Two years later, Australian film director Baz Luhrmann set Schmich's column to music, hired voice actor Lee Perry to record it, and released a music single, "Everybody's Free (To Wear Sunscreen)," that went on to top the music charts around the world. (If you listen to popular radio, you're likely to hear the song again sometime during this graduation season.)

Wear Sunscreen

Comprising a series of pithy and humorous admonitions to young people, the song begins:

Ladies and Gentlemen of the class of '97:

Wear sunscreen . . .

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth, oh nevermind, you will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they've faded.

But trust me, in 20 years you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now, how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked; you are not as fat as you imagine.

Don't worry about the future, or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubblegum.

The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4 p.m. on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing everyday that scares you.

Sing.

Don't be reckless with other people's hearts, don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Floss.

Schmich's column contains the usual commencement clichés (don't worry about the future), obvious good advice (respect your elders), and useful banalities (floss). But it also includes advice that could be a license for immorality (enjoy your body; use it every way you can).

Biblical Alternative

The most popular commencement address never given falls short of the biblical ideal at several points. But what would a biblical commencement address sound like? And who would be the best person to deliver such a speech?

Several candidates from the New Testament may seem to be obvious choices (the apostles Peter or Paul), though wouldn't they be more likely to deliver a sermon than a graduation address? Similarly, the Old Testament offers a range of excellent speakers—namely all the prophets. But if you were waiting to get your diploma and head off to the post-graduation party, wouldn't you be disheartened to see Isaiah take the stage? When you consider all the options there is only one clear favorite, a man who would have been the best commencement speaker in history: King Solomon.

Solomon had all the attributes we look for in a commencement speaker. He was fabulously wealthy, accomplished (his biography as well as three of his written works are included in the best-selling book of all time), worldly-wise ("I have seen everything that is done under the sun. . ."), and able to provide suitably aphoristic advice for young people (he even wrote a wildly popular advice book).

Had Solomon given a commencement address similar to Schmich's, I suspect it would have sounded something like this . . .

The Commencement Address King Solomon (Probably) Would Have Given

People often ask, "What's the key to success?" My father—who was quite a success himself—gave me some sound advice on the subject: "Be strong, and show yourself a man, and keep the charge of the Lord your God, walking in his ways and keeping his statutes, his commandments, his rules, and his testimonies, as it is written in the Law of Moses."

One of the most important things I know is this: Fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge.

I knew a kid once who was poor but wise. He went from being in prison to become a king. Led a great number of people. But now no one remembers him—at least not fondly. He was better off being poor. What happened to him? Well, after he got in power he no longer knew how to take advice. The lesson: Listen to advice and accept instruction, so that you may gain wisdom in the future.

Young men, admire the beauty of your wife; young women, admire the beauty of your husband. (I recommend comparing a woman's hair to a flock of goats and a man's hair to a raven.)

Don't love sleep.

I had a dream once that God would give me whatever I asked. If you ever have a similar dream, here's what I recommend: Don't ask God to give you wealth or a long life. Ask for an understanding mind and the ability to discern good from evil.

Keep your tongue and you'll keep out of trouble.

What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done. Sure, you may have iPhones and Starbucks now. But when it comes down to it, there is nothing really all that new.

Buy truth, and do not sell it. Buy wisdom, instruction, and understanding too.

Aim to get rich slowly. Wealth gained hastily will dwindle; wealth gained little by little increases.

Go out into the grass and find some ants. Watch what they do. Notice how even this insect works hard preparing for the future? You should do the same.

Don't ever say, "Why were the former days better than these?" Wise people never ask that question.

Even fools who keep their mouths shut seem wise. So if you want people to think you're intelligent, close your lips.

Don't marry someone who doesn't share your faith. Trust me, it only leads to heartache and pain.

Remember when you were a kid and your dog died? That's going to happen to you too. Did your dog go to heaven? I don't know.

Don't take everything people say to heart. You know that many times you yourself have cursed others.

When you vow a vow to God, pay it as soon as you can. God takes no pleasure in fools, so pay what you vow.

Don't spend too much time drinking alcohol. It may go down smooth, but in the end, it'll bite you like a snake.

Wine is a mocker, liquor a brawler.

The more you know, the more the world breaks your heart.

Never trust a woman who would accept half a baby.

Wear sunscreen.

