Part 4: Reading the Bible on Its Own Terms
Let me make sure that you understand this important point.
There is absolutely nothing wrong with asking questions or
investigating our history, doctrine, and practices.
– M. Russell Ballard
Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles
January 14, 2018 – November 12, 2023
Have you ever wondered whether the ancient prophets and apostles would recognize the way we read their words today? When we open the pages of Scripture, are we listening to what the biblical authors intended to communicate, or are we perhaps reading our own theological convictions back into texts that never anticipated such meanings?
These are questions worth asking, regardless of one’s religious tradition. For Latter-day Saints, who demonstrate admirable devotion to Scripture and take the authority of biblical texts, these questions carry particular weight. The LDS commitment to ongoing revelation and scripture study is genuinely impressive—a feature that distinguishes the tradition in an increasingly secular age. Yet this very commitment invites careful reflection on how Scripture should be read and whether our interpretive methods honor the texts we claim to revere.
The Art and Science of Biblical Interpretation
What does it mean to read the Bible well? This is not merely an academic question—it touches the heart of how we understand God’s communication with humanity. The discipline of hermeneutics (from the Greek hermēneuō, “to interpret”) has occupied theologians, philosophers, and careful readers for millennia. The fundamental question is deceptively simple: How do we bridge the gap between an ancient text and a modern reader?
The grammatical-historical method, which emerged from the Reformation and has been refined over centuries of scholarship, offers a principled approach. As Milton Terry articulated in his influential work on biblical hermeneutics, this method seeks to discover “such an interpretation of [the author’s] language as is required by the laws of grammar and the facts of history.” The approach rests on a straightforward premise: before we can determine what a text means for us, we must first understand what it meant to its original audience.
This method asks several critical questions of any biblical text: What did the author intend to communicate? How would the original recipients have understood these words? What was the historical, cultural, and literary context in which this passage was written? What do the actual words mean in their grammatical construction and within their ancient language?
The philosophical foundation of this approach is that communication requires shared understanding between speaker and hearer. If we wish to receive what God has communicated through the biblical authors, we must first attend to the normal, natural meaning of their words within their original context. This is not to deny that Scripture may have ongoing application—indeed, responsible application depends upon accurate interpretation. But we cannot know what a text means for us until we know what it meant in itself.
The Challenge of Anachronistic Reading
Every reader brings assumptions to the biblical text. This is unavoidable and not inherently problematic—we cannot read from nowhere. However, a particular kind of error occurs when we read later theological developments back into earlier texts that could not have borne such meaning. This is what scholars call “anachronistic reading”—imposing meanings on ancient texts that are historically impossible for those texts to have conveyed.
Consider an analogy: If someone claimed that the American Constitution “predicted” the internet because it protects “speech,” we would rightly object. The framers could not have intended to address electronic communication; they were thinking of pamphlets, newspapers, and public oration. The Constitution may be applied to questions of digital speech, but it cannot be said to have predicted them. To claim otherwise confuses application with original meaning.
Latter-day Saint interpretive practice has sometimes been vulnerable to this kind of error. The tendency to find LDS-specific doctrines in biblical texts that historically cannot support such readings raises important questions about the relationship between Scripture and tradition, between ancient text and modern theology.
Notably, some LDS scholars have acknowledged these interpretive challenges. BYU professor Charles R. Harrell, in his comprehensive study This Is My Doctrine: The Development of Mormon Theology, demonstrates that “the interpretations of biblical scholars seemed more compelling… than modern LDS interpretations” when passages are examined “in the context of the time period.” Harrell’s work—published by a faithful Latter-day Saint—illustrates that careful attention to context often yields different meanings than traditional LDS readings suggest.
Case Study 1: The “Two Sticks” of Ezekiel 37
Perhaps no Old Testament passage is more frequently cited in LDS missionary discussions than Ezekiel 37:15-20115 The word of the Lord came to me: 16 “Son of man, take a stick[a] and write on it, ‘For Judah, and the people of Israel associated with him’; then take another stick and write on it, ‘For Joseph (the stick of Ephraim) and all the house of Israel associated with him.’ 17 And join them one to another into one stick, that they may become one in your hand. 18 And when your people say to you, ‘Will you not tell us what you mean by these?’ 19 say to them, Thus says the Lord God: Behold, I am about to take the stick of Joseph (that is in the hand of Ephraim) and the tribes of Israel associated with him. And I will join with it the stick of Judah,[b] and make them one stick, that they may be one in my hand. 20 When the sticks on which you write are in your hand before their eyes,, the prophecy of the “two sticks.” The standard LDS interpretation, reflected in official Church curriculum and the LDS Bible Dictionary, identifies the “stick of Judah” as the Bible and the “stick of Joseph” as the Book of Mormon. Elder Boyd K. Packer declared that with the publication of the 1979 LDS scriptures, “They are indeed one in our hands. Ezekiel’s prophecy now stands fulfilled.”
