Mark A.

McNeil

All in the Name

How the Bible Led Me to Faith
in the Trinity and the Catholic Church
© 2018 Mark A. McNeil

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Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
Introduction
A Conversation and a Conversion
Why Write Now?
The Plan
Does It Really Matter?
1. The Baptismal Formula
Origins of "Jesus' Name Baptism"
Formula?
The Name
Names and Titles
"In the Name"
The Theological Meaning of Baptism
2. The Oneness of God and the Trinity
The Attraction of "Oneness"
"Unbiblical" Terminology
Modes and Roles
John 17:5
John 1:1
Philippians 2:6-11
One God vs. Three Gods?
One God
Prayer to the Trinity?
The Dual Nature of Christ
Begotten Son or Eternal Son?
The Holy Spirit
Does the Trinity Make Sense?
The Best Analogy
 The Inward Turn
The Mind's Unity
God: The Supreme Mind
Mind, Thought, and Will: Father, Son, and Holy
Spirit
Of What Practical Value Is the Trinity?
Theoretical and Practical Knowledge
The Passion of Christ
3. “Speaking in Tongues” and the Spirit Baptism
Background
The Initial-Evidence Doctrine
The Gospels
The Letters
The Acts of the Apostles
Formulating a Doctrine
Problems with the Initial-Evidence Doctrine
Lack of Explicit Evidence
Misuse of Narrative Scripture
Acts Narratives Not “Normal” Instances
Paul's Teaching
Acts Alone?
Do We Need Miraculous Proof?
Death by a Thousand Qualifications?
Baptism with the Holy Spirit
Terminology
Christian Baptism
Conclusion
Personal Reflections
Evaluation
4. Why Catholicism?
A Grave Problem
Holy Mother Church
Scripture Alone?
The Need for Context
Peter and the Church's Survival
Beware of Distortions
Conclusion
 Acknowledgements
The sounds of a quiet beach have a healing effect on me. I sometimes think
of our lives as a journey to a faraway beach we have only heard of but
never actually seen. Imagine that you had never directly experienced the
waves, the birds, the sand, the warm waters, or the occasional jumping fish.
As you drive toward this beach, there are many temptations to settle for
something less. Perhaps a swimming pool at a hotel or some other
attraction. But you persist in your journey. When you finally arrive at the
beach, you don’t stick your toe in the waters, look around and then declare,
“Time to go home—we’ve now seen the beach!” The journey has only just
begun. There are new experiences to be had as you explore the waters, soak
in the sun, play with your family members, and take walks as the sun sets or
rises.
We are always in motion. The difference between now and what we call
“heaven” is that we now live in faith and hope, moving toward a happiness
that we cannot find in any created thing. Heaven is our final arrival at the
reality that we were always desiring, whether we realize it or not. Once we
arrive, however, we are not finished. Knowing and loving God is never
static or boring. To say one is bored with God is to admit that he does not
know what “God” means. In my parable, God is the boundless ocean in
which we will endlessly wade throughout eternity without ever exhausting
its riches and joys.
A good part of this book will focus on the mystery of the Trinity. As hard
as it may be to grasp, God is love. God is radical, self-giving love. To be
God is to exist in supreme happiness on account of this perfect love. The
Father is self-emptying love, and that is the reason why there is a Son. The
Father and Son together are self-emptying love, and that is why there is a
Holy Spirit. The core of heavenly life is to see and understand that the only
thing that must always be is infinite love. Since we are made in the “image”
of this God, until we learn that the key to happiness is love, we are unhappy
and confused. The constant tension between “settling for something less”
and entering into the eternal mystery of trinitarian love is a big part of what
creates the drama of each of our lives.
It is also true that we cannot know our own selves without reference to
those persons who journey along with us in this life. It is a deeply trinitarian
truth that we cannot understand or even have a real sense of ourselves
without the other persons in our lives. The potentialities within us are
actualized as we are challenged, taught, disappointed, encouraged, rebuked,
consoled, loved, and even, on occasion, rejected.
The list of those persons who have enabled me to have a sense of my own
identity is a long one. This includes not only those who supported my
journey to the Catholic Church but also those who deeply disagree with me.
The influence of family, friends, colleagues, ministers, priests, fellow
parishioners, and students has been and continues to be inestimable.
The community of Strake Jesuit College Preparatory in Houston is not
merely my place of employment but also truly my vocational home. The
many people that make that community so great have a very special place in
my heart. Our parish community of St. Luke the Evangelist includes some
of the finest Christians around and brings great joy to our family.
To all my companions in life who may read these words, thank you.
I offer a special thanks to those many friends I only know through their
written words. Books have long had a special place in my life, and the
many minds I have encountered through their writings have had an
immeasurable impact. For their willingness to leave their ideas behind in
the form of words, even when I disagree with them, I am grateful.
Finally, I wish to express the highest gratitude to my family. Our daily
journey together is my greatest joy. The greatest treasure I have to give you
is Jesus Christ. My life will have been a success if you always embrace this
treasure with me.
To my wife, Patti: Thank you for sharing your amazing heart of love with
me. I’m so grateful we are able to help each other to heaven each day.
Words are too weak to express how much your husband, children, and
countless others love you.
 Introduction
A Conversation and a Conversion2
In 1983, at thirteen years of age, I walked into a United Pentecostal church
and had the experience of “speaking in tongues.”3 I was then taken, along
with my mom and sister, to a baptismal tank and baptized “in the name of
Jesus.” All of this took place at a “revival” service we attended at the
invitation of a lady my mother knew from work.
My family attended a Southern Baptist church in those days. Although we
were not associated with a church in my earliest years, I heard the story of
God’s love for us, demonstrated in Jesus Christ, and fell in love with it. This
led to a passion to read the Bible and, encouraged by the Baptists in my life,
to look for opportunities to share the good news with others. I was heavily
involved in our youth group, and my pastor very much encouraged the “call
to preach” that I had recently professed. The “call to preach” is a Baptist
way of talking about a vocation to ministry.
Another similarly minded youth at the church, Ronnie, shared my
enthusiasm. We could be seen at school carrying our bibles and, when the
opportunity presented itself, sharing our understanding of the Christian
faith. My experience of speaking in tongues and my rebaptism “in the name
of Jesus” were tucked away in my memory, but they did not immediately
affect my church attendance or growing desire to spend my life in ministry
among the Baptists. I was simply not sure what to make of this experience.
Some months later, shortly after I began high school, another freshman
youth, Ricky, noticed I had a Bible. Ricky was an enthusiastic, albeit
somewhat mischievous, young man. After initiating a conversation on
religious matters, he invited me to a church he had recently begun attending
with his family. It turned out this was the very church at which I had the
experiences mentioned earlier (speaking in tongues and baptism “in Jesus’
name”). He invited me to a youth service at the church the upcoming Friday
evening. I talked my mom into allowing me to attend.
When I walked into the building, I found no youths. I questioned a
middle-aged, balding man whose office door was slightly ajar. He explained
that the youth were meeting at someone’s house that evening and then
questioned me about my background.
“I go to a Baptist church but was invited by a friend of mine at school to
come to a youth group meeting here tonight,” I explained. He then
questioned me about my Baptist faith. I did my best. I had memorized a
small arsenal of texts supporting basic theological claims we made.
The subject quickly turned to baptism. He gently asked, “Did you know
that the early Christians baptized in the name of Jesus only?” I was able to
locate Matthew 28:19 and explain that this text indicates baptism is
performed “in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.”4 He patiently
explained, with a grin, “The ‘name’ of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit is
Jesus! ‘Father’ is not a name. We call many people fathers. This is a title,
not a name,” he reasoned. “According to John 5:43, the Father’s name is
Jesus!” Who would argue against the conclusion that the Son’s name is
Jesus? He cited Matthew 1:21 in support.
“The Holy Spirit, too, has the name Jesus (John 14:26). Since Jesus came
‘in his Father’s name’ and the Holy Spirit is sent in the name of Jesus, it
follows that baptism in the name, singular, of the Father, Son, and Holy
Spirit is none other than baptism in the name of Jesus.” The clinching
observation on this subject was a barrage of texts from the book of Acts that
appear to confirm this conclusion (Acts 2:38, 8:16, 10:48, 19:5). “Where,”
he asked, “is there any indication that people were baptized saying, ‘in the
name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit’?”
His reasoning seemed quite cogent. He then took me a step further.
“Where is the word Trinity in the Bible?” I recalled reading somewhere that
the word was not in the Bible but that the concept was. I mustered a text or
two in support. He quickly dismissed my understanding of those texts,
showing me reasonable alternative interpretations. He patiently explained
that the Bible emphatically teaches there is only one God (Deut. 6:4). The
Bible affirms and insists that Jesus is God, he reasoned, but he was also a
man. It is this dual nature of Jesus that explains the many biblical texts that
trinitarians offer that seem to suggest there is more than one who is God.
References to the Father refer to the divinity of Jesus while references to
the Son refer to his humanity. When Jesus prays to the Father, for instance,
we should understand this as communication between the human nature and
the divine.5 It would be absurd, he claimed, to see this as “one God praying
to another God.” Since there is only one God and Jesus is that God, any
duality that we find in the New Testament must be explained as interaction
between the two natures, not interaction between divine persons.
The problem, he proceeded, is that the early Christian “church” fell away
from this pure faith, a faith restored in the early twentieth century in the
Oneness Pentecostal movement. This ancient apostasy took place, most
likely, around the time of the Roman emperor, Constantine. Constantine, for
purely political purposes, embraced Christianity in name only and brought
about a fundamental redefinition of Christianity as essentially polytheistic.
The doctrine of the Trinity, he asserted, was the result of wedding together
paganism and Christianity. “The Trinity doctrine is a theological monster
that holds the irreconcilable claims that God is both one and three.” The
resultant theological “darkness” prevailed for well over a thousand years
until a slow process of restoration began around the time of the
Reformation. The full restoration of “truth,” however, awaited the events of
the early twentieth century.6
He then directed my attention to what he called the clearest biblical text
on human salvation in the Bible: Acts 2:38. Here we find Peter telling the
large crowd gathered on the day of Pentecost to do three things: (a) repent,
(b) be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of sins, and
(c) receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. Since we had already spoken of
baptism in Jesus’ name, we now focused on another subject: receiving the
Holy Spirit. He asked me, “How do you know you have received the Holy
Spirit?” “There must be an evidence of this experience,” he reasoned.
“Without a sign or evidence, one would never know if he had experienced
the fullness of salvation described in the New Testament.”
Indeed, upon comparing the various biblical accounts of people “receiving
the Holy Spirit,” accounts exclusively found in the Acts of the Apostles,
one finds a recurring sign: speaking in tongues (Acts 2:4, 10:46, 19:6).
What is the obvious conclusion? Everyone who receives the Holy Spirit
initially speaks in tongues.
What? Everyone has to speak in tongues as evidence of receiving the Holy
Spirit? Without this experience one cannot be sure that he is going to
heaven? Of course, no verse of Scripture actually states such a thing, but the
case did have some plausibility based on comparing the stories in the New
Testament’s Acts of the Apostles. I initially found this entirely
counterintuitive, but it soon became attractive. It is not explicitly clear in
the New Testament, but perhaps that is because everyone in the first century
knew that first-hand and it did not need to be explicit. Perhaps it took
having the experience to see it in the New Testament.
My conversation partner’s ease in moving around the Bible was stunning.
I had never met anyone that could so freely move from text to text. He must
have cited or alluded to hundreds of biblical texts in our several hours
together. I later discovered that this gentleman was the evangelism minister
at that church and had developed an influential Bible study that sought to
demonstrate his conclusions by combining various verses of Scripture in a
way that seemed to build a powerful cumulative case for his conclusions.
When my mom returned to take me home that night, I was deeply shaken.
My recollection is that the most disturbing aspect of our conversation was
not the series of claims presented above but the conclusion that these things
are both true and necessary for salvation. In other words, those who are not
baptized in Jesus’ name and speak in tongues are not saved. Further, those
who believe in the Trinity are not saved, either, since they worship a “false
god.” There was no ambiguity in his presentation. If true, the “Christians” I
knew were really not Christians at all. They were adherents of a perversion
of Christianity and needed salvation!7 I was immediately consumed with a
desire to figure all this out and act consistently with the truth.
Over the next several months, great turmoil followed both within my own
heart and mind and in my family and church. My Baptist pastor learned of
my leanings toward Oneness Pentecostal theology, and he brought to my
home a bag of books on related subjects. I read many of them. My father
was greatly distressed by my leanings while my mom was cautiously
supportive. Our family had been going through a sort of religious
awakening, and my dad’s attitude was more conservative and reserved,
whereas my mother’s was more open.
To make a complicated story short, my whole family landed in the United
Pentecostal church. There we stayed until after I graduated from a Oneness
Pentecostal Bible college in 1990. Over the seven years I was in the
Oneness movement, I gradually came to develop a more objective approach
to the subject matter as well as a broader perspective on the Bible. Although
I developed great friendships and appeared to have a very bright future
within the movement, I left within a few weeks of graduating from the
college.
 This book, in large measure, is an attempt to put into writing some of the
most important ideas that led me to leave. But it is much more than that. It
is also an attempt to explain how the arguments that compelled me to
reexamine my beliefs provided the occasion for my eventual discovery of a
much more beautiful and convincing vision of all reality. It was my
discovery of the Catholic faith that brought my meandering path to a new
fullness that meant far more than theological quibbling about fine points of
biblical interpretation. I came to believe that Oneness Pentecostalism, for
all the good that I experienced, had insurmountable obstacles to a truly full,
compelling, and enduring vision of Christian belief and life.
Why Write Now?
I have never tried to make a “career” based on my experiences within
Oneness Pentecostalism. I’ve got more than enough to do with my family,
my parish, and my work. If not for a teacher’s summertime reprieve, I
would have little or no time to concentrate on the present task. Back in the
days shortly after leaving the movement, I wrote a short booklet published
under the title An Evaluation of the Oneness Pentecostal Movement
(Pasadena, TX: Pilgrim Publications, 1990). Although I now disagree with
some of my reasoning and see some of my arguments as insufficient, it was
an early effort in writing to explain my reasons for leaving. Occasionally I
have dialogued with people interested in my journey. I have sometimes
mentioned my past in this movement as an introduction to describing my
“conversion” to Catholicism.8 Beyond this, most of my students and
audiences through the years have no knowledge of my experience of the
Oneness movement. Indeed, most of them know nothing of the movement
at all.
This raises the question of why I would write on this subject now. My
reasons are several. My primary reason is that I want to help Catholics
understand the beauty of their faith. This is the task to which I regularly
devote my energies. My efforts, then, are first directed toward Catholics.
My hope is that the interplay between a Catholic and non-Catholic approach
to Scripture and faith will provide a stimulating conversation that Catholic
readers will, with heightened curiosity, eavesdrop on.
I recall a sweet Catholic couple whose faith “came alive” when they
visited a Catholic bookstore. They “overheard” a Catholic employee defend
his faith in conversation with a rather hostile Protestant visitor. Sometimes a
contrast of perspectives creates new enthusiasm and understanding on the
part of listeners to dialogue. My goal in writing, as will become apparent in
the following chapters, is to develop a historically orthodox and biblically-
based understanding of the Trinity, baptism, and the work of the Holy
Spirit. My own development in understanding these matters was vital in
preparation for my later discovery of Catholicism.
Second, I continue to receive requests from time to time to answer certain
theological claims of the Oneness people. There are a few interesting and
helpful books that have been written through the years, but none, to my
knowledge, from a Catholic perspective.9 Even those works are, despite
their value, lacking in some key respects. This is especially true with
respect to the issues pertaining to baptism but also to spiritual gifts. For
some years I have intended to write an article or booklet on the subject of
baptism and address some of those questions. It is difficult to address
baptism, however, without addressing the Trinity. In the minds of most
Oneness Pentecostals, Acts 2:38 presents a multifaceted experience that
must be addressed as a whole. As we shall see, addressing their
interpretation of that verse will necessarily include a consideration of the
biblical basis for the Trinity as well as the other topics considered in this
work.
Third, Oneness Pentecostals are making inroads in the world of
“mainstream” Evangelicalism, especially within the Charismatic
movement. There are at least some that have moved from the former days
of isolationism to actively spreading the leaven of their theology in other
contexts. Although these evangelists may have decreased their level of
exclusivity, they still, as far as I can tell, look with disdain on the Trinity
and baptism in the name of the Trinity.
Also, the Oneness movement is apparently making significant inroads in
the Latin American community, both in Latin American countries and
within the United States. It is not uncommon, for instance, to see new
churches erected or old ones purchased and the churches’ new names
include the word apostolic, typically a code word for Oneness
Pentecostalism. Since most of these people are of Catholic backgrounds,
their choice of this movement should be a cause of concern within the
Catholic community. True to our best historical moments, we should be
willing to offer a solid reply to the challenges of this movement.
Fourth, this contemporary movement, in part at least, is the reappearance
of some rather ancient notions. Although I have discovered no reason to
think that any identifiable group prior to the twentieth century held to all the
distinctive ideas of the present movement, their notion of God, i.e.,
“Oneness,” is an ancient one. Although it has been identified by a variety of
names and subtle variations (e.g., Sabellianism, Patripassionism, Modalistic
Monarchianism), the basic thesis is the same. These facts make a present
examination of Oneness Pentecostal theology both historically interesting
and presently relevant. Additionally, the claims of other unorthodox
movements often arise from similar foundations.10 Answering the claims of
the Oneness movement goes a long way toward answering the divergent
claims, for instance, of Jehovah’s Witnesses, Mormons, and adherents of
the conspiracy theories of books like The Da Vinci Code.11 Often we come
to appreciate our beliefs more fully when they are brought into contrast
with counterclaims. I hope that Catholics and others who may read my
analysis will come to a more profound appreciation of the Trinity, their
baptism, and the gift of the Holy Spirit.
Although he is not a model of orthodoxy, John Stuart Mill somewhere
made the point that only those who live the history of the creeds appreciate
them. I’ve often thought of this as I try to teach theological ideas developed
long ago to young people today. The most effective method I’ve discovered
is to invite my students to relive the heresies of the past, see their appeal,
and then see how and why the orthodox position eventually showed itself to
be the correct one. Our minds often see best by contrasting images. Oneness
theology allows us to see our faith by way of contrast and thereby,
hopefully, better understand, appreciate, and believe its contents.
A significant number of Catholics have fallen into Oneness theology. I’ve
met some of them. There is every reason to think, especially in light of the
rise of Pentecostalism in Latin America, that this challenge will only grow.
I hope this presentation will aid in some meaningful way in this struggle.
Fifth, this work is an act of reflection after almost three decades since
leaving the United Pentecostal Church. My initial emotional attachment to
the movement has long passed away. My appreciation of the history of
theology and the complexities of religious experience has, I think,
deepened. My ongoing study of the related topics, especially the Trinity, has
only strengthened my convictions. As a Catholic, I am obligated to work for
the unity of the Faith and believe that the entire world is called to embrace
the good news of Jesus Christ, the fullness of which is found in the Catholic
Church. I hope that some understanding and, perhaps, dialogue, will result
from this work.
It should be emphasized that Oneness Pentecostals are a minority of the
Pentecostal movement. The majority of the denominations that call
themselves “Pentecostal,” and most of those adhering to the Charismatic
movement do not profess the doctrines described above. This is not to
minimize the size of the movement. Although statistical information is
incomplete, the movement numbers in the millions and is found in almost
150 nations throughout the world. My point, however, is that readers should
not generalize about these doctrines when speaking of Pentecostalism. On
the other hand, the Oneness movement does raise special questions for the
rest of the Pentecostal world and, indeed, Protestant Christianity altogether.
In response to these questions, I am convinced the Catholic Church has
something meaningful to share.
The Plan
My plan does not include an exhaustive study of the issues involved in
discussing the theological ideas mentioned here. That would require a
complete systematic theology. My intention is to set out paths of thought
that decisively lead us away from Oneness Pentecostal theology and toward
Catholic theology, especially as these have been influential in my own
intellectual and spiritual journey.
We shall begin with the subject of baptism. Chronologically, it was this
issue that was presented to me first. It is also the subject that most Oneness
Pentecostals feel is their strongest and most obvious position. We will then
consider Oneness theology and the Trinity. This is, without doubt, the most
important part of this work. The Trinity is “the central mystery” of the
Catholic faith, according to the Catechism of the Catholic Church, 234.
Everything we believe originates in that sacred mystery, even if we don’t
realize that fact. If God is truly a Trinity of divine Persons, all of reality has
come to be because that God willed it to be. Next, we will consider the
baptism of the Holy Spirit and its relationship to speaking in tongues.
Although this topic is the least important in respect to its rank on the
theological spectrum, it is relevant to many because of the attention it
receives in certain circles. It also provides an opportunity for us to examine
Pentecostal hermeneutics and present a Catholic understanding of the work
of the Holy Spirit. Finally, our focus will shift to the question of why I
chose to embrace Catholicism. Catholic thought is so foreign to Oneness
Pentecostals that it is necessary to conclude our study with a presentation of
a few of the reasons I entered the Catholic Church.12
In a real sense, this entire work explains how my study of the Bible
resulted in a progressive discovery of Catholic faith. Since the mystery of
the Trinity is the heart of Catholic faith, my discovery of that truth moved
me progressively nearer to the Church. For those readers who might find
some of the material difficult and are therefore tempted to jump ahead to
another topic, I’m confident the chapters may be read with profit in any
order.

Does It Really Matter?

Does it really matter if we believe in the Trinity? Most Catholics and most
Oneness Pentecostals cannot fully articulate their beliefs on these matters,
anyway. Perhaps we should conclude that what we think is of little
importance. Maybe we should think, as many do, that Jesus was not the Son
of God but a moralist. If we behave as a Christian, does it matter if we
believe as a Christian?
It is my conviction that this attitude is entirely unacceptable and contrary
to the nature of Christian faith. What we think shapes the way we behave.
Even though an atheist may behave in ways that resemble what is expected
of a Christian, he lacks a solid answer to why he should do so. If there is no
God, no judgment, and no “objective” moral law, the reasons to behave as if
there is a God dissipate. Although not as extreme, the theological
differences between the topics discussed in this work have great
consequences.13 We may not understand it, but our beliefs regarding the
nature of God, including the Trinity, have a wealth of practical
consequences. Because these consequences become part of the fabric of
faith over time, we often fail to see those links until we have abandoned
them, to our peril.
Finally, if we are truly followers of Christ, we cannot reduce him to a
moralist. Jesus was not crucified for professing a set of moral principles. He
was crucified for claiming to be the Son of God (Mark 14:61–64). Our faith
not only calls for the submission of our will to God but also our mind (Luke
10:27). We are invited to verbalize the assent of our intellect to truths
revealed by God regarding himself every time we recite the Nicene Creed:
“I believe in God the Father . . . in one Lord Jesus Christ . . . and in the
Holy Spirit.”
A number of years ago, a student of mine asked why we were spending so
much class time trying to understand the mystery of the Trinity. He thought
it was a waste of energy. He argued that we could better use our energy
trying to figure out how to feed the hungry and clothe the naked rather than
exploring mysteries of theology. To love others is all that is important. I
replied by noting that, statistically speaking, it is likely that he will one day
marry some young lady. I further suggested that his future wife might on
occasion wish to tell him about her day, her likes or dislikes, hopes or
dreams, experiences, etc. I instructed him to respond by saying, “I love you,
but I don’t want to know about you.” He immediately saw the absurdity of
his position. I then asked him to call me and tell me about her reaction. The
point should be clear: if we really love God, we will want to know what he
has revealed about himself.
 1

The Baptismal Formula

“I baptize you in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of sins.” This,
we believed, was the essential wording for the New Testament practice of
baptism. One’s sins are forgiven when the name of Jesus is orally
pronounced over a person being baptized, we reasoned, since the New
Testament declares that salvation is found in “no other name” (Acts 4:10–
12).
It is somewhat challenging to describe just how important the spoken
name of Jesus is to Oneness Pentecostals. Just typing those words makes
me a little uncomfortable. The name of Jesus is surely indispensably and
eternally important to every Christian. It is the importance of Jesus to
Christian believers that makes the Oneness Pentecostal emphasis on the
“name” not only plausible but also potentially very attractive.
Josef Pieper’s great book, Leisure: The Basis of Culture,14 makes the case
that human beings are capable of engaging in two fundamentally distinct
ways of looking at life. On the one hand, life may be viewed as survival
within the day-to-day flow of bodily and social needs within our temporary
existence. It is not possible to go very long, for instance, without thinking
about what we will eat, how we will pay our bills, putting gas in the car,
mowing our grass, going to work, and figuring out how to get the kids to
school and back.
 It is possible to become so immersed in the realm of temporary concerns
that we forget that there is another plane or perspective from which to view
the world and our place in it. For most people, there are at least some
moments when they are invited into thinking about “big” questions. Perhaps
this is when a loved one passes away or a child is born. Maybe it happens
when a person realizes they are growing old or that the years are passing
quickly. Sometimes it happens while listening to a beautiful song or
watching a moving film or play. In such moments, a person is challenged to
see life in terms of the “big picture.” How does everything fit together?
What does it all mean? Where did it all come from? Where is it going? How
should I live my life? Some people are more regularly drawn to thinking on
this level. They may be more sensitive to art, music, a beautiful sunset, or a
religious icon.
There is a danger in sensing the “iconic,” however. The age-old
temptation to stop at the sign or image rather than allowing it to lead us to
that reality to which it points is never far away. The Catholic Church has
never ceased to wrestle with this challenge, but others are not immune to it
either. Maintaining a balance between images or signs and the realities to
which they point is a challenge inherent in the human condition.
Several years ago I drove from St. Louis to the Louisville, Kentucky, area
for the specific purpose of visiting the monastery where the well-known
Trappist monk and spiritual writer Thomas Merton lived. I had recently
read a number of Merton’s books. I arrived a day early for a conference in
St. Louis and drove to the monastery. After spending some time at Merton’s
simple gravesite and walking around the grounds, I stopped into a
bookstore and giftshop. There was a large collection of icons on several
tables that caught my attention. Browsing around, I found one icon of Mary
and Christ that caught my attention. It was of Greek origin, painted around
the sixteenth century. The description on the back side of the icon pointed
out that the direction of the eyes of Mary and Christ should be the focus of
the observer. Often such icons have Mary and Christ looking at each other.
This one, however, had both looking forward. The description identified
this as a “Sweet Kissing style” and noted that the direction of their attention
is intended to serve as an invitation to everyone looking at the icon to enter
into the love that is shared between Christ and his mother. That thought so
moved me that I bought the icon. After purchasing it, I found a bench
outside the store, overlooking the hills around the monastery, and prayed
that God would grant me a deeper share in the love that is represented by
that picture. It now sits on a table near the front door of our home.
Occasionally, when walking by that space, I will stop and recall that
moment in Kentucky.
Icons fascinate me. Perhaps this is partly because of my Pentecostal
background that had no place for images of Christ or of the saints. Our
understanding of the commandment to “make no graven images” was
iconoclastic. We believed it is sinful to make or make use of such images
for religious purposes. In fact, my United Pentecostal pastor15 would
occasionally explain why we don’t have crucifixes or even crosses in our
churches. He said it was because Jesus is no longer on the cross. I always
felt a little uncomfortable with this reasoning since, although it is true that
Christ is no longer on the cross, remembering the cross and Christ’s death
are important and meaningful.
For many reasons, I later came to think very differently about our
iconoclastic tendencies. For one, the Bible regularly uses imagery for God.
If we think about what we are reading, we inevitably form images. The Old
Testament tabernacle and, later, temple, were filled with artistic symbolism
and representations. The Ark of the Covenant contained objects that were
revered by the Israelites, since they reminded them of God’s work among
them (i.e., tablets of the Ten Commandments, Aaron’s almond branch, jar of
manna). If one understands the commandment against “graven images” as
excluding artistic representations of religiously significant matters, surely
there is much to explain in the Old Testament.
A better explanation is that the Old Testament commandment does not
exclude visual imagery that stimulates the religious imagination. Instead,
the commandment is warning against crassly identifying such visual
imagery with the reality to which it points. Indeed, this happened in
Israelite history when, for instance, the bronze serpent that reminded the
people of God’s healing during the time of Moses became a superstitious
object revered for some inherent power it was believed to possess (2 Kings
18:4). The same object that was used to bring salvation became an object of
idolatry. Interestingly, still showing the importance of God’s saving action
even after Israel’s idolatry, Jesus uses the same bronze serpent to
foreshadow his own manner of death (John 3:14).
The Incarnation of the Son of God is the supreme “icon” of the invisible
God (Col. 1:15). Being a Christian is based squarely on the conviction that
when we encounter Jesus, we are encountering God’s presence as mediated
through the real humanity of Jesus. We will later have reason to explore
these claims in more detail. The Catholic Church has wrestled with the use
of artistic representations of Christ and concluded that their use is not only
allowable but makes an important theological statement. By allowing visual
depictions of Jesus, we are continually affirming the reality of the
Incarnation. God personally united himself to the real, visible, and tangible
humanity of Jesus at a real moment in history. Jesus was truly God’s visible
self-revelation. To insist that we are not allowed to form “images” of Jesus
is to insist that we not be allowed to think of his humanity. Our humanity is
experienced in the world of space and time. To think of Jesus as we think of
the Gospel stories requires that we form images. Artistic images can help
stimulate the imagination to a true and deeper affirmation of the
Incarnation. If one refuses to think of Jesus in imagery that is consistent
with our real physical existence in space and time is, implicitly at least, to
fall into the heresy of Docetism. According to Docetism, Jesus only seemed
to be a man but really was only a spirit being.16
There is an all-important line that must be drawn between superstition and
the use of images through which we discover the realities that transcend the
image-forming power of our minds. As humans, our manner of knowing
divine realities is through or by means of things that are infinitely less than
or inferior to God. We move from the world of finite, dependent realities to
the infinite and independent reality that is God. The finite and dependent
point us to that reality upon which they depend. The constant temptation is
that we stop at the dependent things and treat them as if they were the
supreme realities. The temptation of iconoclasm is to destroy everything
that is less than God as a path or avenue to God.17 As tempting as that path
may be, it fatally ignores the fact that we must travel through the creation to
the Creator. God has chosen to “hide” behind the creation and allow us to
freely discover God within the experience of his effects.
In all sincerity, my earliest memory of thinking about God was standing in
the kitchen of my grandparents and looking at a wall. It was a beautiful
wooden wall. I don’t know why it happened at that moment, but I was
struck by the question, “Why is there anything at all?” It was years before I
shared this experience with anyone, and I still hesitate to do so. In that
moment, I seemed to see through the wall that I observed and intuitively
saw that it, and every other dependent thing, depends on that which depends
on nothing at all. In other words, there must be a first, independent, self-
existent reality that explains the dependent things that I experience in this
world (myself included). We call this “first” reality God.
Katie, our youngest child and a rising sophomore in high school, recently
got her first official job working at a restaurant near our home. A young
man who worked at the restaurant suddenly passed away only a few days
before I wrote these words. My daughter is experiencing the same
challenging thoughts and emotions that we all experience when we have our
first experience of losing someone who was present to us in the daily
rhythm of life. Such unforgettable moments make us keenly aware of how
dependent and fragile we really are.
For our purposes here, the crucial point is that the finite, dependent
realities that we experience in life become signs that point to their source:
an infinite, independent reality, without which none of them would exist for
even a moment. I labor this point here because the Oneness Pentecostal
emphasis on “the name,” in my experience, was an odd combination of
iconoclasm and superstition. The more I came to see these as they were, the
more inclined I was to rethink our theology.
Returning to the two “planes” or ways in which we can experience the
world, I have always tended to have a strong desire to live in the second
mode or plane. This sometimes causes me to pay too little attention to the
everyday concerns that often preoccupy human beings. My desire to think
about the big questions led me to give little thought for a significant part of
my young life to concerns about making money or planning for the future.
I offer these autobiographical thoughts because they are important to
understanding my attraction to Oneness Pentecostalism as a young boy. I
had been so captivated by the story of God’s love shown in Jesus Christ,
that I was willing to do what I was convinced was necessary to follow
Jesus.
 I still remember the night I was baptized “in Jesus’ name.” Later in this
work I will describe that experience in more detail. Standing in a baptismal
tank, the pastor announced over me that I was being baptized “in the name
of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of my sins.” Sometime later I heard this
explained. When Jesus instructed his disciples to be baptized “in the name
of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,” the “name” he was
pointing to was his own name. Jesus is the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. If
one sees that “revelation,” he will also see why baptism in Jesus’ name is so
important.
I cheerfully agreed with these ideas for years. At some point, however, I
began to develop some discomfort with the way that many people talked
about “the name.” It started to sound more like a magical formula than a
way of referring to the Jesus whom we love so much. The New Testament
book of Acts records the story of certain persons who were going about
trying to cast out demons “in the name of the Jesus that Paul preaches”
(Acts 19:13). They were unsuccessful, to say the least. Why? Because the
“name” is not a magical formula. When we speak of the name, we are
talking about the one who bears that name. The name we vocalize is merely
sounds without faith in the one to whom the name points. I was initially
attracted to Oneness Pentecostalism because of my love for Jesus but later
came to question whether the name had become something else in our
understanding. Had the “name” become our bronze serpent?
Strangely, the very desire I had to follow Christ that made me open to the
message of Oneness Pentecostalism made me uncomfortable when I would
speak with other proponents of Oneness theology about the fate of those
who were not baptized “in Jesus’ name.” I would ask, “What if two people
are baptized and they both have deep faith in Jesus but one has the name of
Jesus pronounced over him and the other does not?” Most frequently my
conversation partners quickly replied that a person cannot possibly have
their sins forgiven if the name is not spoken over them. This question will
be considered later in this chapter, but I mention it here because it was one
of those questions that became a seed in my mind that grew over time. Had
the name of Jesus become for us a superstitious collection of sounds rather
than a way of referring to the person who saves? How could we be so sure
that only we had proper baptism? How could we be so quick to insist that
only those with our formula uttered over them could be confident of
forgiveness?
These concerns were part of the logic that caused me to question the
“Jesus’ name” baptism position.
Origins of “Jesus’ Name Baptism”
Virtually every other form of Christianity that has existed through the
centuries has understood the baptismal formula issue very differently than
what we find within Oneness Pentecostalism. Jesus commanded his
disciples, shortly before his ascension into heaven, to baptize “in the name
of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit” (Matt. 28:19). This,
traditional Christianity has reasoned, is what we are supposed to say when
we baptize.
The early Pentecostals, a movement born shortly after the turn of the
twentieth century, baptized using the words of Matthew 28. It was only later
that a new revelation was declared. Claims of revelation were quite
common in those days. The movement was originally founded on the claim
that some important truth of early Christianity had been lost. In order to
rediscover that and other possible lost truths, one must be courageous
enough to confront and, if necessary, discard traditions. In fact, as all
experienced in such movements can testify, tradition is most often a bad
word. Indeed, there are biblical texts that can be read in support of this
attitude (e.g., Mark 7:13). On the other hand, the Bible speaks highly of
tradition (2 Thess. 2:15). If tradition is understood as that which is passed
along from one generation to the next, the Bible itself fits that definition. It
is too simplistic, then, to simply discard everything categorized as tradition.
Some tradition is good, and some is bad. The question that should concern
us, then, is how can we tell the difference between them?
The original cause of Pentecostalism was the supposed rediscovery of the
biblical observation that all who receive the Holy Spirit initially speak in
other tongues. That is, they are miraculously enabled to speak in languages
never studied, learned, or, most likely, even heard. God overwhelms the
speaker, it is claimed, as a way of showing that the human speaker is
completely under the control of God’s Spirit. Alongside this experience was
an attempt to recover other spiritual gifts mentioned in the New Testament
but neglected by the traditional churches (e.g., healing, prophecy).
Since those who accepted the Pentecostal experience typically embraced
the Trinity and an understanding of church ordinances (they didn’t use the
word sacraments) that would fit nicely in most cases with what you would
learn about in a Baptist church, baptism was not a chief concern.18 This was
because (a) most had a traditional understanding that felt little need to
question and (b) the ordinances were not essential to salvation and therefore
were practically of little importance. That is, until a new “revelation” would
shake this young movement to its core.
When John G. Scheppe ran shouting through the Pentecostal camp
meeting in Los Angeles, California (1913), in the middle of the night
declaring that he had found a new truth and that this truth pertained to the
proper baptismal formula or wording, it was met with mixed reactions.19 In
studying the biblical book of Acts, Scheppe found that baptism was
uniformly performed “in the name of Jesus.” What followed was a mass of
rebaptisms. Those who resisted rebaptism were considered unspiritual and
entrenched in tradition. The peer pressure toward rebaptism was enormous
and extended even to the highest authorities in the young movement. When
the question of rebaptism turned into a denial of the Trinity, however, many
in leadership grew gravely concerned. In time, the majority rejected the
rebaptism teaching and professed the Trinity as the most faithful
representation of the biblical teaching about God. A significant number did
not, however.
To this day, informed Oneness Pentecostals are most comfortable
defending their understanding of baptism “in Jesus’ name.” Because the
baptismal formula question caused the birth of Oneness Pentecostalism, we
will consider that topic first.

