New light does not contradict old light,” the minister intoned. I knew that. I knew God wanted people to go to church on Saturday—that was most important of all. I knew that good people were supposed to put money in the offering plate, go Ingathering, read their Bibles, pray, never watch television, and buy only cars made by Chrysler Corporation.
I was barely 5 years old. Daddy and Mommy had taught me all these things—intentionally or unintentionally. Daddy knew the Bible texts that proved them all, except the ones about television and Chrysler Corporation cars. If the Bible had been written in modern times, there certainly would have been texts about televisions and cars.
Chrysler cars were engineered better, Daddy said, and he should know. His job required him to drive thousands of miles a month, and he knew everything there was to know about cars. Other church members drove other kinds of cars. One of them was the minister. He drove a big blue Ford. And he had a television, which tells you what kind of person he was.
I can remember the day my value system was shaken. We were riding in our beautiful green Plymouth, and I had mentioned the minister’s purchase of a new Ford.
“Well, son,” Daddy said, “the preacher has had good luck with Fords, and I’ve had good luck with Chrysler products. Whichever kind of car gives you good service is the one you should buy.”
What? Had I heard correctly? This “new light” was definitely contradicting my “old light”!
Another memorable day was when I noticed a book in the living room bookcase. Gold lettering on the spine said The New Testament in Modern English. Its author was J. B. Phillips.
It wasn’t a real New Testament. Real Bibles always said Holy Bible right on the front cover. And they were always leather-bound books kept on the coffee table, never hardcover books kept in the bookcase.
This Phillips fellow was obviously trying to make the Bible easier to understand by replacing some of the old-fashioned words with modern ones; and that was another reason this book couldn’t be a real Bible. Real Bibles had to have old-fashioned words, because Bible stories happened long ago in old-fashioned times.
Just as I was getting used to the idea of J. B. Phillips, the church school teacher told us that Jesus and His disciples didn’t speak English. I knew she was wrong, and I could prove it.
In more than one place it said “Jesus saith,” and the next words were always in English. Was the Bible God’s Word, or wasn’t it? Were Jesus’ words printed in English, or weren’t they?
The teacher produced some books that contained pictures of old scrolls. She talked about “Hebrew” and “Greek,” and with unassailable logic her “new light” contradicted my “old light.”
Although these memories make me smile now, I found the incidents unsettling at the time.
Bible Doctrines class in academy sent a lot of truth in my direction. I already agreed with all the key texts. In fact, the longer I held a theological position, and the more arguments I produced in its defense, the more I believed that God was its source. The sentiment “you don’t have to be open-minded if you’re right” made more and more sense.
My attitude fit well with the new policy I was using: “If God said it, I believe it, and that settles it.”
Unfortunately, this new guideline interfered with another fact that had been forcing itself into my consciousness: God’s servants of the past did not agree with me on every point. It came as a shock to find that William Miller did not accept the Sabbath and that Martin Luther loved to spend time at the local beer hall. These people were my heroes. Some of them had taken their mistaken beliefs to their graves.
If God had said it, why didn’t they believe it? What would God do with them on judgment day? Could He save them if they didn’t believe as I did?
The question was settled for me by a verse in John 16. Jesus told His disciples that some truth would have to wait until later, because they weren’t able to deal with it yet.
Did Jesus actually let them continue believing incomplete truth? Evidently so. He had a solution, though. The Spirit of truth would, He said, guide them into new truth as they were able to handle it (see John 16:12, 13).
Did they reach the “all truth” stage before they died? Could they be saved if they hadn’t reached it? I wasn’t quite certain that I had reached the “all truth” stage yet, but I was pretty close. Certainly by the time Jesus came I would know everything.
Then one day a Bible teacher read this: “If it were possible for us to attain to a full understanding of God and His Word, there would be for us no further discovery of truth, no greater knowledge, no further development. God would cease to be supreme, and [humanity] would cease to advance. Thank God, it is not so. Since God is infinite, and in Him are all the treasures of wisdom, we may to all eternity be ever searching, ever learning, yet never exhaust the riches of His wisdom, His goodness, or His power.”1
If there would always be things for me to learn, that meant there would always be something I didn’t know, even in heaven. Like it or nor, I was in the same state as Martin Luther and William Miller, and I always would be.
This “new light” solved a problem that had always concerned me: if I had lived in Jerusalem 2,000 years ago, would I have recognized Jesus as the Messiah?
My uncertainties centered on the Crucifixion weekend, the Passover service, and the entire system of sacrifices. Where in the ceremonial law is there a text that states, “When the Anointed One comes, all these ceremonies end”? Here were observances put in place by God’s direct command; yet, with little warning, they all became meaningless in a single afternoon.
Most of the inhabitants of Jerusalem evidently followed the “If God said it, I believe it, and that settles it” policy. They had ceased being open to “new light.”
But some weren’t afraid to restudy the issues. The Holy Spirit was able to lead these honest-hearted ones to a fresh and more complete understanding of truth. Indeed, “a large number of priests became obedient to the faith” (Acts 6:7).
So I’ve adopted a new policy: “If God said it, I’ll believe it, and keep listening.”
I’m claiming the promise stated by Ellen White: “The Lord will work with humble [men and women] who reveal that they are ever learning, ever under the control of the Holy Spirit.”2
Bill Ludwig teaches mathematics at Auburn Adventist Academy in Auburn, Washington.