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Last month around 5,000 of us from 49 states and 41 countries gathered in Orlando to worship our risen and reigning King. At our Missions Pre-Conference (7 plenaries, 15 workshops) we pondered our glorious task of heralding the good news around the globe. At our National Conference (9 plenaries, 41 workshops, 3 auxiliary events) we beheld the Lord of glory in the Gospel of Luke. At our Faith at Work Post-Conference (3 plenaries, 3 panels) we explored the complex intersection between vocation and the gospel.

By God's grace, all of our TGC13 conference media—78 talks—are now available, with translations of all plenary sessions and selected workshops in Mandarin, Farsi, French, Portuguese, and Spanish. All of this content is free to be used and shared around the world. As our founding documents state, TGC's desire is "to serve the church we love . . . in an effort to renew the contemporary church in the ancient gospel of Christ." To that end, we hope you will be instructed, edified, and spurred on by this content from our fourth biennial National Conference. May Jesus alone be exalted.

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How many of your friends know the real you? How many would know if you were struggling, really struggling? And to be honest, how many of them would you tell?

For many years, I went through seasons of depression all on my own. I wandered in the darkness, feeling isolated, helpless, and in complete despair. I often stood among the crowd at my church each Sunday, watching everyone fellowship, and feeling utterly alone. Hiding my thoughts and feelings inside, I felt great shame and guilt about the battle going on in my mind. Because if people really knew the horrible, dark, and frightening thoughts I had, they would surely reject me.

But then God brought a few friends in my life with whom I could be real, honest, and transparent. I told them my story, revealing the depths of pain I had endured. God used those friends to encourage and support me. They pointed me to the hope of the gospel. Over time, our relationship has become mutual. We share our burdens with one another, point each other to Christ, and walk alongside each other during the difficult trials of life.

Silent Pain

The sad truth is, not everyone has such friends in their church body. There are many hearts crying out in silent pain within the church. As we sit in our pews each Sunday, surrounded by painted-on smiles and neatly pressed clothes, inside many are weeping. The issues may vary—grief, worry, shame, depression, fear, even severe mental illness—but each one needs the love and encouragement of others in the body of Christ. God uses us in the body to build up, spur on, encourage, and bless one another (Romans 12, Hebrews 3:13, 10:24-25, 13:1). In fact, the church body ought to be a place where people find help and healing, not where we simply voice our social media status face to face, providing updates on where we had lunch that week and the funny thing our child did the other day.

It is important that we recognize the fact that there are hurting people sitting next to us in our pews. We need to look beneath the masks and casual statements to see the hearts of each other. Because we are related to one another through the blood of Christ, each of us has the Spirit living within us. When we go beneath the surface and speak life-affirming words to the heart of another, it stirs the Spirit within them. It triggers hope within their soul. The love and encouragement from one believer to another is not the same as the world gives, for it is empowered by the Spirit himself.

May our churches be a place where the definition of friendship means something more than what it does online. May God open our eyes and hearts to see those among us who are hurting. And perhaps you already know of someone who needs help. Maybe you've wanted to reach out and help but don't know how. While by no means complete, this list provides a few ways you can love and encourage them.

1. Reach out: It may take time, but be intentional in letting that person know you care. Trust is something that has to be earned, but over time, they will open up and begin to share their burdens. Be sincere, genuine, and real.

2. Listen: Listen with ears of grace. Don't be like Job's friends who assumed they knew why Job was suffering. Enter their pain with them and listen. Don't try to come up with solutions to their problems. You are not responsible to take away their pain or make their life better. You are there to encourage and point them to the One who does take away all pain and sorrow.

3. Pray: Don't say, "I'm praying for you," and then not do it. Ask how you can pray for them and then commit to doing it. Consider writing a gospel-centered prayer and send it to them. I've received written prayers from friends, and it gave me great encouragement. Pray and ask God to give you wisdom and grace to encourage them.

4. Speak the gospel: You won't be able to solve their crisis or change their circumstances, but you can speak the hope of the gospel to their heart. We find true healing in the truths of the gospel. Remind them of who they are in Christ. Remind them of their standing before God, their inheritance, and what Christ has accomplished for them. Point them to the love their heavenly Father has for them, the very same love he has for the Son. And point them to the power of the Holy Spirit to work in and through them to live for Christ, despite their weakness. These gospel truths stand secure, no matter how strong the storm.

5. Check in: For some, the journey through pain is long and tedious. Stick it out with them. Check in often, even if they don't respond. Send a card, an email, a text. Leave encouraging messages to let them know you care and are praying for them. God will use your efforts. You may not see immediate fruit, but God is at work and will use your attempts to reach out to them, for their good and his glory.