Formula?
Examining the various texts in the book of Acts (and a few elsewhere) that
mention baptism “in the name of Jesus,” I suggest that the first question that
should come to mind is: what does the text actually record was said at the
moment of baptism? In point of fact, the texts rarely say anything about
what was said. It is, then, an interpretation of the texts to say they represent
a formula. To make the point clearer: there is no text that says anything to
the effect, “When they were baptized, Peter said, ‘I baptize you in the name
. . .’” To some this may seem trivial, but it is crucial. The point at issue is
what wording must accompany baptism in order for it to qualify as
legitimate Christian baptism.
A formula refers to a precise wording that must be spoken in order for an
ordinance to be valid. To use a more Catholic way of speaking, the
“formula” is what gives form or specific shape or significance to the
material element of water. Dipping a person in water does not necessarily
have a Christian meaning. A parent can give his child a bath and pour water
over his head. That action is not New Testament baptism. The action of
dipping or pouring with water must be accompanied by the proper intention
and words that specify the meaning of the action.20 Consider two friends in
a swimming pool. One dips the other under the water. There is no reason to
suppose that this is a Christian baptism. If we were observing a baptism, on
the other hand, we should expect to hear words that state the purpose or
meaning of that action. What wording is required for the action? The
Oneness Pentecostal answer is that “in the name of Jesus” is the bare
minimum.
As noted, though, there is no text that mentions the words spoken at the
baptismal ceremony. Well, this claim should be qualified. For instance, the
Ethiopian eunuch asks Philip to baptize him, and Philip replies, “If you
believe with all your heart” you may be baptized (Acts 8:37). The eunuch
answers, “I believe Jesus is the Son of God.”21 In this case, however, it is
not the administrator of baptism who makes this statement but, rather, the
person receiving baptism. Further, the formula, “in the name of” does not
appear. Does this suggest there was no formula? No. The author simply
does not find it needful to report such a formula if it was used. What we do
learn from this text is that Christian baptism is grounded in the belief that
Jesus is the Son of God, a conviction that is consistent with both Acts 2:38
and Matthew 28:19. Baptism is not merely a profession of belief in “Jesus”
without qualification but, rather, our faith is grounded in the Jesus who was
the Son of God.
A second text is equally important in this context. Paul encounters some
disciples of John the Baptist in the city of Ephesus (Acts 19:1–6). He asks
them, “Did you receive the Holy Spirit when you believed?” They answer,
“We have not heard that there is a Holy Spirit.” Paul counters, “Unto what
then were you baptized?” They say, “John’s baptism.” Paul explains that
John’s baptism pointed to Christ and then baptized them “in the name of the
Lord Jesus” (v. 5). Notice again that the text relates a conversation, but the
conversation ceases before the baptism. We are again left without explicit
direction about what was said at the moment of baptism, only that it was
done “in the name of the Lord Jesus,” whatever that is intended to mean.
The conversation itself should be carefully examined, however. It appears
that these disciples of John did not know that the Holy Spirit was not yet
available, suggesting they did not know the messianic age had dawned.
Their ignorance of the Holy Spirit prompted Paul’s question, “Unto what
then were you baptized?” Carefully note that Paul’s question is prompted by
their ignorance of the Holy Spirit, indicated by the word translated as then.
Second, note that Paul’s question begins with the word unto. This English
word is used to translate the Greek preposition eis. This term, one that will
recur in our study from time to time, is pivotal in this context.
Prepositions in the Greek language help clarify the function of certain
cases. Unlike our language, Greek nouns are formed with endings that
indicate their function in a sentence. A word that functions as a direct
object, for instance, will appear in the accusative case. A word functioning
as the subject of the sentence will appear in the nominative form, the
indirect object in the dative case, and so on. Prepositions are used in the
language to clarify the exact function of these cases since some have
multiple functions. The preposition eis suggests motion or attention directed
toward something. Accordingly, it is variously translated, for instance, as
“unto,” “with reference to,” “toward,” and “into.” Paul’s question, then, has
the following sense: “If you don’t know about the Holy Spirit, what did
your baptism make reference to?” The implication is that baptism should
include reference to the Holy Spirit. Since the disciples of John at Ephesus
were apparently ignorant of the Holy Spirit, Paul immediately turned
attention to their baptism and what it referred to.
Since their prior baptism was related to John and his ministry, Paul now
baptizes them “in (eis) the name of the Lord Jesus,” a phrase that can easily
be read as a contrast with John’s baptism. Their new baptism pertained to or
had reference to the name of Jesus rather than John’s prophetic ministry. We
will have to examine these terms more carefully as we proceed, but we have
already discovered some revealing things.
Similar to the Acts 8 text concerning the Ethiopian eunuch who connected
Christian baptism with a profession of Jesus as the Son of God, the Acts 19
text suggests that Christian baptism makes reference to the Holy Spirit.
Both these observations are consistent with Matthew 28:19, a text that
speaks of baptism “in (eis) the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.”
Let’s take one more look at this point. Compare the following baptismal
texts:

• “Baptize in (eis, with reference to) the name of the Father . . . Son . . .
Holy Spirit” (Matthew 28:19).
• “We do not know whether there is a Holy Spirit. Unto (eis, with
reference to) what then were you baptized?” (Acts 19:3–5)

It is hard to avoid the conclusion that Paul’s question to the disciples of

John in Acts 19 strongly implies that Christian baptism makes reference to
the Holy Spirit.
The two New Testament texts, then, that record some dialogue around the
act of baptism mention a profession of Jesus as the Son of God and
reference to the Holy Spirit. If the “bare minimum” of a baptismal formula,
according to the Oneness Pentecostal, is “in the name of Jesus,” these texts
are odd indeed.
In sum, looking at those few texts that actually include a conversation or
specific citation of words uttered around the moment of baptism, we find
words that are consistent with the use of Matthew 28:19. Those receiving
Christian baptism are expected to profess that Jesus is the Son of God and
make reference to (eis) or have attention directed toward the Holy Spirit.
The Name
The Bible makes frequent reference to God’s name. God’s name is, we are
told, holy and must not be used in vain. It is well known that the Jews took
this so seriously that the holy name of God, YHWH, is not spoken out of
fear that it would be misused. The original pronunciation of that Hebrew
word is lost to history on account of their strict refusal to use the name.
It is also well known that this holy name of God is rooted in the narrative
of Moses before the burning bush. Moses questions God about his “name.”
If Moses is to confront Pharaoh and, as God’s representative, insist that he
release the Hebrews from the bonds of slavery, he must know the name of
the God making this demand. Further, he must know the name of the God
of the Hebrews if he is to speak to the people of their God. To this request
God responds, “I am who am”; and he says, “Say this to the people of
Israel, I am has sent me to you” (Exod. 3:14).
A “name,” if it is a good one, gives insight into that to which it refers. The
name of God is so radically holy because it brings us into contact with a
reality that transcends our comprehension. If the human mind pales before
the holy mystery of God, how may we give a “name” to that reality?
Wouldn’t any name we give to God fail to capture the reality signified by
it?
Surely it is not possible for us to comprehend the nature of God.
Consequently, the Bible speaks of our inability to “see” God (e.g., John
1:18; 1 Tim. 6:16). On the other hand, some individuals are privileged to
“see” God, at least in a “dark cloud” or by way of some visible appearance
that God may temporarily assume, sometimes called a theophany. To
complicate matters further, our heavenly hope is to “see God” (Matt. 5:8). If
we seek to harmonize these various ideas, we are pushed to grant that, in
some meaningful sense, humans have been given insight into God’s nature
but that this insight must be qualified as far short of a full grasp of the
infinite God. Our hope is that the limited knowledge we now have of God
will be far surpassed in the life to come. In light of these distinctions, it is
possible to say some men have “seen” (i.e., partial insight) God but, at the
same time, none have “seen” (i.e., full comprehension) God.
Somehow, then, our nature must either be elevated to “see” the God that is
far too great for us to behold in our current condition, or God must come
down to our level and communicate himself in a limited but meaningful
way so that we may be able to “see” him. In light of the fact that we are
unable to fully grasp the nature of God, the names by which God reveals
himself to us will include the paradox of our desire to see him but our
inability to fully do so. There is some meaningful level of knowledge
available to us, although it is bathed in mystery and obscurity. We do not
comprehensively see God, but we do know God in a limited way; albeit, as
St. Thomas Aquinas liked to say, alluding to Moses’ vision of God on Sinai,
“in a dark cloud.”22
The “names” by which God is revealed to us, then, either emphasize our
inability to understand or they are tied to something that God does. For
example, we speak of God as “Creator,” a label signifying God’s
relationship to the world as its cause. We speak of God as “savior,” a label
signifying God’s relationship to creatures in need of deliverance from sin
and its effects. The name Jesus, or Yeshua, in fact, corresponds precisely to
this second meaning (literally: “Yahweh saves”). The name Jesus is so
important in the New Testament (indeed, it is at the “name of Jesus” every
knee will bow, Phil. 2:6–10) because it is in him that God is most
supremely revealed to the human family. We “see” God in Christ, and
therefore the name of Jesus stands for that highest means of divine
revelation.
The name YHWH, assuming it should be understood in relationship to the
words of God to Moses, “I am who I am,” may emphasize God as pure
being. At least this is a possible interpretation. If so, God is differentiated
from all other beings inasmuch as finite beings are distinguished from
others by some limiting way of being. For instance, since I am a man, I am
not a bird. My “way of being” limits me. God, as pure, unlimited being or
existence, is not limited by any restricting “essence” and therefore is an
infinite ocean of reality that is ever greater than my ability to think or
define. When God speaks, then, he reveals himself as, “I AM.” Our
understanding of God’s essence reaches its limit when we admit that we
lack the power to “comprehend” God. I can say, “I am a man,” but not,
strictly speaking, “I am.” God (since all reality is a finite expression of what
exists infinitely in him) cannot be defined apart from the rather vague and
mysterious name, “I AM.” That is, of course, with the exception of those
names of God that are attached to actions of God that we can understand
more directly (e.g., creation, salvation).
The key point to keep is that a name reveals, on some level, the reality to
which it points. Christians must be careful to avoid a superstitious approach
to the names of God. God’s name is not holy because of the sounds or
letters that make it up. Rather, it is holy because of the reality to which it
refers and helps to specify.
I often got the impression that Oneness Pentecostals viewed the name of
“Jesus” in a somewhat superstitious way. It is the invocation of the name of
Jesus that causes the forgiveness of sins in baptism. The individual’s faith is
not the primary instrumental cause of forgiveness but, rather, saying the
name of Jesus.23 This leads to the impression that saying the name is
“magical” in nature. One person may be baptized with the words of
Matthew 28:19 uttered over him while another with the words of Acts 2:38.
Theoretically, even though their interior faith is identical, one walks away
still a sinner while the other is forgiven. The difference between whether
one is saved or lost, then, depends on the words spoken over him.24
From a Catholic perspective, it is true that our salvation involves others.
As a social and historical creature, I receive the contents of my faith
through others who have passed it along to me. In that sense, then, my
salvation involves others, and it cannot be viewed as a radically private
event. We also speak of “formulas” that are essential to the validity of the
sacraments. Those formulas, however, are determined based on the meaning
of the sacramental actions and express that meaning. The sacramental
meaning is foremost while the formulas safeguard that meaning. Although
a Catholic priest, for example, would not accept Oneness Pentecostal
baptism as valid, this is not because it could never be the case that a
baptism is effective if the words, “in the name of Jesus,” were uttered.25
Instead, the baptism is not valid for the Catholic because (a) it does not
express the full meaning of baptism as trinitarian and (b) the Church’s
discipline on this matter requires the minimum of the Matthew 28:19
expression.
Also, the Catholic approach would insist that God has chosen to give the
graces of salvation to human persons in and through physical signs. We are
creatures that discover the spiritual world in and through the physical
world. As Paul explains, the invisible things of God are known through the
visible world made by him (Rom. 1:20). The forgiveness of sins is a reality
that cannot, strictly speaking, be seen. God imparts the forgiveness of sins
in association with external signs since we are not merely spiritual beings.
Physical acts provide a window into those spiritual realities signified by
them and become the normal means or pathways by which the spiritual
realities are given to us. Baptism, then, beautifully “pictures” the
forgiveness of sins in a way that we can observe, but also imparts the very
forgiveness it pictures (Acts 2:38, 22:16, and so on.). It is not some
mysterious quality of the water or words spoken, however, that causes this
forgiveness. It is the power of God’s Spirit that brings about the effects of
the sacraments (e.g., John 3:1–8). The new birth of water and Spirit is
“from above” (John 3:31). God is its cause. In my experience, Oneness
Pentecostals frequently speak about the baptismal formula in such a way
that the source of the effects of the action resides in the utterance of the
name of Jesus.
The Church does not presume to make a final judgment on the souls of
persons not baptized with this formula, but it does insist on a minimal
standard of meaning, and this standard is expressed in the formula.26 The
same could be said of the other sacraments. Even with respect to the
Eucharist, it is the Church that, in safeguarding the meaning of that
sacrament, determines what wording is essential. Sometimes this requires
the invocation of the words of Christ’s institution of the sacrament, but
exactly how many of those words are necessary involves some flexibility,
as indicated by the history of the eucharistic prayers.
Sometimes Catholics, especially schismatic ones, fall into a mentality
similar to the Oneness Pentecostal in requiring a formula that can hardly be
distinguished from a magical incantation. It is one thing to say that a
formula is a bare minimum on account of the discipline of the Church in
maintaining the correct meaning of the sacramental actions; it is another to
say that the words themselves, within themselves, have the power to cause
the sacramental graces. It is the power of God’s Spirit accompanying the
words that produces the effects. The words of Matthew 28:19 are most
naturally understood as the appropriate formula for baptism because (a)
they are the most direct, concise, and clear words of institution of the act of
Christian baptism and (b) they express the meaning of the action: baptism
directs him, and therefore initiates him into, the community of people who
believe in God as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
One final observation is in order. From what has been presented in this
section, it should be clear that a name and the reality to which it refers are
very closely connected in the Bible. In fact, there are many texts in which
the word name should be equated with its object. The “name of God” is
often a way of saying “God.” Given the Hebrew mindset found in the Old
Testament, this is quite understandable. Fear of referring to God in an
irreverent way gave rise to a host of indirect ways of referring to God.
Matthew, consistent with this tradition, consciously avoids repeating the
word God too often and thereby offending his Jewish readers. Instead of
using “kingdom of God” repeatedly, then, he tends to use “kingdom of
heaven.” God was often spoken of by way of those things closely associated
with him, like “heaven”. “The name” (ha shem) was one of those ways
(e.g., Ps. 5:11, 20:1). It would be ironic indeed to take “the name” and treat
it as an end in itself, since its very purpose is to reveal and direct attention
to the God before whom we should rightly tremble in awe and reverence.
As a consequence, even though the name Jesus, derived from YHWH, is
pronounced in a thousand different ways throughout the world, the crucial
issue is the intended meaning and reality indicated by the term, not the
sounds themselves.
Names and Titles
The crux of the Oneness Pentecostal argument regarding the baptismal
formula is the distinction between names and titles. I am, for instance, a
father. My kids call me “Dad.” I recall that when my daughter was around
five years old, she struggled to come to terms with the fact that other
children called their fathers “Dad.” She would sometimes ask me, “What is
your name?” When I told her my name is “Mark,” she had a confused look
on her face. She slowly came to understand that “Dad” is a common title
given to men that stand in a certain relationship to children. Mark, however,
is my proper name.
This is not the end of the confusion, however. There are others who share
the name “Mark.” One of these is my oldest son. While they were growing
up, my younger children expressed a fair amount of confusion at the fact
that two people in our home share exactly the same name! Turning to the
name “Jesus,” the same is true. In fact, many people shared that name in the
first century, evidenced by its widespread presence on ossuaries and in
contemporaneous literature. The early Christians would add other terms to
the name Jesus in order to specify exactly who was intended (e.g., Christ,
Lord). The neat distinction between names and titles is then blurred
somewhat by usage.
Additionally, upon examination it is found that proper names originate as
what Oneness people would call titles. The name Jacob, for instance, means
swindler. Esau means reddish. Adam means man. Isaac means laughter. For
those familiar with the stories about these people, all these names reveal
something about their stories. I am told that my name, Mark, means “strong
defender.” None of these terms, presumably, originated as proper names but
were first adjectives or common names.
Consequently, there is nothing to prohibit father (or son) from becoming a
proper name if, by usage, it is uniquely associated with an individual. If, for
instance, there is one supreme Father and all other “fathers” are only fathers
in a relative or lesser sense, the word would function as a proper name in
reference to God alone. Jesus affirmed as much when he said we ought not
to call men “fathers” since there is only one Father, God (Matt. 23:9). Of
course, this hyperbolic expression should be taken together with the rest of
biblical language. Jesus himself used the word father to refer to human
beings (e.g., Luke 15:18–29). The point of Jesus’ statement is clear,
however: there is only one “Father” in the fullness of what that term means.
The goal of the distinction Oneness Pentecostals make between names and
titles, of course, is to argue that Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are not names
but titles. The name of the Father, then, is something other than “father.” If
none of these terms are names, we must search for another name for use in
baptism.
I happily accepted this distinction along with our interpretation of
Matthew 28:19 until I discovered that the New Testament itself refutes this
logic. The text that most disrupted my thoughts was Hebrews 1:4–5.
In this important text, the author writes of the glory and greatness of the
Son in contrast to the angels. This is the central motif of the entire book: the
supremacy of the Son of God above every other “medium” of divine
revelation. Although God spoke in various ways “to the fathers in the
prophets,” he has now spoken to us “in his Son” (v. 1). After declaring the
radiance and power of the Son, the author states that the Son is “much
better than the angels” since he has received a “name” more excellent than
any angel. In proof of this claim he cites Psalm 2:7: “You are my Son, today
I have begotten thee.” The author’s point is clear: no angel is called the Son
of God.27 This name differentiates him from all others and gives him a place
of dignity and supremacy that is unparalleled. The idea is not a generic use
of “son” but, instead, “the Son.” No one reading the New Testament can be
mistaken about who this “Son” is, and therefore these words become a
proper name, not an ambiguous title. In fact, as we shall see, there is and
can only be one Son in the full and proper sense of this term.
In conversations with Oneness Pentecostals about this text, they often try
to argue that the “name” in question here is actually Jesus. There are two
apparent problems with that claim. First, the name Jesus is not mentioned in
the immediate context of the author’s argument. Second, and most
importantly, the whole argument hinges on the word “Son,” not Jesus. It is
not the name Jesus that makes him higher than angels but, rather, the name
Son.
I discovered, then, that the distinction between names and titles was
groundless. Whether a word functions as what we would call a “title” or a
proper name must be determined from contextual usage, not a
predetermined set of distinctions from current English usage.28 With that
discovery, I could return to Matthew 28:19 and see that baptism “in the
name of the Father,” etc., was not a list of titles directing attention to
another name but, in fact, was offering insight into the God that must be
professed by all who choose to follow the way of Christ. Father, Son, and
Holy Spirit are unique names that, when understood, cannot possibly refer
to any other realities than those defined by the New Testament context.
An important issue remains. Why is the word “name” singular in Matthew
28:19? Doesn’t the singular suggest that there is one name that belongs to
Father, Son, and Spirit? There are two possibilities. First, the structure of
the verse assumes the repetition of the word name in each phrase: “Baptize
in the name of the Father, and (in the name) of the Son, and (in the name) of
the Holy Spirit.” Let’s say that the United States, Mexico, and Canada all
send you as an ambassador to a meeting in Europe. You address the crowd:
“I have come in the name of the government of the United States, and of
Mexico, and of Canada.” It would be a misinterpretation of your words to
claim that there is a single government of these three countries. The
repetition of “the government” is implied in the structure and intent of the
sentence. So, too, it is a mistake to construe the singular “name” here as a
reference to something other than Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
Second, it is possible to read the singular in a more mysterious way. Since,
as already noted, the “name” of God is a Hebraism referring to the reality of
God himself, it may be that Jesus’ baptismal command indicates that
baptism directs attention to the one God who is revealed as Father, Son, and
Holy Spirit. Both the unity of being and plurality of persons in God are
brought together in the great command instituting Christian baptism. In
fact, this threefold baptismal expression within the framework of the firm
conviction that God is supremely one gives rise to the threefold creeds of
the Church, beginning with the Apostle’s Creed. Baptism obligates one,
then, to belief in one God who is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

“In the Name”

Does acting “in the name of” another primarily and necessarily refer to a
required formula? Oneness Pentecostals are so used to assuming that the
answer to this question is “yes” that it is often hard to persuade them to
examine their assumption.
I recall a conversation many years ago with a very fine Oneness preacher.
He was a young, but sharp, mind. He was a few years behind me in the
Bible college I attended. He learned that I had left the movement, and he
sought me out. His goal was to persuade me of my errors and encourage me
to return to the “truth.” Our conversation, as was typical, focused on the
baptismal formula. The Bible between us was opened to Acts 2. I asked him
to provide a text that gave the exact words that were spoken at the moment
of baptism. He pointed me to Acts 2:38. Over and again I insisted that the
text records the command of Peter but not the words spoken at the baptism
itself. I noted, as discussed earlier in this chapter, that his was an
interpretation of the text, an interpretation I disagreed with. I couldn’t seem
to get through to him. He looked at me with a look of incredulity. He
seemed as baffled with my inability to “see” his point as I was baffled with
his inability to see mine.
The reality is that doing something “in the name of” another does not
primarily refer to what he says. Colossians 3:17 is abundantly clear:
“Whatever you do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus.”
All Christian life is supposed to be lived “in the name of the Lord Jesus.”
This cannot possibly mean that we audibly utter the name of Jesus every
moment of our lives.
David Bernard, the most prolific theological writer of the United
Pentecostal Church at this time, admits as much: “The verse (i.e., Col. 3:17)
primarily means to say or do everything with the power and authority of
Jesus, as his representative, as his follower, and in dependence upon him.”29
He goes on to argue that some actions appropriately include the oral
invocation of the name of Jesus while others do not. Baptism, he reasons, is
one of those that does.
The key point, however, is that doing something in the name of Jesus is
not primarily a reference to the words spoken but to the authority by which
the action is done. If, for instance, Jesus said to baptize while saying, “in
the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,” actually
doing this would be a baptism “in the name of Jesus” since it is done by the
authority and command of Christ. At the expense of wearying the reader, it
must be noted again: it is an interpretation of the “Jesus’ name” texts to say
they speak of a verbal formula. This interpretation is highly debatable in
light of the data of Scripture and the earliest known interpretations of these
texts.
 It is necessary to emphasize the main point of the prior paragraph since it
provides a reasonable reconciliation of the biblical texts in question. If the
various texts that speak of baptism “in the name of Jesus” may be
reasonably interpreted as references to the authority and power of Christ by
which the action is performed, repeating the words of Christ’s institution of
the sacrament would be strict obedience to Christ and therefore is
accurately described as a baptism “in his name.”
It is worthy of note that one of the earliest Christian writings we have
outside the New Testament supports this interpretation of the New
Testament texts. In the early second-century work The Teaching of the
Twelve Apostles also known as the Didache, we find reference to baptism
“in the name of the Lord” as well as baptism “in the name of the Father,
Son, and Holy Spirit.”30 The author of the work hints of no tension between
the two expressions. Whenever the actual instructions for the baptismal act
are given, the words of Matthew 28:19 are used, but when baptism is
referenced more casually, baptism “in the name of the Lord” is used. Let’s
note several important points from these facts.
First, this ancient text reflects the exact situation that we find in the New
Testament itself as seen in Matthew 28:19 and Acts 2:38. Second, this
document interprets the words of Matthew 28:19 as the formal words
uttered during the action of baptism. Third, no contradiction is implied in
the two expressions. The most reasonable explanation is that already
suggested. Baptism “in the name of the Lord” means baptizing by Christ’s
authority. That authority is expressed in Matthew 28:19, and therefore the
words of Christ are appropriately recited at the moment of baptism.
Bernard is forced to speculate that the references to the prevailing
understanding of Matthew 28:19 expressed in this early document are either
interpolations (later corruptions or additions to the manuscript tradition) or
reflect a stage in history when both “formulas” were accepted.31 Our
interpretation has the advantage of harmonizing the texts both in the New
Testament as well as in the early historical documents outside the New
Testament.32 If we are forced to claim that the ancient documents are
internally contradictory, even though they include the same expressions as
the New Testament, we should seriously consider whether we have
correctly interpreted the meaning of the words.
Some years ago I took the time to examine the numerous references to
baptism in the Christian writings of the first several centuries of the Church.
What I discovered was that they uniformly reflect the same situation that
we find in The Teaching of the Twelve Apostles. The interpretation that
prevailed in early Christianity, then, was the same as that adopted here:
baptism is “in the name of Jesus” insofar as it is carried out on the grounds
of Christ’s authority. That “authority” by which we baptize is found
primarily in Matthew 28:19. Repeating Christ’s command is therefore
fitting and appropriate in the context of baptism.
There is another observation that is just as significant as that already made
concerning the phrase, “in the name of.” Whenever the Acts passages that
speak of baptism “in the name of Jesus,” or some other variation, are
closely examined, they reveal other differences that are not trivial. It is
obviously the case that the passages vary in their usage of the names/titles
“Lord” and “Christ.” There is another set of variations that is theologically
significant.
The book of Acts (as well as the rest of the New Testament) was written in
the Greek language. We are deeply grateful for the many translators of the
Bible that have labored to give us the text in a language we can understand.
The numerous languages into which the Bible has been translated are a
testimony to the efforts of translators and the desire for the Bible throughout
the world. For that we are thankful. It is nonetheless the case, however, that
the work of translators is always subject to the text from which it was
translated. In other words, a translation never renders the original text
irrelevant.
All translations should be evaluated by how well they have communicated
the sense of the original text. Since translators of the Bible are typically
committed to a particular understanding of the Bible or religious tradition,
their biases may be observed in their translations. Some of these biases are
overt and some are subtle. Further, sometimes translators fail to capture the
true sense of a text because of their ignorance of some other context that
would provide a necessary background for the wording and meaning of that
text.33
Acts 2:38, 8:16, 10:48, and 19:5 all use the words, “in the name of” Jesus
Christ or Lord Jesus to describe baptism. In these four texts, however, there
are three different prepositions used, all of which are translated by the
single English word, in. The uniform use of “in” for three different Greek
words obscures the variations of meaning expressed by the Greek
prepositions. Acts 2:38 uses epi. In Acts 8:16 and 19:5, the preposition is
eis (already discussed). Acts 10:48 uses en. Generally speaking, the first,
epi, means, literally, upon. Eis means unto, with reference to, or toward. En
means within the sphere of or in the context of. Although some may feel
slightly intimidated by the various Greek words mentioned here, some
consolation, I hope, may be found in the fact that we will need to examine
only three words!
Perhaps some illustrations will be helpful. The prepositions epi, eis, and
en are used hundreds of times in the New Testament. Since we cannot
survey every instance of their use, we will focus on a few uses within
Luke’s writings since we are seeking to understand how he used these
words.34 In the story of the paralytic, healed by Jesus, for instance, Luke
states that the men who carried him “went upon (epi) the housetop” (Luke
5:19). In the same story, Jesus states that the Son of Man has “authority on
(epi) earth to forgive sins” (v. 24). The apostles “laid hands on (epi)” the
Samaritans to impart the Holy Spirit (Acts 8:17). Beyond the sense of these
few examples, there are various shades of meaning in the hundreds of actual
uses of this preposition. Virtually all of them, however, carry the sense of
resting upon something or standing in near proximity to it. The emphasis is
typically on contact and pressure exerted toward something. Baptism “on”
(epi) the name of Jesus, then, emphasizes the relationship of dependence
into which the baptized enters through that sacrament.
Eis, on the other hand, although bearing some similarities with epi,
emphasizes more the movement into something or some place. The
disciples saw Jesus go “eis heaven” (Acts 1:11), and they went “eis an
upper room” (v. 13). David prophesied of the Messiah that his soul would
not be left “in (eis)” the underworld. (Psalm 16:10) The lame man healed
by the words of Peter and John went “eis the temple” praising God (Acts
3:8). The consistent sense of this word is movement into something, often
in terms of geographical motion but, in other cases, a more spiritual or
figurative sense is in mind (e.g., Acts 10:48, 14:22). Baptism “into” (eis)
the name of Jesus would suggest, then, movement from one context or state
of life into a new one.
The preposition en carries many of the same connotations as our word in.
It can mean “among,” “within,” and even “through/by,” depending on the
words it is associated with. Mostly it is a word that directs attention to a
particular sphere of influence or meaning. Jesus, in a particular parable,
speaks of a servant speaking “in (en) his heart” (Luke 12:45), and, in
another text, of the “tower in (en) Siloam” (13:4). There are six days “in
(en) which men ought to work” (13:14). In light of the regular use of this
word, baptism “in” (en) the name of Jesus, although many shades of
meaning may be implied, suggests that one has been placed within the
sphere of Christ’s influence and authority.
Imagine a square, three-dimensional figure. The preposition eis would
signify something that is directed toward that figure. Epi would signify
something sitting on that figure. En would signify something within the
figure. All the Acts texts in view here indicate that it is the “name of Jesus”
that baptism is somehow related to. If we take “name” here as indicating
Christ’s authority and power, we conclude that Christian baptism directs us
toward the authority of Christ (eis), grounds us upon (epi), and places us
within (en) the sphere of Christ’s authority and power.
Thus understood, the Acts texts are richly and variously describing the
meaning of Christian baptism as an action that places the baptized into a
multifaceted relationship to Christ. This conclusion is strikingly similar to
the various texts in the New Testament letters that pertain to baptism (e.g.,
Rom. 6:3–5; 1 Cor. 12:13; Col. 2:8–10; 1 Pet. 3:20–21). In those texts, for
example, the baptized are united with Christ in his death and resurrection.
The baptized are obligated to live “in newness of life” as a consequence of
their union with Christ. This theological richness is closely connected with
the diversity of baptismal expressions found in Acts.
In conclusion, rather than a uniform formula, the Acts texts are diverse.
They do not fit what one would expect of a formula (a set pattern or
wording). Although this observation requires some effort to look closely at
the relevant biblical texts, this effort is richly rewarded. The diverse
theological meanings implied in these texts point us away from a baptismal
formula toward an appreciation of the dynamic and multi-dimensional
relationship with Christ that we enter through baptism.
 The Theological Meaning of Baptism
David Bernard, after concluding that baptism should be performed with the
formula “in the name of Jesus” notes that the only practical reason why
trinitarians insist on baptizing according to the wording of Matthew 28:19 is
their belief in the Trinity. Bernard argues that this is not a sound
justification, however, for two reasons.
First, there are trinitarians who admit baptism “in Jesus’ name” is the
correct formula but who also continue to believe in the Trinity. Second, the
fact is, he argues, that the Trinity is unbiblical. Consequently, there are no
good theological reasons for baptism in the name of the Trinity.
With respect to the first argument, those trinitarians who deny a
connection between baptism and trinitarian faith are certainly standing
outside the traditional understanding of baptism. In fact, the vast majority of
Christian theologians through the centuries have recognized an inseparable
connection between the faith of the Church and the meaning of baptism.
The threefold structure of the ancient symbols or creeds certainly grew out
of the ancient baptismal confession embodied in Matthew 28:19.35
Second, the claim that the Trinity is not found in Scripture is one that we
will have to discuss at some length in the next chapter. For the moment, it is
sufficient to recall the contents of the present chapter. Recall that Acts 8 and
19 both indicate that Christian baptism should include some awareness of
Jesus as the Son of God and of the Holy Spirit. Elsewhere we find emphasis
on the role of the Father in our salvation and baptism (Rom. 6:4). Indeed,
when we do all that we do “in the name of the Lord Jesus,” we are also to
give thanks “through him to God the Father” (Col. 3:17). If giving thanks
to the Father should accompany actions done in the name of the Son, and if
the Son of God should be professed and the Holy Spirit recognized, we
have discovered all the subjects mentioned in Matthew 28:19 outside that
text. Can we seriously entertain the idea that baptism “in the name of Jesus”
must exclude explicit reference to the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit?
In fact, one is tempted to conclude that the only substantial argument that
remains in support of the Oneness Pentecostal doctrine of the baptismal
formula is the theological one. If the Trinity is a false teaching and
“Oneness” is correct, baptism becomes a statement of the “true” doctrine
pertaining to God: Jesus is the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. If this doctrine
is incorrect, however, and the Trinity is a faithful representation of the
scriptural depiction of God, no reason remains for using the shorter
“formula” advocated by the Oneness Pentecostal.
Matthew 28:19 records, according to the New Testament, the institution of
the distinctively Christian practice of baptism. Consequently, it is the origin
of all other Christian baptisms that follow it. It is not unreasonable, then, to
cite the authority of Christ whenever baptism is administered. That
authority is concretely expressed in Matthew 28:19.
It is also profitable to note that Christian faith does not stop with the
historical Jesus. The Jesus who lived among us two thousand years ago
uniquely and definitively revealed God to the world. This God transcends
all time. Our faith is not in “Jesus only” but in the God revealed to us
through Jesus Christ.36 This God, we discover, is eternally triune. The true
goal of Christian faith and life, then, is the Trinity. Jesus is the savior who
restores the human family to the path that leads to the eternal life of the
Trinity (John 17:21–26). Jesus is the incarnation of the eternal Son of the
Father who most perfectly reveals the Father to us. It is fitting, then, that
our baptism directs us beyond all history to the God in whom we will be
immersed in the eternal life of love that we call heaven. Baptism certainly
points to the historical Jesus but, by demanding that we acknowledge him
as the Son of the Father, we also acknowledge the eternal Person who
became one with us in time and space. The trinitarian baptismal statement
directs us to Jesus and the God revealed through him.
The intuition of the early Pentecostals was correct, then: baptism using the
formula “in Jesus’ name” is a direct assault on the belief in the Trinity. It
was not long until that assault followed the practice of Jesus’ name baptism.
Trinitarians need not feel uncomfortable when reading about baptism “in
the name of Jesus” in the Bible, however, since this expression is
reasonably understood as directing us to Christ’s authority found in
Matthew 28:19. The Oneness Pentecostal movement forcefully rejects the
Trinity, however, in no uncertain terms. If we find that the Trinity is well
founded in Scripture, our interpretation of the baptismal formula question
will be decisively confirmed.
More than once I heard Pentecostal preachers say, “I’m proud to say that a
Catholic priest will not accept the validity of my baptism.” My study of the
Bible led me to understand why the Catholic Church embraces baptism as,
at its core, trinitarian. Is it possible that we had misunderstood other biblical
truths? Is it possible we had erred in our evaluation of Catholic
Christianity? These are questions I was forced to ask myself.
Now we will turn to the most important question considered in this book.
Is the Oneness Pentecostal rejection of the Trinity well founded? Or, on the
other hand, is the Trinity a faithful and accurate understanding of God
based on the biblical sources? This question is of utmost important since it
will impact absolutely everything else we have to say about the Christian
faith. I lost many nights of sleep struggling with this question. What I
discovered was far more profound and life-changing than I ever thought
possible.
2 The word conversion is used here in the sense of any major shift of religious convictions. Conversion, in this usage, is not
necessarily a positive development.
3 Throughout this work the word church refers to any body of professing Christians. I will capitalize this word when referring to
the Catholic Church or to the historical Tradition expressed most fully in the Catholic Church. From a Catholic perspective, the
word church is reserved for those communions that have legitimate apostolic succession and the fullness of the sacrament of the
Eucharist. Catholicism does not deny that meaningful elements of Christianity exist outside Catholicism, but the word Church
is a technical one that cannot be extended indefinitely without compromising the full meaning of the Church as established by
 Christ. I use this term, then, in a loose sense in accord with the manner of speaking commonly found in the movements I am
evaluating. If I were concerned with technical language, “ecclesial communion” would better express the intended meaning.
4 Biblical citations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the New American Standard translation of the Bible (The Lockman
Foundation, 1977). This choice was based on (a) the fact that this translation emphasizes literal communication of meaning in
contrast to dynamic equivalence, certainly a desired feature in a work like this, (b) it is not a specifically Catholic translation,
and (c) it is highly regarded among many Protestants and Evangelicals, including Pentecostals, who might read this work.
5 Later this point will be considered more fully. Perhaps an alternative explanation of the prayers of Jesus is in order, however.
Pope Benedict XVI, in discussing Jesus’ prayers in the Gospel of John, notes, “Jesus’ prayer is seen also by John to be the
interior locus of the term ‘the Son.’ Of course, Jesus’ prayer is different from the prayer of a creature: it is the dialogue of love
within God himself—the dialogue that God is.” Joseph Ratzinger/Pope Benedict XVI, Jesus of Nazareth (New York:
Doubleday, 2007), 344.
6 Gordon Magee, author of a popular booklet in defense of Oneness theology, Is Jesus in the Godhead or is the Godhead in
Jesus?, wrote: “The present resurgence of the truth of the full deity of Jesus is but a rediscovery of a very precious apostolic
truth which for long centuries has been obscured and prevented by the Roman apostasy and its three-God theory” (18).
7 Not all Oneness Pentecostals are as insistent on this point. Some allow trinitarians the “chance” of salvation so long as they are
ignorant, through no fault of their own, of the “truth.” The United Pentecostal Church International (UPCI), the largest Oneness
organization, speaks of their understanding of Acts 2:38 as the “Bible standard of full salvation.” This leaves some room for
interpreting what “full salvation” means. In my experience, most interpreted it as a minimum standard. There was no ambiguity,
among virtually all those I knew, this was their position.
8 A written summary of the major reasons and experiences accounting for my conversion to Catholicism and away from Oneness
Pentecostalism may be found in the Coming Home Network, November 2009, newsletter.
9 Carl Brumback’s book, God in Three Persons (Cleveland, TN: Pathway Press, 1959), and Gregory Boyd’s, Oneness
Pentecostals and the Trinity (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Book House, 1992) are the most well known full-length works. Boyd’s
book displays an insider’s knowledge of the Oneness movement and is far superior to Brumback’s. Another book, The Trinity
and Eternal Sonship of Christ (Pasadena, TX: Pilgrim Publications, 1992), by my longtime Baptist friend, Bob L. Ross, is
especially interesting with respect to his historical observations about early Pentecostal leaders.
10 By orthodox I mean conformity to the traditional standards of theology shared by the major Catholic, Orthodox, and Protestant
creeds (e.g., Trinity, hypostatic union). The term is used primarily for its historical value, not pejoratively. I include the
Protestant creeds to emphasize the degree to which the Oneness movement deviates from historical Christianity.
11 Oneness theology is more perplexing than these other movements, however, inasmuch as it is far more Christocentric. Oneness
Pentecostals affirm that Jesus is God. These facts set it apart from other non-trinitarian forms of Christianity and make it more
difficult to critique, since most aberrant groups attack the divinity of Christ in some way.
12 It is not my intention to write for scholars, and therefore I will not provide footnotes for every claim I make. My hope is that
this presentation will take the form of a conversation with Oneness Pentecostals (and other interested persons) that grows out of
my own experience as a Oneness Pentecostal, including years of study in a United Pentecostal Bible college and relationships
with many “mainline” ministers and teachers. The movement has not produced a wealth of theological literature. This accounts
for some of the theological ambiguity that exists about Oneness Pentecostalism. By far the most prolific and persuasive writer
in the movement is David K. Bernard (now general superintendent of the United Pentecostal Church International) whose
numerous books published by Word Aflame Press (Hazelwood, Missouri) provide the primary theological presentations of their
beliefs. Excluding, of course, official organizational documents and periodicals, works almost always designed for popular
consumption. Bernard’s books provide a fine service to the movement since they summarize the major arguments, ideas, and
claims that are found throughout their churches.
13 A former student of Oneness Pentecostal background recently sent me an email suggesting a connection between Oneness
theology and a trend of “dictatorial” pastors. The Trinity affirms a God who is an eternal communion of love. Oneness theology,
on the other hand, affirms an eternal solitary God. My student’s experience, although it does not demonstrate a necessary
consequence of Oneness theology, may confirm a tendency toward a certain view of God and, as applied especially to pastoral
ministry, authority.

14 This book has long intrigued me. I first learned of it many years ago from Ted Rebard, one of my beloved philosophy
professors at the University of St. Thomas (Houston). He described this book as one of a small handful of books that changed
his life.
15 Arless Glass, well-known United Pentecostal minister, was my pastor during my seven years in the Oneness movement.
Despite our theological differences, I learned much from him. His seriousness about his beliefs, love of books, and efforts to
teach me humility when my youthful energy was accompanied by too high an estimation of my abilities all have had a lasting
impact.
16 For further reading on images, icons, and the importance of imagination and visual experience, see Christoph Schonborn, God’s
Human Face (San Francisco: Ignatius Press); Jeroslav Pelikan, The Christian Tradition: A History of the Development of
Doctrine, vol. 2: The Spirit of Eastern Christendom (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1977); and Alister McGrath, The
Twilight of Atheism: The Rise and Fall of Disbelief in the Modern World (Colorado Springs: Waterbrook and Multnomah,
2006). Schonborn’s work focuses heavily on the iconoclastic crisis during the first millennium of the Church. Pelikan’s work
focuses on the development of eastern Christianity more broadly but gives significant attention to the theological issues
surrounding the use of icons. McGrath’s work is an insightful look at contemporary atheism, but along the way includes a
fascinating analysis of the loss of the sense of the sacred alongside the renewal of iconoclasm within early Protestantism.
17 Protestant iconoclasm inclined toward limiting the “means” of God’s revelation to the preached and written word of God. Some
years ago I attended the funeral of a student of mine who died in a car accident. The funeral was held at a large Presbyterian
church. Upon leaving, some students who attended the funeral noted that the church building had no art, the pulpit was at the
 center, there were no stained glass mirrors, and the other customary uses of the sign of the cross, genuflecting, etc., were
missing. The long practice of finding God in the beauty of the creation as well as the beauty of redemption as displayed to all
the senses in Christian worship was noticeably absent.
18 Some, like Charles Parham, the “founder” of Pentecostalism, were rather indifferent to water baptism altogether. See James R.
Goff, Jr., Fields White Unto Harvest (Fayetteville, AR: University of Arkansas Press, 1988), 35.
19 Fred Foster, Their Story: Twentieth Century Pentecostals (Hazelwood, MO: Word Aflame Press, 1965), 88-90.
20 Oneness Pentecostals insist on baptism by immersion only. Since this stance is not unique to them, however, it will not be
discussed in detail here. I would argue, though, that the Greek word baptizo allows for a plurality of modes and the New
Testament usage implies the same (compare Acts 1:4-5, 2:4, 33, 38, 8:16, 10:44-48, 19:5-6). In these texts we find a variety of
descriptive terms for the “baptism with the Holy Spirit”: poured out, filled, baptized, came upon, etc. The meaning of “baptism”
can be expressed, then, through more than one mode.
21 Most contemporary translations of Acts 8 exclude this verse since the oldest manuscripts conclude the conversation with the
eunuch’s request for baptism. Oneness Pentecostals typically accept the validity of these disputed verses, however, and so we
will not engage the critical textual questions. At a bare minimum, the text represents a very early understanding of baptism,
even if these words were not original.
22 See Jean-Pierre Torrell, O.P., Saint Thomas Aquinas: Spiritual Master, v. 2 (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America
Press, 2003), 49-52.
23 I avoid raising the issue of infant baptism here. The Catholic approach would emphasize the faith of the believing community,
including the infant’s parents, as vital to the meaning of baptism. It is, fundamentally, an act of faith.
24 Bernard denies that the name Jesus is a magical formula or incantation. He insists that faith is essential in the person, and
therefore uttering the name of Jesus alone is not sufficient (David K. Bernard, The New Birth (Weldon Spring, MO: Pentecostal
Publishing House), 164-5. My remarks here reflect my own experience, however. Moreover, if two persons have the same faith
in Jesus but one, as described above, does not obtain the forgiveness of sins, it is more than faith in Jesus that causes
forgiveness.
25 Thomas Aquinas, for instance, interprets the texts that speak of “baptism in the name of Christ” as instances of a “special
dispensation of he who did not bind his power to the sacraments” (Summa Theologiae III.66.6). He conjectures that an
exception was allowed during the early apostolic era “in order that the name of Christ, which was hateful to Jews and Gentiles,
might become an object of veneration.” It is interesting that he also deals with the position that either baptism according to
Matthew 28:19 or “in the name of Christ” is acceptable because the Father and Holy Spirit are implied in the name of Christ.
He does not deny that such an implication exists, but he insists that the sensible form of the sacrament be conformed to the
original elements of the sacrament as instituted by Christ. He rejects the validity of any baptism without mention of Father, Son,
and Holy Spirit, since the sensible “form” of the sacrament should be conformed to Christ’s baptism in which there was a
sensible presence of the Father (in the voice from heaven), the Son (standing in the water), and the Holy Spirit (descending in
the form of a dove).
26 See Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae III.60.7-8. Aquinas cites Augustine: “The word operates in the sacraments not
because it is spoken, i.e. not by the outward sound of the voice, but because it is believed in accordance with the sense of the
words which is held by faith. And this sense is indeed the same for all, though the same words as to their sound be not used by
all. Consequently no matter in what language this sense is expressed, the sacrament is complete.” Throughout Aquinas’s
treatment of this and related subjects, he continually emphasizes the importance of maintaining the proper meaning of the
sacraments in the words used. Several interesting examples are offered in III.60.8.
27 There are references to, apparently, angelic beings as “sons of God”, but the writer of Hebrews is basing his argument on the
singular and personal nature of the Psalm 2 text (“my Son”).
28 Another relevant example is the name “Abram” or “Abraham.” “Mighty father” or “Father of many” as such, would not be
considered proper “names” in our current usage.
29 Bernard, The New Birth, 162. Bernard’s words here work quite well when applied to texts commonly used to say that the
“name” of the Father and the Holy Spirit is Jesus (John 5:43, 14:26). When Jesus speaks of coming “in my Father’s name,” this
certainly is not claiming that the Father is called Jesus! As seen throughout John’s Gospel, this refers to Christ’s mission from
the Father. He is sent bearing the authority and power of his Father. The same is true of the Holy Spirit, sent by the Father and
Son with the mission of testifying of the Son.
30 See J.B. Lightfoot and J.R. Harmer, eds., The Apostolic Fathers (Berkeley: Apocryfile Press, 2004), 259.
31 Bernard, The New Birth, 266.
32 Nineteenth- and twentieth-century historians and theologians often found the “evolutionary theory” of religion attractive. For
this reason, they frequently argued that the Trinity was far too complex to exist in the first century. As a consequence, anything
in the New Testament that reflected or implied that trinitarian faith existed at the origins of Christianity must be an
interpolation. Some argued that baptism was originally in the “simpler” formula (“in Jesus’ name”), using the same texts that
Oneness Pentecostals use in support. Oneness Pentecostals have often used these sources in support of their claims without
realizing that these assertions are more a reflection of the ideologies of the nineteenth century than they are sound historical
research.
33 Some years ago I was surprised to find the New American Bible translates the Greek phrase, anthropou theou (literally, “man of
God”) as “one who belongs to God” in 2 Timothy 3:16. A cursory examination of the biblical texts using the phrase “man of
God” reveals it is a technical expression for a prophet or divine spokesperson. This fact seriously affects the sense of 2 Timothy
3:16, a sense that is clouded by the generic phrase chosen to translate the meaning of these words. This text brings together all
inspired Scripture and the “man of God” or divinely authorized spokesperson for God in a given area: the bishop. Paul is
addressing Timothy, also called “man of God” in the only other use of that phrase in the New Testament (1 Tim. 6:11).
34 Luke is the author of both the Gospel bearing his name and the book of Acts. Both works are addressed to Theophilus (Luke
1:3, Acts 1:1), and the second work directs attention back to the “first book,” which dealt with the life, death, resurrection, and
 ascension of Jesus.
35 Early Christians writers like Justin Martyr provide testimony of the growing expansion of the baptismal profession of faith into
early creeds. The Apostles’ Creed is the classic example of this development, all of which grows from Matthew 28:19. On this
point see Henri de Lubac, “A Trinitarian Creed,” ch. 2 of The Christian Faith (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1986).
36 I’m reminded of a public “debate” I once had with a Presbyterian minister. We were asked to present our respective
understandings of Catholicism and Protestantism for a college world religions course. He began his opening presentation by
tossing his Bible on the floor. He then made the point that the Bible is only a book; Christianity has to do with a person: Christ.
Of course, I objected to his throwing the Bible on the floor since we should show respect to the means of God’s revelation to us.
His point is valid, however, inasmuch as the goal of our religion is not a book but God, revealed in Christ.
 2

