the need to prioritize. It's a hard choice, but one that ultimately results in a person better equipped to serve in the long run.

I also wish I'd understood before seminary that it's an investment in my future. Not some theoretical "oh that sounds nice" sort of investment, but a literal, determined, hard-fought one. Moreover, I wish someone had made clear that such educational pursuit is okay. Investing through further education is worthwhile, and no one should feel a false sense of guilt for this effort.

I believe seminary should be difficult. Most worthwhile pursuits are. Those in seminary are challenged with the prospect of ministering to others who, like themselves, are broken and need help. Rigorous training, therefore, is necessary. We expect high standards from our physicians, our accountants, and our professors; shouldn't we expect as much—if not more—from our Christian leaders?

Seminary is necessarily a time of foundational training and preparation. It sets the standard for the future. I just wish I'd recognized what it actually would—and should—require before I began.

The dawn of a new day pulls you out of your much-needed sleep. Your mind immediately replays the various conversations and teaching associated with a jam-packed Sunday of ministry. Against your better judgment, but out of habit, you reach for your phone and click on the e-mail icon.

Your eyes quickly spot an e-mail from a trusted ministry leader in your church informing you a husband has left his wife despite repeated exhortations to entrust his troubled marriage to Jesus and allow their close friends to journey with them in love. Lord, not another marriage crisis! Your mind races through the possible scenarios, anticipating the energy needed to shepherd this couple standing at the brink of divorce.

Then you see another e-mail from another ministry leader expressing how her life is falling apart. She admits she's struggling to trust God and is questioning everything about Christianity.

Church leaders often grow weary dealing with constant waves of suffering and sin. The challenges of ministry are overwhelming, demanding, and relentless. You battle guilt and shame as you experience schedule overload, fear of not knowing how to deal with a certain situation, dislike of conflict, procrastination, and even "compassion fatigue." However, God makes it clear what he expects from those he places in leadership. He holds them accountable for their pastoral responsibilities (Ezek. 34; 1 Pet. 5:1-11; Heb. 13:17). By his grace, pastors can look to and follow Jesus, their Great Shepherd, as he empowers them by his Spirit to accomplish his purposes in and through his church.

Stepping Back to Step Forward 

Given your overwhelming ministry load, and perhaps your understanding of church discipline, you may think: No way! I don't have time to fit another thing into my schedule, let alone think about church discipline. But here's the thing: you can't afford not to participate in God's discipline within his church.

Regularly we must step back, take a deep breath, and reflect on the ministry God has entrusted to us. It's all too easy to drift not only from God's mission but also from seeking and following his Spirit, instead defaulting to merely reactive and pragmatic ministry.

We should rejoice whenever we feel overwhelmed by the demands of ministry, for God uses such times of desperation and exhaustion to humble us, to make us more dependent on him, and to remind us that gospel ministry is all about him—not us or "our ministry." We're also reminded that God-glorifying ministry is impossible apart from relying on his means and his power. This is where church discipline enters the picture.

God's Mission and Church Discipline

As we look at church discipline, we're reminded God is continually bringing about redemption within his church while he advances his kingdom in the world. That's why it's so critical we see God's discipline as a primary means by which he's redeeming his bride and bringing glory to himself. The following definition may offer a sense of relief and direction as you try to navigate the chaos of ministry:

Church discipline is God's ongoing, redeeming work through his living Word and people as they fight the good fight of faith together to exalt Christ and protect the purity of his bride.

This definition highlights how God disciplines us through his church for the purposes of restoring relationships, removing wickedness, renewing his people, and revealing his glorious love. It helps us to view church discipline not from our perspective, but from God's. It also helps us to see God's discipline through his church as his ongoing work through his living Word and people. Inherent in the definition, too, is an understanding that church discipline involves a continuum that includes both expanding (involving an increasing number of people) and also escalating (involving elders and more formal warnings) efforts over time to fight for those who relentlessly refuse to turn back to their living God.

This definition also recognizes that God disciplines us in everyday gospel community as we struggle with not believing—perhaps as a result of our intense suffering or chronic sin—who he is or what he's done through Christ. This is where giving the church a vision of living out the gospel in community—while equipping them to continuously encourage one another toward enjoying, trusting, and obeying Jesus—will yield disciples and eternal fruit. In other words, church discipline isn't meant to be just another thing to add to the plate but rather, by God's design, life-giving for everyone involved.