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Robert Louis Wilken is William R. Kenan professor emeritus of the history of Christianity at the University of Virginia. His most recent book is The First Thousand Years: A Global History of Christianity.

A good case can be made for the Muslim invasion of the Middle East in mid-seventh century, let us say AD 650. No event during the first millennium was more unexpected, more calamitous, and more consequential for Christianity than the rise of Islam. Few irruptions in history have transformed societies so completely and irrevocably as did the conquest and expansion of the Arabs in the seventh century. And none came with greater swiftness. Within a decade three major cities in the Byzantine Christian Empire—Damascus in 635, Jerusalem in 638, and Alexandria in 641—fell to the invaders. Most of the territories that were Christian in the year 700 are now Muslim. Nothing similar has happened to Islam. Christianity seems like a rain shower that soaks the earth and then moves on, whereas Islam appears more like a great lake that constantly overflows its banks to inundate new territory.

George Marsden is professor emeritus in history at the University of Notre Dame and the author of Jonathan Edwards: A Life.

I think it has to be the day that Constantine was converted to Christianity. That had huge effects both for good and for ill ever after.

Philip Jenkins is the distinguished professor of history and co-director for the program on historical studies of religion for the Institute for Studies of Religion at Baylor University. He is the author of of The Lost History of Christianity: The Thousand-Year Golden Age of the Church in the Middle East, Africa, and Asia—and How It Died.

I would choose May 29, 1453, known throughout the Eastern churches as "the day the world ended." Although the Byzantine Empire by that point was a pale shadow of its former self, it was still a ghostly shadow of the Roman Empire, and the seat of the Orthodox Church that once dwarfed the Catholics in power and prestige. On that day, though, the Roman capital of Constantinople fell to the Ottoman Turks, beginning a period of long centuries when most Eastern Christians would survive under the grudging tolerance of Islamic rule. The event may be symbolic, but it still marks a decisive turning point in Christian history.

Thomas S. Kidd is professor of history at Baylor University. He is writing a biography of George Whitefield and previously published The Great Awakening: The Roots of Evangelical Christianity in Colonial America.

On October 19, 1740, the First Great Awakening's most compelling preacher, George Whitefield, spoke at the church of the Great Awakening's most compelling theologian, Jonathan Edwards. This moment signaled the beginning of evangelicalism, the most dynamic movement in modern Christian history. Although Edwards and Whitefield did not always see eye-to-eye, they represented two aspects of evangelicalism at its best.

Edwards was the brilliant pastor of Northampton, Massachusetts, whose writings on doctrine and revival are some of the most rigorous the church has ever seen. Whitefield took the gospel to the ends of the earth (which, for this English itinerant, meant America), generating unprecedented excitement through impassioned oratory and skillful use of media. While Edwards represented the evangelical mind, and Whitefield embodied evangelical action, both still appreciated the other's strength. Edwards itinerated, too, and oversaw two major revivals at his church, while Whitefield strongly promoted Calvinist doctrine and risked permanent schism with his Methodist ally John Wesley because of it.

Whitefield and Edwards seemed to sense the significance of the moment: the normally stoic Edwards wept through much of Whitefield's sermon. Edwards thought the Whitefield's revivals might herald "the dawning of a day of God's might, power, and glorious grace."

What question should we ask next? Send your suggestions to me at joe.carter@thegospelcoalition.org.

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James, the brother of Jesus, says yes—and he gives us a simple litmus test:

Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to visit orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unstained from the world (Jas. 1:27).

James provides a short, two-item checklist: (1) love—helping those in need, and (2) holiness—separating from worldly influence. These two traits summarize the practical outworking of a life changed by the gospel.

Much of the current division within the church comes from overemphasizing one trait over the other. Some churches tend to emphasize love, whereas others tend to prioritize holiness. But neither is negotiable. Both are essential for living the Christian life.

First Essential: Love

One way Christians can be tempted to forsake the requirement of love is to pursue our rights. Especially in America, where individualism is one of our sacred cows, we can get caught up in fighting for our rights, particularly as they pertain to religious freedom. There are certainly times and places to use proper legal means to secure those rights (as Paul did in Acts 22:22-30), but we should be known for something better than demanding equal treatment.

We can become so consumed with our liberties that we end up treating those in the world as our enemies, to the detriment of the gospel. God has called us to proclaim a message of reconciliation (2 Cor. 5:18-20), something that is hard to do if we constantly approach unbelievers armed for a fight.