The Oneness of God and the Trinity

“The word Trinity is not even in the Bible!” “It is impossible that there are
three Gods and one God at the same time!” “I never heard one preacher
who believed in the Trinity get excited about that teaching.” “We don’t
believe in three Gods, we believe in only one!” “The Trinity doctrine was
created by the Catholics during the time of Constantine; before that,
everyone believed in Oneness and baptism in Jesus’ name.”
All of these claims, and many others like them, were declared countless
times during my years in Oneness Pentecostalism. When I was first exposed
to the claims of “Oneness” theology, I tried to read several books on the
subject of the Trinity in order to see which understanding of the Bible was
most compelling. I must admit, in retrospect, that my mind was very much
swayed in the direction of the Oneness movement when I began this
youthful study of the Trinity. There were serious questions in my mind, but
these were overcome by the confidence and overwhelming enthusiasm that
Oneness preachers and believers expressed in my early years under their
influence.
Years ago, after I left the Oneness movement, I became friends with a
young man involved in campus ministry at a local junior college. He
enrolled in a class or two at the college so he could get to know other
students and then share his version of Evangelical Christian faith with them.
Shortly after we became friends, a friendship grounded in our common
interest in Scripture and theology, he informed me he was dating a young
lady whose father was a convert to Judaism. The father was not all that
excited about his daughter dating a Christian. A dialogue developed
between my friend and his girlfriend’s father. In time, he asked me to help
him answer the various questions and challenges presented by the father.
At the beginning of our conversation, I had no doubt that he wanted to
offer a compelling case for Christianity. As time went on, however, I began
to sense that he was doing more than playing the “devil’s advocate” in our
conversations. He was becoming more and more aggressive—a sign that his
heart was no longer in defending Christianity but had been drawn to
Judaism.
Sure enough, he informed me that he was converting to Judaism and
marrying his girlfriend. I learned later that he had joined the Air Force and
moved away. Some years later he contacted me again. Now, with these
years behind him, he was able to look back at his choice to leave Christian
faith with some objectivity. He converted to Eastern Orthodoxy.
As I look back on my boyhood “infatuation” with Oneness theology, I find
a similar emotional bond of attachment that formed when I first learned
those ideas. This bond was only enhanced when I attended worship services
at the Oneness church that were filled with emotion, upbeat music, and
forceful preaching. Additionally, the people were, in general, very kind and
enthusiastic about their faith. Although my Baptist church had some
outstanding qualities, it seemed rather “lifeless” in contrast to what I had
discovered. I was also heralded as something of a hero for saying “yes” to
the “truth.” This certainly appealed to my youthful pride and confidence.
Given my maturity level and this growing bond, it was almost inevitable
that I would plunge myself into this newfound movement.
 I have discovered that most religious “conversions,” if not all of them, are
not merely intellectual. There is also an emotional dimension. I suspect that
most lifelong Pentecostals and Catholics feel a deep “bond,” especially if
their faith is more than nominal, with their upbringing. There is a level of
familiarity and comfort that makes it very difficult to break away from this
bond. Those who do convert to something else typically find deep flaws in
their present faith and superior attributes in another form of religious faith.
These “superior attributes” are seldom only intellectual arguments.
In our own time, however, there is an exaggerated sense of dependence on
emotion in conversation about sensitive matters. “Conversation,” in fact, is
often little more than expressing feelings on a matter with little reason to
support it. Even if reason is used, it is often waved off as another’s
“opinion” and not taken seriously.
My initial rejection of the Trinity was sincere. I truly accepted arguments
that I thought were sound. The same sincerity, however, led me to later
admit my errors of reasoning. As a young teenager, I simply did not have
the grasp of the subject that was necessary to make a sound judgment.
I’ve often stated that one of my philosophy professors, Ed Hauser, at the
Center for Thomistic Studies at the University of St. Thomas in Houston,
Texas, taught me how to read. Dr. Hauser is the most impressive example of
Socratic dialogue that I have come across in my life. He forced us to think. I
often felt profoundly ignorant when I left his classes, but I also learned far
more in his classes than was typical.
In order to finish the master’s degree in philosophy, I had to independently
study four philosophy writings that I had not studied in class, and then pass
an oral exam on those books in front of several philosophy professors at the
university. One of the books I chose was David Hume’s Treatise of Human
Nature. It is a work of hundreds of pages with many twists and turns. I was
nervous about the exam since there are so many parts to the work and some
of them are quite dense.
After months of preparation, I sat before three professors and discussed
those four books. Dr. Hauser was responsible for questioning me on Hume’s
work. He asked me to open the book to the first page. He then proceeded to
ask me a series of relentless questions about the first sentence in the book.
That was all. When he finished, he closed the book and another professor
proceeded to question me about another book.
A single sentence? I spent months working on the whole book! Hauser
knew, however, that the first sentence was the key to the whole writing. Had
I waded around the entire work and not realized the significance of the first
sentence, he would know I missed the most important point.
Dr. Hauser and other important thinkers I’ve had the privilege of knowing
and studying under have taught me to read carefully. They have taught me
to first understand and only then engage in argument. Although harder now
than ever, it is important that we sufficiently use our minds to guide and
direct our emotions and passions.
It takes a great deal of effort to stand away from one’s emotional
attachment to a set of ideas and look at them objectively. Every religious
movement has adherents that find something about that movement
fulfilling; otherwise, it would not exist. It is definitely true that Oneness
Pentecostalism meets religious needs for many of those who share those
convictions. The same could be said, however, for members of movements
as diverse as the Jehovah’s Witnesses, Mormonism, and Islam. The fact that
various different religious systems are, to some extent, “fulfilling” is not, in
itself, a justification of the whole set of ideas that constitute those systems.
We can look favorably on some of those positive features of these systems
without endorsing the whole of them. In fact, it can be argued that those
positive features make the errors of these movements all the more difficult
to overcome. Theoretically, if there is a religious faith that is, indeed, the
“fullness of truth” in this world, that religion would, or at least could, fully
satisfy the religious needs of the human person. The problem, of course, is
listening to those religious truth-claims with sufficient objectivity and, just
as importantly, fully living that faith.
The Catholic Church claims to safeguard the fullness of truth in this
world. Proper evaluation of this claim requires two things: (a) a powerful,
compelling, and full presentation of the Faith by Catholics and (b) a
sufficient level of objectivity and openness in those who hear this
presentation. Catholics do not aid in this task when they are Catholic in
name only. The Church directs our attention to the saints for a compelling
presentation of what the Catholic faith is supposed to achieve in a human
life.37 The truth-value of the Catholic faith should be evaluated from the
perspective of those who have fully believed, digested, and lived its
meaning. I would invite my Oneness Pentecostal friends to consider the
lives of saints as diverse as Francis of Assisi, Thomas Aquinas, Augustine,
Thomas More, Teresa of Avila, John of the Cross, and a host of others
before quickly writing off Catholicism as a “dead” set of traditions.
Perhaps one example will suffice to make this point. About ten years after
becoming a Catholic, I journeyed with some colleagues to Spain to visit
sites connected with the life of St. Ignatius of Loyola. Ignatius is the
sixteenth-century founder of the Society of Jesus, a prominent religious
order in the Catholic Church. Also known as the Jesuits, they are well
known for establishing many schools and religious institutions throughout
the world. Shortly after I became a Catholic, I began teaching theology at a
Jesuit school in Houston, Texas. Nearly two decades later, I continue to
work in the same institution.
 During my early years teaching theology at this school, I honestly knew
little about the history and spirituality of the Jesuits. I knew surface details
but had devoted little energy to building on that foundation. Why? I’m not
sure. I had other theological interests and perhaps also a residual resistance
from my Protestant upbringing to thinking too much about saints.
This all changed when I had the opportunity to visit Spain. With Ignatius’s
brief autobiography in hand, our group drove throughout Spain searching
for key places in Ignatius’s life. Beginning in Basque country, we found the
Loyola Sanctuary, Ignatius’s place of birth as well as the place where he
recovered from the battle wounds he received in Pamplona. That painful,
slow recovery was the beginning of his spiritual rebirth. Finding himself
with little to occupy his mind, he reluctantly began to read the only two
books in the house: Ludolph of Saxony’s Life of Christ and The Golden
Legend, a collection of fantastic stories about saints.
While reading these works, Ignatius, an admittedly hard-headed young
man, slowly began to learn the movements of his own spirit. He began to
sense a deep longing to follow Christ as his king, in contrast to his earlier
romantic notions of serving an earthly king. After his recovery he journeyed
toward Barcelona, stopping at Montserrat, a picturesque mountain featuring
stunning views of the valleys below and a renowned basilica and
Benedictine monastery. After, Ignatius made his way to a nearby small
town, Manresa. There he spent much of his time in a small cave on the
outskirts of the town battling his scrupulosity and painful guilt as he
developed what would become the Spiritual Exercises, a retreat program
that laid out a path for others to share in the kind of spiritual enlightenment
that took place in Ignatius of Loyola during this stage of his life.
What is the Spiritual Exercises all about? It is about the darkness of sin. It
is about the love of God that brought us into existence and God’s call to us
to find his love present in all things. It is about choosing to follow Christ,
no matter the cost. It is about personally encountering and staying with the
Jesus who loved us so much that he suffered among us and for us. It is
about being with Jesus in his resurrection and ascension. In short, it is about
coming into a profound, life-changing awareness of God’s love and call to
all who choose to open themselves to it.
As we journeyed from the Loyola House to Pamplona to Montserrat to
Manresa, my heart gradually became captivated with this man who
discovered Christ in such a life-altering way. After returning home, I began
to experiment with the Spiritual Exercises. I would find quiet time to sit and
ponder moments in the life of Christ, using my imagination to enter into the
stories and consider the face of Christ, his words, his tone of voice, the
thoughts of those walking with him, the experience of those who
encountered his healing power or words of forgiveness. I spent time at the
foot of the cross and in the empty tomb. A few years later I went on a
seven-day silent retreat in order to have a greater taste of the profound
experience that Ignatius shared with the world through the gift of the
Spiritual Exercises.
St. Ignatius is one of numerous saints whose lives have been instrumental
in showing the vast depths of the Catholic faith. Sometimes the saints show
us new approaches to expressing and living out our faith. No two of us are
exactly alike. The saints show the rich and diverse ways in which
individuals may respond to God’s love and do God’s work in this world.
My experience within Pentecostalism suggested a much more monolithic
vision of what the Christian life was supposed to be like. Within
Catholicism, I find beauty in the austere scholarship of Thomas Aquinas as
well as the simple and gentle playfulness of Francis of Assisi.
Far from being a “dead” religious tradition, then, I find within Catholicism
deep resources to continually challenge my own spiritual growth. I have
found in St. Ignatius Loyola, for instance, a tremendous encouragement to
grow in knowing, following, and loving Jesus. I wanted this as a
Pentecostal and still want it now. Catholicism has not hindered or
discouraged those positive longings but it has given me an endless resource
for continuing my journey with the help of the great lives and teachings of
the great saints.
The Attraction of “Oneness”
My choice to believe Oneness theology was, I think, based on several
things. First, I was persuaded by the arguments presented to me. The case
for the Jesus’ name baptismal formula was compelling at that stage of my
development. Also, there was a level of cogency to the attack on the Trinity.
It is true that the Bible does not use the word Trinity or some of the other
terms used to express that doctrine. The Trinity is not an easy doctrine to
understand or to explain to others. In fact, it is not uncommon to find many
who should know better making basic mistakes in explaining it.
I once heard the dean of a school of theology speak on Martin Buber’s
book, I and Thou (1958). This book had a profound effect on the
development of personalism in the twentieth century. Buber emphasized
that we are fundamentally relational beings and that our sense of “I” or self
is developed and meaningful only in relationship to a “Thou,” or another. It
is not hard to see how these insights could be helpful in thinking about the
relationships between the divine Persons of the Trinity. The relationship
between the Father and Son found in the Gospel of John and elsewhere
sounds very much like this mutual interdependence of personal subjects.
During the question period following the presentation, one person asked
the professor, “Do you think Buber’s work can be used as a basis for
dialogue with Jews on the subject of the Trinity?” The professor, without
hesitation, replied, “Of course not. Jews believe in only one God!” I
cringed, as did many others in the room, evidenced by a collective groan
throughout the room.
The reality, of course, is that the trinitarian faith insists that there is only
one God. We begin our creed with those familiar words: “We believe in one
God.” This professor should have known better. The fact is, however, that
there is significant confusion about the Trinity, and this makes the claims of
Oneness Pentecostalism all the more attractive. Oneness theology is
compelling because it is far easier to illustrate and understand than
trinitarianism. For example, in my first conversation with a Oneness
preacher, he stated, “I am a father, son, and husband, yet I am only one
person. The same is true with God. God is Father in creation, Son in
redemption, and Holy Spirit in sanctification, but only one person.” This
illustration is, without doubt, easy to explain and understand. In fact, I’ve
seen its equivalent in Catholic religion textbooks!
Of course, I am neither my own father nor my own son. That I am a father
implies another person: my son. That I am a son implies another person: my
father. That I am both a father and a son only highlights the fact that I stand
in relationship to another as son and another as father. The illusion of the
comparison is that one can be father and son simultaneously without
implying other persons that make those relational terms meaningful. The
New Testament frequently uses the terms Father and Son to highlight an
interpersonal relationship between the two. For example, Jesus states, “No
one knows the Son except the Father,” and vice-versa (Matt. 11:27). Here
mutual knowledge is specified as part of what constitutes the unique
relationship that exists between the Father and the Son. Oneness
Pentecostals often attempt to define these terms as indicating relationships
between God and creation (“Father in creation, Son in redemption”). This
simply will not do in numerous instances. Despite the failure of the
comparison, however, it is used to great effect in supporting the claim that
the Trinity is nonsensical whereas Oneness theology is entirely reasonable
and simple.
Returning to my reasons for embracing Oneness theology, a second
reason, I must confess, is that I was intrigued by the newness and freshness
of these ideas. I was drawn to the idea that most of “Christendom” had
fallen away from the “truth” and I could participate in restoring that truth to
the world. Being one of the few that held the precious original truths of
Christianity was attractive. Through my years as a Oneness Pentecostal, I
would pride myself on every “novel” theological idea I could muster, all
with the conviction that I was participating in rediscovering the original
meaning of Christian faith.
In time, this second reason for embracing Oneness theology would fade
and then become increasing unattractive. Over and again, I found that the
“novel” ideas that I developed were really not impressive at all. I found
there were good reasons why my interpretations and theories had been
rejected through the centuries, and I became increasingly aware of the fact
that I was engaged in a futile attempt to “reinvent the wheel.” Instead of
learning from those who came before me, I was acting as if I was the first to
study the Bible.
My youthful pride began to give way to a measured appreciation for
tradition. By “tradition” I mean the ideas and insights into the meaning of
Christian faith that have been handed along through the centuries. Church
history became more interesting, especially direct contact with the writings
of the earliest Christians outside the New Testament. Seeing Christian faith
through the eyes of those whose lives overlapped the apostles or other
important Christians opened a whole new world to me. I did not, of course,
slavishly submit to every word they wrote. Rather, my own thoughts were
informed by humbly listening to those theological laborers through the
centuries. Such dependence on those who have come before us is essential
in every discipline; why not, I thought, in the disciplines that pertain to our
faith? I also found that the truly meaningful insights I had and shared with
others were those learned from others, typically from those who lived long
ago.
Since the Oneness movement was, by historical standards, in its infancy, I
began experiencing a kind of historical loneliness. The restorationist view
of Church history, one in which “true” Christianity was lost for most of
history, became less appealing. Add to this loneliness my discovery that
honest people could read the same Bible I read and come to very different
conclusions; it is quite understandable that what followed was a stage of
real crisis. Although I had a fair amount of youthful pride, I was honest
enough with myself to know that there have always been theologians and
biblical scholars much more knowledgeable than myself. How could I be so
sure of my interpretation of the Bible when other honest readers of Scripture
rejected my interpretation?
These growing concerns would find their center of gravity in the Trinity. If
the dogma of the Trinity results from a true and faithful interpretation of
Scripture, the rest of our theology, I discovered, would unravel. My focus,
then, beginning with my second year of college, would be the subject of the
Trinity. By the time I graduated, I was firmly convinced that the Trinity is
founded upon Scripture and that Oneness theology, in the face of the New
Testament, requires a “forced” interpretation of the Bible that is little
different from fitting a square peg in a round hole.
My initial enthusiasm about Oneness Pentecostalism waned, primarily for
theological reasons. It is also the case, however, that I discovered the
Oneness movement is made up of human beings. Just like any movement or
church, Oneness people struggle with sins of every sort. I found all the
human foibles there that one finds anywhere else. I do not discredit the
movement for this reason. The oft-quoted statement is true everywhere: “If
a perfect church exists, we would destroy it by joining it.” My primary
point is that my original enthusiasm was followed by a new sobriety in the
face of human weakness, including my own. It was this realism about the
human condition that gave me sufficient impetus to step back and look
more objectively at my interpretation of the Bible and, more generally, my
understanding of Christianity. Without doubt, the Catholic Church, too, has
a lot of problems, as do all other communities. In my own journey, I made
the hard choice to leave the comfort of my chosen religious profession in
search of the original understanding of Christian faith. This search would
lead me, in time, to the Catholic Church.
In what follows, I will discuss some of the major claims and arguments
offered by Oneness Pentecostals in support of their rejection of the Trinity.
My intention is not only to answer these arguments but to also develop a
biblical theology of the Trinity along the way. I have chosen to discuss the
claims that are most frequently made since they provide the foundation for
the other arguments that I will not address here.
We will begin (a) with the charge that the Trinity is demonstrably
unbiblical because it is expressed primarily using unbiblical terminology;
then (b) we will consider the Oneness Pentecostal claim that the Father,
Son, and Holy Spirit are modes or roles that God assumes in time, not
persons; and (c) we will consider the charge that trinitarianism is hopelessly
on a collision course with monotheism and is, despite claims to the
contrary, polytheistic. After answering this claim, (d) we will briefly
consider a practical concern: how do we pray to and worship a God that is
three persons? Much of Oneness theology centers on its explanation of the
two natures of Christ: divine and human. We will then (e) consider the
Oneness understanding of the two natures of Jesus and show it is
incompatible with the biblical depiction of Christ. This is followed by a
defense of (f) the eternal generation of the Son of God and (g) the distinct
personhood of the Holy Spirit. We will conclude this chapter by considering
the related questions: (h) Does the Trinity make sense? And (i) of what
practical value is the Trinity?
“Unbiblical” Terminology
“The word Trinity is not in the Bible!” This assertion was often made in
such a way that it was expected to elicit shock and amazement from those
who accepted the Trinity as a true biblical doctrine. The same observation
was made concerning a host of other terms.
It did not take me long to realize, however, that we were consistently
guilty of the same charge. Oneness Pentecostals, for instance, speak of the
two natures of Christ. Bernard claims that Jesus “had a complete human
nature and a complete divine nature.”38 On the same page he explains, “We
know that he (Jesus) acted and spoke from one role or the other, but we also
know that the two natures were not actually separated in him.” This random
sampling, a sampling that can be extended indefinitely, features key terms
that are not found in Scripture. The Bible does not use the word complete to
describe the natures of Christ, nor do I recall the word role used to describe
the function of the two natures of Christ in relationship to each other (or in
any other related context). I’m sure Bernard would offer a defense of these
terms from the Bible. That begs the question, however. The question at
issue is whether any term can be used to speak about God that is not found
as such in the Bible.
In reality, both the trinitarian and the Oneness Pentecostal use nonbiblical
terminology to try to express their respective understandings of what the
Bible is saying. This use of extra-biblical terminology is a consequence of
the nature of Scripture itself, and should not be used as an argument against
either position. I do not fault Bernard or any other Oneness Pentecostal
merely for using the terms mentioned above. I disagree with their
interpretation of Scripture, but that is another matter.
Anyone familiar with the various biblical books knows that much of the
Bible is in the form of historical narrative. A large part of the Bible is a
collection of stories! Genesis is a great example of this fact, but time would
fail us to survey the numerous other historical texts of both testaments.
There is also a good number of biblical books, especially in the New
Testament, that address a variety of theological concerns in a more direct
way. Even these, however, are conditioned by their historical context and do
not necessarily offer direct answers to questions that arose later. Whether we
like it or not, then, the Bible is not arranged in the form of a systematic
theology book. The books constituting the Bible primarily tell the story of
God’s involvement in human history, culminating in the incarnation, life,
death, and resurrection of Christ. Readers are forced to systematize the
contents of Scripture in an attempt to find harmony and unity of meaning.
Failure to do so leaves the Bible as an unformed “mass.” The moment one
brings some parts of the Bible into conversation with its other parts, the
mind of the reader must organize and interpret.
Those texts also prompt questions in the minds of their readers. Even
though Genesis chapters two and three, for instance, never directly refer to
human freedom, we legitimately infer freedom from the flow of the story.
Even though Genesis 1:1ff does not directly mention creation ex nihilo
(“out of nothing”), we infer as much from the fact that God precedes and
“makes” the chaotic matter that is ordered by God’s creative word. The key
point is that the Bible’s stories and its more didactic portions raise questions
that may not have been the direct concern of the original writers, but they
do indirectly address such questions. It is the task of those who read the
Bible to draw out those meanings and then develop a consistent
understanding of all those inferences that become the positive affirmations
of theology. Although the Bible does not use the terminology of theological
discourse (e.g., omnipresence, omnipotence, aseity, original sin), the Bible
is the basis of that terminology. If the biblical basis for these terms is
insufficient, they are, in the course of history, subjected to a rigorous
critique and discarded.
The alternative to this procedure, of course, is to refuse to draw out the
implications of Scripture into an explicit theology. Some choose this route
either because they fear being unfaithful to the Bible or because they
believe that the Bible cannot address future questions since they do not
belong to the “author’s original intent.” For those who believe the primary
author of Scripture is God, the second reason is unacceptable. Scripture’s
divine inspiration is sufficient to justify using the Bible’s stories and
teachings to answer questions that arose later as God’s people sought to
understand more fully what must be true in order to explain what the Bible
affirms.39 Concerning the first choice, such people often betray their own
method, especially when they disagree with others. It is simply necessary to
talk about the meaning of the Bible, and that will require the development
of a vocabulary suitable to that task.
These observations suggest another important point. As already noted, the
Bible does not offer a systematic presentation of theological ideas. That is
not to say that there are no systematic portions of Scripture. The book of
Romans is, for instance, a very ordered presentation of Paul’s theology of
justification and related issues. The book raises numerous questions,
however, so that most interpreters feel it necessary to consult Paul’s other
writings, not to mention other biblical texts, to make his full intentions
clear. With respect to the nature of God, however, there is no biblical
treatise that systematically takes up that topic. We must organize and
harmonize all the data of Scripture. The result of this procedure is
increasing clarity about the nature of the God indirectly known by his
actions. Those actions, however, carry with them a meaning that allows for
legitimate inference leading to a more formal theology.
John Henry Cardinal Newman noted that a religion made entirely of
propositions to which believers must assent, but not seek to understand, is a
religion that will die.40 This is because the human mind incessantly seeks to
understand. We do not want a religion, on the deepest and most pure level,
that is fully comprehended by our minds. Such would make us superior to
the religion. Instead, we want a faith that surpasses our powers—that is, a
religion that ever draws from us a sense of mystery and transcendence. The
Bible is not merely a series of theological propositions; it is a beautiful
story. That beautiful story reveals a cast of characters, the main character
being God. That God is enshrouded in mystery but there are glimpses of
insight that shine through the darkness of mystery that allow some measure
of understanding. It is such insights that theologians seek to express in their
formulations. Indeed, in light of these insights, we are justified in drawing
the conclusion that God intended his people to draw out the full meaning of
Scripture through ongoing reflection on the riches implied within its pages.
A further implication is that Church history should reflect a growing and
deepening understanding of the Bible. It is simply not possible that any one
person or generation fully grasps the riches of the biblical message.
Oneness Pentecostals often fault Catholics and others who speak of the
“development” of the Trinity in history. “Development,” in this context, is
typically understood solely in terms of change. If the Trinity developed,
then it must be the case that it did not exist before it developed. This is
patently false. Life is filled with development. The small child develops
into an adult. One’s understanding of numbers develops into the various
mathematical disciplines. So it is with the contents of faith. Surely all
reflective Christians can see that their understanding and experience of the
Christian faith and its meaning grow through the years. Cessation of
development either suggests that one knows everything, is stagnant, or is
dead! Development is not the same as novelty. The Trinity was implicit in
Christian faith, we will soon show, from the very beginning. It developed
insofar as followers of Christ progressively penetrated the full significance
of the words and meaning of Christ. A development, I might add, that is
never finished on account of the fact that we shall never fully comprehend
the infinite mystery of God.
The word Trinity, and all the other related terms, is shorthand for a
mystery implied in the biblical story. The Bible affirms that there is only
one God (Deut. 6:4). This God, however, is revealed in connection with the
life of Jesus as a father in relationship to a son (Mark 14:36). The Son of
God, Jesus, spoke of ascending to his Father and, together, they would send
the Holy Spirit (John 14:26, 15:26). The Son and Holy Spirit, however,
cannot be separated from the Father. The Son wills to do only his Father’s
will (John 5:30, 6:38). Everything he has comes from the Father, including
his life (5:26). In light of the New Testament, it is simply impossible to
imagine the Son without his relationship to his Father. The Holy Spirit, too,
wills only to speak of the Son (16:13). He proceeds from the Father and is
sent by the Son. All of this language cries out for formulation. Trinitarians
insist that the three relationships implied in these biblical texts simply
cannot be reduced to a single, solitary person. They demand a plurality of
relationships. The Son cannot be reduced to the Father nor can the Holy
Spirit be reduced to the Father, and the Son.
The problem, however, is that the Bible affirms the Father, Son, and Holy
Spirit are each God (John 1:1, 14, Acts 5:3–5, Heb. 1:8). If the Bible is
faithfully communicating truth about God, then, the one God must exist in a
oneness of interpersonal relationships: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are the
one God.
What of the term person?41 We distinguish, in our experience of the world,
between things and persons. It is awkward, for instance, to speak of a frog
as a “person.” We do not refer, except in jest, to our cars as persons; they
are things. What is it that we possess as humans that is lacking in a car or a
frog? In short, we are capable of loving and knowing other persons, facts
that allow for community and a kind of relationship and experience that is
not present among the lower animals. Augustine somewhere commented
that parrots can speak words but, unlike humans, they do not understand
them. This unique aspect of our way of existing expresses itself in the word
I. We are aware of ourselves as selves in contrast to and in relationship to
other persons. We may also be thought of as things, but this usage requires
that we abstract from our personhood. We are certainly offended when
others treat us as nothing but a commodity for use rather than persons who
should be respected and loved.
In respect to the biblical notions of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, is it most
fitting to refer to these as “things” or “persons”? Given the depictions of
each in the Bible, is it most appropriate to speak of the Father, Son or Spirit
as it or as he? It is striking that the term love is not only applied to each of
these but also characterizes the relationship between them (John 17:23–24).
Further, the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit each speak of themselves as “I”
(Matt. 3:17; John 11:41–42; Acts 13:2). In light of these facts, is it really
credible to deny the use of the term person in reference to the Father, or the
Son, or the Holy Spirit? We must certainly purify this term of human
limitations that cannot be transferred to God; but the truth that God is a
personal reality in contrast to a “thing” or mere “force” is, without doubt,
rooted in Scripture.
The terms used to express the Trinity are grounded in Scripture. One may
deny that it is a correct interpretation of the biblical data, but it is unhelpful
to argue from the absence of interpretive terminology. Our focus, rather,
should be on the biblical justification for the terminology. Indeed, I
discovered that the biblical justification was quite strong.

Modes and Roles

Oneness Pentecostals frequently use the words “roles” and “modes” in their
explanations of the biblical terms Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Since they
profess to believe the Bible is God’s word, it is not possible to refuse the
use of these terms. The issue, then, becomes their meaning. Rather than
seeing them as personal names of three who are God, Oneness theology
insists they are roles or functions of God in relationship to his Creation.
Bernard succinctly states this claim:

The Bible speaks of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost as different

manifestations, roles, modes, titles, attributes, relationships to man, or
functions of the one God, but it does not refer to Father, Son, and Holy
Ghost as three persons, personalities, wills, minds, or Gods.42

I would like to focus on Bernard’s words “relationships to man.” This is a

key claim. Reference to God as Father speaks primarily of his act of
creation. Son refers primarily to God’s actions in regard to saving human
beings from sin and judgment. Holy Spirit primarily refers to God’s activity
in making human persons holy. These three “titles,” then, identify functions
of God but not inherent, internal relations in God.43 In fact, Oneness
Pentecostals argue that these roles are neither exhaustive of such divine
functions nor are they eternal.44 It is admitted that Father, Son, and Holy
Spirit do have a special place of prominence, but there are numerous other
“functions” or roles that God performs in the course of history. In other
words, there is nothing particularly special or exclusive about the Father,
Son, and Holy Spirit. One could speak of various other relationships or
roles that God has toward the world.
It is worth noting that the practice of substituting the words “Creator,
Redeemer, and Sanctifier” for the traditional “Father, Son, and Holy Spirit”
is remarkably reminiscent of Oneness theology. Ironically, Oneness people
have not chosen to adopt the common use of such revised phrases, primarily
because they quickly turn to the name Jesus rather than make use of, as they
perceive them, titles. Certain brands of feminism often choose the terms
“Creator” and “Redeemer” rather than Father and Son since they believe the
latter are only descriptive of divine functions in relationship to the creation.
In their effort to “purify” Christianity of patriarchal concepts, they
substitute more gender-neutral terms.
By this act, however, they discard trinitarianism and adopt, at least
practically, modalism. Father, Son, and Spirit, in this view, are divine
functions toward the creation, not internal relations between divine
persons. A mere functional interpretation of these terms treats the personal
dimensions as relative. The function of a “father” as creator is certainly
descriptive of something he does, but who could say it truly captures the
full meaning of father as a personal being?
If Father, Son, and Spirit are ways of referring to God’s “relationships to
man,” it follows that before and apart from the creation they have no real
significance. God cannot be given these titles or functions throughout
eternity but only in respect to his actions in time. They cannot be seen as
granting windows of insight into the essence of God. Here were find the
real crux of the difference between the Trinity and Oneness.
The Trinity is, at its core, a belief about what God is internally. Only
secondarily does the Trinity address God’s relationship to the creation. It
may be that we discover the Trinity through God’s actions in time, but these
actions only disclose something that is more foundational: God’s eternal,
internal life.45 To make the matter clearer: God is Father, Son, and Holy
Spirit whether or not there was ever a creation. Oneness theology
fundamentally denies this claim. Its claim is that God’s eternal life is not
revealed to us. Rather, God’s temporal actions alone are revealed. It is
illicit, they insist, to infer eternal relationships within God from what we
see, for instance, in the relationship between the Father and Son during the
life of Jesus; hence, the use of the words “modes” and “roles.” These terms
suggest temporary activities. If an actor performs a “role” in a play, the
conclusion of the play signals a return to “normal” life. God’s actions in his
Creation, it is claimed, are assumed in time but do not reveal his eternal life.
John 17:5
This dispute, of course, can only be settled by considering what Scripture
has to say on the matter. Scripture led me away from the mere functional
interpretation of the terms in question. A number of texts could be cited in
this regard, but the one that most bothered me was John 17:5. Here Jesus,
while addressing his Father, refers to the “glory that I had with you before
the world was.” Later in the same chapter, Jesus, still addressing the Father,
makes reference to the Father’s love for him “before the foundation of the
world” (v. 24). The Greek preposition translated “with” in 17:5 is para. The
word simply means one is alongside another. Since the Son is addressing
the Father and refers to the glory he shared with the Father before creation,
it is most natural to draw the conclusion that the personal relationship
expressed in that moment of time refers to a relationship that is eternal. This
text alone is sufficient to undermine the claim that the terms Father and Son
are only functional, and therefore meaningful only in relationship to the
creation. Before the worlds were made, the Son was with the Father,
existing in a relationship of mutual love.
Bernard answers this text (and others like it) in a way that becomes a
standard appeal in similar cases. He first reduces the pre-incarnate Son to a
“plan” or idea in the Father’s mind: “Jesus spoke of the glory he had as God
in the beginning and the glory the Son had in the plan and mind of God.”46
This response substitutes the preposition “in” for “with.” Para, unfortunate
for Oneness theology, does not mean in; the word means “alongside.”
Examination of the many uses of this preposition in the New Testament
(and elsewhere) reveals this consistent sense.47 Further, Jesus speaks here as
a self, a person, an “I.” Is it compelling to suggest that Jesus is longing to
return to “glory” as an intended “plan”? The choice of words here is simply
incompatible with this suggestion. If it is better to exist as a “plan” than as a
realized plan, we must wonder why God ever created the world!
Bernard’s second argument is that this text “could not mean that Jesus pre-
existed with glory as the Son,” since he was praying. Prayer is a human act,
not a divine one. Reading Bernard’s explanations of this text and others like
it gives the impression that he is imposing a set of axioms or assumptions
on the biblical texts that force their conformity despite their natural sense.
He first lays out his understanding of God, his oneness and attributes, and
then imposes that framework on the rest of Scripture, including the many
texts that do not “seem” to fit his framework. The interpretations are often
forced and awkward, but they are all justified by the claim that these texts
cannot mean what they seem to mean since they contradict the previously
established axioms. One should question whether this established “grid”
was not set up too quickly.
Bernard assumes that “prayer” is incompatible with the apparent sense of
John 17:5, and therefore an alternative explanation must be sought. He is
caught in a strange situation, however, since Jesus obviously speaks about
divine glory and yet distinguishes his experience of that glory from the
Father’s. Bernard covers both these facts by saying that Jesus longed for
return to his glory “as God,” but also to the glory he had as God’s plan. For
Bernard, two basically different “glories” are in view. This is needless and
unjustified. The Son’s glory with the Father must be divine glory. Placing
himself alongside the Father supports the divinity of both Father and Son.
The “plan” of God, however, cannot be equated with God. Elsewhere
Bernard will place God’s eternal love for Jesus in the same category as
God’s love for the Church.48 If both God’s Son and the Church are parts of
the divine “plan,” why is one equated with divine preexistent glory and the
other is not? Is the Church “God” since it is part of God’s eternal purposes
and, using Bernard’s logic, “with” God in his plan before the worlds were
made?
If we grant that the Father and Son stand in an eternal relationship toward
each other, a relationship characterized by love, communication between
them is a given. That the Son of God in his incarnate humanity expresses
himself toward the Father in prayer is not a contradiction but is, rather, what
we would expect if such a relationship truly exists. Surely there are features
of Jesus’ prayers that arise from his human nature, but the fundamental
union that exists between the Father and Son is the root of that
communication. The prayers of Jesus in time, in the context of his human
journey, reveal a life of communion and love that infinitely transcend his
immediate human context. John 17:5, and other similar texts, display, by
their bursts of insight into the eternal life of God, this infinite
transcendence.

John 1:1
There are numerous other texts, scattered throughout the New Testament,
that speak of the preexistence of Christ prior to his earthly existence. Often
the descriptions of this preexistent state feature a strong distinction between
the Son and the Father.
John 1:1 is, perhaps, the most frequently cited text that establishes this
point. The “Word,” clearly a reference to the Son of God before the
Incarnation, was “with” God before the creation of the world and yet, at the
same time, the Word is God. Trinitarians see this as an affirmation of both
the divinity of the Son of God as well as his distinction from the Father
before the creation.
My Oneness pastor often explained this text by asking: “Who is your
God?” If you answered, “The Trinity,” he then read John 1:1, inserting the
words “the Trinity” each time the word “God” appears. The verse then
reads, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with the Trinity,
and the Word was the Trinity.” This reading is problematic for trinitarians
since it suggests the Word is something other than or outside of the Trinity,
yet, at the same time, identical to the Trinity. If we say, on the other hand,
that the Word (or Son) was with the Father, thereby interpreting the first
use of “God” as a reference to the Father, he then suggested the following:
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with the Father, and the
Word was the Father.” Here again this way of reading the text poses
problems for a trinitarian understanding of it. A text that initially appeared
supportive of the Trinity now poses some perplexing problems. The
Oneness solution is that the Word is simply an aspect of God, the divine
plan or thought, and therefore can be said, rather poetically, to be with God
but, at the same time, is, as an aspect of God, God.
To answer this challenge and discover the true sense of John’s words, we
must look a bit more carefully at these words. In the first line of John’s
Gospel, we are introduced to the “Word,” a name clearly referring to the
Son of God (Gr. Logos, see v. 14, 18). John uses this term since it brings to
mind language as the medium of communication. It is by our words that we
communicate what is in our minds and hearts to others. The term also
emphasizes the inseparability of a mind and the words that proceed from it.
It is quite possible, as this text reveals, to distinguish the Father and Son but
impossible to separate them. John’s Gospel emphasizes that God has
spoken his mind and heart to the world through his Son. His Son is uniquely
qualified for this task since he perfectly and fully reveals what the Father is
like. In fact, in “seeing” the Son, one sees the Father (John 14:9–12). This is
because, as Jesus explains, he is “in” the Father and the Father “in” him. It
is important to note that Jesus does not claim to be the Father but he does
claim to stand in such a close interrelationship with the Father that he can
fully represent the Father to the world. The terms Father and Son suggest
that the Son originates in the Father, an idea present throughout John’s
writings, and fully reveals him.
John 1:1 states that the Word existed in the beginning. This implies that
the Word is eternal, since he is already present at the beginning of the
universe—a universe made “by him.” We are further informed that the
Word was “with God.” The Greek word translated with (pros) suggests
intimacy, or as some translate it, “face to face.” Whether this is necessary is
debatable. What is not debatable is the fact that the word indicates that the
Word should be differentiated from the one he is with. It is also important to
note that the Greek text places a definite article before God (ton theon),
suggesting a specific personal reference. In light of the rest of the Gospel,
considered with John’s first letter, this is the author’s way of referring to the
Father (e.g., 1 John 1:2). The Oneness interpretation of John 1:1 mentioned
above does not take note of these facts. Again, John provides a grammatical
clue both in this text as well as 1 John 1:2 that explains why the Word is not
identical with the Father.
Finally, the verse states, “the Word was God.” Actually, a better
translation would be, “the Word was God!” The exclamation point is
appropriate since the Greek text places the word “God” first, thereby
stressing the divinity of the Word.49 In other words, though the Word was
with God (or, the Father), the Word is not excluded from the sphere or
realm of deity. Since the last use of “God” in the Greek text of this verse
excludes the definite article, the Word is not identical with the Father but,
instead, is alongside the Father.
Bernard represents the standard Oneness interpretation of John 1:1 when
he understands it as teaching that God’s “plan” was with him in the
beginning.50 One may rightly argue that this interpretation must weaken the
sense of the word with in this text alongside the strong emphasis on the
conclusion that the Word is God himself. Also, the trinitarian reads John 1:1
in light of the rest of the Gospel. The use of “Word” in John’s prologue is a
metaphor offering a suggestive image for what will be explained in the rest
of the Gospel of John. Although the metaphor is not used again in the
Gospel after the prologue, God’s revelation of himself to the world through
his Son is the key theme running through its pages. The idea here is that the
way in which God is made known to the world is by his “Word.” We
communicate our thoughts through words. Our thoughts become physical or
sensory when we put them into spoken words. God’s thoughts become
known to us when they are incarnated in Jesus. But it happens to be the case
that God’s revelation of himself is not less than God himself. Jesus is God
dwelling among us (John 1:1, 1:14). God’s Word that became incarnate is
always alongside or “with” the Father and, in time, reveals the Father since
he has always been the Father’s self-revelation.
We are justified, then, in reading John’s prologue in support of the belief
that the Son existed with the Father from all eternity and, in time, revealed
the heart of the Father since, as the Father’s “Word,” he was uniquely
qualified to do so.
Philippians 2:6–11
Let us consider a second key text that is relevant to how we understand the
relationship between the Father and the Son. Before proceeding, however,
we should review the state of our study. The claim that the terms Father,
Son, and Holy Spirit are merely functional and refer only to temporal divine
acts is false. John 1:1 and 17:5 both distinguish between the Father and Son
(or God and his Word) in such a way that we are led to affirm the reality of
these distinctions prior to and apart from creation. The original meaning of
these terms is found in the relationship they express toward each other, not
the creation. The term Father directs our attention to a Son. The term Word
leads us to question its origin or source (since words do not stand alone but
imply a speaker). These are relational terms but not ones directed toward
the creation. Of course, I am not denying that the Father, Son, and Holy
Spirit act toward the creation. Nor am I denying that they each have unique
roles in God’s self-revelation. It may indeed be the case that the Father is
specially associated with creation, the Son with redemption, etc. These
temporal “missions” of the divine persons, however, are extensions and
expressions of the eternal relations between them and are, therefore,
subordinate to them. In other words, if not for the eternal relations in God,
there would be no temporal missions that reveal God to us in our finite
world. If there is not a Father, there would have been no creation. If there
was not a Son, there would not have been the sending of the Son from the
Father. If there was not a Holy Spirit, there would be no sending of the Holy
Spirit from the Father and the Son (John 14:26, 15:26).
Philippians 2:6–11 is an especially interesting passage from the writings
of the Apostle Paul. There is general agreement that this text is actually an
ancient hymn that Paul has incorporated into his writing. If this is true, the
contents of the hymn direct attention to the general faith of the early
Christian churches rather than, as some might suggest, the esoteric remarks
of one subtle mind.
Paul encouraged the Philippians to conduct themselves humbly and with
self-giving love (Phil. 2:3–4). As was his custom, he offers Christ as the
supreme example of such humility. He then explains how it is that Christ
serves as our supreme example. The general flow of the argument is as
follows: (a) Christ existed in the “form of God” but (b) did not cling to
“equality” with God; (c) he “emptied himself” by assuming the form of a
servant and the appearance of a man; (d) he humbled himself to the point of
death; and (e) was exalted by being raised from the dead and given the
highest name by the Father.
This rich text has attracted much attention. Despite its complexities, the
general flow of the text is straightforward. First, there is a contrast in the
verse between Christ’s existence in the “form of God” and his assumption
of the “form of a servant” and the “likeness of man.” The word translated
form in these phrases is the Greek word morphe. This word emphasizes the
essence of something. Here Paul speaks of the existence of Christ as God
(morphe theou) and his choice to take on the form of a servant and the
appearance of a man. The concept here is ostensibly the Incarnation. The
one who existed in the very nature of God (an affirmation of Christ’s
divinity) assumed a human form. This choice to adopt the form of a servant
and the likeness of a man stands as the supreme act of condescension. Our
choice to “humble ourselves” and become a servant to another pales in
contrast to Christ’s humiliation. The question we are supposed to ask is: if
Christ humbled himself from existing in the glory of God himself, how
much more should I be willing to humble myself?
There are other complexities in this text that we cannot explore. For
instance, in what sense did the humbled Christ not “cling to” equality with
God? In what sense did he “empty” himself? The standard explanation is
that Christ did not cling to equality with God insofar as he gave up the
external glories that were rightfully his. He veiled his heavenly glory
beneath the lowly appearance of a man. He neither ceased to be God nor
were the divine perfections disrupted.
Some years ago I was asked to participate in a public debate on the Trinity
with a Oneness minister. I focused heavily on this text in our discussion. I
insisted that the sequence of events in this text was crucial to its proper
interpretation. The one who was in the form of God took the form of
servant and was made in the likeness of men. The movement from divine
glory was followed by taking the human form. So understood, the text
poses significant problems for Oneness theology. The one who is “in the
form of God” (or has the divine nature) is distinguished from the Father
who exalts him. The expression “form of God” differentiates the pre-
incarnate Jesus from the Father but also puts him in the category of the
divine “form.” After the debate, one of those in the audience asked if I
would participate in a public discussion with him on the same topic. He said
that he could offer a better explanation of Philippians 2:6–10. I agreed to
participate. When we actually did meet for that discussion, I was surprised
to find that his explanation was no better than what we had heard in the
prior debate. This convinced me that this text is of particular importance in
establishing Paul’s agreement with John’s description of the relationship
between the Father and Son. Although their terminology differs, the
concepts they are communicating are the same.
Paul, consistent with John’s Gospel, affirms the preexistence of Christ as
God. The Incarnation is not the beginning of his existence but a voluntary
humbling of himself for the salvation of the world. Although the term Son
is not used in this text, the point is the same. The one in the “form of God,”
the person of Jesus before the Incarnation, is distinct from “God the Father”
(Phil. 2:11). This distinction is not limited to the incarnate state but
precedes it.
We conclude, then, that Father and Son, although revealed to us in the
course of salvation history, ultimately refer to interior relationships within
God that exist prior to the creation of anything else. They are
“relationships” because the words used to describe them are relational
terms. They are “internal” since each is identified as God. The Word (Son)
is with God and is God. Jesus, prior to the Incarnation, is in the “form of
God”. We will show later in this chapter that the same kind of relational
distinction should be said of the Holy Spirit.