A much-needed look at church discipline also reminds us that God's ways and thoughts aren't like ours. No measure of rebellion disrupts or blinds God's redemptive gaze upon his people; he will complete the redemption he began in each of his children. Moreover, God uses his church to pursue, call back, and even remove the unrepentant person not only to redeem him or her, but also to redeem his bride as a whole. God is in the business of transforming what we mean for evil and leveraging it for his glory. Such is the nature of his gospel mission. Such is the nature of church discipline.

Whether we're fighting for tottering marriages or hearts ensnared by unbelief, God's discipline is meant to have a ripple effect on the entire congregation. Such difficult yet rewarding ministry enables us to experience God's radical life of mission, to see more clearly the glory of Christ amid suffering and sin, and to love one another in ways that image the gospel. These are the up-close, personal, and messy means through which God is redeeming his bride.

Editors' note: This article has been adapted from Robert Cheong's new book God Redeeming His Bride: A Handbook for Church Discipline (Christian Focus, 2013).

Online, Jill is a joyful and encouraging believer. She advocates for the oppressed and raises money for the poor. Every Saturday she tweets about her service at the local homeless shelter. She posts Bible verses several times a day. Based on her social media interactions, her friends seem to love and enjoy her.

Offline, she's a different Jill.

Offline Jill seems standoffish and unengaged with her church community. Her online activism feels more like judgmentalism and, while happy to volunteer at a shelter, she can't be bothered to serve her local church. Hurt by her apparent disinterest, Jill's peers feel ignored and pushed away. She seems more content to live online than face-to-face.

How can Jill's online life look so different from her real life? I can't judge her; I've been her and seen the fallout.

I Trick You

What I allow you to see online shapes your perception of me.

I put forth the cleanest version of myself not to intentionally fool you, but because I want to glorify God in all I say and do (and for more selfish reasons). I avoid broadcasting my negativity to keep you from stumbling (again, and for more selfish reasons). I carefully steward my statuses, affirm others, and avoid grumbling and complaining. I mind my moral and social p's and q's.

It's an admittedly misleading version of myself. I'm not posting, "Wow. I'm totally out of control. #ShamingMySon," or "I haven't done laundry in a month. #RatherBeTweeting." It's not that I'm unaware of my sin; I've just methodically eliminated the evidence. You assume I sin sometimes, but not because I've confessed.

In short, basing your impression of me on my social media profile would result in an embarrassingly inaccurate rendering of reality.

I Trick Me

What I present online unintentionally shapes my self-awareness, too.

Looking at the neatest, tidiest version of myself is sneakily alluring. I like the feeling of appearing perfect. The onlooking masses (or handful of friends) needn't know I sin, well, regularly.

To be honest, my own sin surprises me. I'm shocked when pride surfaces, self-control slips, or I fall prey to the same idolatrous patterns I've been battling for years. My gut reaction isn't Woe is me, I am a woman of unclean lips, but embarrassment about the evidence of indwelling sin I thought I could hide.

If Real Me is radically different than Online Me, which me is real, and which is the impostor? If I'm failing to demonstrate the same fruit of the Spirit in "real life" as I do online, it's probably plastic fruit—and I need to be aware of the discrepancy.

Getting Comfortable

It's fun to fill your life with Facebook friends, Twitter followers, and blog readers who seem to care every time you nail a Pinterest project or your kid does something cool. Who wouldn't love an audience to "like" all their pictures and "ooh and aah" over their craftiness?

But brothers and sisters, we must recognize this self-obsession and pride for what it is.

When I'm being encouraged primarily by online relationships, and large portions of my time are spent reading my own good press, it can get pretty comfortable on the sofa of social media. I like living in an online world where there's no need for my community to truly bear with me. I'd rather bask in the love of my digital perfection than stumble and fall before real people who will call me out and hold me accountable.

If I'm not careful, hanging out where no one knows my dirt can easily lull me away from reality into a life of insincerity and isolation.

Being Present 

Avoiding real-life connections—the ones you see every Sunday morning—to unpack your heart in the digital community doesn't only set you up for a delusional view of self, disappointment with your physical community, and social isolation; it also breeds spiritual stagnancy.

No matter how great your internet friends are, they aren't standing beside you, sensing your suffocating self-absorption. They don't see you at your worst or notice when you're avoiding fellowship or suffering from spiritual depression. They won't pick up on your dissatisfaction with your spouse, your constant bitterness or negativity, or your refusal to forgive the friend who hurt you. But real-life friends, the ones who can drive to your doorstep when you call, will.