But what did Ezekiel actually write, and what would his original audience have understood?
The historical context is crucial. Ezekiel prophesied during the Babylonian exile (sixth century BC), addressing a community traumatized by the destruction of Jerusalem and the scattering of Israel. The northern kingdom (Israel/Ephraim) had fallen to Assyria in 722 BC; the southern kingdom (Judah) was now in exile. Ezekiel’s message throughout chapter 37 concerns national restoration—the famous “valley of dry bones” vision depicts Israel’s resurrection as a nation, followed immediately by the two sticks prophecy.
Significantly, the text itself provides its own interpretation—a feature that eliminates the need for speculation. When Ezekiel’s audience asks, “Wilt thou not show us what thou meanest by these?” (v. 18), the Lord responds directly: “Behold, I will take the children of Israel from among the heathen… and will gather them on every side, and bring them into their own land: And I will make them one nation in the land upon the mountains of Israel; and one king shall be king to them all: and they shall be no more two nations, neither shall they be divided into two kingdoms any more at all” (vv. 21-22).
Several interpretive problems emerge with the LDS reading:
First, the Hebrew word ʿēṣ (“stick” or “wood”) is never used elsewhere in the Old Testament to mean “book,” “scroll,” or “record.” The term refers consistently to wood, timber, or a tree. While some LDS scholars have suggested these could be wooden writing tablets, the text does not indicate lengthy records—Ezekiel is instructed merely to write short labels: “For Judah” and “For Joseph.”
Second, the explicit divine interpretation in verses 21-22 leaves no ambiguity: the sticks represent the divided kingdoms of Israel and Judah, not two separate scriptures. To override the text’s own explanation with a different meaning requires substantial justification—a justification that the LDS interpretation has not provided.
Third, even if one grants (for argument’s sake) that the passage refers to scriptures, a difficulty remains: the Book of Mormon’s protagonists are identified as descendants of Manasseh, not Ephraim. Alma 10:3 explicitly states that the Nephite lineage descended from “Manasseh, who was the son of Joseph.” Yet Ezekiel twice specifies that Joseph’s stick is “the stick of Ephraim“ and is “in the hand of Ephraim“ (vv. 16, 19). This internal inconsistency poses a serious challenge to the LDS interpretation.
Harrell himself notes that “scholars point out that each of the sticks Ezekiel refers to is no more than a piece of wood (hence the term ‘stick’), on which he was to inscribe a short phrase. It doesn’t appear to have been a scroll or writing board on which a lengthy record might be kept.” He further observes that “many LDS scholars today concur with this contextual meaning and therefore see the traditional LDS interpretation as a ‘secondary,’ ‘revealed’ meaning.”
But here a methodological question arises: If the “revealed” meaning contradicts the grammatical-historical meaning, which takes precedence? And can a text legitimately be claimed to “prophesy” something entirely different from what its words actually communicate?
Case Study 2: The “Other Sheep” of John 10:16
In John 10:16, Jesus declares: “And other sheep I have, which are not of this fold: them also I must bring, and they shall hear my voice; and there shall be one fold, and one shepherd.” According to LDS teaching, these “other sheep” are the Nephites in the Americas, to whom Jesus appeared after his resurrection (as recorded in 3 Nephi 15-16). The Book of Mormon explicitly makes this identification, having Jesus state to the Nephites: “Ye are they of whom I said: Other sheep I have which are not of this fold” (3 Nephi 15:21).
The traditional Christian interpretation, maintained across centuries of exegesis, understands the “other sheep” as Gentile believers who would be incorporated into God’s people through the preaching of the Gospel. This reading fits naturally within John’s broader theological concerns and the New Testament’s overarching narrative of the Gospel’s expansion from Jews to Gentiles.
Several considerations favor the Gentile interpretation:
First, the immediate context is Jewish opposition to Jesus. The “fold” from which the other sheep are distinguished is plainly the Jewish community. The natural contrast is with Gentiles—those outside Israel who will come to faith.