One God vs. Three Gods?

Without doubt, the central concern of Oneness Pentecostals is that they
believe and protect the belief that there is only one God. The doctrine of the
Trinity is viewed as, at a minimum, a compromise of that truth. Authors like
Bernard cannot help but characterize trinitarian belief as polytheism,
evidenced by his consistent use of the plural “gods” in reference to the
Trinity. In fact, Bernard suggests that a “major reason” Jews have rejected
Christianity is because of the “perceived distortion of the monotheistic
message.”51
The power and persuasiveness of the Holy Bible, including both
testaments, certainly includes and, in a certain sense, grows out of its
monotheism. The book of Genesis begins with the striking words, “In the
beginning God created the heavens and the earth.” The picture found there
is of a God that completely and radically transcends this world of changing
things we call the universe. The pagan religions surrounding the ancient
Israelites invariably professed gods that were tied to physical forces. This
tie between gods and forces was so great that we may conclude that the
gods were, at root, personifications of the cycles and powers of nature. The
Israelites constantly struggled, especially during the ages of the judges,
prophets, and kings, with Baal worship. The Baal deities, a family of
fertility gods, were believed to control nature’s forces. Sacrifices and rituals
offered to these gods were believed to benefit future crops, healthy
childbirths, etc. In order to placate these gods, however, it was necessary at
times to sacrifice small children and engage in ritual acts celebrating and
appeasing them. These ritual acts were often characterized by drunkenness
and orgy activity. Although the names of the gods vary, this same pattern of
fertility cults and nature religions may be demonstrated throughout the
ancient world.
The Israelites were firmly forbidden to worship such gods or engage in
their rituals. What reason is given in support of this prohibition? The God
of Israel is not one of many gods but is the only true God. Also, Israel’s
God transcends the world. From this truth, three striking consequences
follow: (a) God depends on nothing in this world, (b) everything in this
world radically depends on this God, and (c) God is utterly unique. God
cannot be reduced to or likened, in any perfect way, to anything in this
world. The first commandment forbade “making graven images” of God.
This commandment is a necessary consequence of God’s radical
uniqueness. Making a “graven image” implies that one ties God too closely
to some aspect of the created order. Idolatry is precisely the failure to
maintain the infinite distance between creator and creation.52 This infinite
distance can be bridged only by God’s initiative in coming down to our
level in the Incarnation. Even so, our knowledge of God is always
characterized by darkness. Paul’s words come to mind: “we see in a mirror
dimly” (1 Cor. 13:12).
It is of utmost importance to emphasize that Israel’s monotheism was not
unique merely because it denied existence to the gods of its neighbors. Its
monotheism was radically unique and revolutionary because of the nature
of its God. Israel’s God cannot be fully understood by the human mind. He
is absolutely unique, “one of a kind.” Some went so far in emphasizing
God’s uniqueness and transcendence that they denied any propositions
could be formulated that truly “capture” the essence of this God. The gap
between the human mind and the divine mind is so great that we cannot
hope to affirm anything more than the radical uniqueness of Israel’s God.
One thinks of Plotinus’s (205–270) supreme principle: the One. The One,
he argued, stands above all distinction. The mind, in order to function, must
make distinctions. The One cannot be an object of thought, then. If one uses
his mind to grasp the One, he has already failed. The One can be reached
only through mystical experience, by union, not by thought.
Of course, this line of thought does not exclude the possibility that God is
a Trinity of divine Persons. In fact, one could easily argue that, since God
transcends our logical categories, both unity and plurality may
simultaneously exist in a way that transcends thought. One medieval
philosopher argued that contradictions cease to be contradictions when
magnified to infinity. For example, the continuous curved line constituting a
geometrical circle becomes a straight line when magnified to infinity. The
larger a circle, the less curved the line. If the circle is infinite, the curve in
the line disappears, or so it was said.
None of these arguments are necessary, however, since it can be shown
that there is no contradiction in affirming that God is both one and three.
Nor is it persuasive to claim that belief in the Trinity compromises the
uniqueness of God. The doctrine of the Trinity does not claim there are
three “separate” gods or beings but, rather, there is only one supreme God.
Within this one God there are three personal relations, relations
characterized by love. These three relations, because they are inseparable,
do not direct attention away from the one God that we discover in the Old
Testament; instead, they increase the uniqueness and mystery of this God by
revealing that he is not a solitary one but an eternal, inseparable communion
of love. Indeed, one can argue that Oneness Pentecostals have failed to truly
appreciate God’s uniqueness or oneness by refusing to acknowledge that
“oneness” in reference to God may transcend the meaning of this term
when applied to human persons. To use an analogy that will be mentioned
again, perhaps the interior relation in our minds between mind and thought,
inseparable but distinguishable aspects of our single minds, yields two
eternal, personal, but inseparable relations when magnified to infinity. (The
present chapter will conclude with an analysis of this analogy.)
In order to correctly understand trinitarian belief, it is imperative that we
discard all images of God as “three people” walking about or sitting in a
heavenly conference room. The relationship implied in these images is far
too loose to be helpful. We shall later consider some analogies for the
Trinity but presently we should try our best to purify our concepts by
recalling that God is “spirit” and not flesh (John 4:24). God made the
material world but is not a part of it. The Incarnation features the union of
God with his Creation, but we should not think in these terms when we
address the eternal existence of God apart from the creation.
 The history of Christian theology is a long, not always successful,
balancing act of the truths given to us in Scripture. Some interpreters have
so emphasized the threeness of God that it is hard to see how they can
speak of God’s oneness as anything more than a loose association. Others
so emphasize God’s oneness that the plurality of persons indicated in
Scripture is abandoned. Trinitarian theology seeks to avoid both tritheism
and modalism by bringing these two truths into a true harmony that
compromises neither of them.
One God
Perhaps we should slow down a bit and carefully consider the term one.
What do we mean when we say that something is “one”? We typically use
this term to refer to a unity of some sort. For instance, I have a pile of books
to my right. There are about eight books in that pile. I could truthfully say,
“I have one pile of books by my computer monitor.” I can also truthfully
say that I am sitting in one chair. If I ask, which is more one, the pile of
books or the chair? The best answer would be the chair. It is easier for me to
destroy the pile of books (requiring only the slight movement of my hand)
than to destroy the unity of the chair in which I am sitting. The unity or
oneness of a rock, however, exceeds that of the chair in which I am sitting
because it is more difficult to destroy the rock’s unity.
When we actually stop and think about it, there is nothing in this world
that is absolutely one in the sense that we cannot make any distinctions or
differentiations within it.53 My Bible sitting on my left, for instance, is made
of pages. Those pages are made of paper, a composite substance. Those
more basic substances composing the paper are made of smaller particles
and those of smaller particles still. At the end of this investigation scientists
conclude to the undifferentiated, amorphous notion of “energy.” As soon as
one leaves this theoretical, nonconceptual level, he must immediately return
to the world of things consisting of multiple principles. Composition of
principles does not eliminate our ability to use the term “one” for things,
however. The use of the term one allows for the identification of a
particular unit, whatever it is that composes that unit. You are one being.
You are made of countless parts, though. Since those parts are organically
united and, at least if the goal is to live, they do not exist apart from each
other, we speak of them as one.
When we affirm that God is supremely one, then, we are claiming that
God, above everything else, is inseparable and indivisible. Unlike God,
everything else is composed of multiple principles, principles that can, at
least theoretically, be divided.54 God, however, is eternally and inseparably
all that he is.
Let us assume, then, that within the essence of God there are three eternal
“persons” or relationships: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. In order to
continue affirming that God is truly one, it must be the case that the Father,
Son, and Holy Spirit cannot be separated from each other. Everything other
than God is relatively one insofar as its oneness can end. The Bible, for
instance, says that a man and woman leave father and mother and become
“one flesh.” Their unity or oneness, though, can be destroyed by death. This
oneness is relative to the earthly lives of the spouses. God’s oneness,
however, is not relative to external circumstances, since it belongs to God to
exist eternally and unchangeably in his perfections. Since God is
immutable, it follows that the union of divine persons cannot be disrupted.
Contrary to the attacks on trinitarians by Oneness Pentecostals, then, we
do affirm the oneness of God. Whatever constitutes the essence of God is
absolutely and unalterably one; God cannot be divided or separated. If the
Bible affirms there are three within this inseparable reality we call God, we
conclude that these three cannot be divided but, since the Bible teaches us
as much, we must distinguish them in order to affirm and embrace the truth
that God has revealed about himself for the sake of our salvation.
Distinction is not the same as separation or division. I can distinguish, for
instance, between my thoughts and will, but I cannot separate them without
destroying them.
We may, then, with a straight face, profess the ancient Creed: “I believe in
one God.”
Prayer to the Trinity?
How do we worship and pray to a God that is actually three persons?
Should we equally distribute our prayers between the three? If we spend
more time addressing one in prayer and worship than another, will the
others be offended? Practical questions like these are often raised by
curious Oneness Pentecostals. Gordon Magee, for instance, in his list of
“Unanswerable Difficulties of Trinitarianism,” argues that Jesus taught the
Father is the “sole object of worship.” He then asks, “Will our trinitarian
friends explain why Christ denied worship to the other two divine
Persons?”55
The answer to these questions is rather simple. If the Father, Son, and
Holy Spirit are truly inseparable and exist in supreme union, my prayers to
the Father cannot possibly exclude, at least by implication, the Son and
Holy Spirit. If I am thinking of my address to the Father in exclusion of the
Son and Spirit, I am not praying as a trinitarian. Further, the Holy Spirit
directs us to the Son (John 16:13–14). The Son reveals the Father (John
17:6). We pray to the Father, through the Son, by the power of the Spirit
(Eph. 2:18). The act of prayer itself is trinitarian inasmuch as we cannot
truly pray as Christians without the sense that God is wooing us internally
(Spirit), on the basis of the saving work of God’s Son, to the Father.
Quantifying our prayers so as not to offend one or another of the divine
persons only exhibits a misunderstanding of the Trinity. Recall John’s
words: “Whoever confesses the Son has the Father also . . . whoever loves
the Father loves the one born of him” (1 John 2:23, 5:1). If our prayer to the
Father, for instance, is not accompanied by the sense that the Father is in
eternal union with the Son and Spirit, our notion of Father is insufficient.
Also, if the internal life of God is characterized most supremely by love, it
is impossible to imagine envy between the divine persons. Recall that Jesus
characterized his relationship to the Father as one of love: “You (Father)
loved me before the foundation of the world” (John 17:24). Elsewhere, John
writes, “God is love” (1 John 4:16). Given that Jesus continually speaks of
love as the willingness to give one’s self for and to another, it is striking that
God is identified with this term. One is led to question, if God is love, can
he ever be thought of as a solitary person? In any case, since the essence of
God is self-giving love, it is inconceivable that the divine persons envy one
another, and it is also inconceivable that an act of devotion directed toward
one of the divine persons could detract or stand in opposition to another. To
love the Father is to love his Son and Spirit.

The Dual Nature of Christ

The “key” to the Oneness Pentecostal interpretation of Scripture, especially
the New Testament, is the dual nature of Christ. Magee calls it the “great
key,”56 while Bernard writes,

When we see a plural (especially a duality) used in reference to Jesus, we

must think of the humanity and divinity of Jesus Christ. There is a real
duality, but it is a distinction between Spirit and flesh, not a distinction of
persons in God.57

Those familiar with Oneness theology certainly recognize this principle as

the primary one used whenever any text is encountered that seems to
present a plurality in reference to God.
I recall a conversation with a Oneness friend many years ago during which
I expressed some of my concerns about our theology. Although I still
professed those beliefs, I was beginning to doubt them. I probably focused
on John 17:5. My friend appealed to the distinction between divinity and
humanity. I explained that the text refers to the glory that the Son had with
the Father before creation, therefore before his assumption of a human
nature. He never seemed to grasp the force of the argument. He was so
deeply trained to think that all plurality is adequately explained using this
principle that I couldn’t seem to get him to consider the point I was making.
When we find Jesus distinguishing himself from the Father, we are
supposed to see this as a distinction between the human nature of Jesus and
his divinity. The divine nature of Jesus is none other than the Father, while
his human nature is the Son. The prayers of Jesus, for instance, are
explained as communication between his two natures rather than between
two divine persons.
This principle seems to work, on a certain level, since most of what we
know of the Son of God comes through the mouth of Jesus during his
public ministry—hence, after assuming a human nature. That is, of course,
with the exception of those texts affirming the existence of the Son before
the Incarnation. Since we have already considered some of those texts, we
will focus here on whether the Oneness interpretation of the earthly
ministry of Jesus is adequate.
The Oneness understanding of the two natures of Christ sounds strangely
similar to an ancient heresy: Nestorianism. Nestorius was a fifth-century
patriarch of Constantinople who refused to speak of Mary as the “Mother of
God” (theotokos). He acknowledged Mary as “Mother of Christ,” however.
His argument was somewhat compelling. Mary did not cause the divine
nature of Jesus, but she did participate in giving Christ his human nature.
Hence, Mary was not the Mother of God but she was the Mother of Christ.
The Church rejected Nestorius’s views at the Council of Ephesus (431). The
reason for this rejection was that Nestorius’s approach had the consequence
of dividing Christ into two persons. Although it is obvious that Mary did
not cause the divine nature to exist, it is nonetheless true that the person of
Christ was none other than the eternal Son of God. The Son of God was
personally united with the human nature of Jesus in the Incarnation and
therefore the person born of Mary was God himself. She is the mother of
God inasmuch as God is born into this world in incarnate form through her.
She is not, of course, the originator of the divine nature.
Although there has been much debate in recent times over whether
Nestorius would have admitted to the belief that Jesus was two persons, that
conclusion did seem to be a consequence of his view. At the very least, a
wedge was driven between the divine and human natures that could develop
into a radical separation of natures. Oneness Pentecostalism is, in fact, an
expression of that radical separation.
Bernard mentions Nestorianism when discussing the two natures of
Christ. In fact, he shows some sympathy for this theory when he uses a
common metaphor to explain the relationship between the natures: “One
way to explain the human and divine in Christ is to say he was God living
in a human house.”58 The orthodox view, however, is that there is a much
greater personal union of natures in Christ than can be expressed in the
image of a person (God) living in a house (human nature).
It is easy to show that Jesus, as described in the Gospels, displayed
characteristics of both a human nature and a divine nature. On the one hand,
we find Jesus being born of a woman, growing, learning, sleeping, growing
weary, thirsting, hungering, lacking knowledge, suffering, and dying. All of
these belong to a human way of existing in this world. If we understand
“nature” as indicating what something is, we must conclude that Jesus was
indeed a man.
On the other hand, Jesus says and does various things that arise from
something more than a human nature. He forgives sins, casts out demons,
heals the sick, calms storms, raises the dead, all by his own power. Jesus
speaks in such a way that he places himself in a superior position to Moses,
the great lawgiver of the Old Testament (Matt. 5:27–28). In a more explicit
text, Jesus identifies himself with the “I am” (YHWH) of the Old Testament
(John 8:58). The case for both the divinity and humanity of Jesus, then, is
very strong. On this point we can agree with our Oneness friends.
The similarities cease at this point, however. The Oneness view interprets
this evidence for two natures in Christ as support for what is essentially a
two-person view of Christ. The two natures of Jesus have all the defining
characteristics of persons. The human nature clearly can say “I” and the
divine nature does the same. There are two “I’s” or centers of consciousness
and awareness in Christ, according to Oneness theology. The bond between
them is much weaker than in traditional theology. In fact, there is little
difference between the Oneness view and a house in which two persons
dwell.59 When Jesus states, for instance, “I am not alone, because the Father
is with me” (John 16:32), this must mean that both the human person of
Jesus and the divine (Father) abide together to the extent that each can
speak of the other as “another” (John 5:32). Jesus even speaks of his Father
as a “second witness” to himself, clearly an allusion to the Old Testament
principle that multiple witnesses are necessary to prove a claim in a court of
law. If the Father and Son are two witnesses, if they speak to and of the
other, distinguish between themselves, etc., we are left with little choice
than to conclude either that (a) Jesus is two persons, or (b) Jesus is not the
Father. Since the second option is unacceptable for Oneness theology,
refuge must be found in the first.
What are the grounds for claiming that Jesus is the Father? Bernard offers
two standard biblical arguments. First, the prophet Isaiah identifies the
Messiah as the “everlasting Father” (Isa. 9:6). Second, John 10:30 records
Christ’s words: “I and my Father are one.” Bernard interprets this oneness
as an identity of the two. Both of these, however, are awkward and forced
interpretations.
The “everlasting Father” of Isaiah 9:6 is best understood as a reference to
God as “alone possessing eternity.”60 Clearly the term father is used in
various senses, even when used of God. The intended point is not to
identify the Son of God with the one he will call his “Father” while he lives
on this earth. These ideas are nowhere indicated in the context. Most
commentators give the sense of the words as “Father of Eternity” or
“Originator Of All Ages.” These descriptions apply to God generally and
do not pertain to the meaning of the term Father in relationship to Son that
we find in the New Testament.
Contextually, John 10:30 certainly uses the terminology of Father and Son
and is therefore more appropriate in regard to our question. The problem
here is interpreting the word one as identity. Jesus nowhere says, “I am the
Father.” Instead, he unites himself with the Father but in no way identifies
himself as the Father. The term “one” should be taken with other similar
contexts in John’s Gospel. In John 17:21ff, Jesus prays that his disciples
“may all be one; even as you, Father, are in me, and I in you, that they also
may be in us . . . that they may be perfect in unity.” To be sure, the union of
love that exists between the Father and Son far transcends that which exists
among the people of God, but it serves as our supreme model of oneness.
John 10:30, then, speaks of the union of love, purpose, and nature that
exists between the Father and Son. What it does not indicate, however, is
that Jesus and the Father are identical as persons.
Bernard also cites a few other texts that he thinks support his
identification of Jesus with the Father. Hebrews 1:4 states that Jesus has
received “by inheritance” a more excellent name than the angels. Bernard
asks, “What name did he receive by inheritance from the Father?”61 What
answer does he give? The Son received the name “Father.” This is
contextually unacceptable. In our treatment of the baptismal formula, it was
noted that the context of this verse stresses the name “Son” as the grounds
of the superiority of the Son to the angels. Also, the “inheritance”
mentioned here speaks of all that belongs to the Son by virtue of his
relationship to the Father. Just as a son in a household stands higher in rank
than servants, so the Son of God “inherits” the full authority and power of
his Father’s kingdom. Since he is “Son,” in the full sense of that term, he
has inherited a name greater than all others. Inheritance does not mean he
has the identical name but that what he has received from the Father gives
him a “name” and status that reflect a corresponding position of authority.
John 5:43 states that Jesus came in his “Father’s name.” The name Jesus,
it is claimed, must be the name of the Father. Thus, we have an identity
between Jesus and the Father. Again, this conclusion simply does not
follow. One cannot read the context of these words and conclude that Jesus
is claiming to be the Father. To come “in the name of Jesus” certainly does
not mean we are identical with Jesus. We are to do all we do “in the name
of Jesus” (Col. 3:17). Does this mean our name is “Jesus”? If we do things
in the name of Jesus, we do them in his power and authority, in obedience
to his commands. Jesus came “in his Father’s name” inasmuch as he came
by his Father’s will, desiring to accomplish it. In other words, Jesus denies
that he has come in opposition to the will of God; he has come fully
resigned to do the will of his Father. His whole life is an expression of his
determination and willingness to do God’s will.
While speaking to his apostles, Jesus stated, “He who receives you
receives me, and he who receives me receives him who sent me” (Matt.
10:40). The structure of this verse requires that we distinguish between the
apostles and Christ as well as between Christ and his Father, the one
sending him. Oneness theologians tend to interpret expressions like that
found in the second half of this verse as support for an identity between
Father and Son while ignoring the consequences of this approach if applied
to the first half. If the first part of the verse means that Christ is the Father,
the second part means the apostle is Christ!
We are constrained to the conclusion, then, that there is no good biblical
reason to support the notion that the Son of God is identical with the Father.
Scripture definitely supports a profound union between them but certainly
not an identity. This conclusion does not mean Oneness theology has been
totally discredited, but it does mean that one of the most important links in
their system is undermined. Oneness Pentecostals know full well that,
practically speaking, their central emphasis is on the identity of Jesus with
the one God. That one God is one person. If it can be shown that Jesus is
the Father, and therefore both Father and Son simultaneously, their position
is strengthened significantly. This cannot be done, however.
We must return to our point of departure, then. Jesus does not claim to be
the Father. Is it best to interpret the texts that refer to the Father and Son as
references to the divinity and humanity of Jesus? We must answer no for
two solid reasons.
First, the consciousness of Jesus as revealed in the New Testament is
always a unity. We fail to find, for instance, references to the Son of God
from the standpoint of the Father that come from the mouth of Jesus. We
find countless references to the Father from the mouth of Jesus but nowhere
do we find statements from Jesus as the Father regarding the Son. Those
statements expressing divinity do not include reference to the Son as
distinct from himself (e.g., John 10:30). The words of Jesus are sufficient to
affirm (a) he is the Son of the Father and (b) he is God, but they are not
sufficient to affirm he is the Father. I ask again: where is an unambiguous
text where Jesus speaks of himself as the Father in contrast to the Son?
Numerous texts can be offered for the reverse formulation: “I am not
alone, for my Father is with me . . . I came forth from the Father . . . I will
pray to the Father,” etc. Do the Gospels ever record words of Jesus
indicating, “I am not alone, for my Son is with me . . . I sent forth my Son . .
. my Son will pray to me.” These suggestions seem foolish but only because
we know, by familiarity with the Gospels, that Jesus consistently speaks as
Son, not as Father. Even when he makes claims of divinity, these never
contradict this rule. The most natural reading of the Gospels, then, confirms
that Jesus claims to be the Son of the Father, distinct from him and yet
possessing the same divine nature. This common divinity, somehow, does
not detract from or dissolve the distinct reality of the Father from the Son.
Second, the Oneness understanding of the natures of Christ fails in view
of those many texts that speak of Christ’s existence prior to the Incarnation
(e.g., John 1:1–18, 17:5; Phil. 2:6–10). Since these were discussed above,
I’ll not repeat those texts. Their importance cannot be minimized, however.
The importance of this section must be emphasized yet again. Because this
principle is considered the key to interpreting problematic texts regarding,
especially, the Father and Son in the Bible, its failure strikes at the
foundation of the revised modalism expressed in modern Oneness
Pentecostalism.

Begotten Son or Eternal Son?

Oneness theology rejects the notion of an “eternal Son” and uses the
biblical words “begotten Son” as its primary basis for that rejection. After
presenting a definition of the term begotten, Bernard reasons,

There must be a time when the begetter exists and the begotten is not yet
in existence, and there must be a point in time when the act of begetting
occurs. Otherwise the word begotten has no meaning.62

His conclusion is that the words “Son” and “begotten” are contradictory
when used with the word eternal. The notion of an eternally begotten Son
is, then, absurd.
The logic used here is very similar to that used by the Arians. Arius, an
ancient “heretic,” argued that, since the Son was “begotten,” he is not
eternal. The Father must be “older” than the Son. He must have created a
“Son” and then made the universe through his “begotten” Son. The Son is
like the Father, Arius reasoned, in every respect except that he is “begotten”
and, therefore, not eternal. Modern-day Jehovah’s Witnesses continue the
legacy of Arianism, the beliefs of those who followed Arius, by accepting
his understanding of the nature of God and his Son.
At the fourth-century Council of Nicaea (325), the council fathers
considered the matter of Arianism, an issue causing great division and
confusion in the Church. Much of the debate centered on how to express the
rival understandings represented at the council concerning the nature of the
Son of God. Arius’s followers agreed to use the Greek word, homoiousios, a
term meaning similar nature, to express the relationship between the Father
and Son. If we understand “nature” to mean what something is, the Arian
position was that the Son is similar to the Father but, by the use of this
term, it denied that the Son is fully God.
The trinitarian side rejected that term and, in its place, chose to express its
position using another word: homoousios. The only spelling difference
between the words is the lack of an iota (i). This apparently slight
difference is actually indicative of a massive difference in meaning.
Homoousios means “same nature.” The Son, according to the trinitarians, is
fully God and not merely similar to God.
The other term at the center of this controversy is the biblical term
begotten. Bernard, like the Arians, defines this term as it is used with
reference to human beings that are “born” in time. The Nicene fathers,
however, focused on this term in contrast to another term that the Arians
often used in its place: made. That the Son was begotten, the Arians argued,
is identical to saying he was made or created.
These words are not synonyms, however. The product of one’s creativity
is not identical with a “begotten” child. I can “make,” for instance, a work
of art. I can “make” a book, a painting, a house, or a movie. I can also
“beget” a child. The difference is apparent. The child proceeds from its
parents as another instance of the same kind of being that they are. The
things I make, on the other hand, express something about my nature but
they are not the same kind of being I am. The Arian understanding of the
term “begotten Son,” confused this distinction. Arius’s “Son of God” was of
a different sort or category than the Father and therefore is more aptly
described as a “made” Son rather than a begotten one.
It is important to note that the New Testament progressively unfolds the
idea that Jesus’ claims to divine sonship were claims to equality with God.
Nowhere is this fact more clearly stated than in John 5:18. John comments
that the desire of the authorities to kill Jesus grew because he “was calling
God his own Father, making himself equal with God.” This brief
explanatory remark succinctly states the reasoning of the fourth-century
trinitarians. Rather than arguing for the inferiority of the Son to the Father,
the term begotten affirms in no uncertain terms the equality and identity of
nature that exists between them. What the Father and Son are, then, is the
same. The Nicene Creed expresses this conclusion when it states of the Son
that he is “begotten, not made; one in being (homoousios) with the Father.”
Consider my own sons. It is absurd to suggest that, because I am their
father, they are less human than I. To beget a son is to produce another that
is equal in nature to its parents. To a certain extent, then, when someone
sees my children, they “see” me. This is an imperfect vision, of course,
because of our various imperfections and differences that arise in the course
of life experience. Since I am older than my children, for instance, I have
more experiences and, hopefully, knowledge. If I could fully impart my
nature in a completely perfect state to my children, they would be a perfect
representation of my nature. This is not possible, of course, for two obvious
reasons: (a) I am not perfect, and (b) we are born into this world in a state
of potentiality toward the actualization of our nature. In other words, human
nature, when we begin our life, is a framework or context for actualizing a
host of possibilities. Exactly what in that massive range of possibilities will
be actualized depends on the choices made and opportunities allowed to us.
It is not possible for me to predict today what my children will make of
themselves in the future. This is because, positively, they can be many
things and, negatively, the limitations of our lifespan make it the case that
they cannot actually become everything that is possible for them to be.
In any case, the New Testament uses the word “begotten” to modify the
word Son in order to emphasize the sameness of nature that exists between
the Son and his Father (John 1:18). I am not suggesting this is the only
meaning of this word in the New Testament. Psalm 2:7, “You are my Son,
this day have I begotten you,” is a case in point. Psalm 2, a messianic
psalm, likely uses these words to speak of the anointing of a special, chosen
son of David to assume his throne. Certainly the New Testament applies
these words to Christ, the son of David par excellence. In Christ, the
fullness of the meaning of God’s Messiah as his “Son” is fulfilled. David
was promised that he would have a son to whom God would be a “Father”
(2 Sam. 7:12–14). These royal promises of a future king that would
experience an unparalleled closeness to God are applied to Jesus in the New
Testament (e.g., Heb. 1:5–6).
Bernard interprets the “day” of the Son’s begetting, mentioned in Psalm
2:7, as the birth of Jesus in Bethlehem.63 This reading is too facile, however.
The New Testament applies this text, perhaps, to Jesus’ birth but also to the
Resurrection (Acts 13:33). The emphasis in New Testament interpretation,
then, is not on a specific moment as much as on the whole earthly life of
Jesus as the “moment” in history when the divine coronation takes place.
It is commonly recognized that the regal notion of “king” or messiah
found in the Old Testament and in Jewish hopes around the time of Jesus
was largely political and military in nature. The Messiah will come, it was
believed, in order to destroy foreign occupation and set up a political
kingdom in Jerusalem. When Jesus appeared speaking of the “kingdom of
God” and working miracles, it was naturally assumed that he would make
his way to Jerusalem, overcome the Romans, and, with the divine power he
wielded, establish a universal kingdom. We can easily understand the
disillusionment that followed Christ’s “failure” upon arriving in Jerusalem.
His betrayal by Judas and humiliating death at the hands of the Romans
were simply incompatible with their messianic expectations.
The failure of prevailing modes of thought to explain the life, death, and
resurrection of Jesus yielded a deeper penetration into the meaning of
Christ’s divine sonship. On the one hand, Jesus clearly did not fulfill the
popular expectations of his time. On the other hand, his life cannot be
ignored; if for no other reason than that there is good reason to believe he
rose from the dead. Rather than being a failed, deluded “prophet,” then,
Jesus and his claims must be examined more carefully. His claims to
“sonship,” we discover, rather than having primary reference to an earthly
king and kingdom, have a more heavenly meaning. Rather than
understanding Jesus as a messiah who becomes God’s son by his rise to
regal power, he stands in relationship to God as Son from the first moments
of his conscious life (Luke 2:49). In fact, as already discussed, we find that
the Father and Son are in an eternal relationship of love. The messianic
hopes of the Jews, then, for a messiah made God’s Son are then surpassed
by the revelation of God’s Son in relationship to whom he has always been
in communion.
For this reason, we may discern a dual significance to the expression “Son
of God” and “begotten Son” within the New Testament. First, we have
those texts that speak in reference to the Old Testament notion, and we have
those that penetrate beyond that notion to a more spiritual, theological
concept. Acts 13:33 likely expresses the first of these in its explanation of
Psalm 2:7, while John 5:18 expresses the second. These observations are
important not only for our purposes but also for a deeper appreciation of the
development of Old Testament theology within the New Testament.
If the New Testament presents the words “only begotten Son” as bearing a
deeper meaning than an earthly, messianic one, we must follow this
meaning to its conclusion. Indeed, we must follow the meaning of these
terms into the context of God’s own nature, beyond the realm of history. As
already discussed, the New Testament pushes us in this direction in various
places that speak of the preexistence of Christ (John 1:1, 17:5, etc.).
Bernard argues that the terms “begotten” and “Son” “have no meaning”
unless they speak of a “point in time” when that begetting takes place. We
have already discovered that this is not true. These words carry the
meanings of (a) sameness of nature and (b) distinction of persons, whether
we introduce the notion of time or not. John 5:18 includes both of these
meanings, but it is, by no means, the only meaningful text in this regard.
When I speak of “my son,” it is immediately clear that my son is (a) human
and (b) not identical with me as a person.64 When Jesus spoke of himself as
God’s Son, this was understood as a claim to be God (possessing the divine
nature) and yet be distinct from the Father. Must we interpret these terms in
a way that requires the temporal priority of the Father to the Son? In other
words, is the Father “older” than the Son?
Oneness Pentecostals, in general, are conscious of the fact that the Bible,
when it describes God, often uses anthropomorphic terminology. That is,
the Bible makes frequent use of human bodily characteristics to describe
God. Therefore we read of God’s hands, eyes, ears, nose, feet, “backside,”
mouth, etc. Bernard explains, “The Bible describes infinite God in finite,
human terms in order that we may better comprehend him.”65 We can agree
that the human mind is incapable of fully understanding anything about
God, who infinitely transcends our capacity to understand, and therefore we
must use human experience and speech to give us some measure of
meaning, always admitting its imperfection.
A consequence of our human situation is that we must always qualify and
define the sense(s) in which we are using terms. For instance, “right hand”
is commonly a way of referring to divine power (e.g., Ps. 16:11). Since we
use our hands, typically the right hand, to defend ourselves, it became a
symbol of power. We hear by means of our ears, and therefore the “ear”
became a symbol of listening or attentiveness (e.g., Ps. 88:2). If the Bible
speaks of God’s right hand or ears, then, we do not interpret these in crassly
material and bodily senses but, instead, we find the primary intention of the
terms and then discard all those things that are incompatible with the
infinity and spirituality of God. Literal eardrums or bones and flesh are
discarded. God’s power and listening are real, however, although the
perfection of God’s power and listening far transcend our full
comprehension. If we fail to make this distinction, the Bible will become
hopelessly confusing. This is because there are various places where the
Bible denies human imperfections of God (e.g., Num. 23:19). There are, of
course, other places where God is likened to man by way of
anthropomorphic speech.
Returning to the term “begotten Son,” and the related issue of whether
these words require temporality or the begetting of the Son in time, if we
apply the principle of anthropomorphic language we discover that Bernard’s
conclusions are not only avoidable but also entirely unacceptable.
We have already located two meanings of “begotten Son” that should be
incorporated into our understanding: (a) the Son is one in nature with the
Father and (b) the Son is distinct from the Father. What remains is to
consider what we must discard from the human usage of these terms in
order to avoid contradiction with other known attributes of God. Two things
immediately come to mind: time and change.
Time, at least in part, is the measurement of change. Change is the
actualization of possibility. When we distinguish today from yesterday, we
do so because the earth has turned in relationship to the sun as well as an
incalculable number of other changes that have taken place. In fact, when
we look carefully at this moment in contrast to a prior moment, we find a
massive amount of flux that makes every moment different from any prior
moment. Time, then, is the measurement of this flux or flow of change.
If we imagine a “timeless” being, we find one that does not become
anything it was not before. We are all beings of time since we can speak
about what we were, are, and shall be. A timeless being could not, in a
technical sense, speak of what it “was,” but simply that it “is.” God, of
course, is timeless inasmuch as he is not more perfect or complete today
than he was “yesterday.” For this reason, God stands apart from this flux of
time in which we are immersed. With God, James wrote, “there is no
shadow of turning” (James 1:17). Unlike the sun that casts its various
shadows as it progresses across the sky, God casts no shadows resulting
from change. The prophet Malachi makes the same point as he speaks
God’s words: “I, the Lord, do not change” (Mal. 3:10). We speak of God as
“eternal” and “immutable.” Of course, since we are so deeply immersed in
both change and time, it is impossible for us to grasp God’s way of being.
In fact, when we try to comprehend these divine attributes, our minds either
find them “boring” or static ways of being (since the loss of all time and
change “stops” the flow of everything we know by experience), or devoid
of meaning. We are forced to conceive of God’s supreme manner of being
through the limited grid of human terminology and experience. We’ve
already seen that these facts mean our talk about God is always a humbling
conversation, since we have to admit that God is ever greater than what our
feeble language can express.
When we submerge the notion of “begotten Son” into the context of the
eternal and infinite God, what “must be the case” in human experience
ceases to hold true. Let us assume that the Father has a Son within the
framework of his eternity. Suddenly we find that the Son “begotten” of the
Father could never have begun to be Son. If God, within his eternity, comes
to have a Son, then we have change and temporality within God, something
we have already eliminated. While an eternally begotten Son in time is
nonsensical (since time and eternity are fundamentally different), an
eternally begotten Son in God’s unchanging present is essential once one
affirms a Son within the sphere of the divine nature.
There are other incompatible notions between God’s eternity and our
temporal existence in respect to our concept of “begetting.” For instance,
when I speak of my “son,” implied is the presence of a mother. Also
implied is a physical process of generation, including the sexual act and all
the bodily, interior actions involved in procreation. Since “God is Spirit”
(John 4:24), God’s Son is not a physical offspring but an “exact imprint” or
reflection of the Father (Heb. 1:3). God’s spiritual nature requires that we
conceive of the Son in spiritual terms. Jesus’ remarks in a different context
are relevant: “that which is born of the spirit is spirit” (John 3:6). In our
present context, the physical elements of begetting fade away in favor of a
spiritual act whereby the nature of the Father is given to the Son (and
thereby “constituting” the Son) in an eternal act of love.
Further, the Son cannot be an imperfect representation of the Father, as is
true in human experience. Instead, since God does not change and is
perfect, God’s Son must always be the infinite realization or actualization of
divine perfection. If God has a “Son,” this Son is an unchangingly perfect
expression of all that the Father is. What, then, is the difference between the
Father and Son?
If the Son is the perfect and complete expression of the nature of the
Father, the only difference between them would be, what theology calls, the
“relationship of origin.” In other words, the Son is begotten and the Father
is not. As we already know, the Son’s begetting is both spiritual and eternal.
The designation of the Son as begotten, then, does not mean he began in
time but that he originated in the eternal life of God without beginning. The
notion of “origin” must be further examined. The Son’s origin in the Father
is not temporal (that is, restricted by time); that notion is excluded by God’s
eternity. The “origin” of the Son in the Father, then, is an eternal
relationship whereby the Son proceeds from the Father. In that sense, then,
we can speak of the Son’s “dependence” on the Father. The Father “gives
to” the Son all that he has, something Jesus frequently acknowledges. This
eternal gift of the fullness of the Father’s life to his Son, far from suggesting
inferiority, affirms equality (e.g., John 5:26). We can no more envision a
beginning to the Son than we can imagine the beginning of anything else
that belongs to the essence of God.
It is a mistake to interpret this internal dependence of the Son on the
Father as a mark of substantial inequality.66 Even in human experience the
temporal priority of a father to his son does not make the son less human
than the father. Even though the father precedes the son, the son fully
participates in the meaning of being “human” and therefore is equal to the
father in nature. There are, of course, various other inequalities in human
experience, but these do not affect the point. We have already explained the
source of those inequalities in the potentialities of our nature. Although
“begotten” by the Father, then, the Son of God is a perfect, unchanging, and
eternal expression of all the Father is. Consequently, we can speak of
sameness and equality of nature, then, and yet difference in regard to the
relationship of origin between the Father and Son.
One final word: The expression “begotten Son” is modified in John 1:18
by the Greek prefix “mono,” meaning “only.”67 This qualifier indicates that
there is no other Son like this one. Although the Bible speaks of Christians,
for instance, as “children of God,” it carefully qualifies this as a filial
relationship resulting from adoption (Rom. 8:15), thereby indicating that we
are not “begotten” by God in the full and proper sense of that term. We are
“begotten” in a way that makes us true participants in God’s salvation, but
this is fundamentally different from the relationship between God and his
Son. For this reason, Jesus never includes his address of God as Father with
our own. To be sure, when he teaches us to pray he instructs us to say, “our
Father.” This is our instruction, however. His address of the Father is
unique. This fact is unmistakable in all the Gospels. Matthew indicates the
same point by his focus on the special mutual knowledge shared by Father
and Son (11:27). Mark indicates it by the intimate words of Jesus in the
garden: “Abba, Father” (14:36). Luke indicates it by his unique story of the
boy Jesus who expresses surprise that his parents did not know “I had to be
in my Father’s house” (2:49). John’s Gospel is even clearer in its reference
to Jesus’ ascension to “my Father and your Father” (20:17). Jesus carefully
avoids using “our” in this text and thereby maintains a vital distinction
between himself and other “children of God.”
Nowhere does Jesus or any New Testament writer claim that our
relationship to God is identical to that of Jesus. Jesus is the unique Son of
God. This, as we have seen, is because he alone is begotten in the full sense
of that word. Everything the Father is has been imparted to the Son within
the internal life of God himself. For this reason, he is fully God. Our
adoptive sonship allows us to share in Christ’s relationship to God, but this
never makes us equal to him.
In conclusion, far from being meaningless, the eternal generation of the
Son of God is grounded in Scripture. It is only nonsensical if we ignore the
way the Bible speaks about God. If we carefully search for the contextual
meaning of these terms and refuse to allow them meanings that cannot
apply to the eternal, immutable God, we will find they support the
conclusions of the Nicene Council. The words of the Creed are indeed
meaningful: “We believe in one Lord Jesus Christ, the only Son of God,
eternally begotten of the Father . . . begotten not made, one in being with
the Father.”