I need friends who will get in my grill, iron sharpening iron, and help me to conquer sin head-on. I may turn a blind eye to my own social media slickness, but true friends won't. I need to be confronted by my sinfulness in real life, where there's no filter and no delete button.

Our Real and Present Need

My greatest need isn't a public relations manager; it's a Redeemer. And real-life, everyday friends—the ones aware of both my sin and the gospel's power—will regularly remind me of this need.

Long-distance and digital friendships, no matter how wonderful they are, cannot gain full access into our souls. Seeing a friend's compassionate eyes, holding her hand, and kneeling together in prayer are evidences of God's tangible nearness in the war against sin.

Don't settle for keeping your life primarily or exclusively online. Social media is a poor substitute for physical presence. Strive, fight for, and pour into those friends with whose voices, body language, and quirky personalities you're well familiar. These are the hearts that know your heart—and are praying and engaging for your sanctification.

UPDATE: Kermit Gosnell was found guilty today of three counts of first-degree murder. Because the major news media initially refused to cover the story, many people are unaware of the extent of the atrocities committed by the Philadelphia abortionist. TGC is reposting this entry to provide context and background for this breaking news story.

Kermit Gosnell, 72, is an abortionist on trial in Pennsylvania for murder and infanticide. Here are 9 things you should know about the Gosnell case:

1. Gosnell was arrested in January 2011, charged with eight counts of murder: one patient who allegedly died under his care after a botched abortion, and seven infants supposedly born alive whose spinal cords Gosnell allegedly severed with scissors.

2. According to prosecutors in Philadelphia, Gosnell catered to minorities, immigrants, and poor women, and made millions of dollars over 30 years performing illegal and late-term abortions in squalid and barbaric conditions. Gosnell took extra precautions with white women from the suburbs, according to the grand jury report. He allegedly ushered them into a slightly cleaner area because he thought they would be more likely to file a complaint.

3. Women paid $325 for first-trimester abortions and $1,600 to $3,000 for abortions up to 30 weeks. The clinic took in up to $15,000 a day, said authorities. Although abortions after the 24th week are illegal, Gosnell allegedly aborted and killed babies in the sixth and seventh months of pregnancy and charged more for bigger babies.

4. According to the grand jury report, the clinic reeked of animal urine and the furniture and blankets were stained with blood. Medical instruments found in the practice had not been properly sterilized. State officials have failed to visit or inspect his abortion clinic since 1993. Prosecutors also claim that Gosnell is not certified in either gynecology or obstetrics.

5. Prosecutors say that none of Gosnell's staff, including his wife, were licensed nurses or doctors and that a 15-year-old student performed anesthesia with potentially lethal narcotics.

6. A woman who worked for Gosnell testified that she was called back to a room at his abortion clinic in Philadelphia where the bodies of aborted babies were kept to hear one screaming amid a shelf-full of dead babies. "I can't describe it," says the woman. "It sounded like a little alien." She says the body of the child was about 18 to 24 inches long and was one of the largest babies she had seen delivered during abortion procedures at Gosnell's clinic.

7. On January 31, 1998, a then 15 year old Robyn Reid sought an abortion from Gosnell's clinic. Once she was in the clinic, though, Reid, an 87-pound teenager at the time, told Gosnell she changed her mind about the abortion. She claims Gosnell got upset, ripped off her clothes, restrained her, and repeatedly told her, "This is the same care that I would give to my own daughter." Reid regained consciousness 12 hours later at her aunt's home, with the abortion having been completed against her will.

8. Gosnell's arrest and trial have received almost no coverage by the national media. During the early part of the trial ABC, CBS and NBC did not cover the trial at all, yet gave 41 minutes and 26 seconds of air time to the story of Mike Rice, the Rutgers basketball coach who was fired for verbally and physically abusing his players.

9. The 3801 Lancaster Film Project is an ongoing documentary series about Kermit Gosnell, the Women's Medical Society, and the cover-up by state and local oversight agencies.

(Warning: The video contains graphic images.)

When listening to a sermon on the Fatherhood of God, we've heard it more times than we can probably count: the illustration that when Jesus refers to his Father as abba, it is a very comfortable, deeply intimate child-like term, interpreted as either papa or daddy. Jesus uses the term once in Mark's gospel and Paul uses it two times in Romans and Galatians.