The Christian is called to consider the needs and preferences of others (Gal. 5:14). Yes, we must sometimes draw attention to a person's—or even a nation's—sins, but are we going to do so with our fists in their faces or with tears on our cheeks? During New Testament times, the government was far more corrupt and hostile to Christianity than ours is today, yet we don't see Scripture commanding us to fight for our rights. Instead, we are instructed to expect unfair treatment—even blatant persecution—and to return hostility with love (John 15:18-20; Rom. 12:18-21).

Second Essential: Holiness

The sacred cow of individualism has affected not only our love but also our holiness. Too often, we have turned our personal happiness into the greatest good. As long as it makes me happy (whatever "it" may be), and as long as no one else gets hurt, I can and should pursue it. If I don't pursue my own happiness, I am being untrue to myself. Or so the argument goes.

But the second fruit of genuine Christianity, James says, is "to keep oneself unstained from the world." The world may tell us to follow our hearts, but we are called to be true ultimately to God and his Word—not to our autonomy. And being true to God often comes in the form of denying ourselves what we think we want, because it is actually bad for us (Rom. 13:4; 1 Pet. 2:11).

At the same time, we don't want to be so far removed from the world that we don't understand it. We can't affect the culture if we aren't engaging with it. In many ways, though, we have sacrificed our holiness on the altar of relevance. With the apparent purpose of being more engaged with our culture, the church has tried so hard to fit in that the distinction between churched and unchurched peoples has often been obliterated. We must take James' warning to heart: aligning ourselves with worldly values is aligning ourselves against God (Jas. 4:4).

Christianity Is Countercultural

Christ-like love is a beautiful thing. To love unconditionally, regardless of another person's maturity or theological depth or moral purity, is to love like God loves. It reveals a heart transformed by the gospel. Likewise, true holiness is a beautiful thing. Avoiding conformity to this world is a sign of a heart satisfied with promises and pleasures found in the gospel that exceed anything the world can offer.

Pure and undefiled Christianity is counter-cultural. It stands out as radically different from anything we would naturally think or do. Wherever we stand politically or denominationally, the true path of Christianity challenges us to confront the animosity and worldliness found in our own hearts. True Christianity may look to the world like foolishness, but it reveals God's saving power.

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It was from my Arminian professor that I learned to love Henry, and that should be no surprise. Henry longed for vibrant faith, practice, and spirituality shared by all classic evangelicals—be they Arminian, Calvinist, Lutheran, or Anabaptist. He hoped for a transdenominational evangelical university that would bring together scholars from the various strands of confessional Protestantism.

This is the sort of program Henry modeled in the pages of Christianity Today. It's what caused Free Will Baptists like Billy Melvin, Wesleyans like Dennis Kinlaw, Lutherans like Robert Preus, Anabaptists like Edmond Hiebert, and Arminian-leaning Dispensationalists like Norman Geisler to rally behind Henry in his defense Scripture's truth claims and to sign on to the Chicago Statement on Biblical Inerrancy.

My mentor loved Henry because, though Henry was a Calvinist and he an Arminian, they could put their differences aside in championing evangelical orthodoxy against a growing secularism, Protestant liberalism, and then-fashionable neo-orthodoxy. They could agree the Christian world-and-life-view had enormous implications—not just for a personal relationship with God, but also for culture and the created order as a whole.

Rather Ironic

My own love for Henry deepened when I was a student at Yale Divinity School in the early 1990s. Now that I look back on this time, it seems rather ironic—given current evangelical stereotypes—that a Free Will Baptist boy from the Deep South would be in the hotbed of Yale postliberalism, studying with George Lindbeck by day (and loving every minute of it) and leading the Divinity School Evangelical Fellowship in discussions of God, Revelation, and Authority by night.

Yet this "Reformed Arminian" had grown to love Henry's brand of presuppositionalism and his compelling defense of the classic Protestant doctrine of biblical inspiration. I was drawn to his Reformed emphases on human depravity, penal substitionary atonement, and the imputation of Christ's righteousness in justification. I identified with his down-to-earth evangelical spirituality coupled with a broadly Reformed-Kuyperian approach to culture and the implications of the Christian world-and-life-view.

Simply put, Henry seemed to this young Arminian theological student to be a more biblically faithful model of epistemology, theology, and cultural engagement than the postliberalism and liberation theology I was encountering at Yale. Indeed, I always thought Lindbeck didn't quite understand Henry. It seemed, in casting evangelical theology as merely "cognitive propositional," Lindbeck missed the distinctiveness of Henry's Reformed, faith-seeking-understanding epistemology. He seemed to be pigeonholing Henry and the mainstream evangelical tradition in a way that didn't do them justice.