The Holy Spirit

Oneness Pentecostal theology often emphasizes the relative lack of
reference to the Holy Spirit, in contrast to Father and Son both in the Bible
and in literature on the subject of the Trinity. For instance, I’m confident
that in this chapter the use of the terms Father and Son far exceeds any
mention of the Holy Spirit. Sometimes Oneness thinkers suggest this is a
problem for trinitarians. If God is truly a Trinity of divine Persons, they ask,
why does the Bible so frequently “ignore” one of them? Additionally, the
words “Holy Spirit” seem rather abstract or difficult to imagine.
The word “spirit,” in both testaments, is one translation among several
possible ones: spirit, breath, and wind. All these possible translations bring
to mind invisible things. We discover their presence indirectly. I detect the
presence of wind, for instance, by limbs or leaves that move under its
influence or by its press against my skin. I know someone is breathing
because of the movement of his chest or sounds coming from him. It is
difficult to speak directly about “spirit” without making some reference to
its activities or effects. Indeed, Oneness Pentecostals most frequently speak
of the Holy Spirit as an experience, typically the experience of speaking in
tongues.
It is relatively easy to produce a concrete mental image or concept when
we use the terms father and son. Our own life experience is probably
sufficient. Of course, these concepts may hinder our ability to understand
what those terms mean when used in reference to God, but they at least
provide a starting point. The Holy Spirit, however, is more difficult, since
we have no mental “picture” of a spirit with the exception of effects
produced by “spirit.” Yves Congar, for example, in his introductory words
to his massive work on this subject, speaks of a “certain lack of conceptual
mediation.”68
It is nonetheless true, however, that the Bible speaks of the Holy Spirit and
identifies the Spirit with God. Indeed, there are texts in which the terms
God and Holy Spirit are used interchangeably (Acts 5:3–5; 1 Cor. 3:16;
6:19). Of course, the Bible speaks of God as both holy and a spirit and
therefore the combination of these terms causes no immediate confusion.
Difficulty enters, however, when we try to explain what exactly the Bible
means by it.
Bernard is certainly correct when he explains that Holy Spirit “emphasizes
a particular aspect of God.”69 He goes on to explain that it refers to God’s
work “among all men everywhere” and his desire to “fill and indwell
human lives.”70 In Luke’s writings, the New Testament texts that most
frequently use this expression, the Holy Spirit is typically mentioned
alongside some dynamic, powerful act of God of historical significance.
Acts 2:4 and 4:31, for instance, mention the Holy Spirit “filling” the
disciples. In the first case, the disciples are enabled to speak languages they
had never learned. In the second case, they receive extraordinary boldness
to proclaim the gospel of Christ. References to the Holy Spirit alongside
such important “signs” of God’s presence are the rule in Luke’s writings
rather than the exception. It is reasonable to conclude, then, that the Bible
often refers to the Holy Spirit in order to emphasize God’s active presence
in a particular historical moment. The active presence of God is known by
the evidences or signs produced by God’s Spirit.
The term spirit, and all its alternate translations, suggests power, presence,
and action. It is a dynamic term. It is often used in schools to speak of
enthusiasm and excitement that bind the students together (“school spirit”).
If “spirit” or “breath” is lacking, there is no life. God’s Holy Spirit certainly
speaks of God’s active, dynamic, and living presence. Paul’s writings testify
to this conclusion by their many references to “fruit” and “gifts” of the
Spirit, all of which emphasize the results produced by the Spirit’s presence
(1 Cor. 12, Gal. 5:22-23). Paul also speaks of the newness brought by Christ
as “life in the Spirit” (Rom. 8:9ff). Over and again we find dynamic
evidences of God’s presence when we see references to God’s Spirit.
If this were the extent of the biblical data, we would be content to
conclude that the Holy Spirit is simply a way of referring to God’s presence
and action in history. Perhaps we could describe the same point another
way: the Holy Spirit is God proceeding into human history in order to
produce recognizable signs of his life and love. Arguably the most striking
Pauline text expressing this meaning is Romans 5:5: “The love of God has
been poured out within our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to
us.” In light of the New Testament message, it is not overreaching to
suggest that the Holy Spirit extends God’s love to the human family. God’s
love is understood both objectively and subjectively. We discover that God
loves us by the Spirit’s work, and we also experience love at work in us by
the same Spirit.
All the biblical data cannot be explained by this simple definition,
however. The definition we have discovered is certainly true and important,
but it awaits further development.
First, we must remind ourselves of Matthew 28:19. Here the Holy Spirit is
distinguished from the Father and Son. We have already discovered that the
Father and Son are one in nature but distinct as persons. It is reasonable to
suppose that the same should be extended to the Holy Spirit; otherwise, the
list is hard to explain. If the Holy Spirit is God, something we have already
accepted, it is reasonable to conclude that he is distinct from the Father and
Son, since this is true of the first two terms in Matthew 28:19.
Second, the Bible uses similar language of the Holy Spirit that we found
in reference to the relationship between Father and Son. John 14–16 is the
most important section in Scripture in regard to establishing this claim;
although, of course, it is not the only relevant text. Jesus spoke at length of
the coming of the Holy Spirit who, he says, would be sent by the Father
(John 14:26). He further indicates that the Holy Spirit will “teach” the
disciples and “remind” them of Jesus’ teachings. Later he will speak of the
“procession” of the Holy Spirit from the Father (John 15:26). It is easy to
show that many of these terms are associated with Jesus’ relationship to the
Father (“sent,” “proceeds”). Jesus’ words leave no room for doubt,
however. The Holy Spirit is not identical with the Son. Jesus includes
himself with the Father in sending the Spirit (John 15:26). Jesus also says
the Spirit will “bear witness” of the Son. If this is not clear enough, Jesus
later describes the future work of the Spirit and states, “He will not speak
on his own initiative, but whatever he hears, he will speak . . . he shall
glorify me; for he shall take of mine, and shall disclose it to you” (John
16:13–15). The interaction between Father, Son, and Holy Spirit is
unmistakable. The Father “sends” both the Son and Spirit. The Spirit is
“sent” by the Father and Son. The Holy Spirit “hears” from the Father,
testifies of the Son, does not speak on his own initiative, etc. This language,
if we take it seriously, forces us to think of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit
as personally distinct from each other.
Bernard addresses these texts in John’s Gospel by placing strong emphasis
on 14:17–18.71 Jesus assures his disciples that the Spirit is now “with” them
and will be “in” them. This is taken to mean that Jesus’ presence with them
was nothing else than the Holy Spirit. Jesus would leave in bodily form but
would return in a spiritual form to dwell in them. Even though the chapter
speaks of the Holy Spirit in a way that might lead us to think of him as
distinct from the Son, he is actually identical with the Son, a fact Jesus
makes apparent here. If one is inclined to doubt this interpretation, Bernard
directs attention to verse 18: “I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to
you.” What could be clearer? Jesus is identifying himself with the coming
Holy Spirit.
In reference to the many texts cited above about the Spirit, one may justly
wonder why the Gospel would use such apparently misleading language in
order to make a simple point; if, of course, Bernard’s interpretation is
correct. The Oneness interpretation, however, is not compelling. John 14:18
is clearly a reference to the post-Resurrection appearances of Jesus. Verse
nineteen is an explanation of that verse and is clearly a prediction of the
Resurrection: “After a little while the world will behold me no more; but
you will behold me; because I live, you shall live also.” The brief absence
of Jesus followed by his appearances to his apparently abandoned disciples
will convince them that through Christ true life, culminating in their own
resurrection, can be possessed. In reference to verse seventeen, there is no
reason we should not take this as a reference to the presence of the Holy
Spirit in connection with Christ’s ministry; a fact emphasized in all the
Gospels (e.g., John 1:33), beginning most distinctly with his baptism by
John. The power of God’s Spirit in relationship to the ministry of Christ
would extend to the ministry and life of the early Christian Church. None of
this, however, requires that we identify the person of the Son with that of
the Spirit. We may speak of a close relationship between them, but that
much is evident in the language of the texts already cited in John 14–16.
Bernard explains the meaning of Jesus’ references to “sending” the Holy
Spirit. “Jesus went to heaven in His glorified body so he could form a new
relationship with His disciples, by sending back his own Spirit as the
Comforter.”72 In light of the fact, however, that Jesus indicates the Holy
Spirit would not “speak on his own initiative,” etc., are we really to think
that the humanity of Jesus sent the divine Spirit into the world? Is this an
instance of the human nature directing the divine nature? Bernard’s
explanations avoid this conclusion. The alternative, however, is to admit
that Jesus is speaking of sending the Spirit from his divine consciousness.
The Son of God, along with the Father, will send the Holy Spirit. This
conclusion is far too close to trinitarianism to bring comfort to Oneness
thinkers.
Does all this talk of the Holy Spirit suggest the subordination or
inferiority of the Holy Spirit to the Father and Son? The answer is “no” if
we understand the biblical language about the Holy Spirit similarly to the
way we understood the language about the Son. The Holy Spirit “proceeds”
from the Father and is “sent” by the Father and Son. Both these terms are
used of the Son. Jesus also frequently speaks of his full determination to do
the will of his Father; a will that he delights in fulfilling. The Holy Spirit,
too, delights in doing the will of the Father. Although mysteriously veiled
behind his work of illuminating the meaning of Christ, the Holy Spirit is
clearly distinguished from the Father and Son and yet placed in the same
divine “sphere” (Matt. 28:19).
Why is the Holy Spirit not mentioned as frequently as the Father and Son?
Perhaps the explanation is found in the inspiration of Holy Scripture. If the
Bible is truly inspired by God’s Spirit (2 Pet. 1:21), and the mission of the
Spirit is to illuminate the human mind in respect to the truth of Christ, the
Son, the relative lack of reference to the Holy Spirit is exactly what we
would expect.
Years ago I heard someone liken this fact to a photographer.73 We have
many pictures in our home that we have taken through the years. My image,
however, is relatively rare. This is because I am typically the one taking the
pictures. The “illusion” is that I am absent when, in fact, I am present, by
implication, in each of them. My presence is found precisely in the reality
of the pictures. Scripture is the product of the Holy Spirit, and it tells us the
story he wishes to reveal. To be sure, there are many references to the Holy
Spirit, but their mystery and deference to the Son are striking and reinforce
Christ’s words: “he shall speak of me.”
What is the difference between the Holy Spirit and the Father and Son?
With reference to the Father we may easily answer: the Son is begotten and
the Holy Spirit proceeds from him, but the Father is not begotten and does
not proceed. With reference to the Son, we may answer: he proceeds from
the Father by generation, or, in other words, he is begotten of the Father. We
may also note that he sends the Holy Spirit along with the Father.74 What
about the Holy Spirit, though? Negatively we can say that the Holy Spirit is
not the Father or the Son. The Holy Spirit does not “beget” the Son nor is
the Spirit begotten. He proceeds from the Father in a different way from the
Son. Perhaps the key to answering this question is found in the word spirit.
This term suggests dynamic movement and love. Love and desire are
associated most closely with the will. Since both the Father and Son send
the Spirit, we may tentatively conclude that the Spirit is the personal
procession of love from both Father and Son. Since “love” is less tangible
than a “begotten Son,” it is understandable that we have trouble expressing
the precise meaning of the Spirit in contrast to Father and Son. Love, by its
very nature, directs us to lovers: in this case, Father and Son. The Holy
Spirit, then, is the unique procession of love from the Father and Son. This
procession is not abstract or impersonal but, rather, supremely personal.75

Does the Trinity Make Sense?

One of the things about Jesus that made him a great teacher is the fact that
he was able to capture the imagination of his audiences by using stories.
These stories, we call them parables, illustrate spiritual truths by means of
images drawn from the everyday lives of one’s listeners. The word parable
itself is derived from a Greek word that literally means “to lay alongside.”
Jesus placed scenes from earthly, physical existence next to spiritual truths.
The earthly experiences of human beings and of nature provide “windows”
into the spiritual world.
As we seek to understand the nature of God, to the degree that we are able
to do so, we struggle to find illustrations that will help us “imagine” what
God is like. The biblical writers do a good deal of this as they liken God to
a “rock,” bringing to mind the notions of stability and trustworthiness; or a
bird that cares for and protects its young; or a “consuming fire” that
eliminates impurities and serves as a sign of judgment. The Bible is filled
with such analogies and illustrations. They help stimulate the imagination
and enable us to see, albeit imperfectly, what God is like.
Oneness Pentecostals, as noted, try to develop their own analogies and
comparisons to illustrate what God is like. They are fond of using the
plurality of relationships that individual persons can have to others. A man
can be a father, son, and husband at the same time and yet be a single
person. This illustration quickly clarifies the meaning of “three modes” or
“roles,” terms often used when describing the Oneness notion of God. The
three forms water can take (liquid, solid, gas) are often used to make the
same point. Sometimes trinitarians unwittingly make use of the same
analogy. The Trinity, however, is not the claim that God “becomes” Father
and then Son and then Holy Spirit, depending on the external conditions in
which God is “placed.” The Trinity professes that Father, Son, and Holy
Spirit are, though one in being, simultaneously and eternally in relationship
toward each other.
Through the centuries, trinitarians have sought helpful illustrations that
shed some light on exactly what is meant when we speak of the Trinity. I
remember reading a children’s book on this subject many years ago. The
book’s cover featured an apple with a slice from its side. The peel, “meat,”
and core of the apple were visible. The book likened the three “parts” of the
apple to the three divine Persons of the Trinity. Although the apple is a
single apple it is nonetheless divisible into three parts. Numerous other
analogies drawn from the physical world have been used (e.g., three-leaf
clovers; the sun’s light, heat, and rays).
Although such illustrations can be helpful, especially when used with
children, they disclose fundamental inadequacies when seriously examined.
There are two apparent problems with illustrations for the Trinity drawn
from the visible, physical world. First, most of them are not based on
interpersonal relationships but on impersonal things. Second, they illustrate
how “parts” of things can be united into a single organism or entity.
Trinitarian theology, however, refuses to use “parts” in its vocabulary. The
Father is not “part” of God. The divine Persons of the Trinity are not like
three pieces of a pie that, when considered on their own, are “one-third” of
God, but, when combined together, are “all” of God. The nature of God is
not divisible into “parts” that are somehow united together like the pieces of
a puzzle or the parts of a model airplane.
Of course, we cannot ask too much of analogies. They are typically
helpful in making a single observation. The various analogies drawn from
the world of nature are by no means perfect, but they can nudge the mind
toward understanding by their focus on things that are both plural and
singular.
The Best Analogy
The best of the Catholic tradition, however, has not focused on these kinds
of analogies. St. Augustine, for example, was convinced that some
“vestiges” of the Trinity exist in the creation.76 If God is a Trinity of divine
Persons, it should be possible to find some helpful analogy in God’s world.
Since the Trinity is the highest of all realities, it is reasonable that we shall
find the best analogy in the highest kinds of existence in the creation.
Consequently, the best analogy for the Trinity will be found through
reflection on men and angels, not on apples and rocks. There is something
about human persons (and angels) that makes us more like God. Since we
lack direct knowledge of the angelic way of being, we will have to settle for
human existence as our primary analogy.
Genesis 1:26 sets the creation of the human family on the sixth creative
day apart from the creation of all lower life on the prior days. What sets the
man apart is that he was created “in the image of God.” Contextually, the
apparent meaning of this line is that man was given “dominion” over the
natural world. On a deeper level, however, we may justly ask what it is that
allows man to have this dominion. The answers traditionally given are two:
(a) intellect and (b) freedom. The intellect allows us to rise above our
environment and concerns for immediate survival, pleasure, and pain. Even
though our physical strength, sense powers, and reflexes are often inferior
to other animals, we populate zoos with them, but there are no zoos
operated by animals in which humans are on exhibit. We are able to
understand the nature of the world, including its animal inhabitants, and
thereby exercise dominion over it. As a result, humans can learn to grow
crops, build skyscrapers and musical instruments, develop various math and
science disciplines, write books about these disciplines, and worship God.
All of these require abstraction and transcendence above one’s
environment. From all appearances, the other animals are incapable of
producing these effects. Researchers spend years with primates and
dolphins trying to demonstrate they are capable of these activities. The
results are often interesting, but paltry when compared with the capabilities
of a five-year-old child.
Freedom of the will is the second unique feature of the human person.
Only the human person, not the rest of the animal world, was forbidden to
eat of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil at the center of the Garden
of Eden. This image of the “tree” speaks of the primordial (and perennial)
temptation to be our own “god”: to determine what good and evil will be on
our own, apart from the declared will of God. This scene may be the most
embarrassing and destructive of our history; however, it also speaks of the
greatness of the human person. We are able to direct our own path toward
happiness. We can choose to discover true life in relationship to God. By
the same token, however, we may choose not to direct our lives toward God
and, as a result, bring misery upon ourselves.77 The fact that we place
humans on trial for their actions and hold them morally responsible, but do
not hold lower animals similarly responsible, speaks of our implicit
awareness of the unique human gift of freedom.
Although the “image of God” may mean more than what we have
described here, it certainly does not mean less. It is our intellect and will
that set us apart from the rest of the world around us. It is here, Augustine
and Aquinas argue, we shall find the highest analogy for the Trinity.
The Inward Turn
Let us examine our minds by turning inward. We discover, by this inward
turn, that our mind is a mysterious realm, very different from the outside
world. Many of the things we take for granted about the material world no
longer apply in the case of the mind. It makes sense to ask, for instance,
how heavy or how tall the books are sitting next to me. It makes no sense to
ask how heavy or how tall my thoughts are, however.
Not only are my thoughts of a different sort than objects I observe outside
myself, but they also populate an interior “world” that is unique to me. No
one else can enter the world of my mind; unless, of course, by means of
language I share with them what I am thinking. My mind belongs to me and
is the context in which reflection and choices are made. What I say and do,
in a distinctly human way, originates in my mind. I am now choosing to
write these words. This choice started in my mind as a book on this subject
was envisioned.
In these few short words we have seen, by reflection, that our mind is the
“home” or realm in which thoughts are contemplated and choices are made.
Each of these powers, the power of thought and the power of will, belong to
the mind. Together they constitute our interior life.
The Mind’s Unity
There is another interesting feature of these aspects of the mind that should
be noted. My thoughts and will are not separable from my mind. In other
words, I cannot take my thoughts as such and give them separate existence.
I can, of course, try to communicate my thoughts to others. In fact, I am
doing that now. The words on this page comprise a collection of “signs,”
signs that point to realities that are present in my mind now. My hope is that
you will decipher these signs and come to think the thoughts that are now
present in me. By communicating these thoughts by means of the signs of
written language, I do not lose my own thoughts. In giving them to you, I
still possess them. My thoughts proceed within my mind, but they do so in
such a way that they remain within me. It makes no sense to speak of my
thoughts as something separate or separable from me. The same is true of
my acts of will. My choices may result in effects outside me, but those
choices ever remain my own. Those choices shape my character and tend to
form habits, good or bad, that reside in my will.
The interior processions of thought and willful acts differ significantly
from exterior acts of procession. Consider the conception and birth of a
child. The child “proceeds” from its parents. It truly comes from the
parents. Similarly, my thoughts and will come from my mind. They are
different, however, in that the child is now a separate being from the
parents. The parents will likely pass away before the child’s life concludes.
The death of the parents does not entail the death of the child. My thoughts
and will, however, although they “proceed” from my mind, exist only in
union with my mind. If my mind were to die, my thoughts and will would
die with it. I mean, of course, my thoughts and will inasmuch as they are
present to my mind. My current conscious life, including its thoughts and
choices, is a whole that survives together or dies together.
Let me restate the analogy and take it a step further. I am thinking about
the subject of this chapter. These thoughts belong to me and reside in me. I
am “sending them forth” in the form of words. This sending, however, does
not mean they have left my mind. My thoughts are proceeding in two
distinct ways: interiorly and exteriorly. My thoughts proceed within me and
outside me. The difference between the two is that the interior processions
remain an aspect of me whereas the exterior procession becomes something
other than me, although related to me. If I cease to exist, these words may
remain on pieces of paper while the thoughts, as existing within me, no
longer exist.
Implicit in what has already been said, it is apparent that the interior life of
the mind contains three basic distinctions. First, there is the mind itself that
is the “home” or context for reflection. Second, there are the objects that the
mind contemplates (thought). Third, there are the choices we make with
regard to what we contemplate (will). All mental activity can be placed into
one of these three categories: mind, thought, and will.
It should be noted that it is the mind that, equipped with the faculties
described above, allows us to contemplate and “know” God. This is because
God is spirit (John 4:24). The call to union with God is not a physical union
but a union of thought and will. We are called to know and love God. Both
are acts of the mind. We may also speak of the mind as the center of our
spiritual life since, as we have already considered, the mind’s contents have
very different “objects” than do the bodily senses.
There is, then, a threefold distinction within the human mind. These
distinctions are real but inseparable and, therefore, together constitute our
single mental awareness or conscious life. We may be aware of interior
conflict between, for instance, what we know and what we will. This
conflict is not between alien entities, however; both reside within and are
aspects of our single mental life, however much it may be conflicted within.
God: The Supreme Mind
Imagine a supreme spiritual being, fully equipped with mind, thought, and
will. If we were to contrast this mind with our own, there would be
fundamental differences. First, it would have no lack in understanding.
Second, there would be no conflict between the different aspects of this
mind. Third, there would be no passions or desires for things that are
ultimately not for its good. In other words, its thoughts and will would be
harmonious and complete. Additionally, if it is truly perfect, it is self-
sufficient, since it would need nothing other than itself for its perfection.
Let us continue our thought experiment by imagining this supreme mind
as infinite. If this mind is infinite and perfect, its primary object of
contemplation would also share in these attributes. In other words, the
thought of this supreme mind would be infinitely perfect, too, and therefore
a perfect mirror image or reflection of that mind. In fact, we may speak of
this infinite thought as a self-thought. If the divine self-thought possesses
infinity and perfection, it will be identical to the mind from which it
proceeds, with the one exception that it proceeds or comes from the mind
while the mind produces or causes its self-thought.78
Think of your own self. This thought is a very inadequate expression of
you. First, there are many things about you that your self-thought simply
excludes. Perhaps this is simply because you have forgotten them or would
prefer not to think about them. Further, because of the imperfection of our
minds, it is simply not possible to hold together everything about anything
we think about all at once. A supremely perfect mind would, in thinking
about itself, exhaustively and perfectly “mirror” itself in such a thought.
Infinite self-thought is proper to such a mind since, as infinite, it finds
supreme delight in contemplating infinite perfection.
We have not considered the will that also proceeds from this infinite mind.
Will, as already discussed, is interior, mental desire.79 We want, for
instance, to be happy. The desire for happiness is the proper object of the
will. Just as our bodily senses have “proper” objects, so does the will. Our
eyes, for example, are oriented toward grasping light and shapes. Our eyes
do not hear, however. Our ears do not see. This is because these senses are
oriented toward particular objects. In order to determine what the function
of a particular power is, then, we have to identify its proper object or
intended goal. The intellect’s proper object is truth. We want to know truth
by means of the intellect. We don’t want to know lies; we want to know
truth. The will moves toward what is perceived as good. We deem
something good if we find it desirable. Even if something is not truly good
for us, we only choose to obtain it if we somehow perceived it or convince
ourselves that it is truly good for us. The end result of our desire to obtain
truth and goodness is interior contentment or happiness. The will is that
interior longing for goodness that contributes (hopefully) to our actually
achieving a measure of the happiness that motivates our desire to act.
From these observations we may observe that the will presupposes both
the mind and thought. If we don’t know about something, we can’t have a
desire for it. We would only read a book, for instance, if we had some
reason to think it may be interesting or advantageous to us. If we discover
that we were wrong about that “thought,” we will put the book aside. The
will can act upon only what it has some knowledge of, even if that
knowledge turns out to be misguided.
If there is a supreme, infinitely perfect mind, possessing mind, thought,
and will, the will would follow upon and, therefore, on some level, depend
on mind and thought. This is because the will flows from the mind as its
point of origin, but also follows thought since it cannot desire what it does
not know. The supreme mind’s will would, then, flow or proceed from both
mind and thought.
Additionally, the infinitely perfect “will” that exists in this supreme mind
would, as infinitely perfect, be indistinguishable from mind and thought
except insofar as it proceeds from them both. In other words, the supreme
will is not a partial expression of the supreme mind but fully possesses its
infinite perfections, while also standing in a relationship toward the other
two aspects of that supreme mind that allows it to be distinguished from
them but, by no means, separated.
Mind, Thought, and Will: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit
If the reader has followed this analogy, its application should be taking
shape. Within the nature of God, we have discovered, there are three
distinctions: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. The Son and Holy Spirit proceed
from the Father by a spiritual procession. The Son is strikingly similar to
the features we discovered about “thought” in the infinite mind just
described. “Thought” depends on mind but perfectly mirrors it. Similarly,
the Son perfectly mirrors the Father but is distinct from him. It is also
worthy of note that Scripture speaks of the Son as the Logos, or “thought”
that is eternally with God, the Father (compare John 1:1 and 1 John 1:2).
Further, the Holy Spirit, as already discussed, is depicted as the “love” of
God proceeding outward. Love, of course, is the positive movement of
one’s will toward another. The word spirit itself suggests dynamic
movement and desire. We also find that the Spirit is “sent” by both the
Father and Son, suggesting the proper order of the divine “persons” is
Father, Son, and then Spirit. This is consistent with the analogy in which
will logically follows both mind and thought.
The human mind, then, provides a fruitful analogy for the Trinity. There
are obvious differences, of course. They are too numerous to mention.
Perhaps the most obvious difference is the finitude of our minds in contrast
to God’s. This means that our thoughts, for instance, will not be an
infinitely perfect “image” of ourselves, but will always be a partial
expression of who we are. The second obvious difference is that we are
single persons, whereas within God’s essence are three Persons. The three
distinctions within us that partially express our nature, when magnified to
infinity, become three infinitely perfect divine Persons that are inseparably
one in the divine unity.
Although the analogy limps in some ways (what else can we expect?), it is
also powerfully revealing. It provides an analogy for God’s unity in that,
although it is possible to distinguish the mind’s aspects, it is not possible to
separate them. It provides an analogy for inseparable threeness within God
by recognizing the threeness that exists within the oneness of our minds. It
provides an analogy based on a spiritual reality (i.e., the mind). This
immediately gives it an advantage over analogies based on the material
world. The analogy is also valuable in that it directs us to the proper context
for understanding what key terms mean in the expression of the Trinity
(e.g., procession, Logos, Father, Son, Holy Spirit).
The analogy also has the advantage of showing a correspondence between
God’s creation and God’s revelation. Although we certainly cannot
conclude from this analogy that we have proven the Trinity through reason
alone, we have, enlightened by divine revelation in Christ and Scripture,
discovered an echo and “vestige” of the Trinity within the human person,
made in God’s image.
Of What Practical Value Is the Trinity?
“I’ve never heard a preacher get excited about the Trinity!” I’ve heard this
claim a number of times through the years. It was often argued that the
Trinity was not only illogical, but it is simply a dry, dull belief.
I’d like to conclude this chapter by reflecting on this claim. I do not doubt
that my pastor was speaking the truth based on his experience. He likely
never heard a trinitarian preacher or teacher address the subject of the
Trinity in anything other than an academic disposition. I firmly believe,
however, that the Trinity is the most profound and enriching of all Christian
beliefs. The Catechism of the Catholic Church states,

The mystery of the Most Holy Trinity is the central mystery of Christian
faith and life. It is the mystery of God in himself. It is therefore the source
of all the mysteries of faith, the light that enlightens them. It is the most
fundamental and essential teaching in the “hierarchy of the truths of
faith.”80

A “mystery,” in common theological usage, is a truth revealed by God that

is not fully comprehensible by the human mind. It is important to note that
this does not mean that a mystery is a contradiction or illogical. To the
contrary, a mystery ever invites our contemplation. Contradictions do not
invite contemplation since they are without real meaning. There are, of
course, meaningful paradoxes. Indeed, we often find the most fruitful
insights of our experience in “solving” paradoxes. Earlier, for instance, we
mentioned the idea that individual humans discover meaning and happiness
within social life or community. This fact is paradoxical inasmuch as it
brings individuality into relationship with the community. That the two are
inseparably intertwined may seem initially paradoxical, but, upon
reflection, they are found to complement each other quite nicely.
Another good example, this one more specifically theological, is the “two
natures of Christ” discussed above. Sometimes we find Jesus acting in such
a way that we conclude he was truly a man; at other times he speaks and
acts in ways that suggest he is far more than a man. These two truths are,
perhaps, paradoxical, but not contradictory. We may, to some degree,
relieve the tension between these two affirmations as we reflect on what
Scripture reveals about the identity of Jesus.
Although a mystery is not a contradiction, we cannot claim to ever fully
penetrate its meaning. A mystery ever beckons further reflection and
growing insight. This growth in insight is never complete. A mystery ever
eludes our full comprehension. A mystery invites a response like that of the
apostle Paul in his contemplation on God’s sovereignty and purposes in this
world: “Oh, the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of
God! How unsearchable are his judgments and unfathomable his ways! For
who has known the mind of the Lord, or who became his counselor? . . .
For from him and through him and to him are all things. To him be the
glory forever. Amen” (Rom. 11:33–36).
Our thinking about God, then, should ultimately yield to doxology, or
worship. The human mind, if it is thinking clearly, is always conscious of
the infinite depths of the divine mystery that far exceed our abilities. St.
Thomas liked to quote Aristotle’s words, “Our knowledge of God is like the
light of the sun to the eye of the owl.” The light of the sun overpowers our
eyes and forces them to look away. In a much greater way, the direct vision
of God is beyond our powers. Theology, then, leads to humility and
worship. This is what we mean by mystery. To the extent that theology fails
to produce this effect, it has failed.

Theoretical and Practical Knowledge

The Trinity, the Catechism informs us, is the central mystery of Christian
faith. This statement is necessarily true. If God is eternally a Trinity of
divine Persons, it follows that everything else that God does or reveals
flows from God’s triune life. Our theology should reflect this central place
of the Trinity, and also relate every other affirmation of faith to this
supreme “fount” of all reality. If everything that God has done in history is
an expression of his triune life, we can relate back to the Trinity the various
truths that become known throughout the history of divine revelation.
This fact is most evident when we arrive at the pinnacle of divine
revelation: Jesus Christ. It is commonly agreed that we discover the
mystery of the Trinity in and through the words, life, and death of Jesus.
This, again, is quite reasonable since Christ is the incarnate “Word” of the
Father, proceeding forth from the interior life of God. If God were to tell us
about the highest and deepest truth of all reality, it stands to reason that he
would express this concurrently with the supreme moment of revelation.
Further, we should not think of the Trinity only in terms of practical value.
Some truths are worth contemplating for their own sake. This is part of the
uniqueness and nobility of human persons. We can gain deep joy and
happiness by contemplating truth, not just by gaining some “practical”
effect. The distinction between practical and theoretical sciences serves as
an example. A practical science is one engaged for the sake of some
practical “end” or benefit. The study of medicine, for instance, has as its
goal the health of the body. The study of architecture has the goal of
building aesthetically pleasing, durable, safe structures.
There are other sciences, however, that are not initially motivated by a
practical application. I suspect that Copernicus theorized about the orbit of
the earth in relationship to the sun for the sake of knowing the truth of the
matter. He certainly did not engage this question because it would help him
grow crops more effectively. A theoretical science is studied in order to
enrich one’s understanding, not primarily to gain some other effect.
The study of God should be primarily motivated by the desire to know
God as he is in himself and in his revelation. The interior fulfillment that
results is sufficient benefit. I often explain to my students that my choice to
study theology was not motivated by the desire to make money. I did not, as
a high school graduate, look over my options and select theology because I
thought it would yield the largest payday or be the least difficult task. To the
contrary, I gave no thought to any of these matters. My chief concern was to
know, to understand, the truths revealed by God.
Some years ago, while doing graduate work in philosophy, one of my
beloved professors invited us students to stay after our classes to translate
some Latin texts of the Muslim philosopher, Avicenna. Since we had to
learn to translate Latin texts, we accepted the invitation. I recall struggling
to translate a particular text that had to do with the reasons why Avicenna
rejected an infinite regress of finite causes and, therefore, concluded that an
infinite, self-existent cause of every finite thing must exist. My professor
asked me to explain the meaning of this argument. I confidently explained
what I thought was the sense of the argument. He tersely remarked that I
did not understand the point. I asked him to explain my error. He told me to
go and study the matter. I did. I came back and explained the subject again;
he again informed me that I was missing the point. I continued to study. In
fact, one night I had a dream about this philosophical problem! I told my
professor about this dream, and he, with a smile, said, “Then you may be fit
for a career in philosophy. What you find yourself dreaming about at night
is probably what you love most.”
Our contemplation of God should be motivated by a desire to know the
God who made us and saved us, not because we can use it for some
practical benefit. The contemplation of God himself is the supremely
worthy goal of human thought, and therefore is sufficient justification in
itself.
That being said, however, it should be possible to show the connection
between the highest truths about God and what God has done in history,
including what is revealed about the practical Christian life. This
connection between what God is and how he is revealed in the context of
human history is vital to understanding the unity of God’s purposes.81 If we
are correct, “excitement” or enthusiasm about any aspect of Christian faith
should give rise to corresponding enthusiasm and excitement about the
Trinity, the root cause of all the other related truths.
The Passion of Christ
It is difficult to argue with the observation that the central focus of the
biblical story is Jesus Christ. Christians understand the Old Testament as an
extended period of preparation for the eventual appearance of Christ, the
incarnate Son of God. The New Testament explains the meaning of Christ
by way of historical summaries of his public life, death, and resurrection
(Gospels) and by way of various books applying and explaining the
message of Christ to his followers (Letters).
The “meaning” of Christ is not presented, however, by way of an
exhaustive biographical treatment. To the contrary, it is often noted that the
Gospels are not biographies in the modern sense. They focus on a relatively
short period of time in the life of Jesus. They say almost nothing of his
childhood and young adult life. Their focus is almost exclusively on
Christ’s public ministry, a ministry inaugurated by his baptism in the
Jordan. Some have even concluded that the Gospels are really “passion
narratives with an extended preface.” I think this is an overstatement, but it
does point to an important truth.82 We are told just enough about Jesus and
his message that we can properly contextualize his sufferings, death, and
resurrection.
In early Christian preaching and teaching, the death and resurrection of
Jesus were at center stage (e.g., Acts 2:22–36). His impending sufferings
weighed heavily upon him, especially during the later stage of his public
life (e.g., Mark 8:31). Although Jesus’ disciples could not understand the
meaning of his words in this regard, they later found the supreme meaning
of Christ in their fulfillment.
The meaning of Christ’s sufferings and death is, within the New
Testament, multifaceted. Jesus speaks of his death as a “ransom.” This
suggests the human family is in bondage to evil forces and a price must be
paid to set them free. Elsewhere Christ’s passion is described as a model of
obedience and love. We are called to walk “in his steps,” Peter wrote (1 Pet.
2:21). We also find significant texts that speak of Christ’s death as an
expiatory, substitutionary sacrifice. “Behold, the lamb of God who takes
away the sins of the world,” is likely, in part at least, an allusion to the
scapegoat that, on the Day of Atonement, was symbolically sent outside the
Israelite camp carrying away their sins (John 1:29).
No matter which of these approaches to explaining the meaning of
Christ’s passion we focus upon, the supreme underlying motive is love:
“God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son” (John 3:16).
Love manifests itself in giving. Love is motivated by the good of another
and therefore acts with that goal in mind. Love is the heart of the Christian
proclamation, then, and should bathe all the truths about Christ in its light.
Once we discover that love is the underlying motivation behind the
salvation God showers upon the world through Christ, it also becomes the
interpretive key to the rest of theology. Consider the problem of Creation,
for instance. If it is true that God is supremely perfect in himself, Creation
becomes a problem. Why would God create if Creation adds nothing to his
perfections? God has no greater happiness on account of creating than if he
had chosen not to create. It is not as if God is “lonely” and then chooses to
create so he will have some company. This would make God dependent on
the creation for his perfections. It may be the case that God eternally chose
to create the world, a conclusion necessitated by his immutability, but there
is nothing about the nature of God that required that he make such a choice.
We may speak of God’s eternal free choice to create but not an eternal
necessary choice to create. The question then presents itself: why did God
create?
The only reasonable answer I know is that God chose to create the world
as an act of love. God chose to make a world, including rational creatures
capable of love and knowledge, for their benefit. God’s supreme life of
perfection and love overflowed for the good of the creatures made by him.
The world, then, proceeded from God by a free, creative act motivated by
love.
This conclusion also yields further insight into our condition in this world.
Since we have been made by God’s free choice and love, we also discover
that we are called to return to God by way of modeling these perfections.
We must return to God in freedom and in love.83 Since our freedom is
imperfect, it allows for a movement away from our true happiness only
really found in returning to God. The story of the Old and New Testaments
(not to mention the story of our own lives) is one of tragic rebellion. We
have chosen to use our freedom and longing for happiness to find
fulfillment in something other than God. This delusion leads to ruin—a fact
seen throughout the tragedies, both small and great, that litter the course of
history.
God’s love did not end with creation, however. The story of Christ is one
of supernatural love, a love that reaches beyond the initial gift of creation
toward the life of grace. Through Christ, God restores us to the path of
return. All of Creation, then, comes from God by a free act of love, and
returns to God freely and by love on account of Christ who, by his
sufferings and resurrection has poured out divine grace and love enabling us
to find the original good intended by the Creator.
It must be emphasized that this love expressed in Christ originates in God:
“God so loved the world (John 3:16).” John elsewhere states, “God is love”
(1 John 4:8). It belongs to God’s nature, then, to love. Love, though,
requires another to whom it may give itself. A solitary person is capable of
loving only itself. Self-love is certainly real. It is not the highest love,
however. The highest love requires another.
The Trinity is an affirmation that, within the one God, there is truly
subject-object relationship. Since the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit stand in
personal relationship with each other (unlike the aspects of our mind) they
are in an eternal and inseparable communion of love. This fact is seen when
we focus on the analogy discussed in the prior section. The Son is the full
gift of the Father’s essence. The Father, then, fully gives his essence to a
second, and that self-gift is the Son. This is the essence of love: giving
one’s self for another. The Holy Spirit, we understand, is the love of the
Father and Son jointly sent and proceeding.
In human experience, we often discover that the love of a husband and
wife is deepened profoundly by the addition of a third member: a child. The
parents are then called to direct their love jointly toward a third. This
requires a new perspective, a new kind of generosity.84 Perhaps this fact
sheds some light on love’s meaning, as it exists within God. We discover
the Father giving himself fully, and that is the Son, the perfect expression of
the Father. The Father and Son turn their mutual love outward, and that is
the Spirit that dynamically proceeds forth from them.
These observations reveal truths about God that are entirely different from
what we would expect, given the history of religions. The contemporary
religions around the time of the formation of both testaments featured gods
of a very different sort. These gods, at best, were uninterested in humans.
The best that humans could hope is that their chosen god would gain the
upper hand in battle against rival gods. The gods of the Greeks and Romans
notoriously disregarded the good of human beings in favor of their own
self-centered ambitions. The supreme “moment” in the description of these
gods was found in feats of power.
When the God of Scripture enters human history in his supreme
“moment,” he is not seen throwing lightning bolts off a mountain, nor is he
found engaging in self-indulgent acts in pursuit of cosmic power, pleasure,
and fame. Instead, the supreme act of divine “power” is found on the cross.
The God of the universe chose to descend to lowly matter and then die
among the lowest of social outcasts and criminals. No greater love has ever
been known.
The Christian message is that this supreme act of love, unparalleled in all
of history, reveals the inner life of God himself. What was made evident
two thousand years ago was nothing less than what has always existed
within God. The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit perfectly and unchangingly
exist in a communion of self-giving love that is expressed on the cross.
Far from being a dull and dry belief, I do not know of a truth that more
“excites” my mind and heart than this one. I do not know of a truth that is
more meaningful in providing a foundation for our moral lives. I do not
know of a truth more meaningful in my experience of worship. In fact, on
numerous occasions I have stated that the greatest reason why I am a
Christian today is because of the Trinity. I do not know of a more wonderful
and life-changing truth than that God is a communion of love that expressed
that love in history through Christ. These facts also define the essence of
our future hope. The Christian journey culminates in a share in this eternal
communion of love within the life of the God who is Love.85
Baptism, that sacramental act that initiates persons into the communion of
faith in the God who is Love, plunges us into the life of faith, hope, and
love that leads to unending union with Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Joy
should fill our hearts, then, when we hear those words: “I baptize you in the
name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”
In light of the discoveries of this chapter, I could no longer remain in the
Oneness movement. Now the faith I once rejected as “ugly” was the most
wonderful of all truths. I had no idea, though, that this discovery was a vital
step in leading me into the Catholic Church.
37 The word saint (“holy one”) is used in the Bible to refer to all members of the churches (e.g., Phil. 1:1). There are other texts
that speak of sainthood as our calling and therefore the goal of the Christian life (1 Cor. 1:2). Catholics tend to use this word to
specially refer to those who have completed their journey to God and are thereby made completely and irrevocably holy by
God’s grace. Paul (and others) use the term more flexibly to refer to those who are growing toward holiness and those who have
completed that process.
38 David K. Bernard, The Oneness of God (Weldon Spring, MO: Pentecostal Publishing House, 1986), 92.
39 See Ratzinger, Jesus of Nazareth.
40 Early in his work An Essay on the Development of Christian Doctrine (1845), Newman insightfully describes the way the mind
encounters a truth and then “develops” its meaning. “If Christianity is a fact, and impresses an idea of itself on our minds and is
a subject matter of exercises of the reason, that idea will in course of time expand into a multitude of ideas, and aspects of ideas,
connected and harmonious with one another, and in themselves determinate and immutable, as is the objective fact itself which
is thus represented” (55).
41 The use of the term person in reference to the Father, Son, and Spirit has a long history. The Latin word persona originally
signified a mask worn by an actor in a play. It came to be used as a legal term for an individual human being. The Greeks used
hypostasis to express a roughly similar notion. Shades of difference in meaning and usage resulted in a variety of complex
controversies during the early Christian centuries. Early theologians used persona primarily to speak of the individuality of the
divine persons in contrast to the common essence (substantia) possessed by each. For a helpful discussion, see Richard A.
Muller, Dictionary of Latin and Greek Theological Terms (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Publishing House, 1985), 223-227.
42 Bernard, The Oneness of God, 144.
43 Relation signifies two or more things that have some connection to each other. This may be true of impersonal things (a book
sitting on desk) or personal things (a mother’s son). The Father and Son are in relation to each other, then, since they act toward
each other in various ways. In our experience, relations typically exist when there are individual beings that stand in some
proximity to each other. Thomas Aquinas will reason that the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are pure relations since the divine
Persons of the Trinity are not separate substances but do act toward each other.
44 Bernard, 142-3.
45 The distinction between God’s triune functions in time and his eternal triune, interior relationships is traditionally expressed by
the terms economic and immanent. The economic trinity is God as known in the context of Creation and, especially,
redemption, whereas the immanent trinity speaks of the interior, eternal relationships within God. Although it is true that we
 know the immanent trinity only within the context of the economic, the terms should not be equated, as Karl Rahner suggested
in a controversial essay. “The Trinity of the economy of salvation is the immanent Trinity and vice versa” (Karl Rahner,
Theological Investigations, vol. 4 (New York: Crossroads 1966), 87. The Trinity affirms that if God had never chosen to create
the world, he would still be triune.
46 Bernard, The Oneness of God, 183-4, emphasis added.
47 In fact, whenever personal subjects were in view, I have found in no exception to this meaning.
48 Bernard, The Oneness of God, 186: “He loved that plan from the beginning. He loved that future Son just as he loved all of us
from the beginning of time” (emphasis added).
49 See D.A. Carson, The Gospel According to John (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1991), 117.
50 Bernard, The Oneness of God, 60-61.
51 Bernard, The Oneness of God, 17.
52 It should be noted that the commandment against “images” was not absolute. Since humans discover God by way of the
creation (Rom. 1:20), we cannot help but make comparisons between God and creatures and, from these comparisons, draw
analogous similarities. The Old Testament includes numerous visual images of God in its poetic literature (e.g., God is a rock,
bird, strong tower). The commandment mentioned above forbids tying God so closely to any of these images that God is
reduced to a finite object from his infinity. The New Testament offers Christ as the “image of the invisible God” (Col. 1:15).
The command against images does not exclude God’s own chosen self-image: Christ.
53 Excluding, of course, abstractions like numbers. Aristotle’s explanation of numbers as abstract quantity, leaving behind the
substantial entity from which the units or numbers were abstracted, is persuasive. Numbers, then, do not exist in themselves but
only in minds capable of abstraction.
54 For an extended discussion of this point see St. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae I.11.1-4.
55 Gordon Magee, Is Jesus in the Godhead or Is the Godhead in Jesus? (Hazelwood, MO: Word Aflame, 1989), 18.
56 Magee, Is Jesus in the Godhead, 18.
57 Bernard, The Oneness of God, 171.
58 Bernard, The Oneness of God, 90
59 The Bible college professor that had the greatest impact on my personal development during those years (Kelsey Griffin)
illustrated our understanding of Jesus’ conscious life by drawing a picture of a human head and drew two circles inside the
head. These, he explained, represent the divine and human natures. I objected after class that this loose association of natures
did not seem to fit with John’s words: “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” (John 1:14) These words suggest a much
more profound union of God with human nature. To my surprise, he expressed appreciation and concern at my observation.
60 C.F. Keil and F. Delitzsch, Commentary on the Old Testament (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans: 1982 reprint), 10:253.
61 Bernard, The Oneness of God, 127.
62 Bernard, The Oneness of God, 104.
63 Bernard, The Oneness of God, 105.
64 I am not suggesting that the term God is merely an abstract genus like human. Unlike humans and all other genera of creatures,
there is only one instance of the divine substance. That substance is fully possessed by the three divine persons. It is not
multiplied or distributed to many by way of matter. The point stands, however, that one “begotten” of another fully receives the
nature of the begetter. In the case of creatures, the specific instances of a genus exist because of the external procession of
offspring. Since God cannot be multiplied by external procession, the only distinctions within God are internal. See section
below, “The Best Analogy.”
65 Bernard, The Oneness of God, 27.
66 The Son is not a creation and therefore is not outside the divine nature. The Son is begotten by an internal procession so that
the Son is not other than or outside of God.
67 John 1:18, according to most scholars, should actually read, “the only begotten, God, who is in the bosom of the Father.” If so,
this verse is one of clearest statements of the divinity of the Son of God in a text that also emphasizes his relationship as
“begotten” of the Father.
68 Yves Congar, I Believe in the Holy Spirit, vol. 1 (New York: Crossroad, 1983), vii.
69 Bernard, The Oneness of God, 128.
70 Ibid.
71 Bernard, The Oneness of God, 195-196.
72 Bernard, The Oneness of God, 196.
73 My recollection is that I first heard this illustration used by Evangelical theologian Robert Bowman in a public debate on the
Trinity with Robert Sabin, a Oneness Pentecostal.
74 I avoid raising the filioque controversy. Suffice it to say, however, the Bible does not explicitly state that the Holy Spirit
proceeds from the Son. Theologically, however, we must note (a) if the only difference between the Father and Son is that the
Son is begotten and the Father is not and (b) the Son fully expresses the essence of the Father, it follows that the Spirit proceeds
from the Son as from the Father. It should also be noted that the Bible speaks of the Spirit as “of the Father” and “of the Son”
(e.g., Gal. 4:6).
75 For a thorough discussion of the biblical and theological issues pertaining to the Holy Spirit, see Yves Congar, I Believe in the
Holy Spirit (3 vols.).
76 See St. Augustine, On the Trinity IX-XV. Augustine develops several different analogies in his work. The analogy developed
here is most similar to his presentation in book IX. I owe whatever value this analogy may have to readers to insights gleaned
from Augustine and Aquinas. I once thought analogies based on the mind are inadequate since, in focusing on one mind, I
thought they supported a conclusion more similar to modalism than trinitarianism. My reading of St. Thomas Aquinas
convinced me otherwise. Since discovering its value, I have used it in the classroom and find students most often consider it
intriguing and compelling.
77 The traditional Catholic understanding of the human person includes the notion that the root cause of our longings for
happiness and truth is a longing for the absolute Good and True: God. Even if a person lacks a clear, conscious awareness of
God as the “end” or goal of our longings, God is still their ultimate aim. Consequently, we are never finally and completely
happy through obtaining finite, limited “goods.” The human situation is then inherently frustrating since the powers of our soul
are only brought to true rest in the presence of a reality that transcends the world of created beings. “Sin” for persons without
explicit knowledge of God is their failure to be faithful to the impulse to goodness and truth—something that happens in
countless ways, especially by treating a finite “good” as absolute goodness. For instance, a person considers making money or
sensual pleasure the supreme goal of their life.
78 I am not suggesting a perfect mind cannot contemplate imperfect objects (like us!). I would follow Aquinas on this point who
reasoned that God sees all his effects in seeing himself perfectly (Summa Theologiae I.14.5).
79 I am excluding consideration here of the bodily passions that exercise an influence on our choices. Since these are shared
common with lower creatures, they are not, strictly speaking, essential or helpful for the analogy.
80 Catechism of the Catholic Church (1994), 234.
81 Classically this distinction is made by speaking of God in himself as the ontological Trinity and God as revealed in human
history as the economic Trinity. We discover the economic Trinity first, since we are creatures of time and history. We discover
the immanent Trinity by inference to the eternal life of God from God’s actions as known in time. Trinitarian theology insists on
a real connection between the two. We truly discover what God is like in himself by reflection on his actions in time.
82 N.T. Wright’s various writings, especially Jesus and the Victory of God (London: SPCK Publishing, 1996), make a powerful
case that the entire life of Christ is indispensably important and that exclusive focus on the passion narratives to the neglect of
the rest of the Gospels is a tragic mistake. As a whole, I find Wright’s approach to the Gospels not only compelling but also
profoundly insightful.
83 This theme of exit and return is commonly recognized as the underlying framework of St. Thomas Aquinas’s Summa
Theologiae. In part one he focuses on God and the procession of creatures from God (angels, material creation, and man). In the
second part he focuses on the return of creatures to God by focusing on the human “end” and virtues/vices. In the third part he
focuses on Christ and the means of grace in order to show how fallen man may complete the return to God.
84 This insight is owed to Richard of St. Victor's (d. 1173) treatise On the Trinity.
85 The resurrection of Christ, too, is an expression of God’s love. Since Christ’s resurrection is a foretaste of the general
resurrection at the end of history, it is our guarantee that God’s love for us will raise us from death to everlasting life; hence,
everlasting love in union with God and the saints is the essence of our hope.
 3