Of course, the bible teacher or pastor's purpose in explaining the word abba this way is to show us that Jesus had a very intimate relationship with his father, not stoic or merely positional. It is what a loving father has with his son and the son who lives securely and comfortably in that love. It is an important message—and it is true.

You can't read John 17, Jesus' intimate and passionate prayer to his Father the evening before his brutal and sacrificial death, and not see this tender intimacy. You see it also in John 1:18 where some versions have it that Jesus dwells "in the bosom of the Father." Ask someone you know well if you can sit at their side. They will be happy and honored to have you do so. Ask them if you can dwell at their bosom and you'll get a different reaction. We also see this Father/Son intimacy at Jesus' baptism where the Father proclaims from heaven to us all his extravagant love and pride in his Son.

This intimacy and love between the divine Father and his Son is as true as the existence of God himself, for it is his very nature. But it is simply not true that Jesus' use of the word abba means something a small child would utter in reference to his father. It does not mean "daddy" or "papa."

This origin of this understanding is generally traced to the notable German Lutheran New Testament scholar Joachim Jeremias who in his 1971 text New Testament Theology explained that abba was "the chatter of a small child. . . . a children's word, used in everyday talk" and seemingly "disrespectful, indeed unthinkable to the sensibilities of Jesus' contemporaries to address God with this familiar word" (p. 67). While Jeremias did not use the word "daddy" or "papa" in relation to abba, the implication was strong and others came along to make that connection.

But other Hebrew and New Testament scholars have taken exception with this understanding.

University of Fribourg's Georg Schelbert critiqued Jeremias' assertion in a 1981 essay and then later in a 2011 book-length treatment entitled ABBA Vater. He contends that Jeremias' interpretation is in "error" and "unwarranted." He elaborates,

In the Aramaic language of the time of Jesus, there was absolutely no other word [than Abba] available if Jesus wished to speak of or address God as father. Naturally such speaking of and addressing thereby would lose its special character, for it is then indeed the only possible form!

This is because, as we shall see, abba means either "father" or one's own father. Schelbert explained that Jeremias even adjusted his earlier understanding in the face of critical peers.

Schelbert was followed by Professor Geza Vermes, a most important scholarly voice on the Jewishness of Jesus. In his book, Jesus and the World of Judaism (Fortress, 1983), Vermes calls out the "improbability and incongruousness of the theory" and that "there seems to be no linguistic support for it." (p.42). Vermez holds, in agreement with Schelbert, that abba can either be understood as "the father" or the more personal, "my father."

This criticism was followed up a few years later with an essay in the Journal of Theological Studies by James Barr (vol. 39, 1988). His article, "Abba Isn't Daddy" explains:

It is fair to say that abba in Jesus' time belonged to a familiar or colloquial register of language, as distinct from more formal and ceremonious language. . . . But in any case it was not a childish expression comparable with 'Daddy': it was a more solemn, responsible, adult address to a Father. (p. 46)

Although he explains that in Jesus' time, this address was used by a father's children of all ages, young and adult, it was often used by small children. Barr adds,

If the New Testament writers had been conscience of the nuance 'Daddy' they could easily have expressed themselves so; but in fact they were well aware that the nuance is not that of 'Daddy' but of 'father'." . . . [T]he semantics of abba itself [based on various evidences] all agree in supporting the nuance 'father' than the nuance 'Daddy'." (p. 38)

It is important and true to understand that God is our intimate Father. So many places in the New Testament make this vividly and encouragingly clear. It is one the rich qualities that makes Christianity distinct from all other faiths and philosophies.

But let's not illustrate this grace for others with something that is not true.

Other articles in this series:

C.S. Lewis and G.K. Chesterton Quotes

Burning Your Ships for Jesus

Misquoting Francis of Assisi

The Cross an Electric Chair?

Divorce Rate Among Christians

Do Faithful Christians Take the Bible Literally?

Is the 'I Only Need Jesus!' Declaration Christian?

Who Really Started the Family 'Culture War'?

Are Your Kids Likely to Lose Their Faith?

Are Millennials More Self-Sacrificing and Community-Minded Than Previous Generations?

This Sunday is the day Americans set aside to honor their mothers. Here are 9 things you should know about moms and Mother's Day.

1. In 1914, President Woodrow Wilson issued a presidential proclamation that officially established the first national Mother's Day holiday to celebrate America's mothers. Many individual states celebrated Mother's Day before then, but it was not until Wilson lobbied Congress in 1914 that Mother's Day was officially set on the second Sunday of every May.