Now, 20 years later, postmodernity doesn't seem so cool (at least to me) as it once did. It seems as though the evangelical academy is one of the few places where postliberalism is still in style (though its evangelical fans like to call it "postconservatism"). That's why I recently enjoyed reading Greg Thornbury's excellent new book, Recovering Classic Evangelicalism: Applying the Wisdom and Vision of Carl F. H. Henry (Crossway, 2013). This work has the prospect of resurrecting Henry's reputation among younger evangelicals. I hope as a result that our younger colleagues will actually read Henry, rather than just skimming his work and caricaturing him like so many evangelicals of my generation have done.

Undergirding Truth

I think Henry would have liked what Thornbury is doing and would have felt well represented by his book. Thornbury highlights the fact that Henry represents a Reformational epistemology as well as a traditional understanding of the nature of truth as that which conforms to reality. This view of truth undergirds the historic Christian view that Holy Scripture is without error in all it affirms.

Thornbury rightly insists that Henry's view of scriptural truthfulness isn't the novel invention of 19th-century Cartesian foundationalists, Enlightenment modernists who had too strong a dose of rationalism and Scottish Common Sense philosophy. Instead, it's common to historic Christianity from the Fathers up through the Reformers.

This is why evangelical Thomists like R. C. Sproul and Norman Geisler could join hands with those leaning more Augustinian in their epistemology, such as Henry, Francis Schaeffer, Ronald Nash, or Cornelius Van Til. They all shared the same traditional Christian approach to the truthfulness of Scripture as rational, propositional revelation from God.

Like these other thinkers, Henry never believed that the propositional character of special revelation—as important and non-negotiable as it is—exhausts the multiform character of divine revelation, as he and they are often caricatured as believing. Thornbury wants to resurrect this noble, classic evangelical understanding of divine truth and revelation for a younger audience. It will be healthy for younger evangelicals to let the clean sea breeze of classic evangelicalism blow through their minds. I believe this will help sweep away the cobwebs of well-worn postconservative clichés and stereotypes.

I do believe Henry would have responded favorably to the nuancing of some of his constructions in the light of postmodernity. (I also suspect Henry would find fruitful—and faithful—the ways scholars like Michael Horton and Malcolm Yarnell, whom Thornbury needlessly chides, have nuanced the Reformational epistemologies they received from their evangelical forebears.) Moreover, I think Henry would respond favorably to the proposals of Calvinist Don Carson (The Gagging of God) and Arminian Grant Osborne (The Hermeneutical Spiral), both of whom attempt to assert a classic evangelical view of revelation, truth, and hermeneutics in dialogue with postmodern thought.

Was Henry a man of his time who understood and communicated to his modernist interlocutors? Yes. But was he a captive to modernism? No. My hunch is that when our evangelical descendants look back on us in 100 years, the fact Henry was using a little too much rationalistic language and categories (a 300-year-old fad) isn't going to look nearly as faddish as postmodernism, postliberalism, postconservatism, postfoundationalism, postpropositionalism, and all the other "post"-fads presently driving much of evangelical theological method.

Culture and Kingdom

But in addition to epistemic and theological considerations, Thornbury desires to resurrect Henry's approach to culture and the kingdom so eloquently stated in The Uneasy Conscience. This is much needed in today's evangelical environment, with people on the one hand calling for evangelicals to be silent for a time in the public square while those on the other hand redefining the mission of the church as much in terms of saving the whales as saving souls.

Henry's view of the in-breaking kingdom of God as "already but not yet" made him critical of social-gospel liberals, whose over-realized eschatology made them place too much salvific significance on social justice and too little on evangelism. But he also believed his fundamentalist brothers and sisters didn't sufficiently emphasize the "already" nature of the kingdom and so ignored the social and cultural implications of the gospel.

Henry's life and ministry called 20th-century evangelicals back to a full-orbed Christian world-and-life-view that emphasized the Great Commission: making disciples and teaching them to live out Christ's teachings. This is just the sort of balance we need in the current evangelical debates about the Christian's role in society and public life.

Describing Henry as the man who "invented evangelicalism," Timothy George says Henry wanted to foster a movement that was "transcontinental, interdenominational, theologically affirmative, socially aggressive, and irenic." These are still worthy goals for a compelling, vibrant, theologically orthodox evangelical movement, and I believe a fresh reading and appreciation of Henry is just what we need to help us work toward these goals he valued so highly and embodied in his life and work.

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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. 

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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.

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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).

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