“Speaking in Tongues” and the Spirit

Baptism

Pentecostal theology grows from a deep human desire to have indisputable

“evidence,” not only of the reality of God active in the world but also for
personal evidence that God cares for me. Before tackling this very common
human impulse as it appears within Oneness Pentecostalism, I’d like to
offer some reflections on my experience as a Catholic to some of those who
struggle with similar impulses. The Oneness understanding of “speaking in
tongues” will undoubtedly strike most Catholic and even Protestant readers
as bizarre. Perhaps the following reflections will help contextualize their
teachings within the common struggle to live the life of Christian faith in
our challenging times.
For more than two decades I have taught theology and philosophy to high
school and college students. In many ways, my spiritual journey has been
significantly different from theirs. Most of them have not grown up in
anything remotely similar to a Pentecostal religious experience. The
majority have grown up in Catholic homes, often in very devout families
but infrequently in ones that spend a lot of energy questioning and
exploring tough theological questions.
Because of the difference between my own experience and theirs, I have
made it a habit for a number of years to administer a questionnaire to my
students on the first day of a new class. Their responses, in part, help inform
the topics I will select for that class. Always included among the questions I
ask are: “What are the questions about the Catholic faith that bother you the
most? What challenges do you have with believing the Catholic faith?” I
was initially somewhat surprised to find that their answers consistently fell
into one of several categories. First, about a third to a half of their questions
focus on the problem of evil and suffering in the world. Why does a world
like this exist if there is a good God that made it all? Second, another third
of the questions are some variation of the following: “Why can’t I see God?
What is the scientific proof for God’s existence? What is the cause of God?
Why aren’t prayers answered?” I put these in the same category because
they grow from the same root. God often doesn’t seem to respond the way
that people expect, and the current climate of our culture emphasizes
empirical evidence as considered by the scientific method as the only
acceptable way in which to show that something is “true.” The young
people that I regularly teach find themselves in a difficult intellectual
situation when they are taught on the one hand the scientific method, and on
the other they are asked to believe in things they cannot see or that cannot
be demonstrated the way that certain scientific conclusions can apparently
be demonstrated.
The third category of responses I get from students is a variety of
questions that focus on specific claims of our faith they find hard to
understand or even contradictory. Typical among these is the Trinity (How
can God be both one and three?), Christ (How can Jesus be both God and
man?), the Eucharist (How can Christ be present in many places at one
time? I can’t see Jesus. All I see is bread and wine.), and various questions
about the Bible, hell, morality, etc.
Each of these categories is worth a book or many books. Here I will only
suggest the initial path I will propose to my students when engaging these
issues. The goal of these brief considerations is to point to the kind of
“evidence” we can expect to support our faith and what we cannot expect
and what this implies about how God works with human beings in our
world.
With regard to suffering and evil, I tell stories of my own immature way
of dealing with the suffering of other people when I was a younger man. I
tended to propose rational solutions to painful experiences that people
endured. For example, I recall a Oneness Pentecostal professor of mine who
showed up late for class one morning. He was typically a well-dressed,
punctual, clean-shaven man. This particular morning he was disheveled and
unshaven. He proceeded to explain that, being a volunteer police chaplain,
he had been called out early in the morning to the home of a woman whose
son had just committed suicide. After identifying himself as a chaplain, the
mother began screaming at him: “Why did God let this happen?” My
professor then stopped his story and asked the class how we would have
responded to her. I quickly raised my hand and answered, “I think this is an
unfair question. The man took his own life using his freedom. God was not
responsible for it.” My professor was disappointed and even angry with me.
“Do you mean to tell me that you would tell this suffering woman that her
question is unfair?” I have never forgotten that moment. In fact, I regularly
recall it when I think about suffering and evil in our world. What was
wrong with my answer?
I long ago concluded that the main problem with my response was that it
abstracted away from the realities of this particular person’s life. She was
experiencing something that could not be addressed merely by words or
arguments. My professor proceeded to explain what he did. “I threw my
jacket in a corner and sat on the floor. I told her, ‘I don’t know what to say. I
just want to be present.’” His response to her was a deeply Christian one.
Christ addressed the reality of evil and suffering in our world by being
present with us in it and by sharing in the human condition. He shows us
the power of love that ultimately triumphs over evil and death but not
before traveling through suffering and death. The crucifix is a perpetual
reminder that God is present with us in the mystery of suffering, a mystery
that cannot be fully penetrated in our current condition. Even my younger
students can often reflect on their experiences of pain, confusion,
misunderstanding, and even deep loss, and find ways in which they have
become more understanding, caring, thoughtful, grateful, and loving
persons. There is an unsettling but profound way in which our lives are
shaped and defined by how we respond to the unique collection of
experiences that constitute our lives.
This is not to say that we cannot develop strong and compelling
intellectual responses that address arguments against God’s existence based
on suffering and evil or other similar challenges. I certainly believe we can.
My own experience has suggested, however, that it is most helpful to
emphasize the love of God shown in Christ when people are most deeply
concerned with these features of our world. If I start here, the rest of the
conversation tends to be much more meaningful, and even consoling and
persuasive.
What evidence do we have that evil is ultimately parasitic on supreme
goodness and that good wins in the end? Indeed, there are rational
considerations that support this conclusion. We also have our Christian faith
that shows a moment in history that God enters our fallen world and suffers
with us, triumphing over all in resurrection. We also have our own journeys
that may give us windows of insight into God’s plan but often in a way that
is difficult to see, especially when we are in the middle of the darkness and
cloud of suffering. Surely there is much more to be said about this
profoundly perplexing aspect of being human. There is no collection of
words, however, that can fully heal the pains of our losses. To be a Catholic
Christian is not to have all the answers or quick solutions. Rather, we admit
the deep sorrow and pain that sometimes challenge our faith. To believe in
God in the midst of pain and suffering is sometimes to hold to a sure anchor
when it is hard to see where we are going and even if we will make it to
safety. The call to faith in the face of evil and suffering can challenge us to
the very core of our Christian identity. With these thoughts I begin a
conversation on suffering and evil.
Now to the second category of questions. Why can’t we see God? Why is
he seemingly quiet in response to our prayers? I have found it helpful to
begin considering these challenges by questioning the naïve assumption that
the scientific method is the only way to know that something is true. There
are many problems with this assumption. For one, the scientific method is a
way of studying certain aspects of reality that allow for the kind of certainty
that science desires. It deliberately leaves out other aspects of reality that do
not conform to the scientific method. In other words, science is so
successful because it limits what it will consider.
Science considers things that can be quantified and subjected to repeated
testing. Those things that don’t fit nicely in these categories are not good
subjects for science or, when science does deal with them, they look
strangely dissimilar to what we consider them in normal experience. For
instance, it is hard to speak of a science of “history.” We may consider some
things in history in a scientific manner (e.g., the human need for food) but
the specifics of history cannot be repeated or quantified as such. How can
one reduce a Martin Luther King, Jr., Martin Luther, Mother Teresa, or John
Paul II to an experiment in a lab or a quantifiable entity? Their unique
responses to history in their times result in historical peculiarities, not
repeatable and quantifiable objects. How does science study “love”? Only
in a very clumsy way that bears very little resemblance to our interior
experience. Science focuses on third-person verifiable features of our
experience, but leaves out the first-person aspects of reality.
There are many other problems with a “science only” approach to things.
Science depends on a variety of assumptions that cannot be demonstrated
by the scientific method itself. Inductive logic, deductive logic, the
trustworthiness of sense experience, that the future and past resemble the
present, and various other assumptions are not testable as such by the
scientific method but must be used and assumed by it.
When we speak of God, we are not talking about an object that can be
tested in a lab. Further, we are not talking about a quantifiable feature of the
world around us. God is the very reason why there is a world. God is not an
entity within and subject to time and space, but is the origin of time and
space. Historically, most people have found the existence of God
convincing based on the way they experience the world. Things are coming
and going, including ourselves. Things that come and go do so because they
are caused or moved by other things. That God is the reason for a world of
things that depend on others things makes sense to most people, at least
historically considered. An endless series of things that don’t fully explain
themselves results in an endless series of incomplete answers that do really
satisfy our minds.86
What is the cause of God? The question is incoherent, when you stop to
think about it. If God is the ground of all incomplete explanations and is the
final, self-explained reason for them all, to ask about the cause of God is to
put God back into the category of dependent effects that need a cause
beyond themselves. That is precisely what God is not.
 Why doesn’t God answer my prayers the way I want him to? There are
verses of Scripture that suggest that, if we ask, God will answer. I grew up
hearing preachers preach about how God wants to heal everyone, if we
would just have enough faith. They talked about how God regularly speaks
to us and, again, if we would only have enough faith we could “move
mountains.” What are we to make of these claims in light of our lived
experience?
The people who listened to Jesus talk about prayer were people who knew
well a long history largely made up of God’s silence. They had waited for
hundreds of years to hear the voice of a new prophet who would herald the
coming of the Messiah. They knew the experience of suffering, foreign
occupation, and persecution for their faith. Surely they knew the experience
of doubt and confusion as they tried to make sense of the ways of God’s
providence. The psalms of the Old Testament include both expressions of
joyful celebration of God’s deliverance among his people and deep sadness
and disappointment at God’s absence and abandonment of the people. That
Jesus promised that their prayers would be answered must have been
comforting, but this comfort must have been understood within the context
of the fact that God’s timing is profoundly different than our own. They
thought in terms of centuries and even millennia, rather than the fast-food
and instant-gratification culture many of us experience.
I can point to some moments in my life when I sincerely believed that
God was profoundly present and providentially directing and guiding my
path. Some years ago I found myself in a very dark and confusing place in
life. Some days I traveled to work with tear-filled eyes trying to make sense
out of a very confusing and intractable set of challenges. Without describing
the details, a series of unexpected “coincidences” resulted in a radical
solution to these challenges that were so intricate, unexpected, and life-
giving that I cannot help but conclude that God was present solving a set of
problems I could not solve. In retrospect, I see those events as a kind of
personal “Exodus” experience. Just as the ancient Israelites experienced
God’s solution to their long period of suffering, my own experience seemed
like a deliverance that was hard to interpret as anything less than God’s
work.
Most of life is not like that, however. Most of life seems to be like the
experience of the Israelites in the desert for forty years or even while
enslaved in Egypt. The life of faith is often one that is experienced in a
desert. We journey along, experiencing the provisions of God, but at the
same time we experience a silence in which we are challenged to trust in
God and focus on his acts of deliverance, and to keep moving forward or,
unfortunately, to interpret God’s silence in another way.
Does God answer prayer? Indeed, he does. Our knocking and asking may
be a lifetime of knocking and asking, however. Prayer is a perpetual act of
faith or trust in God, and we cannot dictate to God the terms of his answers.
God often does not answer the way we want, because God is teaching us
that we do not dictate to God what he will do. Our prayers are answered as
they are conformed to God’s will. Prayer is as much an act of submitting
our will to God’s will as it is requesting that God hear our request: “Thy
kingdom come, they will be done.” Prayer is, in the final analysis, the
gradual process of realizing that we are redeemed creatures who stand in
the presence of the infinitely holy God. God’s will is supreme, and mine is
often silly, misguided, self-centered, and prideful. That God does not do
what I want him to do when I want him to do it is one of the ways that God
teaches me that his work is not centered on me and that I have an awful lot
to learn.
The third category of questions that my students mention is a collection of
questions about aspects of Catholic faith that they perceive to be
contradictory or lacking in meaning. I will not explore those questions both
for sake of space, and because some of those questions are considered in
other parts of this book. However, my approach to responding grows from
the conviction that the Catholic faith makes sense and does not require that
we commit intellectual suicide. Consequently, I feel an obligation to show
that our faith is reasonable, and to offer ways to understand Catholic claims
in a way that does not require that we suspend our rational faculties or
accept real contradictions.
The questions that my students pose all have in common the fact that they
are difficult and require patience, care, and determination in order to arrive
at reasonable solutions. There are no fast responses that will satisfy a person
who is struggling with those issues.
Oneness Pentecostals experience all the same human experiences that the
rest of us do. I can remember praying for hours one night at a church prayer
meeting for an elderly man in our church who was dying of cancer. I
remember a young man, recently married with a young adopted daughter,
who died of AIDS, contracting the virus through drug use in his youth. I
recall an elderly woman who lost her husband and died several weeks later,
apparently from a broken heart. I remember our pastor’s wife was “healed”
of breast cancer only to later have it reappear, and she died a few years after
I left the Oneness movement. I remember a young man who was paralyzed
from the waist down who hundreds of people prayed for one night at a
healing rally, only to see him wheeled out, unable to walk later that night.
Oneness people experience the same challenges of life that the rest of the
world experiences.
Oneness Pentecostals, however, claim to have a moment in their lives
when God miraculously proves to each one of them that they are forgiven
and embraced by his love. This experience is that of the “baptism of the
Holy Spirit.” There is, it is claimed, a supernatural “evidence” of this
experience: speaking in tongues. In the remainder of this chapter, I will
present the case for this claim, and also show what I think are its problems.
These introductory reflections, however, are intended to suggest that the life
of faith is very different than what the Oneness Pentecostal pursuit of
“evidential” experiences would suggest. There is a much deeper dimension
to faith than a momentary experience that can then be considered the anchor
of a life of faith. Instead, our faith is rooted in a deep conviction that Christ
is God present with us in time and space. The darkness that sometimes
enshrouds our lives reflects the nature of the Christian journey. We believe
that this darkness will be dispelled by the light of life and eternal love in the
life to come but, for now, we are on a journey that requires a faith that does
not demand a personal miraculous evidence but, instead, clings to Christ—
who is all the evidence we need.
Background
The Pentecostal movement is, at its core, built on an experience. This
experience is called the “baptism of the Holy Spirit,”87 and its “evidence” is
speaking in other tongues. “Speaking in tongues” refers to an experience
during which a person speaks in a language that is unknown to that person.
The cause of the experience, then, must be supernatural, since its sufficient
explanation cannot be found in the person. While speaking, the person has
no awareness of the meaning of what he is saying.
There is reason to believe that experiences fitting this description, at least
in some respects, have happened occasionally down through the centuries.
Of course, there is significant dispute over whether these experiences
actually involve real languages or whether they are simply ecstatic speech
that has never been spoken anywhere in the world (or angelic realm). It is
very hard to prove unrecognized sounds are or are not a language unless
someone happens to recognize the meaning of the words. Although there
are some claimed instances of this, the vast majority of cases do not involve
recognized languages. Real languages, of course, were recognized during
the events recorded in the Acts of the Apostles, chapter two, when the Holy
Spirit was initially “poured out” on the followers of Christ. The many
people that journeyed to Jerusalem from all over the ancient world to
observe the holy days between Passover and Pentecost recognized the
various languages spoken by the power of the Holy Spirit. Hearing the
“wonderful works of God” in their own languages made them willing to
listen to Peter explain the Christian message.
The twentieth century saw not only an increased interest in the
phenomenon of speaking in tongues, but an explosion of interest in various
other spiritual gifts mentioned in the New Testament (e.g., prophecy,
healing). Speaking in tongues, however, was the experience at the heart of
the Pentecostal movement. The central place of this experience was
virtually guaranteed by the way the Pentecostal movement originated.
Tongues were not first experienced and then explained. A theology of
tongues emerged, and then the experience followed. Let me explain.
If we take the accounts of early Pentecostalism at face value, the
movement began in a Bible school overseen by Charles Parham at the turn
of the twentieth century. This is not to say the movement does not have
earlier roots; indeed, it does. Parham, though, would contribute the “initial-
evidence” doctrine, a doctrine that gave a theological and biblical
framework for the tongues experience.88 After “discovering” this biblical
doctrine, he and his followers prayed to receive this experience. They did,
we are told, beginning with Agnes Ozman, a student at Parham’s Bible
school early on the morning of January 1, 1901.89
 Parham believed the revival of the gift of tongues accompanying the
“baptism of the Holy Spirit” had an eschatological and missionary purpose.
The reemergence of this gift in the twentieth century signified, for Parham,
that the end of the world was at hand and the gift of tongues would expedite
the task of worldwide evangelization. The gift would enable the most
unlearned to be missionaries to foreign lands.
Time would bring some changes to this original vision. Although some
tried, the gift of tongues was of no help on mission fields. The experience
then became increasingly significant for the individual. The sign of tongues
came to have the primary purpose of proving to an individual that he has
received the Spirit baptism.
Parham and his followers claimed to have rediscovered the “pattern” of
primitive Christianity. That pattern is as follows: (a) the New Testament
speaks of an experience called “the baptism of the Holy Spirit” that is
subsequent to conversion or faith, and (b) that experience is inevitably
accompanied by speaking in tongues. The original “Pentecostals,” then, so-
called because the initial appearance of tongues was on the day of
Pentecost, believed they had recovered a missing part of the Christian faith.
They did not, however, think their discovery meant only those that have
spoken in tongues were truly Christians. It did mean that most Christians
had missed out on an experience of empowerment that aids in achieving the
purposes of the Christian church.
From a Catholic perspective, there is nothing surprising about the idea of
subsequence or that the Holy Spirit, in some meaningful sense, is received
after the life of grace and faith has begun. Confirmation is the sacramental
reception of the Spirit imparted, normally, through the hands of the bishop.
The classic biblical text used in support is Acts 8 where the Holy Spirit is
imparted through the apostles’ hands after baptism. Pentecostalism,
however, sees no essential link between the laying on of hands and the gift
of the Spirit. At least one similarity, though, is the notion that this is a
distinct moment in the Christian life from the initial experience of what
Catholic theology calls sanctifying grace.90
The Oneness movement, since it originated within the Assemblies of God,
the largest of the classical Pentecostal denominations, inherited the initial-
evidence doctrine. In other words, its leaders accepted the idea that there is
a recognizable, distinct experience called the Spirit baptism and the
evidence of this experience is speaking in tongues. Where they differed,
however, was in the importance and meaning given to the experience.
Unlike the rest of the movement, the Oneness adherents believed that both
water baptism (in Jesus’ name) and Spirit baptism are essential to “full
salvation.” It must be admitted that some in the early movement continued
to believe that an individual could be “converted” and, therefore, stand in a
positive relationship toward God before the experience of Spirit baptism,
but the stronger elements in the movement thought otherwise. The Spirit
baptism, with tongues, was an essential part of initial conversion. Bernard,
for instance, concludes his discussion of this subject by identifying the
Spirit baptism with the “birth of the Spirit” mentioned by Jesus (John 3:5).
You might recall, Jesus stated it is essential that one is born of “water and of
the Spirit” in order to enter the kingdom of God. The implication is clear. If
one does not have this experience, he is not fully a Christian and cannot be
confident of going to heaven. This is, without doubt, the conviction I
learned and professed during my years within the Oneness movement.91
In this chapter we will consider two questions. First, is speaking in
tongues the initial evidence of the Spirit baptism? Second, what is the
“baptism with the Holy Spirit” and, by extension, what is its relationship to
salvation? By focusing on these two questions, we are not obligated to
make a judgment on the value of speaking in tongues today, or whether or
not this spiritual gift functions in the Church today. Although I will
conclude the chapter with some personal reflections on my own
experiences, these are not vital to the argument of this chapter.
The Initial-Evidence Doctrine
“I can prove to you that I’ve been born again. God made sure there was no
question I’d been filled . . . I spoke in other tongues, and that’s the proof!”92
These song lyrics summarize well the Oneness Pentecostal attitude toward
speaking in tongues. It is a “proof” of salvation. “Tongues” is an essential
part of Christian initiation and full integration into the local church.
“Membership” in a Oneness church is typically automatic upon baptism,
and tongues accompanied by attendance at a particular church. Often one
hears the question, “When did you receive the Holy Ghost?” As long as one
is unable to answer this question, he remains on the fringes of the local
church.
Oneness Pentecostals profess to believe the Bible is the sole source of
their theology. Given this conviction, it is incumbent upon them to justify
their understanding of the relationship between speaking in tongues and
human salvation from its pages. For all who are familiar with the Bible, it is
apparent that no text exists that clearly states this doctrine. The twenty-
seven books of the New Testament include three that mention tongues. Two
of these are of no help in supporting the initial-evidence doctrine. The entire
case, then, is built on a single New Testament book: the Acts of the
Apostles. We will first consider the two texts that mention tongues but that
cannot be used in support of the initial-evidence doctrine, and then we will
consider the Acts texts.

The Gospels
The four Gospels mention speaking in tongues once. Mark 16:17 includes
tongues in a list of “signs” Jesus states will accompany his believing
disciples as the Christian message is proclaimed throughout the world.
“Tongues” is given no place of prominence in the list, and I know of no
Oneness Pentecostal that takes all the signs in this list as necessary
evidences of salvation or Spirit baptism. The other signs include casting out
demons, picking up snakes, and drinking poison. It would seem most
reasonable that this is a list of extraordinary signs that may be given by God
as accompanying proofs of God’s presence with the early Christian
evangelists.93 Further, it also seems reasonable that these signs will appear
as occasion requires them rather than by design. We have no reason to think
that the early Christians went about looking for snakes to grab or poison to
drink. Similarly, there is no universal command or promise to speak in
tongues. There is, then, no initial-evidence doctrine in Mark 16.
There is one text from the Gospel of John that is sometimes used to
support the initial-evidence teaching. John 3:8, part of Christ’s conversation
with Nicodemas (a devout Pharisee and member of the Jewish Sanhedrin)
regarding the new birth, focuses on an illustration of the “birth of the
Spirit.” Jesus insists that, in order to see God’s kingdom, one must be “born
again” (John 3:5). Nicodemas responds incredulously, “How can a man be
born when he is old?” Jesus, seemingly on an entirely different
“wavelength,” expands his prior statement: “Unless a man is born of water
and of the Spirit, he cannot enter the kingdom of God.” This time, though,
Jesus elaborates his meaning. He makes two major points: (a) the “new
birth” does not originate in “flesh” or human nature but, rather, God’s
Spirit, and (b) this new birth is a sovereign act of God’s Spirit.
In order to make the second of these points, Jesus employs an analogy. He
likens the work of the Spirit to the wind. The wind “blows where it wishes
and you hear the sound of it, but do not know where it comes from and
where it is going; so is everyone who is born of the Spirit” (v. 8). The wind
is a mysterious force, and it does what it “wills” to do; in other words, it is
not subject to the will of man. Man is not the cause of the wind’s
movements. The only way we know of the wind’s presence is by its sounds,
or effects. The point is clear: God freely bestows new life by the power of
his Spirit. The presence of new life and the work of the Spirit are known by
the effects produced in a person’s life. In light of the rest of this particular
discourse, it is most reasonable to conclude that the illustration has faith and
Christian works in view (v. 15–21). In other words, new life is given by the
work of the Spirit, and the reality of this life is shown by faith and good
deeds: “Whoever believes in him (the Son) may have everlasting life . . . he
who practices the truth comes to the light, that his deeds may be manifested
as having been wrought in God” (3:14, 21).
Some Oneness Pentecostals have argued that this “sound of the wind”
actually corresponds to speaking in tongues. The “sound” of the new birth
or “birth of the Spirit,” then, would be the first reference to the initial-
evidence doctrine. Most Pentecostals, other than Oneness, do not make this
argument, assuming such an interpretation ever occurred to them, since it
would imply that tongues is essential to salvation, a position they do not
take. Many Oneness thinkers do not make this argument either, for two
good reasons.
First, the context does not mention tongues, and so the argument is highly
speculative. Second, as mentioned, there is a reasonable and compelling
contextual explanation of the “sounds” or evidences of the Spirit (i.e., faith
and good deeds). “Tongues” is mentioned in none of John’s writings, and so
the use of this verse in that regard is entirely unreasonable and pays
attention to neither the immediate context nor the broader context of the
Gospel.
 In sum, the Gospels mention tongues once, and that reference gives no
support to the initial-evidence doctrine. If anything, that single reference
supports the interpretation of tongues as an extraordinary sign, along with
various others, given to Christ’s followers as God desires to give them:
likely in unusual circumstances.

The Letters
Twenty-one of the twenty-seven books of the New Testament are, broadly
speaking, in the form of letters. Written to specific churches, broad groups
of people, or individuals, these letters give invaluable insight into early
Christian faith. Often these letters are prompted by problems, both
theoretical and practical, that plagued the infant Church as it sought to
define itself over against the many rival ideas and practices of the ancient
world. These books, written under divine inspiration, continue to enrich and
inform our understanding of the way Christian faith was taught in the
beginning, and also provide an original model that should inform and enrich
our own struggle to live and express our faith today.
“Speaking in tongues” is discussed in one of Paul’s letters. No other New
Testament letter mentions or discusses this topic. It is important to note that
there are various letters that discuss human salvation (e.g., Romans and
Galatians), but none of these contexts introduces tongues-speaking. The
letter that does speak of this subject is of supreme importance, then, in
coming to terms with the apostolic understanding of this phenomenon.
1 Corinthians 12–14 generally deals with the subject of spiritual gifts.
Chapter twelve focuses on the purpose of spiritual gifts in the Church.
Paul’s primary concern in this chapter is to show that spiritual gifts, despite
their diversity, have the purpose of “edifying” or strengthening the Church.
The Church here, as in every other place in the New Testament, does not
refer to a building but people—in particular, the people that have become
followers of Christ. Through baptism, we have been immersed into the one
Spirit of God (1 Cor. 12:13). This union with God’s Spirit also makes us
“one,” together in a single body. We are joined together with Christ who is
now our “head.” As our body’s head directs and controls its various
members and movements, so Christ directs his Church. The members of the
Church, subsequent to union with Christ, are endowed with various God-
given gifts that enable them to contribute to the “building up” of the
Church. Spiritual gifts do not have the function of making one a member of
the Church, but they do have the function of empowering its members to
share in its support and advance.
It is in this context that tongues is mentioned alongside a variety of other
gifts. Two indisputable points emerge from Paul’s presentation: (a) tongues
is one of many gifts; it is given no supreme or special place (in fact, with
the gift of interpretation of tongues, it appears last in his list); and (b)
everyone is not given the gift of tongues, or any other of the gifts (1 Cor.
12:7–11, 28-30).
Chapter thirteen continues the discussion of spiritual gifts, but here the
focus shifts to something of greater importance. Unlike the gifts of the
Spirit listed in the previous chapter, Paul focuses on something that
everyone may experience: love. It is apparent that the Corinthian church
had a significant problem with selfish pursuits of the more spectacular
spiritual gifts. This prompted Paul’s memorable words in this chapter about
the supremacy and endurance of love. Speaking in tongues, he remarks, is
nothing but noise unless motivated by love. Further, tongues, as with all the
other “speaking gifts” (prophecy, words of knowledge and wisdom), will
pass away. They are temporary inasmuch as they express divine truth
during an age in which our knowledge is partial. Faith and hope, too, will
pass away. When the object of our faith and hope is unveiled, all gifts and
acts of faith toward, and in the service of, that supreme object will
disappear and yield to the “perfect” reality and, hence, a perfect experience
of that reality. The only “virtue” that will remain is love. Love will never
pass away; it will only be intensified. Faith will pass away since it will be
replaced by certain knowledge when we see Christ “face to face.” Needless
to say, this chapter, despite its profound riches, adds nothing of value for the
initial-evidence doctrine.
Chapter fourteen is a somewhat complicated chapter. Paul lays down a
series of observations and rules about how tongues and prophecy should
function in the local church. It is fair to say that his supreme concern is that
these gifts, as with all others, function in such a way that all can receive
benefit from them. This implies also that these gifts functioned in a selfish,
individualistic way in the Corinthian church. Those possessing the gift of
tongues should not, Paul counsels, use their gift in the church unless it is
accompanied by “interpretation,” apparently a complementary gift that
explains the meaning of the tongues speech. The central thrust of Paul’s
remarks is that speaking gifts should aim at understanding, so that all those
present may receive benefit from the utterances.
A few observations are in order. First, Paul does mention that he himself
speaks in tongues (v. 18). In the assembly, however, he insists that it is
necessary to speak in a language that can be understood by the hearers (v.
19). I mention this text because it does suggest that tongues had some
purpose outside the regular local assembly of Christian believers. Along the
same lines, it is also evident that Paul never questions the legitimacy of the
Corinthians’ spiritual gifts. What he calls in question is their use of such
gifts.
Second, Paul mentions that “tongues” is a sign for unbelievers, not
believers. This striking claim is supported by reference to Isaiah 28:11ff.94
In that context, Isaiah warned the Israelites of the coming Assyrian
invasion. God would speak to the stubborn and unbelieving Jews, the
prophet warns, by means of a “stammering lip and a foreign tongue.” Since
they had rejected the “rest and refreshing” that God had continually
promised and offered, God would “speak” to them in judgment. The context
is a harsh scolding and warning of devastation. Isaiah’s point is this: since
you will not listen to God’s beautiful words of promise in your own
language, a foreign people will overcome you speaking another language.
Israel taken captive by a people speaking a strange language, then, has a
clear meaning: Judgment has arrived.
Paul cites Isaiah’s words and then explains that, if unbelievers come into
their assembly and hear speaking in tongues, “Will they not say that you are
mad? (1 Cor. 14:23)” If, however, unbelievers come into the assembly and
hear words in their own language, they may be led to conviction,
repentance, and faith (v. 23–25). In other words, if you speak in tongues,
salvation will not result since the unbeliever cannot understand the
message. He will walk away convinced that Christians are “mad” or insane.
In this case, “tongues” has functioned only to contribute to the unbeliever’s
judgment, not salvation. The opposite effect is possible when a known
language is spoken. The “sign” of tongues to the unbeliever is far from a
positive use of this gift; rather, it is a facetious attempt by Paul to illustrate
how counterproductive their use of this gift really was. Since the goal of the
Church is to bring salvation to the world, the use of tongues in the assembly
tends to work against that end, especially if it is not accompanied by
interpretation. The clear goal, then, is to speak in an understandable way so
that life and salvation may be imparted rather than judgment.95
Readers unfamiliar with Pentecostal theology may think Paul’s teaching in
1 Corinthians 12–14 is sufficient to discredit the initial-evidence teaching
altogether. Pentecostals do have a reply, however, to the apparent
conclusion that all do not speak in tongues, found throughout the
instructions of 1 Corinthians 12. Their answer is that Paul is speaking about
a different function of tongues. Tongues had one function in connection
with the initial baptism of the Holy Spirit and another function in the church
assembly. Paul is writing about the second of these. Since it was assumed
that everyone in the Church had the gift of the Holy Spirit, it was not
necessary, it is said, to instruct the Corinthians about their initial reception
of the Holy Spirit. Whether this reasoning is sound is a question we will
have to revisit. At the moment, it is sufficient to note that there is nothing in
these chapters that will aid in supporting the initial-evidence teaching, a
striking fact since this is the most extended discussion of this spiritual gift
in the Bible.
In sum, the New Testament letters offer no support to the initial-evidence
doctrine. Three chapters speak of this gift as one of many gifts given to
people who already belong to the “body of Christ.” The texts could not be
clearer in stating that speaking in tongues is not given to everyone in
Christ’s Church. As noted, it is especially striking that Paul does not even
allude to another function of tongues that applies to everyone in the Church.
To the contrary, he insists that all do not speak in tongues.
The Acts of the Apostles
In light of what we have seen thus far in surveying the New Testament
references to speaking in tongues, it is apparent that the initial-evidence
doctrine is built exclusively on the Acts of the Apostles. Acts is the second
part of Luke’s presentation of the life of Jesus (Gospel of Luke) and the
story of early Christianity (Acts). The two books of Luke feature a strong
emphasis on the work of the Holy Spirit. Luke frequently mentions people
that are “filled with the Holy Spirit” in both books. John the Baptist and his
parents are “filled with the Holy Spirit” (Luke 1:15, 41, 67). Similarly, the
early Christians were “filled with the Holy Spirit” on the day of Pentecost
(Acts 2:4).
An examination of these texts, and other similar ones, reveals that the
“filling” of the Holy Spirit is connected to outward manifestations of the
Spirit’s presence. Elizabeth, for instance, is “filled with the Holy Spirit” and
“cried out with a loud voice” (Luke 1:41). Zechariah, John’s father,
“prophesied” when filled with the Holy Spirit (Luke 1, 67). Acts continues
this pattern when it speaks of the disciples being filled with the Holy Spirit
and “speaking in other tongues” (Acts 2:4). Not long later, the same
terminology is used to describe the Christians that prayed and “spoke the
word of God with boldness” after the Holy Spirit filled them (Acts 4:31).
All this talk of the Spirit of God “coming upon” and filling God’s people
is inherited from the Old Testament.96 Numerous leaders of the ancient
Israelites are given extraordinary power from God’s Spirit to perform
exploits in the name of God (e.g., Num. 11:17, 25; Judg. 6:34, 11:29, 13:25,
14:6, 15:14; 1 Sam. 16:13). In the many Old Testament references to God’s
Spirit acting upon certain individuals, the common feature is that select
individuals, typically those in high leadership positions, are so gifted. The
prophets spoke, however, of a day when the Spirit of God would be poured
out “upon all flesh” (Joel 2:28ff). On the day of Pentecost, Peter applies
these words to the events of that day (Acts 2:16ff.). Although speaking in
tongues is not mentioned in Joel’s prophecy, it does speak of miraculous
signs (e.g., prophecies, visions, heavenly “signs”). Peter’s words mean that
the messianic age has dawned and God has proven this fact by pouring the
Spirit out upon all the followers of Jesus, the Messiah. The listeners
familiar with the prophets could not mistake this notion that miraculous
signs will accompany the dawn of this new era.
 In fact, the book of Acts begins with Jesus’ promise to send the Holy
Spirit upon his disciples (1:4–5). John the Baptist included the promise of
the “baptism with the Holy Spirit” in his message (e.g., Matt. 3:11). Jesus
assures his disciples that the fulfillment of John’s words were about to find
fulfillment. He also predicts that, after the Spirit comes, they will be his
“witnesses” to all the earth. The advance of the Christian message is
important: Jerusalem, Judea, Samaria, and the ends of the earth. This is
precisely the pattern followed by the book. The gospel will be proclaimed
first to those gathered in Jerusalem on the day of Pentecost (ch. 2). This
faith will then spread to the surrounding areas of Judea (ch. 3–7), then
Samaria (ch. 8), and, finally, to the entire world (ch. 9–28).
At each crucial moment that the gospel of Christ is presented to a new
group of people, the Spirit of God is “poured out” or fills the people in
some recognizable, miraculous way. After Acts 2, this fact is most evident
in chapters eight and ten. Chapter eight relates the story of Philip, an early
deacon and preacher who, on account of persecution, went to Samaria, just
north of Judea, and proclaimed the Christian message. Although the Jews
and Samaritans had a long history of hostile relationships, Philip was
effective, and many received Christian baptism. When the apostles in
Jerusalem learned of Philip’s successes, Peter and John were sent to “lay
hands” on the Samaritans so they might “receive the Holy Spirit” (8:15–
18). They did. Although the text does not say exactly what sign(s)
accompanied the gift of the Holy Spirit, it is necessary to conclude that
miraculous signs were present since Simon the Great, a magician, was
willing to pay money to have the same power displayed by the apostles, a
power he “saw” (v. 19).
Similarly, in Acts 10 we encounter a crucial juncture in early Christian
history. To this point, only observers of the Old Testament ritual laws were
included in the Christian community. Both Jews and Samaritans followed
the Law of Moses to some degree, especially with regard to the ritual sign
of circumcision. In this chapter, however, we are introduced to a devout and
God-fearing Gentile man who is not a convert to Judaism. Cornelius, a
Roman centurion stationed at Caesarea, receives instructions from an
angelic visitor and, in time, has the Christian faith explained to him by none
other than the apostle Peter. Peter, as the story explains, is reluctant to
preach to and associate with uncircumcised Gentiles. At this moment in
Christian history he, and presumably all the Christians, felt a close bond to
their Jewish roots and had no inclination to break with their customs and
rituals. The events of Acts chapter ten will change this.
While Peter speaks of Jesus to Cornelius and his family, the Holy Spirit
“falls” on those listening. What follows is astonishment on the part of Peter
and those accompanying him since they hear Cornelius and his family
“speaking in other tongues and exalting God” (10:45–46). Peter then
baptizes this Gentile family on the basis of the divine proof that they were
now included in the Christian community.
Acts chapter eleven relates the “fallout” of the events of the prior chapter.
Peter defends his actions of baptizing an uncircumcised Gentile family,
primarily on the basis of the fact that God had given them the same Spirit
they had received “in the beginning” (i.e., Pentecost, 11:15–18). Later, the
same argument will be used to counter the rising tide of the “Judaizers,”
those insisting on strict obedience to the Torah (15:7–11). The miraculous
signs, tongues in particular, accompanying the gift of the Holy Spirit to the
Gentiles, clearly had a profound effect on the development of early
Christianity. Without such signs, there were elements within the Church that
would have likely insisted on a closer theological bond with Old Testament
rituals and practices.
 There is one remaining reference to tongues in Acts. In Chapter nineteen,
Paul encounters a group of disciples that associate themselves with John the
Baptist. We cannot tell for sure what they knew or did not know of Jesus,
but it is apparent that, at best, they knew very little. Paul’s initial question to
them was, “Did you receive the Holy Spirit when you believed? (Acts
19:3).” What prompted this question, we simply do not know. We do know
that John the Baptist spoke much of the Holy Spirit in connection with the
coming Messiah.97 Perhaps Paul was concerned about their level of
understanding the Messiah, Jesus, and wanted to know if they understood
that the Spirit had already been given to God’s people. These disciples
responded they did not know of the Holy Spirit. Paul then asks about their
baptism. Since the Holy Spirit is mentioned in Christian baptism, it was
conspicuous that they admitted to no knowledge of the Spirit. After
explaining the Christian faith, they received baptism, and Paul laid hands on
them and the Holy Spirit is given with the signs of tongues and prophecy
(19:2–7).
With Acts 19 we have reached the end of any direct mention of speaking
in tongues in the New Testament. As already noted, the Old Testament
contributes nothing to the matter of speaking in tongues, with the exception
of Isaiah 28:11, a text cited by the apostle Paul in 1 Corinthians 14. That
text does not refer to the miraculous gift of tongues but the foreign language
of an enemy of Israel (i.e., Assyrians). Paul uses this text in order to make a
subtle point about the need for meaningful communication whenever
Christians gather together.
Formulating a Doctrine
The initial-evidence doctrine is based on observing a “pattern” in the
information we have just surveyed. That pattern is simply that speaking in
tongues is the initial sign that one has been “baptized with the Holy Spirit.”
 It may strike some readers as strange that an entire doctrine necessary for
human salvation is built on a single book in the Bible. Oneness Pentecostals
have an explanation of this fact. First, they argue that the “plan of
salvation” is not found explicitly present in the Gospels since their purpose
is to describe what Christ has done to make salvation possible. They point
forward, then, to what we find described in the book of Acts. If we want to
find how salvation is actually experienced, we have to turn to the New
Testament Church that begins on the day of Pentecost. The letters of the
New Testament, in contrast to the Gospels, point back to the book of Acts.
They are written to people who already embrace the Christian faith and
need instruction on matters other than how to become a Christian. The book
of Acts, then, is the only book that explicitly describes people in the process
of becoming Christians. If the question we are concerned with is how to
become a Christian, the most relevant book is Acts.98
When we actually look at the book of Acts, we find people having
experiences with the Holy Spirit. Some of these are initial experiences, and
others are later experiences. This is an important observation. The initial-
evidence doctrine pertains only to the initial experience one has with the
Holy Spirit, not subsequent experiences. This is because the “pattern” of
tongues speaking simply does not persist in all instances of people having
experiences with the Holy Spirit (e.g., Acts 4:31).
Further, the pattern needed for the initial-evidence doctrine does not hold
true before Pentecost, either. Therefore, the “baptism with the Holy Spirit”
prophesied by John the Baptist is unlike the acts of the Holy Spirit before
Pentecost. On and after Pentecost, it is claimed that everyone who receives
the Holy Spirit speaks in tongues.
In particular, there are five indisputable cases in the book of Acts in which
people have some experience with the Holy Spirit for the first time. We
have already looked at four of these (Acts 2, 8, 10, 19). The only case we
have not considered is the conversion of Saul of Tarsus, also known as the
apostle Paul. Ananias tells Paul that he will have his sight restored and “be
filled the Holy Spirit” (Acts 9:17). No description is given of this
experience, and therefore we are left to assume it happened but cannot
make a judgment in any particular direction about whether or not tongues
was associated with his experience. That is, of course, unless we can validly
infer that he spoke in tongues from two facts. First, in the other four cases
of initial experiences with the Holy Spirit it is either stated or implied that
the people in question spoke in tongues. Second, we know from Paul’s
teachings in 1 Corinthians 14 that he did speak in tongues at some time (v.
18).
In reply, it is hard to imagine how 1 Corinthians 14:18 is of help in this
case since, in that context, Paul denies that all speak in tongues but does
claim that all the Corinthians had been “baptized in one Spirit” (12:13).
These two facts taken together are incompatible with the Oneness version
of the initial-evidence doctrine. The fact remains, however, that there is no
description of Paul’s “filling” with the Holy Spirit and therefore any
proposed explanation of what happened at that moment is conjecture or
inference from other texts.
With regard to the other four texts, it may be acknowledged that speaking
in tongues either did happen or probably happened. The initial-evidence
teaching is based on this fact. Since four of five initial experiences do
mention speaking in tongues, and the other simply does not offer a
description, we are justified, it is claimed, in drawing the conclusion that
speaking in tongues was expected by the early Christian movement
whenever people first received the Holy Spirit. Those who disagree with
this conclusion are asked to explain what the evidence of this experience is,
and offer a biblical alternative to the pattern expressed in Acts.