2. President Wilson established Mother's Day after years of lobbying by the mother of the holiday, Anna Marie Jarvis and the World's Sunday School Association. Anna Jarvis' mother, Ann Jarvis, had attempted to establish a version of Mother's Day during the Civil War as a time for remembrance. By the 1920s, though, Anna Jarvis became disgusted by the commercialization of the holiday. She incorporated herself as the Mother's Day International Association, trademarked the phrases "second Sunday in May" and "Mother's Day", and was once arrested for disturbing the peace at a Mother's Day carnation sale. According to her New York Times obituary, Jarvis became embittered because too many people sent their mothers a printed greeting card. As she said, "A printed card means nothing except that you are too lazy to write to the woman who has done more for you than anyone in the world. And candy! You take a box to Mother—and then eat most of it yourself. A pretty sentiment."

3. Jarvis also established the tradition of giving carnations on Mother's Day. At a memorial service for her mother, Jarvis gave away carnations, her mother's favorite flower, to all that attended. Red and pink carnations were to be worn for living mothers, and white for those who had passed away.

4. Mother's Day was the most important Sunday on the organized crime calendar. According to Joe Pistone, an FBI undercover agent, the mafia often closed for business when Mother's Day arrived each May.

5. Mother's Day is the third-largest card-sending holiday in the United States, with 141 million cards exchanged annually. It is also the largest card-sending holiday for the Latino community.

6. Based on the latest Census figures (2010), 53 percent of 15- to 44-year-old women are mothers. 20 percent had 2 children, 17 percent had one, 10 percent had three, and 5 percent had four or more.

7. In the U.S., there are 5 million stay-at-home moms. In 2012, 24 percent of married-couple family groups with children under 15 had a stay-at-home mother, up from 21 percent in 2000. In 2007, before the recession, stay-at-home mothers were found in 24 percent of married-couple family groups with children under 15, not statistically different from the percentage in 2012. 61 percent of women age 16 to 50 who had a birth in the past 12 months were in the labor force.

8. There are 10.3 million single mothers living with children younger than 18 in 2012, up from 3.4 million in 1970.

9. Five mothers are mentioned by name in the genealogy of Jesus (Matthew 1:1-17): Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, Bathsheba, and Mary.

Recent posts in this series:

9 Things You Should Know About Pornography and the Brain

9 Things You Should Know About Planned Parenthood

9 Things You Should Know About the Boston Marathon Bombing

9 Things You Should Know About Female Body Image Issues

9 Things You Should Know About the Gosnell Infanticide and Murder Trial

9 Things You Should Know About Edith Schaeffer

9 Things You Should Know About Duck Dynasty

In recent years there has been a marked movement of evangelical converts to Roman Catholicism and Eastern Orthodoxy. This trend has included not just younger, untrained evangelicals, but established pastors and professors and even one president of the Evangelical Theological Society. While the causes for this phenomenon are doubtless complex and different in each individual case, one frequently cited reason is the sense of historical rootedness these traditions offer. Thus at the website Why I'm Catholic, one former Baptist chronicles his conversion to Roman Catholicism in terms of his parallel discovery of church history; at Called to Communion, one former Presbyterian equates his acceptance of Roman Catholicism with an acceptance of "historic Christianity"; and at Journey to Orthodoxy, one former Anglican describes how blessed he feels to be worshiping in direct succession with the apostles through the liturgy of the Eastern Orthodox church.

Within Protestantism also there's a migration toward more historically rooted traditions (especially Anglicanism, the so-called via media) and more liturgical, historically conscious expressions of worship and spirituality. For devotional reading, most of my younger Protestant friends love Thomas à Kempis's The Imitation of Christ but wouldn't be caught dead with a John Eldredge book. Hymn writing is on the rise, and many evangelicals are suddenly interested in the liturgical calendar.

What's causing this shift? While leaving room for the complex theological issues inevitably at play, I think one significant factor is the sense of rootlessness and restlessness many younger postmoderns feel today. At the heart of my generation is a profound emptiness—a sense of isolation and disconnectedness and consequent malaise. We're aching for the ancient and the august, for transcendence and tradition, for that which has stability and solidity and substance. And it's driving many of us out of evangelicalism.

