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"I don't think the Bible is literally true," says Bishop John Spong of the Episcopal diocese of Newark, New Jersey, answering a question scholars have tugged at for the past 200 years. Spong, who is invariably described as the enfant terrible of liberal Protestant theology, writes books with such titles as Resurrection: Myth or Reality and Rescuing the Bible from Fundamentalism that are guaranteed to make conservatives growl. "The Bible also says the woman is usually the property of a man. I don't believe that either," Spong declares. "The Bible says homosexual people should be put to death. I don't believe that. The Bible says epilepsy is caused by demon possession. I don't believe that. There are a whole lot of literal concepts out of the Bible that have long ago been abandoned. I'd like to think Christianity is something that would appeal to people who are also well educated and who are modern people."
The modern skeptics analyze Scripture through the lenses of science, politics and literature. The rationalists study the medical impact of crucifixion and suggest perhaps it induced a deep coma from which Jesus might have revived. They search for evidence of a volcanic eruption that could have caused the Red Sea to part. Perhaps a comet swept across the Bethlehem skies, disguised as the Star in the East. As for the healing, even the enemies of Jesus talked about his miraculous powers, so it would seem churlish for academics, at a distance of 2,000 years, to dismiss them outright. But liberal theologians are prepared to reduce the role of Christ to that of a placebo: people's belief in his healing power was enough to cure ailments that were psychosomatic to begin with.
All these explanations share the premise that the events in the Bible actually took place. A parallel line of argument holds that the Bible is made up simply of legends crafted by the Gospel writers to serve a political agenda in the early days of the church. Modern archaeology has given contemporary scholars a much richer sense of the Galilean world, the social tensions around Jesus and the political challenges his followers encountered after his Crucifixion.
The chief purveyor of this political revisionism is ex-priest John Dominic Crossan, a professor of biblical studies at Catholic DePaul University. In Crossan's view, the Gospel accounts are parables about power and authority in the new church. "[Israel] was an occupied country with a lot of poverty, malnutrition and sickness,'' he says. "Jesus was 'healing' people ideologically, saying the Kingdom of God is against this system. It's not your fault you're sick and overworked. Take command of your body and your destiny."
A family friend--an Episcopal priest--was staying at the Manlys' house over the weekend before the surgery. Elizabeth's grandmother had been thinking about Jesus' instructions for healing. "Is any sick among you? Let him call for the elders of the church; and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord; and the prayer of faith shall save the sick, and the Lord shall raise him up." After dinner Sunday night, the grandparents asked the priest if he would lead the anointing. He did, leaving the consecrated oil for Betsy to use again and again during the next 48 hours until surgery. And still the family prayed.