Problems with the Initial-Evidence Doctrine

I would like to present a series of observations regarding the initial-
evidence teaching that will help to prepare the way for a solid evaluation of
the strength of the evidence and argumentation described in the prior
section.
Lack of Explicit Evidence
Perhaps the most important observation we can make is that this notion is
not found in any defined form in Scripture itself. The primary reason there
is so much disagreement on this subject is that there are no explicit
statements in Scripture that give the Pentecostal conclusion based on the
Acts passages. We see nothing similar to the following: “All who receive
the baptism of the Spirit speak with tongues,” or, “The baptism in the Holy
Spirit is a distinct, recognizable experience from initial conversion,” etc.
These positions are based on inductive reasoning from historical accounts
given in Scripture.
We should note briefly that this observation does not necessarily prove it
is wrong. The doctrine of the Trinity, as discussed in Chapter two, is not
found in a fully developed and defined way in the New Testament, but it is
the necessary foundation for understanding what the New Testament
teaches. A doctrine can be legitimately derived from inference, but we must
be careful that we do not infer something that is not necessary or valid. It is
interesting to note that Oneness Pentecostals are quick to reject the Trinity
on the grounds that the doctrine makes use of terms and ideas not explicitly
found in Scripture.
The great difference between the two cases, I would argue, is that while
the Trinity is the result of continued reflection on teachings that are found
in the Bible, the initial-evidence doctrine is not derived from questions
raised within the biblical text itself. The early Christians simply did not
draw any conclusions regarding tongues that would require the formulation
of the initial-evidence doctrine. The same cannot be said regarding the
Trinity.
In sum, it may be said without fear of contradiction that the Bible simply
does not articulate the initial-evidence doctrine; it is based solely on
inference from descriptions of ancient experiences. We should consider the
evidence for this doctrine, then, with the thought in the back of our minds
that the Bible does not formulate the Pentecostal conclusion. Whether or
not it is a valid formulation or inference from the narrative descriptions of
various experiences is something we must carefully examine.
Misuse of Narrative Scripture
Second, the initial-evidence doctrine is based exclusively on historical
narrative portions of Scripture. That is, the explicitly didactic (teaching)
portions of Scripture have no bearing on the matter. In other words, the
book of Acts simply states that various groups spoke with tongues when
receiving the Holy Spirit. The conclusion is drawn that, because others had
certain experiences long ago, our experience must correspond precisely to
theirs. This is a leap in interpretation.
Furthermore, we must maintain that this kind of reasoning is dangerous. It
simply does not follow that because God did something in the past that he
will do so in the future in the exact same fashion. For example, God parted
the Red Sea when the children of Israel were leaving Egypt and drowned
Pharaoh’s armies. Are we to conclude from this that every time God’s
people face a sea of water that God will part it? Are we also to conclude
that in parting the “sea” God will also destroy our enemies? We may be
justified in drawing meaningful principles from these narrative portions of
Scripture (e.g., God will finally deliver his people, God’s faithfulness to his
covenants). This is a long way from saying that a particularity of a
historical circumstance should be judged normative for future generations.
More specifically, it is evidently the case that we cannot assume the
normative value of everything found within the book of Acts. Ananias and
Saphira, for instance, fell dead when they lied to the Holy Spirit (Acts 5:1–
11). Does this mean that all will die if they repeat the same sin? The answer
must be “no,” not only because this is a leap of interpretation but also
because experience supports the conclusion that this was a unique
happening. We would not even be justified in saying that God will kill
every person who lies in the presence of an apostle since this would mean
that we are saying God must always act in the identical same way. This is
simply an abuse of historical narratives that are intended to inform rather
than prescribe an essential pattern.
This is not to say that historical narrative cannot also prescribe a certain
behavior. There are certainly biblical examples of narratives explained and
applied to future generations (e.g., 1 Cor. 10:1–12). They are not used to
prescribe specific divine responses to certain situations but are typically
used to develop moral principles gleaned from prior historical events. This
is significantly different from the initial-evidence doctrine that claims God
will perform a specific miracle in certain defined situations.

Acts Narratives Not “Normal” Instances

The relevant passages in Acts (2, 8, 10, and 19) cannot be considered
normal occasions. Furthermore, there are factors present in these passages
that either cannot be reduplicated today or are generally not present.
In all four cases cited above, an apostle is present. In fact, when apostles
are not present they are called before the Holy Spirit is received. This fact is
especially interesting in light of the fact that in one of these cases Philip, a
deacon, was able to perform great miracles (Acts 8). Imparting the Holy
Spirit, however, was not one of them. Peter is present in Acts 10 after a
series of divine interventions to get him there. Paul is present in Acts 19 and
all of the original apostles (minus Judas, of course) are present in Acts 2.
This is, at least, one accompanying factor that is not reproduced today. If
the book of Acts is supposed to supply a normative “pattern” for the
reception of the Holy Spirit, we should see apostles present. Oneness
Pentecostals do not typically claim the office of apostle, however. Their
ministers certainly do not insist on their personal presence in order to
validate or impart the Holy Spirit.
It is difficult to see how Acts 2 can serve as a paradigm of receiving the
Holy Spirit in all ages. Not only was the day of Pentecost the initial baptism
of the Spirit, but that day also included a variety of other signs that are not
claimed or expected today (e.g., tongues of fire, “mighty” wind).
Additionally, those speaking in tongues were speaking languages that were
recognized by the onlookers and actually became a means of attracting their
attention to hear the message of Peter and the other apostles. From this
chapter alone there are many other factors present that can clearly account
for why God chose to use the sign of tongues on this occasion without
resorting to a doctrine of initial evidence. The real question we should ask
is, “Does the chapter require that we conclude with the initial-evidence
doctrine in order to make sense of it?” If it does not, and here it surely does
not, we are not justified in affirming it.
It is also worth noting that none of the people in these passages expected
to speak with tongues. There is no evidence that any of them were
instructed on “how” to receive the Spirit, or what to expect at that moment.
In other words, in every case tongues was sudden and without instruction.
Jesus simply instructed his disciples to wait in Jerusalem until the Spirit
came upon them. When the Spirit did “fill” them, all spoke in tongues
without prior instruction. Acts 10 and 19 are certainly sudden and without
preparation. (This is true, at least, in Acts 10. Acts 19 gives no description
of instructions other than regarding Christ.) Acts 8 is the only exception to
this pattern, but really it is not an exception if it is seen that the Samaritans
immediately received the Spirit when the apostles came to them. There is no
indication of any exceptions.
From these observations, we conclude that if our desire is to be true to the
pattern of Acts, we must expect an apostle to be present, and that no prior
instruction or preparation regarding tongues be present in order to receive
the Spirit.99 We might expand this list of criteria to include the observation
that the Spirit always came upon crowds of people. When the sign of
tongues is mentioned, we do not find the Spirit “coming upon” only
individuals in any of these chapters. It is important to remember that these
observations should not be quickly dismissed as incidentals to the
situations. They are just as consistent as the sign of tongues. We must be
careful not to disassociate what may be necessarily linked in the Acts
narratives with the experiences they describe. These links may give insight
into the purpose of the events themselves. It may be that the presence of
apostles is emphasized in order that they may be unique witnesses to the
divine acceptance of all groups of people into the Church. The emphasis is
not on the individual reception of the Holy Spirit but the incorporation of
whole groups into the Church (Jews, Samaritans, and Gentiles, disciples of
John the Baptist).

Paul’s Teaching
There is no good reason to separate Paul’s discussion of tongues in 1
Corinthians from what we find in the book of Acts. This is a crucial
observation since the whole Pentecostal position rests on defining different
usages of tongues in the Bible. In other words, tongues as discussed in
Paul’s writings cannot be the same in function as what we find in the book
of Acts. If this identification were made, one would have to conclude that
all do not speak with tongues. All, however, are baptized with the Holy
Spirit into the Church (1 Cor. 12:13).
We noted when considering Paul’s teachings on this matter that he
includes reference to the use of tongues outside the normal church gathering
(1 Cor. 14:18–19). It is fair to say that the texts in Acts that mention tongues
are not “normal” church gatherings. These are unique moments in the early
history of Christianity. In fact, the first three texts (Acts 2, 8, and 10)
describe the initial incorporation of distinct people-groups into the Christian
faith. Even though the original meaning of Pentecost is that God intends the
salvation of the whole world, and part of this salvation is a universal
outpouring of the Holy Spirit, the miracle of Pentecost is extended in time
in order that all major groups, Jews, Samaritans, and Gentiles, might know
they are part of what began on Pentecost.
We do not need a miracle for us as individuals, however. Although I am
neither a Jew nor a Samaritan, I know Gentiles have been incorporated into
the Christian faith on account of Acts 10. Once every major people-group
had experienced its “Pentecost,” miraculous proofs were no longer
necessary.
Acts Alone?
The Oneness Pentecostal focus on the Acts narratives to the exclusion of
the rest of the New Testament is not persuasive. Keeping in mind that the
New Testament as we have it did not exist in the first century, it is all the
more disturbing that we can find a full description of human salvation only
in a single biblical book.
Since many of the New Testament books were written before Luke’s
writings, it is striking they nowhere speak of the initial-evidence doctrine.
We do find controversies about various aspects of salvation throughout the
New Testament letters, but never a controversy or allusion to tongues in that
regard. We are supposed to believe that a topic of such controversy in the
twentieth century was of no controversy in the first. Additionally, there are
texts that speak of the message of salvation “preached” by the apostles. For
instance, Paul writes of the “word of faith which we preach, because if you
confess with your lips that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God
raised him from the dead, you will be saved (Rom. 10:8, 9).” This
confession of Christ has often been connected with baptism. As we have
seen, profession of faith in Jesus Christ is part of ancient baptism (Acts
8:37). Paul assures the Romans that interior faith and its expression in
baptism results in salvation. Elsewhere he says the same more explicitly:
“You are all sons of God through faith in Christ Jesus. For all of you who
were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ” (Gal. 3:25–
26).
Paul’s summaries of his preaching, even though they are intended to
clarify the meaning of Christ and reply to misunderstandings, never clarify
the relationship of speaking in tongues to human salvation. The silence on
this matter is deafening.
We might also add that the Gospels, too, are intended to lead people to
salvation. John’s Gospel explicitly states that it was written “that you may
believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God; and that believing you may
have life in his name” (20:31). John’s Gospel never mentions tongues. It
certainly mentions faith, baptism, and the work of the Holy Spirit, but never
is tongues linked to salvation, a major theme of the book. It is simply not
convincing to claim that John left vital things out of his account since Luke
includes them. The books of the New Testament are first distinct and
independent literary units, and only secondarily should we consider their
relationship to each other. We cannot be sure that John was even aware of
Luke’s writings. We certainly cannot assume that John’s readers possessed a
copy of Luke’s books.
If everyone that seeks to be “saved” and live in a right relationship toward
God should speak in tongues, it is astonishing that the New Testament
nowhere asserts this fact in an unambiguous fashion, and the case for this
doctrine requires a series of assumptions about “patterns” in historical
narrative texts that pertain to the extraordinary days of early Christianity.

Do We Need Miraculous Proof?

Another underlying assumption of the Oneness Pentecostal doctrine
regarding speaking in tongues is that a “proof” is needed that one has
received the Holy Spirit. This assumption is profoundly at odds with the
spirit of the New Testament. Those who have confidence in God, even
though outward proofs are lacking, are praised in Scripture (eg., John
20:29; Heb. 11:39). The Oneness Pentecostal teaching would have us
believe that every individual Christian must experience a personal miracle
that “proves” that God has accepted him and given him the Holy Spirit.
Nothing could be further from the consistent teaching of Scripture from
beginning to end.
It is interesting to note that often miracles do not lead to faith. It was a
short time between the parting of the Red Sea and the complaining,
grumbling, and doubting of the Israelites. In the parable of the rich man and
Lazarus, Abraham refuses to send Lazarus to the rich man’s brothers to
warn them of torment: “If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets,
neither will they be persuaded if someone rises from the dead” (Luke
16:31). Miracles do not cause faith, at least not necessarily. Miracles may
aid in directing faith to its proper object and may also confirm or strengthen
faith. Those who refuse to believe, however, will persist in unbelief no
matter what miracles are displayed before their eyes. Often those who
believe solely because of a miracle abandon their faith when the demands
of faith become too great.
We can fully admit and believe that miracles can and do take place today.
We should also confess, however, that miracles are acts of God and are
therefore done in the service of his will. Neither Jesus nor the apostles
healed everyone they met. All illnesses were not eradicated from Galilee in
the first century. Miracles, as we learn from John’s Gospel, were signs.
They directed attention to spiritual and theological truths that God wished
to teach by them.100 The resurrection of Lazarus, for instance, taught the
lesson that Christ is the source of life (John 11:25). Our attitude should be
one of openness to miracles, even in our own time. We do not need them,
however, in order to trust in God. Whether or not I ever see an indisputable
miracle, it is my duty to believe in God. There is no warrant in Acts or any
other New Testament book to demand or expect a miracle in every situation
of a particular kind.
There are signs or “fruits” that should provide a measure of evidential
value in our lives, however: “No one can say, ‘Jesus is Lord,’ except by the
Holy Spirit” (1 Cor. 12:3). Confession of the lordship of Christ is solid
“evidence” that God’s Spirit lives within us. There are various other similar
signs that we should constantly cultivate and evaluate and thereby grow in
the Christian life. These are of a different sort than speaking in tongues,
however.

Death by a Thousand Qualifications?

The initial-evidence doctrine suffers from another problem. The doctrine
requires so many qualifications—qualifications that are not specifically
stated in Scripture—that we have to question the entire edifice. For
instance, we must limit the scope of our study to a single biblical book.
 Second, we must limit our inquiry to the period of time from Pentecost
onward. This is claimed in spite of the fact that people were “filled with the
Holy Spirit” before Pentecost (Luke 1:67). The Oneness argument is that
there was a “unique” infilling of the Spirit after Pentecost. How so? The
most we can determine from the biblical evidence is that the Holy Spirit is
poured out on all members of the Church after Pentecost. It is the same
Spirit and the same empowerment received throughout salvation history,
however. Since people did not speak in tongues when “filled with the Holy
Spirit” before Pentecost, we do not find a necessary pattern of tongues. We
must assume that the nature of this “filling” (although the terminology is
identical in the same writer’s narratives before and after Pentecost) is
fundamentally different. This is a highly questionable “qualification.”
We must also assume that the “evidence” of the filling of the Spirit is
different between the initial experience and subsequent “fillings.” Why?
They don’t fit the “pattern.”
All of these qualifications should cause some suspicion. Even though
there are no post-Pentecost cases of people being initially filled with the
Spirit where the text says they did not immediately speak in tongues, we
also have no similar cases that state they did not prophesy. We do have at
least one that says they did (Acts 19:3ff). Why can’t we conclude that this is
a second necessary evidential sign? Arguments for patterns from silence
and from description are weak and rightly questioned.
We conclude, then, that the initial-evidence doctrine is not a valid
interpretation of the New Testament data in regard to speaking in tongues.
We can admit that speaking in tongues had an important function on the day
of Pentecost, and on several occasions subsequent to that day. God freely
imparted this gift, to the surprise of the observers, for his own purposes. If
God chooses to grant similar gifts today, we certainly should not object. To
insist that everyone must receive the same experiences described in the
book of Acts, however, is neither accurate nor warranted by the data.

Baptism with the Holy Spirit

The work of the Holy Spirit, mysterious as it is, pervades the biblical
teaching pertaining to the Christian life. In fact, the Spirit’s work precedes
and enables us to believe the Christian faith (John 16:7–11). The Holy
Spirit convicts unbelievers of sin and judgment, and thus moves their hearts
to faith. By his interior work within the mind and heart, the Spirit reveals
Christ (John 16:13–14). We are enabled to profess the lordship of Christ on
account of the work of the Spirit (1 Cor. 12:3). The Spirit’s work not only
brings a sinner to faith in Jesus Christ, it suffuses the Christian life and
provides a “new law” that leads to true liberty. If we are “led by the Spirit,”
we are not “under the law” (Gal. 5:18). The desire and guidance to do what
is truly for our good and pleasing to God arise from the gift of the Holy
Spirit. All of life is understood in relationship to the Spirit’s activity. If we
“live in the Spirit” we will not fulfill the lust of the flesh (Rom. 8:4ff, Gal.
5:16).
Perhaps we may liken the work of the Holy Spirit in relationship to the
Christian life to the light of the sun. The sun’s light is crucial to “seeing”
our way about in this world. It is also crucial in the warmth it provides to
our planet. So, too, the Holy Spirit shines an interior light into our hearts
that enables us to see ourselves for what we are, but also to see the
overwhelming love that God has shown for us in Christ. Additionally, the
Spirit, by his various internal effects, “warms” the soul and convinces us of
the various truths that constitute the contents of our faith.
In light of these facts, it is very difficult to think of anything about
Christianity that is not affected by the presence and power of the Holy
Spirit.
 Terminology
Our language about the Holy Spirit is, as with all speech about God,
cumbersome. For instance, we must admit that the Holy Spirit, by virtue of
being God, is present everywhere (Ps. 139:7–10). Or, perhaps more
precisely, everything is present to God’s Spirit. We cannot escape his
presence. This fact seems to yield the conclusion that, since God’s Spirit is
everywhere, everyone “has” the Holy Spirit. This is not the way the Bible
speaks, however.
The biblical writers, even though they are fully aware that God’s Spirit is
everywhere, typically speak of the Spirit’s presence when some
recognizable evidence of the Spirit is present. In other words, the Spirit is
“present” when he is doing something that we can detect. If we were to see
some miracle and later describe it, we might declare, “God’s Spirit moved
upon that person,” or, “The Spirit of God came into that place and . . .” We
describe the presence of the Spirit in relationship to our recognition of that
fact. Sometimes called phenomenological speech, the point is that we
describe things the way they are experienced or perceived. The Bible most
frequently, but not always, speaks this way.
Everyone, then, does not “have” the Holy Spirit. We can speak of
“receiving” the Holy Spirit in connection with certain actions of the Spirit
that we identify. Since, for example, it is the Holy Spirit that places us into
the Body of Christ and unites us together with the other members of the
Church, we may speak of that “event” or moment in which we are
incorporated into the Church as an act of the Holy Spirit.
The Bible uses other terminology. “Filled with the Holy Spirit” is a
frequent one we have already observed. Paul encourages the Ephesians to
avoid drunkenness with wine but “be filled with the Holy Spirit” (Eph.
5:18). The Greek text suggests an ongoing state of affairs: “be continually
filled with the Spirit.” Luke, as we have seen, uses this expression
especially when God’s Spirit empowers people who speak out God’s word
in some fashion. John the Baptist is filled with the Spirit “while yet in his
mother’s womb” (Luke 1:15). This extraordinary fact is consistent with his
mission as a prophet, a spokesperson for God. Elizabeth, John’s mother, is
“filled with the Holy Spirit” and cries out to Mary: “Blessed are you among
women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb!” (Luke 1:41–42). Zechariah,
John’s father, “prophesies” when he is filled with the Spirit (Luke 1:67).
Jesus, too, is “full of the Holy Spirit” after his baptism as he enters his days
of temptation (Luke 4:1) and subsequently returned to Galilee “in the power
of the Spirit” and began “teaching in the synagogues” (Luke 4:14–15). This
brief survey of Luke’s Gospel, by no means complete, shows that, to be
“filled with the Holy Spirit” means that one is specially empowered by God
to announce or proclaim God’s word in some extraordinary way. This
pattern continues into the book of Acts (2:4, 4:31, 9:17–20).
The Bible also uses the expression, “baptism with the Holy Spirit.” Each
of the Gospels speaks of this in connection with the Baptist’s ministry. John
contrasted his baptism with that of Jesus: “I baptize you with water for
repentance, but he who is coming after me is mightier than I, and I am not
fit to remove his sandals; he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire”
(Matt. 3:11). At a minimum, John was indicating that his baptism was a
preparatory one. The “baptism” of Jesus would correspond to the fact that
he was the Messiah and therefore would bring with him the messianic age,
complete with a universal outpouring of the Spirit. The work of the Messiah
will include, John declared, a power and presence of God’s Spirit that
would far surpass what happened through his preparatory baptism.

Christian Baptism
“Truly, truly I say unto you, unless one is born of water and of the Spirit, he
cannot see the kingdom of God” (John 3:5). Here Jesus speaks of a “new
birth” associated with the kingdom of God, Jesus’ primary way of referring
to the divine reality he was bringing into the world. This new birth is the
effect of the Holy Spirit’s work. We must not forget, however, that Jesus
links the Spirit’s gift of new life with water. Here is a vital Christian
paradox: spiritual life is given in relationship to physical, visible signs.
The Christian religion, as discovered in Scripture, is never a purely
spiritual one. Our existence in this world is in union with a body. We do not
find life in God in spite of our bodies but, precisely, in and through our
bodies. We “hear” the word of God. We discover love, not merely through
intellectual contemplation but through the acts of love that we perceive
through our bodily senses. We discover the reality of God, not by ignoring
the data of the senses but, rather, by reflecting on the world as an effect
requiring God as its cause. The invisible is known through the visible (Rom.
1:20). This vital connection between the visible and invisible “realms” not
only explains why the Church had to respond forcibly to all forms of
Docetism and Gnosticism,101 but also why it insists on the normative
reception of divine grace in and through sacramental signs.
The definitive affirmation of this fact is the Incarnation. When God
wished to reveal himself most supremely, he united himself with a human
nature. In and through that union, the first Christians were able to “hear,
see, and touch” the eternal Word of life (1 John 1:1–3).
Before leaving this world, Jesus commanded his disciples to proclaim the
good news of salvation to the world, “making disciples of all nations,
baptizing them in the name of the Father . . . Son . . . and Holy Spirit”
(Matt. 28:18–20). The work of making disciples is connected most
intimately with baptism. Consequently, we find numerous references and
allusions to baptism throughout the New Testament. On the day of
Pentecost, Peter commands the crowd to “be baptized . . . for the
forgiveness of sins” (Acts 2:38). Paul is commanded to be baptized “and
wash away your sins” (Acts 22:16). Paul speaks of baptism as a union with
Christ in his death, burial, and resurrection (Rom. 5:3–5), the internal
“circumcision of the heart” (Col. 2:12–13), and being “clothed with Christ”
(Gal. 3:27). He alludes to baptism as the “laver of regeneration and renewal
of the Holy Spirit (Titus 3:5) and the “washing of water with the word” that
prepares Christ’s Bride, the Church, for the heavenly marriage (Eph. 5:26).
Elsewhere, Peter speaks of baptism as that which “saves us,” as the waters
“saved” Noah and his family from wickedness in the days of the great
Flood (1 Pet. 3:20–21).
It is hard to avoid the conclusion, then, that the New Testament treats
baptism as (a) the sign of initiation into Christian discipleship, (b) the
moment of the forgiveness of sins and union with Christ, and (c) the act of
“regeneration” or new life imparted by the Holy Spirit. At the root of
Christian baptism is the work of the Spirit producing these effects. Unlike
John’s baptism, a baptism that pointed to the Messiah and the outpouring of
the Spirit, the baptism of Christ would actually impart the Spirit. The
“baptism with the Holy Spirit,” then, refers to the work of the Spirit in
connection with Christian baptism.
We should be careful to make a vital distinction. The Bible does not treat
this connection between water baptism and the work of the Spirit as an
absolute principle. It is a normative principle, as we have seen from the
various references above. It is not absolute, however, as we may observe in
the stories we have examined in the book of Acts. The most revealing text
in this regard is Acts 10.
When the Holy Spirit “fell on” the household of Cornelius, the Roman
centurion, those present began to speak with tongues. This occurred before
baptism. This fact astonished Peter who then saw no reason to forbid
baptism. He explained these events to the other Christian leaders at
Jerusalem stating that, as he spoke, “The Holy Spirit fell upon them, just as
he did upon us at the beginning. And I remembered the word of the Lord,
how he used to say, John baptized with water, but you shall be baptized with
the Holy Spirit. If God therefore gave to them the same gift as he gave to us
also after believing in the Lord Jesus Christ, who was I that I could stand in
God’s way?” (11:15–17). Based on this remarkable text, we may conclude
that the graces that are normally tied to baptism must have been given to
these Gentiles before baptism. Of course, this situation is extraordinary.
Baptism would likely not have been extended to them if not for an
extraordinary sign. The sign of tongues convinced Peter and the other
apostles that God had chosen to embrace the Gentiles, and that his choice to
give them the graces of forgiveness and the Holy Spirit was his own, and
not subject to normative rules and orders.
We must emphasize that it is not our job to determine when and if God
will give these graces apart from their normal accompanying signs. It is
abnormal for the Holy Spirit to be “given” before and apart from baptism.
Besides Acts 10, there are no other instances of this in Acts (see 2, 8, 9, and
19). The “new birth” and the “baptism with the Holy Spirit” are typically
“of water and Spirit” (John 3:5). Peter’s instructions on Pentecost speak of
“baptism,” and attached is the promise of the gift of the Holy Spirit (Acts
2:38).
The “baptism with the Holy Spirit,” then, is none other than the graces of
new life imparted by the Spirit in connection with baptism. If God chooses
to impart these graces without their normal visible sign, we may not object,
but neither may we determine these exceptions on our own.
The Bible does not speak of the “baptism with the Holy Spirit” as the end
of the work of the Spirit, however. God’s work in his new children has only
just begun. God’s Spirit continues to empower (“fill”) them to accomplish
his purposes in this world. For this reason, we find people who were
“filled” with God’s Spirit on more than one occasion (Acts 2:4, 4:31; Eph.
5:18). “Life in the Spirit” suggests an ongoing openness to the Spirit’s
work. Just as we may be filled with a meal, and yet hunger again hours
later, so the infilling of God’s Spirit suggests on ongoing need and desire
for new infusions of power and strength.
The texts in Luke’s writings that speak of the “filling” of the Holy Spirit,
as already noted, are consistently tied to the declaration of God’s word. In
other words, the Holy Spirit fills people with the intention of making them
public witnesses to God’s truth. Indeed, Luke’s writings emphasize the
evangelical mission to the world (Acts 1:8). One of the primary objectives
of the work of the Holy Spirit is to make Christian believers into effective
witnesses or heralds of the good news. The other primary objective, of
course, is to bring new life, or salvation. The Holy Spirit, then, brings
regeneration and empowerment for service.
Just as the “baptism with the Holy Spirit” is linked to a visible sign, the
waters of baptism (John 3:5, Titus 3:5), so, too, the empowerment of the
Holy Spirit for witness to Christ is linked to a visible sign: the laying on of
hands (Acts 8:17, 19:6). The laying on of hands is a rich biblical sign of
transference that reaches back early into the Old Testament: “Now Joshua
the son of Nun was filled with the spirit of wisdom, for Moses had laid his
hands on him” (Deut. 34:9). Moses, the divinely chosen leader of the
Israelites before his departure, imparted to Joshua the graces that God had
given him to lead the people. The chosen apostles of Jesus, too, laid hands
upon the baptized Christians to impart the same Holy Spirit that had been
given to them at the beginning of the Church’s history. Catholics call this
special “gift of the Holy Spirit” for the purpose of service and proclamation,
confirmation. These two signs, then, baptism and confirmation, are also
sacraments inasmuch as they are also connected to divine gifts of grace.
Both baptism and confirmation function as initiatory signs to a life
characterized by the continual infusion of the graces that lead to forgiveness
and service to God’s kingdom.
In view of these observations, Catholic theology resists speaking of
experiences of God’s Spirit after baptism as “baptisms in the Holy Spirit.”
We may speak of them as “fillings” with the Spirit, but to use the word
“baptism” blurs the distinction between the two primary works of the Spirit
expressed in the sacraments of baptism and confirmation. The “baptism
with the Holy Spirit,” subsequent to the day of Pentecost, is presupposed in
those who are “filled” with the Holy Spirit—recognizing, of course,
exceptional cases (Acts 10).
This distinction also allows us to differentiate the tongues experiences of
Acts from the “baptism with the Holy Spirit.” It is true that Peter refers to
the “baptism with the Holy Spirit” in his explanation of the events of Acts
10 (Acts 11:16). This is because the forgiveness of sins through the baptism
of the Holy Spirit and fire (presumably fire is a symbol of purification) is a
precondition for becoming a witness to God’s salvation. Peter was able to
infer the graces of the Spirit baptism by the presence of a gift of the Holy
Spirit manifested before his eyes.

Conclusion
This chapter has considered two questions. We first examined the biblical
case for the initial-evidence doctrine. We discovered that the grounds for
claiming there is an inevitable “sign” of the Spirit baptism, i.e., speaking in
tongues, are weak and unpersuasive. The Bible never states such a
necessary connection, and the reasoning required to find it implied in the
Bible poses a variety of difficulties, some of which were discussed above.
 Second, we considered the biblical terminology pertaining to the baptism
and infilling of the Holy Spirit. We emphasized the pervasive presence of
the Spirit in the whole of Christian salvation, beginning before one
personally embraces the truth of Christ. We also discovered there are two
primary emphases of the Spirit’s work that are expressed in Luke’s writings
(and also, in their own way, in other New Testament texts): new life and
empowerment for witness. These two emphases of the Spirit’s work are
expressed in the sacramental signs of baptism and confirmation, signs that
signal a lifetime of development and growth by the work of the Holy Spirit.
The Oneness Pentecostal theology of the Spirit baptism is unacceptable
because it does not take sufficient note of the unique work of the Spirit in
connection with baptism in contrast to the “fillings” of the Spirit in
connection with witness or proclamation. The confusion of these functions,
displayed by the Oneness refusal to grant that those who have not received
the Spirit baptism as they understand it have not fully received the graces of
regeneration, leads to the extreme conclusion that one must speak in
tongues in order to have assurance of regeneration or the “new birth.” The
presentation of this chapter, brief as it is, outlines a way of organizing the
biblical data on this subject that is not only faithful to Scripture but also to
the ancient understanding of this subject expressed in both the Catholic and
Orthodox traditions.
We can do no better than conclude our biblical survey with some remarks
of a noted historian of Pentecostalism:

Amazingly, in almost two millennia of Christian life and practice, no one

from the apostolic period until the nineteenth century—not even those
who placed great emphasis on the study of Scripture—associated tongues
with the advent of life in the Spirit.102
 I conclude there is good reason for this fact.

Personal Reflections
Several years ago I gave a presentation at a parish about my journey into
the Catholic faith. During the question period after the lecture, a lady asked
my opinion about speaking in tongues. I explained my opinion on the
matter. It turned out that she was very active in the Catholic Charismatic
Renewal and did not think my evaluation was positive enough.
Because of experiences like that, I typically avoid evaluating
contemporary cases of “speaking in tongues” and, rather, focus on biblical
and historical issues. I would like to conclude this chapter, however, with
some personal reflections on speaking in tongues so that readers may know
my own conclusions about the contemporary Pentecostal and Charismatic
experience of speaking in tongues. From past experience, it is clear that
some people feel that a person is unable to critically speak about this
subject unless he has personally had the “tongues” experience.
The first time I heard of speaking in tongues was in a large Charismatic
church in Houston. The church called itself nondenominational, and the
pastor was formerly a Baptist minister who, after receiving the “Spirit
baptism” with the “evidence” of speaking in tongues, left the Baptists and
started a new ministry.
I was, if memory serves me, around twelve years old. I was standing at the
back of the circular-shaped building on a Wednesday night, surrounded by
literally thousands of people. I could hardly see the front of the building
over the numerous bodies in front of me. Very moving worship music
echoed throughout the building, and I could hear someone behind me
uttering a smooth, unbroken series of sounds that I could not understand. I
sensed that this was a spiritual experience of some sort but did not know
what it was.
 My limited religious experience to this point was with the Methodists and
Baptists. During my earliest years, my family did not attend any church.
When I was in early grade school, my parents sent my sister and me to a
local Baptist church for Sunday school. Later, after moving across town, we
were sent to Sunday school at a Methodist church. It was several years later
that our whole family became involved in another Baptist church. This time
our attendance and involvement was much more significant.
When I listened to this person “speak in tongues,” I was not frightened or
concerned in any way. I, too, was caught up in this worship experience. I
had a strong love of God and the message of salvation through Christ. The
vibrancy and sincerity of those involved in this church was deeply
appealing.
Soon afterward, my mother began accumulating Charismatic literature. I
avidly read all of it. One of these was a pamphlet on “speaking in tongues.”
It offered, what I would later discover, the standard arguments in support of
the initial-evidence doctrine, the foundational distinctive doctrine of the
Pentecostal movement. I did not personally experience speaking in tongues,
however, until I walked into a Oneness Pentecostal church.
When I did finally speak in tongues, it was admittedly a powerful
experience. I was overwhelmed with a sense of God’s love. There was
almost a tangible “light” or brightness all around me. I began to utter
sounds uncontrollably. I did not know their meaning, nor did I care. My
entire disposition was toward worshiping God, and I believed that these
sounds coming from my mouth did just that. This went on for more than
thirty minutes, and then I was taken, along with my mother and sister, and
baptized “in Jesus’ name.”
For over a decade, I continued to worship and serve within a Pentecostal
context. Seven of these years were spent within Oneness Pentecostalism,
and five years within the Assemblies of God, a trinitarian Pentecostal
denomination. Although I “spoke in tongues” numerous times (we were
silently “expected” to do so on occasion), my initial experience was never
duplicated. With very few exceptions, I am convinced that those other
experiences were fundamentally different in nature than my first personal
encounter with “tongues.”
I also heard others speak in tongues countless times. It is fair to say that I
have heard people speak in tongues thousands of times in a variety of
circumstances. I have heard numerous “messages in tongues” followed by
interpretations of those messages. I have prayed with numerous people to
“receive the Holy Spirit” and speak in tongues.
It is also fair to say that I have read an extensive body of literature on this
subject, both from those who are convinced members of the tongues
movement as well as from those who are committed opponents. Since the
tongues experience was an integral part of what made Pentecostalism
unique, I felt an obligation to study it thoroughly.
Evaluation
My own personal conclusions may be summed up in the following points.
They are simply a summary of major observations I would make based on
my first-hand experience of the tongues movement. My biblical and
theological evaluation has already been presented and need not be repeated.
I start with some positive observations. First, I do believe that the
experience of speaking in tongues can be a meaningful spiritual experience
for many. It can strengthen their life of prayer and worship and renew their
devotion and desire to serve God and others. Second, I am open to at least
some speaking in tongues being a miraculous gift from God. Third, I am
also open to the possibility that some speaking in tongues is a legitimate
spiritual experience but not, properly speaking, supernatural. Loss of
speaking ability and uttering incomprehensible sounds may be explained
psychologically in various ways. There are some significant studies in this
regard.103 Even though there may be psychological explanations of speaking
in tongues, I don’t think this necessarily discredits the experience
altogether. It may simply be a human reaction, on a deep level, to the
perceived presence of God. The history of religious experience is strewn
with similar experiences. There are likely instances of such experiences
among Catholic saints.
My observations would be incomplete, however, without a few, more
negative observations. First, I do think that there is a significant portion of
“speaking in tongues” that is neither miraculous nor deeply
psychological/spiritual in origin. Some is mere “imitation” of sounds heard
from others or simply produced randomly, much like a small child making
up words. It was not hard to “learn” the sounds that some people used when
speaking in tongues. They could reproduce them at will. I see no reason to
consider these experiences anything more than a learned phenomenon.
Second, although speaking in tongues may be profoundly meaningful on
occasion, I have not found that it continues in that role throughout one’s
Christian experience. Those who “depend” on the regular experience of
tongues typically struggle with instability. I do not attribute this directly to
tongues, but sometimes speaking in tongues becomes a psychological or
spiritual “crutch” or gauge by which a person determines if they are
“spiritual.”
Finally, as Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians suggests, speaking in
tongues can be desired and experienced to the neglect of the far superior
gift of love. Even if speaking in tongues is a legitimate spiritual gift, it is
only one of them, and must be subordinated and oriented toward the truly
enduring virtues. A great deal of spiritual immaturity can coexist with the
quest for spectacular spiritual gifts.
My own initial experience was indeed powerful. I cannot deny that. I do
not know how my life would have been different without that experience. I
had a strong desire to serve God both before and after that day. It probably
“biased” me for a number of years in the direction of Pentecostalism. The
Catholic Church officially allows the Charismatic Renewal to exist within
its context. Catholics are neither obligated to strive to speak in tongues nor
to oppose it. I suspect a wide range of opinions on this question exist within
the Church. This diversity should not bother us greatly as long as “tongues”
does not become a “test” of one’s spirituality or orthodoxy.
In sum, I am not opposed to the practice of speaking in tongues if one
finds it helpful devotionally. I also do not feel compelled to dispute with
those who do not practice it in their own spiritual life. My deepest concern
regards formulating a doctrine involving speaking in tongues that makes it
normative for all Christians. The New Testament and Christian experience
are opposed to such formulations.
86 My own mind tends to gravitate toward “cosmological” reasoning when I discuss the reasonable grounds for belief in God.
This is likely because of my own childhood experience of the mystery that things that don’t have to exist actually do exist.
There are various other intriguing lines of reasoning that lead to the same conclusion, however. C.S. Lewis’s version of the
moral argument in Mere Christianity, Book 1, is quite elegant and compelling. The famous “Five Ways” of St. Thomas Aquinas
are nicely explained and defended against contemporary challenges in Edward Feser’s book, Aquinas: A Beginner’s Guide
(London: Oneworld Publications, 2009). This book is the best introduction to Aquinas’s philosophical thought that I know.
Reginald Garrigou-Lagrange’s work, God: His Existence and His Nature (Freiberg, Germany: Herder Book Co., 1934) is the
most compelling and thorough defense of Aquinas’s arguments for God’s existence and attributes I recall reading. Etienne
Gilson’s work, The Christian Philosophy of Saint Augustine (New York: Vintage Books, 1960) features a beautiful presentation
of Augustine’s way of discovering God through the ascent of the intellect from the experience of sensory things, to the mind’s
discovery of itself, and, finally, to God. Michael Novak’s very stimulating and moving book, Belief and Unbelief (New York:
New American Library, 1965), is rooted in the approach to God taken by Jesuit Bernard Lonergan. He considers the very
dynamic of the human intellect toward truth and goodness as the soul’s movement toward God. Robert Spitzer’s New Proofs for
the Existence of God (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2010) is especially interesting for those with a science background.
87 The terminology used to speak of this experience varies. The Bible uses a variety of terms that are understood to have similar
or identical meanings: “filled with the Spirit,” the Holy Spirit “fell” on them, “receive the Holy Spirit,” etc. Pentecostals often
speak of baptism with, of, and in the Holy Spirit. One must simply get used to this variety of terminology even though it may be
the case in Scripture that these experiences do not always mean the same thing.
88 The most thorough biography of Charles Parham is James R. Goff, Jr., Fields White Unto Harvest (Fayetteville, AR: Univ. of
Arkansas Press, 1988). See also James Goff, Jr., “Initial Tongues in the Theology of Charles Fox Parham,” in Gary B. McGee,
ed., Initial Evidence: Historical and Biblical Perspectives on the Pentecostal Doctrine of Spirit Baptism (Peabody, MA:
Hendrickson Pub., 1991).
89 Goff, Fields White Unto Harvest, 67-69. It is worth noting that Parham accepted a wide variety of “unorthodox” ideas, many of
which were rejected by the movement (e.g., British-Israelianism, annihilation of the wicked). Parham fell out of favor with the
movement he started on account of charges of immorality for which he was jailed but never placed on trial.
90 “Sanctifying” grace places one into the sphere or context of a right relationship toward God. “Actual” grace is the power given
by God in every particular act we do that is pleasing to God.
91 My experience was primarily within the United Pentecostal Church (UPC), the largest of the various Oneness organizations.
92 Song written by Mark Carouthers (“The Proof”), music minister at the United Pentecostal church I attended in the late 1980s.
93 The prevailing opinion among contemporary scholars is that these verses in Mark 16 are not original. They are part of the
“longer ending” of Mark that was, perhaps, added after the original composition of the Gospel. I will not assume this opinion is
correct in this chapter.
94 Sometimes Oneness Pentecostals use Isaiah 28:11 as an Old Testament prophecy concerning the New Testament gift of tongues
(e.g., Bernard, The New Birth, 221-222). It is confusing that he admits it may in fact refer to the Assyrian invasion (a fact
evident from Isaiah’s context) but that it has a “double fulfillment” in the New Testament gift of tongues. Given the pessimistic
use of “foreign languages” in Isaiah 28, it is hard to see how it can have the positive sense Bernard gives it in his writings.
95 Bernard connects Isaiah 28:11 with the Spirit baptism since, after referring to foreign languages, that text states, “This is the
rest and refreshing” (The New Birth, 222). This “rest and refreshing,” he reasons, is the Spirit baptism. What he does not seem
to see, however, is that if that text is referring to tongues in connection with the Spirit baptism and is used by Paul in 1
Corinthians 14 in reference to the gift of speaking in tongues, it follows that (a) all do not speak in tongues, and yet (b) all in the
Corinthians’ church had been “baptized in one Spirit” (12:13). In short, if we adopt the Oneness reading of Isaiah 28, the initial-
evidence doctrine collapses by virtue of its use by Paul in 1 Corinthians 12-14. His comments on this text show no real attempt
to engage the original context and Paul’s way of using it in his letter. The “rest and refreshing” is not referring to tongues but,
more generally, to the promises of God of final peace and rest.
96 For an interesting study of the Old Testament background to Luke’s terminology pertaining to the Holy Spirit, see Roger
Stronstad, The Charismatic Theology of St. Luke (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson Pub., 1984), ch. 2.
97 From this passage and others it appears reasonably certain that there were followers of John the Baptist that believed he was the
Messiah. They must have continued in existence until well into the Christian period, as seen here. The apostle John also had to
counter this belief by explaining the purpose of the Baptist’s ministry (John 1:6-8, 15-27).
98 Bernard, The New Birth, 202-203: “The book of Acts is the pattern and norm for the New Testament church, not the
exception.”
99 There are numerous “how-to” books on receiving the Holy Spirit. J. T. Pugh, in his preface to his book, How to Receive the
Holy Ghost (Weldon Spring, MO: Pentecostal Publishing House, 1969), writes, “For several years of my early ministry I found
it hard to understand why many who sought for the Holy Ghost seemed to have difficulty in receiving that which was declared
to be a gift.” What is harder is figuring out how this fact is consistent with the “pattern” of Acts in which entire groups, without
exception, spoke with tongues and without preliminary instructions or coaching.
100 Oscar Cullman’s book, Early Christian Worship (London: SCM Press Ltd, 1953) is a wonderfully insightful analysis of the
Gospel of John’s use of Jesus’ miracles as signs of the sacraments.
101 Both Docetism and Gnosticism were ancient heresies that denied the goodness of matter and the true human nature of Christ.
Docetists professed that Jesus only “seemed” to be a man. Gnostics, although varied in their particular explanations, held that
the material world is inherently evil. Jesus was a divine messenger from the spirit world that gave secret “knowledge” by which
the escape from matter could be expedited.
102 Stanley M. Burgess, “Evidence of the Spirit: The Medieval and Modern Western Churches,” in Gary B. McBee, ed., Initial
Evidence: Historical and Biblical Perspectives on the Pentecostal Doctrine of Spirit Baptism (Eugene: Wipf and Stock, 2008), 37
(emphasis added).
103 See John Kidahl, The Psychology of Speaking in Tongues (New York: Harper and Row, 1972), and M. Kelsey, Tongues
Speaking: The History and Meaning of Charismatic Experience (New York: Crossroad, 1981). Kidahl concluded that speaking
in “tongues” has many positive advantages for a person’s spiritual and personal life (without endorsing it as a miraculous gift).
Kelsey analyzes tongues through the grid of Jungian psychoanalysis. Like dreams, “tongues” expresses deep spiritual meaning
but is more “pre-linguistic” than a real, spoken language.
 4

Why Catholicism?