At 29 years old, I can relate to this feeling of being lost in the world without a context by which to interpret it. But I don't think we need to abandon evangelicalism to find a sense of historical placement. In fact, I believe this thirst for rootedness can be fully satisfied within a Protestant and evangelical framework. You can be catholic without becoming Catholic, and orthodox without becoming Orthodox. As we promote "gospel-centered ministry for the next generation," we must make clear there's nothing inconsistent with being both evangelical and ancient, "gospel centered" and "historically rooted." The reason is simple: gospel-centeredness is itself historically rooted. In fact, it's as ancient as the gospel itself.

Evangelicals and Pre-Reformation Church History

How many Christians between the apostle John and Martin Luther do you think today's average American evangelical can name? It seems we contemporary evangelicals have a tendency to neglect this span of church history, acting as if the important stuff basically skipped from the 1st to the 16th century. Yes, we acknowledge the importance of Augustine (especially his Confessions). And there were some key battles about Christology and Trinitarianism early on, and some courageous martyrs somewhere back there, too. Sometimes we'll even enjoy a John Chrysostom sermon or Bernard of Clairvaux poem. But all too often we give the impression that our real tradition is roughly 500 years old—with a few scattered precursors, perhaps—rather than one solid, 2,000-year-old tradition. And there are huge stretches of time to which we have no conscious connection. What would it have been like to be a Christian in the 9th century, for example? Did gospel-centeredness (the reality, not the word) exist then? How does the ministry approach we champion today relate to the entire history of the church?

If we contemporary Protestants have sometimes failed to explore these questions, it isn't an error we learned from the first Protestants. Nor is it intrinsic to Protestantism. In fact, the Reformers took pains to emphasize they were seeking to reform the church, not recreate it, and that the true gospel had never entirely vanished from the earth. Even the most strident critics of Roman Catholic theology (like Luther, or later Turretin) insisted that during seasons of great corruption and decadence God had always preserved a regenerate people (though Luther, in typical tongue-in-cheek fashion, speculated that at times it had perhaps dwindled down to a few maidservants). And when Roman Catholic theologians appealed to Augustine and the church fathers to vindicate the tenets of the Counter-Reformation, John Calvin didn't respond by saying, "Who cares about Augustine and the fathers? They're nothing." Instead he became a diligent student of the church fathers, seeking to establish points of continuity between Reformation theology and patristic theology. Sola scriptura meant Scripture alone is the supreme authority—not that Scripture alone is valuable.

Owning the Family Photo Album

I'm a Protestant, and I believe Reformation theology protects the gospel. But I also believe it's possible to be robustly Protestant and vitally connected to, say, medieval Christianity. The church didn't completely sink during the eras of castles and cathedrals, monks and monasteries, bows and arrows, and knights in shining armor—only to suddenly re-emerge with Luther's 95 theses. No, there's a solid and steady chunk of Christianity subsisting right alongside Caedmon and Charlemagne and Chaucer. And since through many advances and retreats, corruptions and renewals, Jesus has always been building his church (Matt. 16:18; cf. Isa. 42:4), we can stand to learn from medieval theology. It can serve as a resource for ministry in our post-Christian, wandering culture.

To be sure, it's possible—and dangerous—to so emphasize "mere Christianity" that we lose our Protestant distinctives. But it's also possible to so bask in our particular denominational enclave that we lose touch with the entire Christian tradition. We contemporary Protestants need a balanced historical identity. We need to engage with both the last 500 years and also the previous 1,500, recognizing areas of discontinuity as well as encouraging points of overlap. As an African Christian in the patristic era remarked, "I am a Christian, and nothing which concerns Christianity do I consider foreign to myself."

I think this statement captures exactly what our attitude should be in engaging pre-Reformation church history: this is part of my heritage, my identity. The image I think of is a family photo album. In any such album there may be pictures that embarrass us, and we may be more proud to be related to one great uncle than to another. But warts, blemishes, and all, my family is still my family—and it would be foolish to cut myself off. After all, I wouldn't even be here without them.

Where to Begin?

If we want to increase our awareness of our pre-Reformation roots, where should we begin? The first six chapters of Mark Noll's Turning Points: Decisive Moments in the History of Christianity serve a great starting point in terms of secondary literature, but let me here mention three primary texts. These are all classic works of theology I believe deserve a wider readership among contemporary Protestants.