“He became a Catholic. The next step for him is that he will become an
atheist.” A friend reported to me these words that were allegedly spoken
about me by my former Oneness pastor. The Catholic faith is so vilified
among those of my background that to leave and become a Catholic is
about as bad as it gets, in their minds. The only thing left after becoming a
Catholic is denying God altogether.
I bumped up against Catholicism a number of times during my youth and
young adult life. Most of those times I quickly moved on to something else
with little thought. Based on what I had learned, the Catholic Church was a
shell of original Christianity, and there was nothing about it that was
attractive. There were some exceptional moments, however, that would give
me pause.
One hot summer afternoon, my Oneness pastor asked me and a few other
young men to help move a large number of books from his office to the
church library. The church library was a third-floor room in the church. It
was somewhat difficult to access. We spent a few long days carrying a large
quantity of books to that space. Exhausted, I sat down on the library floor
and began to look through some of the books that caught my eye. One of
those books was entitled, if memory serves me well, Introduction to the
Sacraments. The word sacrament was not in my vocabulary. I flipped
through the book, glancing at sections that caught my attention. In
hindsight, I’m confident the book was a Catholic textbook, probably
intended for high school or undergraduate students. To my surprise, I saw
verses of Scripture used to support Catholic teachings that I was convinced
were simply concocted by Catholics out of thin air. I didn’t pause long
before putting it aside, but there was a brief pause. “So that’s where they get
those beliefs.”
Several years later, I became aware of Chick Publications. Chick
Publications was known for its anti-Catholic literature. Their small tracts
and magazine-style literature were attractive, shocking, and effective.
Among their popular materials was the comic book series based on the life
of Alberto Rivera. Alberto was supposedly a former Jesuit priest who left
the priesthood. He told a shocking story of the evils of the Catholic Church
in a way that rivaled the most extreme conspiracy theories. I was suspicious
of his story. Chick Publications published a book responding to criticisms
about the veracity of Alberto’s story: Is Alberto for Real? I read this defense
of Alberto but found it unpersuasive. There was one piece of data that I did
find interesting, however. One page in the book featured three pictures of
“former” Catholic religious persons (one priest and two nuns), each of
which is quoted as supporting the contents of Alberto’s story. The only
problem was that the information regarding the identity of these persons
was so generic that there was no way to verify their stories or even
identities.
Because this looked suspicious, I wrote to Jack Chick, founder of Chick
Publications, and asked for further information about how to verify the
stories of those used to support Alberto’s story. After receiving no reply, I
wrote an article that appeared in a Christian periodical criticizing the nature
of the evidence used to support the conspiracy theories of Alberto Rivera.
My interest was certainly not in defending Catholicism. To the contrary, I
was simply reacting to a conspiracy theory that found its way into my
awareness.
Shortly after the article appeared, I received a package from Chick
Publications that included a letter signed by Jack Chick along with an old
anti-Catholic book (Alexander Hislop’s The Two Babylons). In his letter,
Chick apologized for his delay in replying. He then informed me that I
could not have contact information for any of those featured in his book.
One had died, one could not be located, and the other worked for Chick’s
company but had no desire to correspond. Needless to say, I was
disappointed. This experience, although years before I became a Catholic,
caused me to look with greater suspicion on quick dismissals of the
Catholic tradition. I was not prepared to become a Catholic, but I was
moving toward at least giving the Church a fair hearing. “You’ll find all the
answers you need in the enclosed book,” Chick wrote, in reference to
Hislop’s book. Needless to say, I was not impressed.
Shortly after leaving the Oneness Pentecostal movement, I wrote an article
on the Trinity and the Bible. It struck me that those who reject the Trinity
use and quote from the same Bible that trinitarians use and quote. Why do
we have the same Bible? The reason is because non-trinitarian forms of
Christian belief are historical offshoots of trinitarian ones. They came to
exist because of a protest of some kind, but they are historically related. The
problem, as I saw it, was that non-trinitarians accepted the Bible that
trinitarians recognized, accepted, and passed along to them but don’t accept
the decisions that the same people made about what the Bible means on the
subject of God. Why accept one decision and not the other?
In my article, I insisted that it is inconsistent to accept the Bible from
trinitarians but not accept the Trinity. A Baptist minister friend of mine read
my article and reacted with horror: “Your article sounds like what a
Catholic would argue! You can’t submit that for publication.” His rejection
bothered me because I thought my reasoning was sound. That I was accused
of thinking like a Catholic bothered me. I put the article aside and did not
pursue publishing it.
The coming years would bring an intensification of experiences that
forced me to confront the questions raised by these problems and
considerations. Could it be that my youthful insight into the inconsistency
of anti-trinitarian believers also applied to me . . . unless I became a
Catholic?

A Grave Problem
“Bro. Larry,” the Oneness minister who initially explained to me the
theological ideas discussed in this book, became a controversial figure in
the years since that encounter. He came to disagree with the standard
Oneness understanding of “end times” matters. Pentecostalism, from its
beginnings, was very much an eschatological movement. With few
exceptions, Pentecostals have strongly believed that we are living in the
final moments of history and the Second Coming of Christ will be very
soon. The Pentecostal denominations take their understanding of these
matters so seriously, they often require regular reaffirmations of these
commitments for retaining ministerial credentials.104
I recall my Oneness pastor citing a text from Hosea 6:2: “He (God) will
revive us after two days. He will raise us up on the third day.” He explained
that “days” in the Bible are actually a symbol for 1,000 years. In this text,
the “two days” actually mean 2,000 years, he said. At the end of 2,000
years, then, there will be a resurrection. The third “thousand-year” period of
time is equal to the millennium, the period of time that Christ will reign
over an earthly kingdom subsequent to his Second Coming (Rev. 20).
Somehow my pastor had determined that the first “two days” would
expire in the year 2000. I recall him noting various events making news
reports and remarking, “It’s getting very close! We know that by the end of
this millennium, Jesus will return.” He would even announce, with Bible in
hand, “If this Bible is true, this thing will all be wrapped up by the year
2000.” He would often cite Hosea 6:2 in support of this conclusion. My
pastor was not someone who would strike you as an imbalanced man. He
was a dignified, respectable man who commanded respect; there was an
“air” of authority around him. People did not question his interpretations, at
least not to his face.
On another occasion, I recall listening to a dynamic and compelling
Oneness preacher, a “specialist” in biblical prophecy, explain why the
“Rapture” of the church had to take place by a particular date.105 That was,
as I recall, sometime back in the mid-1980s. His presentations were so
persuasive, and the sense that Christ would return any moment was so real,
people literally screamed in fear. I have never again heard such frightening
sounds at a religious gathering.
Bro. Larry, from what I can gather, came to disagree with some of the
“orthodox” Pentecostal notions of the “end times.” It is needless to explore
what he came to believe. He found himself under attack by his “brethren,”
though. He was convinced of the truth of his position. Apparently there
were “prophets” that came to his church who confirmed the truth of what he
had come to believe. He was also convinced of his beliefs because, he said,
God, in moments of prayer, had confirmed them.
Of course, time has shown my old pastor and the prophecy preacher were
wrong. Space is insufficient to tell other similar stories.106 Their reading of
Scripture must have been in error. These facts pose a nagging question that
begs to be answered: if their interpretation of those portions of Scripture
was in error, what about other matters?
 Most Oneness Pentecostals are not “experts” in their beliefs or, more
generally, in knowledge of Scripture. A good number of regular
churchgoers display a respectable degree of biblical literacy, but the
“average” member of a Oneness church finds it difficult to answer hard
biblical questions about their own beliefs. Without doubt, this is true of
“average” church members of any and every form of Christianity. Most
Christians have an implicit faith that accepts the “message” given to them,
even if they have a hard time articulating that message. Much of the content
of our faith is inherited and, unless some crisis appears, believed.
Not only is this situation the way things are, it is unavoidable. Most
church members spend their days working or going to school, taking care of
their families, mowing their yards, washing dishes, cooking dinners, and a
host of other daily tasks. Mastering the disciplines required to be an
“expert” in the study the Bible is not only difficult for such persons, it is
practically impossible. We may conclude, given the human situation, God
never intended his Church to be made up of Bible scholars! Of course,
some are able and willing to devote themselves to such studies, hopefully in
support of the Church’s mission. Most are not, however, and must live out
the Christian life with a variety of other occupations. For most Christians,
having a basic grasp of their faith, a general understanding of the Bible, and
progressive growth in Christian virtues is about as much as we can hope for.
Anyone engaged in pastoral work or teaching the Faith in any capacity will
understand the truth of these observations.
It is hard to find a single person in any congregation of Oneness
Pentecostals (or any other church) who can give a coherent sketch of the
history of the Bible. The long and complicated path along which Scripture
has been transmitted to us, thousands of years after its original appearance,
is challenging indeed. It is nonetheless true, however, that Oneness
Pentecostals believe, with great confidence, that the Bible is the word of
God and is entirely without error. One would be hard-pressed to find a
committed Oneness Pentecostal who would disagree with this statement.
One would also be hard-pressed to find someone who would dispute the
table of contents found in his Bible. The Bible, they would all agree, is
exactly what it should be, no more, no less.107
There is a serious problem, however. If asked to explain how the Bible
came to include the books it does contain, blank stares or ad hominem
attacks frequently follow. If asked, for instance, why the Bible should not
include the Wisdom of Solomon or the Gospel of Thomas, books they have
likely never read or heard of, similar blank stares would appear. Oneness
Pentecostals strongly believe in certain truths but cannot explain why.
That is, of course, unless we accept purely subjective arguments. One
might say, “I know the Bible I have is God’s word because when I read it
God confirms it is true.” I do not wish to dispute the confirming power of
God’s Spirit that may accompany one’s reading of the Bible. This argument
is often questionable, however, for a very good reason. Most Oneness
Pentecostals accept the Bible as the inspired word of God before they ever
read it. Most of them, as with all Christian groups, have never read the
whole Bible. Further, they accept it as inerrant before they examine every
instance of a supposed “contradiction.” Indeed, if shown a “contradiction”
they cannot explain, they will continue to believe the text is without error
and inspired by God. I have never met anyone that claimed he first read the
entire Bible and then concluded it was the word of God. Further, I’ve also
never met anyone who read all the other extant ancient literature that
appeared contemporaneously with the Bible (but was not finally included in
it) and then concluded it should not be in the Bible. All accept these claims
on some other basis.
 What, then, is their real basis for confidence in the Bible’s authority,
inerrancy, and table of contents (i.e., canon)? Whence comes this certitude
for which, I have no doubt, many Oneness Pentecostals would give their
lives? Their confidence arises from their trust in their minister, their
personal experience, and the organized religion of which they are a part.
Their real “final authority” is not the “Bible alone” but the ministers they
have come to believe and the personal experiences they have had. It is the
minister who assures them of what the Bible is and what its nature is. The
ministers, on the other hand, insist their teachings and claims are rooted
entirely and solely in the Bible. They do not typically claim some God-
given authority to interpret the Bible that, in principle, is not possessed by
everyone in their churches.
Within the Oneness movement, one often hears references to “revelation”
knowledge. Coming to understand the Oneness doctrine requires a
“revelation.” It is said, the difference between those who read the Bible and
conclude it teaches God is a Trinity and those who read it and conclude to
the Oneness doctrine is a revelation from God. Often this “revelation”
knowledge sounds much like a separate source of information. In principle,
Oneness Pentecostals do not speak of it as a separate source of information,
however, since this would compromise their profession that the Bible alone
is the source of their faith. In practice, things are often different. Frequently,
assertions of “truth” are made in the face of biblical texts that cannot be
reconciled with their claims. In spite of the fact that they are, on occasion,
unable to offer a compelling reply to a question about Scripture, they persist
in speaking of the “revelation” they have received about the nature of God
and their other peculiar beliefs.
I have carried on numerous conversations with Oneness Pentecostals
through the years. In most of these conversations I have posed observations
about biblical texts to which no real response is given. Most of these
people, however, do not change their beliefs as a result. This is because they
have an understanding of the Bible inherited from their ministers and their
experience and that becomes the “grid” in which Scripture is placed. If the
Bible doesn’t fit well, one must simply work harder at making it fit.
My Oneness pastor grew up during the decades in which Oneness
theology initially “developed.” I recall him once addressing a problematic
text in connection with Oneness theology: Revelation 5:6–7. Here the
“Lamb” before the throne takes a book out of the “right hand of him who
sat on the throne.” This scene poses a significant conceptual difficulty for
Oneness people. To “see” Jesus, obviously the meaning of the lamb image,
walking up to the throne of God and taking a book from God’s hand, is very
difficult to reconcile with the notion that Jesus is identical with the one
person of God. My pastor made reference to a discussion on this point with
some other ministers many years ago. Since they could not see any apparent
solution to this problem, they concluded they would simply have to await
further “revelation” from God on how to interpret this text. He claimed that
he later “discovered” that the Lamb took the book from the hand of the
Church, not the hand of God! This interpretation is so forced and unnatural
in the context of Revelation 4–5 that it stretches credulity that one would
accept it as compelling. My simple point, however, is that the theology of
Oneness was obviously brought to Scripture, and anything that did not “fit”
well was simply sidelined until someone came up with a good enough
explanation.
Oneness Pentecostals, then, live under an illusion. The illusion is that the
Bible alone is the source of their beliefs when, in fact, they accept many
things that cannot be demonstrated when limited to the Bible. Additionally,
these beliefs are accepted from others who are deemed to have sufficient
authority to know whether they are correct or not. To restate, the authority
of the Oneness Pentecostal is not the Bible alone, but the Bible plus the
authority of their pastor and, more generally, the Oneness movement,
“confirmed” by personal experience. Of course, this situation is not unique
to Oneness Pentecostalism. This illusion is shared by all forms of
Christianity that refuse to acknowledge any “source” or mode of authority
in addition to Scripture.108 Catholics, too, accept the authority of their
“Tradition,” including what the Church says about the Bible, its contents,
and its meaning. The most obvious difference is, however, that Catholics
admit this fact.
Holy Mother Church
Written thousands of years ago, the Bible has been recognized as God’s
word and transmitted through a long process within a living and active
community of people. That community calls itself the Church. This Church,
down through the centuries, did not make the claim that the Bible alone was
the grounds of its confidence in God’s revelation to the world. Its claim was
that the Bible is indeed God’s unique revelation, but that it does not stand
by itself but is accompanied by the living community of Christ’s followers,
the Church. This Church is known by its historical identity supplied by its
faith and its continuity with earliest Christianity. This continuity is
demonstrated by its succession of bishops, originating with the apostles,
those chosen by Christ, and expressed in its sacramental life of worship.
The early “bishops” or “overseers” of the Christian churches did not
appoint themselves to such offices.109 They had hands “laid upon” them (1
Tim. 4:14; 2 Tim. 1:6). Since they did not make themselves leaders, their
authority was transferred to them from other, recognized authorities. This
process began with the apostles who not only laid hands on others to share
in their ministry but also established the expectations and requirements for
selecting those who would receive this office (e.g., 1 Tim. 3). The function
of these bishops was to protect and proclaim the “deposit of faith” inherited
from the apostles (1 Tim. 6:20). They were to teach the Faith with authority
and rebuke those who taught otherwise (1 Tim. 1:3; 2 Tim. 4:1–4).
Scripture Alone?
In fact, there was never a time in the history of early Christianity when the
Bible alone functioned as its authority. While the New Testament was still
being written, serious doctrinal problems arose and were decisively
answered by the living authority of the apostles and those associated with
them (e.g., Acts 15:6ff). The New Testament as such did not exist at this
time, yet the Church did. The “Bible” of the early Church was the Hebrew
scriptures. The apostles did not restrict themselves to its written words,
however. The Church would exist a good deal of time without a completed
New Testament. It existed, nonetheless.
These remarks are not intended to minimize the importance of Scripture.
To the contrary, the Bible is uniquely inspired by God. It is inseparably
bound to the Church, however, and cannot be correctly appreciated without
that historical connection. It was the Church that passed along and protected
the sacred texts. It was the Church that recognized the books that were
divinely inspired and rejected those lacking this characteristic. It was the
Church that watched over the interpretation of Scripture to make sure the
Bible’s meaning was not hopelessly lost in the morass of interpretations.
If we could travel back in time to the early days of the Christian
movement, we would not find a “Bible Only” church. We would find
Scripture, to be sure, but Scripture had an authoritative meaning presented
by the apostles and their associates, the “elders” and “bishops.”
Sometimes Protestant friends object to this claim with Acts 17:11. The
Bereans were “more noble” than the Thessalonians because they “examined
Scripture daily, to see whether these things were so.” It is claimed that even
Paul’s words were put to the test of Scripture and therefore only Scripture
should be used as authority in the Church.
One need only read about what Paul preached to the Thessalonians to see
why this conclusion does not follow. Paul made claims about Christ’s death
and resurrection on the basis of the Old Testament (Acts 17:2–3). Unlike
the Thessalonians, however, the Bereans actually looked at Scripture to see
if Paul’s claims were true. Paul made specific claims about what is found in
the Old Testament. The Bereans actually looked to see if they were true. If
the “Bible Alone” interpretation of this verse is correct, the logical
consequence is that Christian authority must be limited to the Old
Testament. In truth, the apostles provided an authoritative interpretation of
the Hebrew scriptures that was binding on the Christian community. Some
of their interpretations of the Old Testament were later canonized in the
New Testament, and others were transmitted through the worship and
beliefs expressed throughout the Church (both geographically and
historically).
Often 2 Timothy 3:16 is cited in support of the Bible Alone position. In
fact, I have heard public discussions of this subject in which the full weight
of the Bible Alone case is made to rest on this verse. Paul states that “all
Scripture” is inspired by God and is useful for a variety of purposes. He
further concludes that Scripture makes the “man of God perfect.” Since
Scripture has the effect of making one “perfect,” we are told, it must be
completely sufficient in every respect. We need nothing else for religious
authority.
There are some serious problems with this intepretation. First, if this text
means that Timothy should accept as absolutely sufficient the inspired
Scripture available to him at the moment Paul wrote these words, one must
reject any books written after this letter to Timothy. If Paul himself wrote
the letter, a conviction shared by most Pentecostals, Fundamentalists, and
Evangelicals, it must have been written before his death (ca. A.D. 65). It is
certainly the case that a good number of New Testament books had not yet
been written (e.g., John’s Gospel, Revelation). If Timothy’s Bible was
sufficient to make him entirely perfect and therefore nothing else was
needed, we would have to exclude portions of the New Testament from our
Bible.
Second, the word perfect used in this text carries a more specific meaning
than the general notion of Christian “perfection.” Artios, according to
Thayer’s Greek lexicon, means a “special aptitutude for given uses.”110 It is
not the word typically used for “perfection” in the New Testament. This fact
is consistent with the context of the verse. Paul’s words are written to
Timothy, a young bishop and Christian leader. He is called a “man of God,”
a phrase sometimes obscured in English translations (see 1 Tim. 6:11). A
comparison of the uses of the phrase “man of God” throughout the Bible
reveals that it is a technical phrase referring to a divinely appointed
spokesperson for God. Samuel, for instance, is called a “man of God” (1
Sam. 9:6), as is Moses (Deut. 33:1); an unnamed “man of God” appears to
Samson’s mother and predicts the birth of her son (Judg. 13:6). We could
easily fill pages with similar references. There can be no doubt, once the
uses of these words are examined, that the phrase has a precise meaning. It
is not a generic reference to Christians or believers in God.
If one appreciates the point of the prior paragraph, the Bible Alone
interpretation of 2 Timothy 3:16 immediately fails. Paul is instructing
Timothy, a divinely appointed spokesperson for God, to make use of
Scripture to teach and rebuke, since they equip him or, to use Thayer’s
definition, give him a “special aptitutude for given uses.” This verse, rather
than dispensing with the need for God-given, living spokespersons, affirms
that need. Because Scripture is vital in the work of the bishops, for instance,
does not make the bishops’ office irrelevant or devoid of authority. In this
verse, Paul affirms both the authority of the bishops and the authority of
Scripture.
Given that the two texts discussed above are the primary ones used to
support the Bible Alone position, it is hard to avoid the ironic conclusion
that the Bible itself does not support the Bible Alone position. Again, we
fully agree that the Bible is inspired, given by God, and authoritative. What
we deny is that it stands alone as the Church’s authority. It must be
accompanied by “men of God,” to use biblical language.
The rise of Protestantism brought with it the naïve belief that Scripture
alone could function as the sole authority for Christian faith. The Reformers
and their successors painfully realized, in time, that this belief is
unworkable. While they did break away from the Catholic Church, they
unconsciously brought with them an entire framework for understanding
what Scripture is and what it means. That framework was crucial; without
it, other frameworks would be supplied and result in a host of redefinitions
of Christianity. The seemingly endless mass of such reinterpretations litter
the history of modern Christianity.
The great Reformers, particularly Luther and Calvin, never consistently
practiced the theory that Scripture alone is the source of Christian faith.
They always, at least implicitly, accepted the traditional reading of Scripture
with the exception of those topics they chose to dispute. Alister McGrath, a
noted contemporary Evangelical theologian and Reformation historian,
notes this fact while speaking of the magisterial Reformers in contrast to the
“radicals”:

But none, it must be emphasized, was prepared to abandon the concept of

 a traditional interpretation of Scripture in favor of the radical alternative.
As Luther gloomily observed, the inevitable result of such an approach
was chaos, a “new Babel.”111

The Need for Context

The Bible, in order to function as a true authority, must come to us within a
framework that allows us to (a) recognize its origin, extent, and authority
and (b) properly read its contents. The Catholic faith, from the very
beginning, has professed both the authority of Scripture and a divinely
given context or framework in which to properly read and understand its
message. We may observe this in the New Testament itself during those
occasions the apostles settled disputes about the meaning of Christianity
with a definitive judgment. In a certain sense, the New Testament books
themselves, at least many of them, are an exercise of apostolic authority in
providing an authoritative explanation and interpretation of Christian faith.
We continue to observe this same approach to authority in the years and
decades following the writing of the biblical books. The text that, many
years ago, captured my attention in this regard is found in the writings of
the great second-century apologist, Irenaeus:

It is within the power of all, therefore, in every church, who may wish to
see the truth, to contemplate clearly the Tradition of the apostles
manifested throughout the whole world; and we are in a position to reckon
up those who were by the apostles instituted bishops in the churches, and
[to demonstrate] the succession of these men to our own times; those who
neither taught nor knew of anything like what these [heretics] rave about .
. . Since, however, it would be very tedious, in such a volume as this, to
reckon up the successions of all the churches . . . we do this, I say, by
indicating that Tradition derived from the apostles, of the very great, the
very ancient, and universally known Church founded and organized at
 Rome by the two most glorious apostles, Peter and Paul; as also [by
pointing out] the faith preached to men, which comes down to our time by
means of the succession of the bishops. For it is a matter of necessity that
every church should agree with this Church, on account of its preeminent
authority, that is, the faithful everywhere, inasmuch as the apostolical
tradition has been preserved continuously by those [faithful men] who
exist everywhere.112

This text, although strikingly “Catholic,” is by no means unique. It is easy

to find the same ideas scattered throughout early Christian literature; so
much so, we must conclude that the notion of apostolic succession is an
integral part of early Christianity. J.N.D. Kelly, noted patristics scholar,
summarizes the evidence from the Nicene era regarding the Church’s
understanding of the relationship between Scripture and Tradition:

The ancient idea that the Church alone, in virtue of being the home of the
Spirit and having preserved the authentic apostolic testimony in her rule of
faith, liturgical action, and general witness, possesses the indispensable
key to Scripture, continued to operate as powerful as in the days of
Irenaeus and Tertullian . . . Hilary insisted that only those who accept the
Church’s teaching can comprehend what the Bible is getting at . . .
Throughout the whole period Scripture and Tradition ranked as
complementary authorities . . . If Scripture was abundantly sufficient in
principle, Tradition was recognized as the surest clue to its
interpretation.113

The early Christian Church did not maintain its unique identity and faith
by appeal to Scripture alone. They appealed to both Scripture and the
apostolic Tradition passed along in unbroken succession through the
bishops. This succession of bishops provided a living context in which the
Bible’s true meaning was preserved, lived, developed, and recognized. We
affectionately speak of the source of these actions as our “Mother.” Mary,
the mother of our Lord, “pondered” the mysteries of Christ within her heart,
and a savior was born into the darkness of this world. So, too, the Church,
complete with its ministry guided by the Spirit and protected by God,
“ponders” the mysteries of faith and continually brings Christ into the world
in her proclamation and celebration of those mysteries. Christ promised that
the Spirit would guide the apostles into “all the truth” (John 16:13). In spite
of human frailty and fallibility, Christ’s promise to the apostles echoes
through the centuries in the Church that flows with unbroken succession
from the apostles.
Often Catholics are ridiculed for their belief in the infallibility of the
Church. Our critics often forget that they, too, believe that God caused, by
inspiration, the biblical writers to produce infallible documents, according
to their doctrine of inerrancy. In principle, then, we both acknowledge God
can and has caused fallible men to write (or speak) infallibly.
Our Protestant friends, including Oneness Pentecostals, assert the Bible is
their final and sole authority in all matters. Catholics, on the other hand,
accept the authority of Scripture in union with the Church that assures us,
by unbroken succession from the apostles, of what the Bible is, what it
means, and how it should be lived. The distinct advantage of the Catholic
position is multifaceted.
First, it has the advantage of mirroring the Church of the first century.
With its living authority inherited from the apostles, the Catholic Church is
truly apostolic. Second, it has the advantage of acknowledging its debt to
the historical Church. Protestants, in varying degrees, must distance
themselves from the authority of the historical Church and are thereby left
without good answers to the various questions already posed in this chapter.
Third, the Catholic position makes sense out of real, everyday human life.
Not everyone is a Bible scholar or historian. Catholics believe the word of
the Church, our mother. Protestants believe the words of the Bible but fail
to give credit to the Church for protecting it, recognizing it, and passing
along its meaning. Fourth, this position allows us to maintain the highest
regard for Scripture as the word of God. God so desired to communicate
himself to the world that he not only gave us the Bible, but assured us of its
proper extent and meaning by linking it to a community of faith with a
living authority that complements the unique authority of the Bible.
Peter and the Church’s Survival
Jesus promised that the Church would never die: “Upon this rock I will
build my Church; and the gates of Hades shall not overpower it” (Matt.
16:18). Hades, a Greek word for the abode of the dead, signifies death.
Jesus promised that death would not overcome the Church. It will survive,
and its survival is tied directly to the promises made to Peter.
Doubtless it is true that many “churches” have come and gone through the
centuries. Others have lost their original meaning. Others have died only to
later arise in some other form. The survival of Christ’s Church is linked to
the “keys of the kingdom” entrusted to Peter. The emphasis on Peter in this
text and others points to an inevitable conclusion: Jesus singled Peter out
and gave him a unique role in strengthening and guiding the ancient Church
established by him (Luke 22:31-32, John 21:15-17). That much, to my
mind, is indisputable. Those who reject the unique place given to Peter in
the Gospels, and also reflected in the book of Acts, typically do so for
purely polemical reasons.
What is not often seen, however, is that Peter’s role in the Church must
continue throughout the centuries. This is implied in Matthew 16:17–19 in
two important ways. First, the promises made to Peter are tied to the
Church’s endurance and its victory over death. If the Church will never die
on account of the authority entrusted to Peter, it follows that Peter’s
authority will endure to the end of time. There is a great problem, however:
Peter died! The solution to this problem is found in a second observation:
the keys of the kingdom. Keys are an ancient symbol of authority, just as
they carry similar meaning today. If I possess the keys to something, I have
some measure of authority over it (e.g., Rev. 1:18, 3:7). They also carry the
connotation of an authority that is transferable to another (Isa. 22:15ff).114
In light of the fact that Peter died, we must ask, who inherited the “keys”
entrusted to him by Christ? We already know the answer from Irenaeus and
others. The successors of Peter, the bishops of Rome, the city in which
Peter died, inherited that unique authority. We affectionately call Peter’s
successor the pope, or papa.
On two occasions I have walked beneath the Basilica of St. Peter on the
pre-Christian road through a cemetery on the Vatican hill. That road,
surrounded by ancient tombs and masoleums, leads to the tomb directly
beneath the basilica’s main altar. Strong evidence supports the conclusion
that this tomb is that of the apostle Peter. There is little doubt that Peter died
under the persecution of Emperor Nero around the year A.D. 65. There is
also abundant reason to believe that the unique role of Peter, the “rock”
chosen by Christ, lived on in the bishops of the Church of Rome. The
ancient Christians certainly believed this to be the case.
Although the Catholic Church is typically vilified by Oneness
Pentecostals, I discovered that the most precious truths I believed as a youth
were not only shared in common with Catholicism but were more fully
embraced there. I discovered that my love of the Bible is more solidly
grounded within Catholicism, since I have a more complete understanding
and explanation of why we accept the Bible as we do. My interpretation of
the Bible is no longer an individualistic one based on someone who lived in
1901 or some other recent moment in history. I fully acknowledge that I
read the Bible within a received context and framework for understanding.
The reality is that everyone does this. The question one must answer is,
“Why choose one framework over another?” The Catholic answer is 2,000
years old. It is reflected in every Christian century. Unlike Oneness
Pentecostalism, Catholicism has no need to speak of the lost “truth” of
Christianity.
In light of the fact that I believe Jesus is Messiah and Son of God and that
he provided fully for our salvation, I have no choice but to embrace the
Church as my “mother.” The same may be said of my love of Scripture. I
would not know what Scripture is without the Church, a point Augustine
loved to emphasize. Even though, as a youth, I was ignorant of the
inseparable relationship that exists between the Bible and the Church, it was
still true. Those who would cling to the Bible without clinging to the
Church are, in light of the historical facts, inconsistent.
One might wish his parents were something other than what they are, but
the fact remains, they are his parents. The “wish” that things were different
does not change the debt owed to them for one’s very life. Similarly, one
may find the Catholic Church “unattractive,” for whatever reason. The fact
is, though, that all Christians owe a debt to her that is rarely appreciated and
acknowledged. Greater familiarity and openness to the Church, however,
often dispels misconceptions and fosters a growing love of the beauties of
the Catholic faith.

Beware of Distortions
I never met a Oneness Pentecostal who had even a basic grasp of Catholic
beliefs. This was, I’m sure, because they typically do not feel Catholicism is
worthy of study. It is also because they feel that Catholicism is so obviously
flawed on so many matters that it would be foolish to waste time studying
it.
This was my conviction, too, for much of my youth and some of my
young adult life. I found, however, that there were good reasons for
everything the Catholic Church formally professes. I discovered biblical
texts that certainly can be read from a Catholic perspective. The grave
“evils” of confession (John 20:23), purgatory (1 Cor. 3:11–15), “prayers” to
saints (Heb. 12:23–24), emphasis on Mary (Luke 1:42ff), the papacy (Matt.
16:17ff), and a host of other issues, were never accurately presented and
their biblical basis neglected.
I recall a conversation with a middle-aged lady standing in an aisle of an
Evangelical bookstore. I had known this lady for some time. She was
particularly hostile to Catholic beliefs. In fact, on that occasion she was
purchasing a large number of anti-Catholic tracts that she planned to
distribute to as many Catholics as she could find. She was raised in a
nominal Catholic family, fell away from her upbringing, and later
discovered Pentecostalism. Her newfound enthusiasm for this brand of
Christian faith expressed itself in a rather angry assualt on Catholicism. She
had learned of my “leanings” toward Catholicism and sought to expose the
great evils of the Church.
“The Bible says nothing about purgatory!” she insisted. I directed her to 1
Corinthians 3:11–15. Here, I explained, St. Paul writes of a coming “Day”
of Judgment when our works will be tested “by fire.” Some will “suffer
loss,” by means of “fire,” but will, nonetheless, be “saved.” Since these
persons are “saved,” this text cannot be describing hell. It seems reasonable,
I insisted, that our lives will undergo a judgment that will purify us of all
“works” that are not of enduring value. This purifying Judgment makes us
internally “fit” for the joys of heaven. This is little different, it seems to me,
from the Catholic teaching regarding purgatory.
She struggled to offer a reply. Paul’s teachings simply did not fit her
theology. She understood salvation as a moment in time in which God
forgives us and makes us a “new creation.” The Final Judgment pertains to
whether or not I have had that experience, not the works I have done. Paul’s
letter does not fit this understanding of what happens when our present life
is over. After pressing her for some time, she finally surprised me by
replying, “Well, that’s Paul’s writings. Jesus never taught that.” I think she
realized how ridiculous this reply was while she uttered it. It was
remarkable, though, to see a committed Evangelical resort to questioning
the authority of Scripture itself all in an effort to avoid a Catholic reading of
the Bible!
On another occasion, a friend of mine, also raised in the Oneness
movement, questioned me about the rosary. He saw it, predictably, as a
horrible and idolatrous form of prayer. After all, we pray the “Hail Mary”
ten times more than any prayer addressed directly to God or Christ! I gave
him a pamphlet on the rosary and explained that the Hail Mary provides the
“background” to a series of meditations on the various “mysteries” of the
life, death, resurrection, and ascension of Christ. Mary is invoked simply as
a “helper” in this reflection on her son. Our prayer is an attempt to view
Christ through the humble and open disposition of Mary. I explained to my
friend that my experience of the rosary, rather than distracting me from
Christ, enhanced my devotion to him. After our conversation, he was
willing to try it for himself. He later admitted that this form of prayer was
richly rewarding.
Many pages could be filled with similar stories. I am convinced that, with
very few exceptions, people do not hate Catholicism because they truly
understand its teachings but, rather, because they have simply
misunderstood them.
Again, I found the Bible can honestly be interpreted in support of Catholic
beliefs. I know of nothing the Church formally teaches that cannot be
grounded in the Bible. While still in the world of Protestant Christianity, my
awareness of this fact resulted in a fundamental choice. My choice was
either to maintain my interpretation of the Bible by rejecting the Catholic
context, a choice that carries grave consequences on other matters discussed
in this chapter, or I could choose to immerse myself within the Catholic
context. Many times, those so-called “grave evils” that Protestants find
within Catholicism actually become beautiful when truly understood.
Although it is beyond our task in this work to address the many questions
that might be posed, one can do no better than read the Church’s faith in her
own words in the Catechism of the Catholic Church. This beautiful and
accurate summary of Catholic faith is sufficient to dispel countless
misunderstandings and unveil the real meaning of Catholic faith.115

Conclusion
I am grateful for my years within Pentecostalism. I learned much from my
teachers and friends. I do not doubt for one moment the deep sincerity of
Oneness believers. Indeed, there are many things we share in common. We
certainly appreciate their firm belief in one God and the full divinity of
Jesus Christ, despite important differences in our full explanations of these
beliefs. We admire their love of the Bible and their fervent preaching of its
contents. We admire their firm commitment to dedicate their whole lives to
God; without doubt, they express their commitment in many admirable
ways.
As we have seen, however, there are many weaknesses. All these
weaknesses have a common root: disregard of apostolic authority. It is
ironic that a movement that prides itself on its apostolicity would fail to see
that the apostolic Church followed the authority of Christ’s chosen apostles.
Those apostles passed along their oversight to successors who, together
with the successor of Peter, protected the Faith through the centuries.
Oneness Pentecostalism, in some ways, is unique but it is, at root, the
reemergence of a heresy that was evaluated and rejected long ago because
of its deficiencies when placed in contrast to the apostolic Faith. The real
issue is not whether a skilled Oneness debater can “answer” challenges to
his understanding of the Bible, or whether a Catholic debater can do the
same. I have lived long enough to know that, if one is skilled and
determined enough, anything can be argued. One must, in the depths of his
heart, answer whether or not it is reasonable to believe God chose this as
our path to understand Christian faith. I find the Catholic answer supremely
reasonable but that of Protestantism seriously deficient.
More than a decade ago, I stood with two other Evangelical Christian
“apologists” on the steps of the famous tower at the University of Texas
(Austin). We were answering questions about our faith from several
hundred students who had gathered to listen to the lively exchange of ideas.
One young lady stood up to the microphone and pointed her finger at me.
She asked, “I want you to answer a question for me. We listen to many
people tell us their version of what is true. I want to know, why should I
accept your interpretation of the Bible?” I don’t recall what I told her. What
I do recall is the three-hour drive to Houston that night. Her question
haunted me. Why should anyone listen to me? A profound sense of how
small and insignificant I am swept over me. Why should anyone listen to
me?
The only good reason anyone should listen to me, I have come to believe,
is because what I say is part of a 2,000-year chorus to which I have joined
my voice. No one should believe anything because I say it. There is good
reason to believe it because we say it, however. I stand with the Church that
has endured, against all odds, the test of time. At the fount of the Church’s
faith stand Christ and his chosen apostles and a promise that the Church
will never die. There are solid reasons to accept these claims.
For those who want to know why they should follow Christ, I answer with
Jesus’ words, “Come and see” (John 1:39). The more I “stay with” Jesus,
the more I am led to agree with Philip: “We have found him of whom
Moses in the law, and also the prophets, wrote” (John 1:45). It is not
possible, however, to be with Christ and yet reject his Church. Saul of
Tarsus, on his way to persecute the Christians of Damascus, was confronted
by Christ who declared, “Saul, why do you persecute me?” Since the
Church is mystically united with Christ, we cannot sever their bond. To
persecute the Church is to persecute Christ.
In conclusion, the Oneness interpretation of the Bible will, in time, pass
away. I suppose it will reemerge in various forms throughout coming ages,
presuming our Lord does not bring a more prompt end to our pilgrim
journey. I am fully confident, however, that the faith in the Triune God and,
more generally, the faith professed by the Catholic Church, will endure until
that faith is immersed into the blessedness of the unending life of love for
which we were made. Then we shall “know as also we are known” (1 Cor.
13:12; 1 John 3:2).
104 I held ministerial credentials with the Assemblies of God for several years and was required to assent to the belief in the pre-
tribulation theory of the Rapture and premillenialism each year.
105 The “Rapture,” or “catching away” of the church in a “secret” coming of Christ is professed by most Pentecostals. Most hold
this event will occur at the beginning of a seven-year period of “tribulation” that will precede the visible return of Christ. The
Rapture, then, is not the same thing as the Second Advent. Some hold the Rapture will occur about midway through the
tribulation period, and others hold it will occur at its end. The Bible does speak of a “catching away” of Christians (1 Thess.
4:17) but, I would argue, the case for separating this event from the Second Advent is quite weak. The book that was most
influential in clarifying my thoughts on this subject was George Eldon Ladd’s, The Blessed Hope (Grand Rapids, MI:
Eerdmans, 1956).
106 Perhaps the most notable one is Edgar Wisenaut’s 88 Reasons Why the Rapture Will Be in 1988: The Feast of Trumpets (Rosh
Hash-Ana) September 11-12-13 (Whisenant/World Bible Society, 1988) Many in Oneness Pentecostalism and outside it
accepted the claims of this book—a book riddled with atrocious interpretations of the Bible. My recollection is that well over a
million copies of this book sold in the days leading up to the author’s target dates in September 1988.
107 Sometimes this conviction expresses itself in the radical belief that a particular English translation of the Bible (typically the
King James Version) is a perfect translation and therefore no need exists to consult any other version or language. Often called
“KJV Only,” this theory results from a longing for certainty but avoiding the complex questions of biblical history and
interpretation. I have encountered this theory among Baptists and Oneness believers.
108 More precisely, the source of all divine revelation is Christ, the eternal “Word.” That revelation is transmitted to us in the
complementary “modes” of Scripture and Tradition. These two mutually support each other.
109 I have noticed an interesting phenomenon in this regard in recent years. As some Oneness pastors have aged, they have begun
calling themselves “bishops.” In the cases with which I am familiar, this title is used to distinguish between themselves and
their sons who have become the “pastors” of their congregations.
110 Joseph Henry Thayer, The Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament, 4th ed. (London: T & T Clark, 1901), 75. See also
Bauer, Arndt, and Gingrich, A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature, 2nd ed.
(Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press, 1979), 110.
111 Alister E. McGrath, Reformation Thought: An Introduction (Ada, MI: Baker, 1988), 146.
112 Irenaeus, Against Heresies, III.3. Roberts and Donaldson, eds., Ante-Nicene Fathers, vol. 1 (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans,
1987 reprint).
113 J.N.D. Kelly, Early Christian Doctrines, Rev. ed. (New York: Harper Collins, 1978), 47-8 (emphasis added).
114 W.F. Albright and C.S. Mann, The Anchor Bible: Matthew (New York: Doubleday, 1971), 196.
115 There are many other invaluable works available. The list is much too long to include here. I would mention Karl Keating’s
book Catholicism and Fundamentalism (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1988) as a wonderful response to the many
Fundamentalist works against Catholicism, including fine chapters answering many of the typical objections posed against our
faith. This book was especially valuable in my own journey, in its early chapters that analyze and respond to popular anti-
Catholic spokespersons and literature, much of which influenced me as a young man.
 About the Author
Mark McNeil is the assistant principal for formation and a member of the
theology department at Strake Jesuit College Preparatory, where he has
taught since 2000. He has earned master’s degrees in Scripture, theology,
and philosophy. Mark also teaches theology part-time at the University of
St. Thomas and has spoken at parishes and conferences across the Houston
area and throughout the country. Mark was received into the Catholic
Church in 1999. Mark and his wife, Patti, along with their children, are
active parishioners at St. Luke the Evangelist parish in Houston, Texas.