1. Boethius's The Consolation of Philosophy

Despite being one of the most influential books throughout church history, this work has been almost forgotten in recent centuries. Of it C. S. Lewis remarked: "Until about two hundred years ago it would, I think, have been hard to find an educated man in any European country who did not love it. . . . To acquire a taste for it is almost to become naturalised in the Middle Ages." Written in alternating poetry and prose while Boethius was awaiting execution in AD 524, The Consolation explores themes of suffering and divine providence. Boethius's treatment of the classic difficulty of divine foreknowledge and human free will in Book 5 alone makes the volume worth reading.

2. Gregory the Great's The Book of Pastoral Rule

Calvin called Gregory (c. 540-604) the last good pope. This book is a classic of pastoral theology; every minister should consider reading it. Gregory's thesis is that pastoral ministry requires a delicate balance of inner and outer qualities—theory and practice, contemplation and activity, administration and asceticism, otherworldly holiness and earthly wisdom. This is a helpful reminder since pastors tend to gravitate toward one of these realms more than the other. A good edition can be found in St. Vladimir's Seminary's Popular Patristics series, which in general is a great resource for becoming acquainted with early Christian thought.

3. Anselm's Proslogion

Although famous for its "ontological argument" for God's existence, this volume's rich theology and impassioned prayers make it a nourishing and edifying read as well. My doctoral research concerns St. Anselm's doctrine of heaven in chapters 24-25, and my delight and amazement with this book is the chief cause of this article. If anyone doubts the value of reading pre-Reformation theology, all I can say is, find a good translation of the first chapter of Proslogion, and tolle lege!

In the spring of 2008 I first prayed for a baby, and in the spring of 2011 God answered that prayer with the birth of our beautiful daughter. My joy was full but so were the fears I wrestled. In some ways I felt like a baby Christian again, caught in a whirlwind of emotions, learning and applying what I have known and trusted into a completely new life—I know I'm definitely not the first to feel that way!

Friends of ours had given us a card when their first son was born; it was full of prayer requests for his little life, a prayer for every day of the month. My prayers were not quite so coherent, especially at first, but the urgency of the moment drove me to my knees. "Help her, help me" baby prayers at 3 a.m.; prayers as I heard the baby monitor light up in the morning; prayers when I thought of her safety, her soul, her future; prayers with my husband; prayers while Eliza listened in.

When people found out that I was pregnant, I often heard how my creativity would discover a whole new vista of inspiration as I became a mother. So when Eliza came I was anticipating a fresh flow of profound poetic thought, but instead I was swept up in the constant flow of changes and feedings and "Old MacDonald had a farm." I was expecting full sentences, but I was blubbering looking at my beautiful girl. I actually wondered if I'd ever be able to write again. I just about tucked some thoughts away to ponder later when my brain would start to fit itself back together again (still nowhere near a completed process).

As I continued to learn the wonderful balancing act and privilege of mothering, homemaking, writing, traveling, and singing, Keith and I began to write a song for Eliza. We chose this theme of praying for her, and the end result was "A Mother's Prayer."

My parents have faithfully prayed for me my whole life, and I remember when I was younger my mum met with other mums to pray for all their children—a "Moms in Touch" group in Belfast. Just the knowledge of that support helped me, and I want Eliza to know we are praying for her and trying to guide her to the call and purpose of her whole life and an understanding of the Lord's grace and faithfulness. We're now in the toddler stage, and some of the prayer needs are shifting. We wanted the song to reflect the different seasons—ones we had discovered and those still to come. We also wrote it to remind us of our promise to pray for her through all the years we're given. We hope this song for her—and even more our praying for her—might catch her ear and help guide her heart as she grows up.

We are less prepared for college graduation than for any other transition. We have stacks of books orienting high schoolers to college. As people get older, we offer them full curricula on how to get a job, how to date and get married, what to expect when you're expecting, how to navigate mid-life crises, how to let your kids spread their wings and fly while coping with your empty nest (my mom wrote one of those). But when it comes to graduation, we give them some career counseling, maybe point them to an internship or two, and give them a big "hurrah!" when they finish.

That's it.

All of a sudden, they're supposed to be adults. Yet all they've ever been is students. What do you do when there's no class schedule? What do you do when you have to cook for yourself, clean for yourself? What do you do when, suddenly, you go from being the golden child to just another kid trying to get a job at Starbucks?

Here are a few things that you (or that graduate you know and love) should do upon finishing school.

1. Something else. Really. Just do something else. Anything else. But make it new. Make it fun, too. If you're going to be drowning in transitions, you may as well enjoy the process and take some risks. Just out of a no-dancing college, I joined a few high school friends in regular outings of swing dancing. It was a welcome bit of undiluted fun in the midst of an angst-ridden time.

2. Read a book for fun, not because you have to. Even though you've taken hard classes and thought smart thoughts, it's no guarantee that you will continue to think. So make sure to read. But make sure it's something (at least to begin with) that you want to read. If you don't know where to start, try Annie Dillard's Pilgrim at Tinker Creek or David James Duncan's The Brothers K. Or extend the trying-something-new experiment to reading-something-new by exploring works in a subject you know nothing about. 

3. Find a less than perfect church. That's the only kind of church there is, of course. Graduates face change on every front, and a bit of continuity can go a long way. Find a church where you can serve and grow in community in the midst of the swirling waters of post-college life. What should you look for? Try a church that builds up the people already there and reaches out to people who aren't. Also, find a church that loves the Bible, makes you think and feel, and welcomes a lot of different kinds of people in the same place. Do not choose a church because it's comfortable and full of people just like you.

 4. Find a less than perfect job. They all are. I spent many years looking for a perfect job—and I can assure you, it's not out there. So just take a job. You'll need to pay your bills while you figure out your life, so find something that won't drive you crazy and will help train you in some way (because your 20s are the time to train). I delivered flowers, worked as a secretary, lived in the Philippines as a go-between, paid sales tax, did some writing and editing, went to grad school, worked as a children's club assistant, and pastored a church—and I still ended up happy in a career by the end of my 20s. It's okay, and all but inevitable, to bounce around jobs in your 20s. Don't be flakey, but also don't expect to walk away from college into your dream job.

5. Find a bizarre, never-do-this-in-your-40s kind of job. Move to Mongolia to teach English. Work on a fishing boat in Alaska. Become a window-washer in Manhattan. This is a great time to take a job that you couldn't or wouldn't take later when you're grown averse to risks, picked up a mortgage, and support a family.

6. Focus on a few friends. Your peer group will shrink considerably when you graduate (as, incidentally, will the dating pool). Look for friends you can grow close with and pursue that closeness. These friends, like that church and job, will also be less than perfect. But cultivate friendship with them by spending regular times together. You will never regret investing in friendships, and these will bring stability and needed perspective in these topsy-turvy years.

7. Learn how to cook five meals. It'll help you save money, teach you to slow down, and train you in hospitality. Try the taco soup I got out of the cookbook my mom gave me: equal parts canned corn, canned tomatoes, chicken broth. Heat it up, pour it over tortilla chips, sprinkle with grated cheese. Hearty and healthy.

8. Tithe 10 percent of your paycheck. It doesn't matter how little your paycheck is. Give from a glad heart to God. Don't begin your post-college years with a plan to tithe when you get on your financial feet. Begin regular practices of giving small amounts in a time of want so that you will be ready to give larger amounts in a time of plenty. God owns the cattle on a thousand hills; he'll take care of you.

9. Save 10 percent of your paycheck. I know you don't know where you're going in life, but you can still plan ahead. Put away some money out of each paycheck for a rainy day—or a grad school tuition bill, or a wedding ring, or your kids' college. Set up this withdrawal automatically with your bank. That way you only have to make this smart decision once.

10. Explore and examine. Explore and examine three things: your city, your neighborhood, and your heart. Get to know where you live, the historical landmarks and hiking trails and regional peculiarities. Get to know your neighbors, too, and the local shops and restaurants. Learn about the plants and animals outside your home.

11. Slow down. Keep the Sabbath. It will be easy to be so frantic to figure out your life that you never stop to explore and examine your own heart. Make yourself slow down. Make yourself reflect on this admittedly tumultuous time of transition. Spend regular time in silence. Spend an entire day without driving or spending a penny. Fight the demon of hurry. Keep the Sabbath. Student after student has told me of the transformative effective of their reserving Sunday to worship, rest, and play.

12. Pray and meditate on Scripture. In doing these two things, we invite God into our lives to do what he will with them and we seek to fit our lives—our thoughts and words and actions—to Scripture. Ask God what he wants you to do with your life, whom he wants you to marry, all of that. But don't just do that. Ask him to teach you about who he is, to make you someone who loves him and loves others, to enlarge your heart and open your mind to the things of the Spirit. And expect that he will do just that as you read the words of the Bible, commit them to memory, and return to them again and again.

[Editor's Note: The article originally misidentified the author as Matthew Lee Anderson. We apologize for the error.]