Second, the broader New Testament witnesses powerfully to this interpretation. Paul’s ministry to the Gentiles, the controversy over Gentile inclusion in Acts 10-15, and the language of Ephesians 2 (where Gentiles who were “far off” are brought near) all reflect the fulfillment of Jesus’ words. The “mystery” revealed to Paul was precisely “that the Gentiles should be fellow heirs” (Ephesians 3:6)—language that directly echoes the sheep becoming “one flock.”
Third, the Book of Mormon’s interpretation requires a remarkably literal reading of “hear my voice” while treating virtually everything else in the passage as figurative. Jesus says, “they shall hear my voice”—but the shepherd is metaphorical, the sheep are metaphorical, the fold is metaphorical, and the thieves and robbers are metaphorical. Why must “hearing” alone be literal?
Furthermore, the Book of Mormon’s claim that “the Gentiles should not at any time hear my voice” (3 Nephi 15:23) creates a difficulty: Gentiles did literally hear Jesus during his ministry. The Syrophoenician woman, the Roman centurion, and the crowds that included “Greeks” (John 12:20) all encountered Jesus directly. If “hearing” requires physical audition, the Book of Mormon’s exclusion of Gentiles is historically false.
This interpretive approach commits what philosophers call a special pleading fallacy—applying one standard of interpretation to most elements of a passage while applying a different standard to one particular element without principled justification.
Case Study 3: Baptism for the Dead in 1 Corinthians 15:29
Perhaps no single verse has generated more discussion—or more diverse interpretation—than Paul’s enigmatic reference in 1 Corinthians 15:29: “Else what shall they do which are baptized for the dead, if the dead rise not at all? Why are they then baptized for the dead?”
For Latter-day Saints, this verse provides biblical precedent for the practice of proxy baptism, in which living members undergo baptism on behalf of deceased persons. As President David O. McKay wrote, the passage “proves plainly that in the days of the apostles there existed the practice of baptism for the dead.”
However, careful attention to the text reveals significant complications:
First, the critical pronoun shift. Throughout 1 Corinthians 15, Paul uses first and second person pronouns—”we,” “us,” “you.” In verse 29 alone, he shifts to the third person: “what shall they do which are baptized.” This grammatical change suggests Paul is distancing himself from the practice, not endorsing it. He immediately returns to “we” in verse 30.
Second, Paul neither commands nor commends the practice. His rhetorical argument is simply: “If there is no resurrection, why do those people engage in this practice?” He uses their behavior as evidence for belief in resurrection, not as a model for Christian practice. This is similar to Paul citing pagan poets (Acts 17:28) without endorsing paganism.
Third, no other New Testament passage mentions baptism for the dead, and the practice appears nowhere in the earliest Christian communities. If this were a standard Christian ordinance—one essential for salvation, as LDS theology teaches—its complete absence from apostolic instruction and early church practice is inexplicable.
Even LDS scholar Charles Harrell acknowledges that “Paul is not endorsing the practice, though ‘at least he does not see fit to condemn it as heretical.'” The most that can be said exegetically is that someone in Corinth practiced something Paul called “baptism for the dead.” Whether this resembled LDS temple work, what motivated it, and whether Paul approved remain entirely uncertain from the text alone.
To build an elaborate system of proxy ordinances on a single ambiguous verse—while ignoring the broader biblical testimony that “it is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgment” (Hebrews 9:27)—represents a significant interpretive risk.
The Joseph Smith Translation: A Revealing Window
The Joseph Smith Translation (JST) of the Bible offers a particularly illuminating case study in hermeneutical method. Beginning in 1830 and continuing until he died in 1844, Joseph Smith produced what he called a “New Translation” of the Bible—a revision of the King James Version that involved thousands of changes, from minor word alterations to substantial additions of new material.
What is significant for our purposes is not the content of the changes themselves, but what the project reveals about underlying assumptions regarding Scripture and interpretation.
Joseph Smith did not know Hebrew or Greek at the time he produced the bulk of the JST (he later studied Hebrew beginning in 1836). The “translation” was not a rendering from ancient languages but a revision of the English King James text based on what Smith understood to be prophetic inspiration. As one LDS source explains, Smith “was divinely commissioned to translate and regarded it as ‘a branch of his calling’ as a prophet.”
Recent scholarship has complicated the picture further. BYU professor Thomas Wayment’s research suggests that some JST changes correspond closely to recommendations found in Adam Clarke’s Bible commentary, a Methodist reference work available in Smith’s time. If accurate, this finding raises questions about the nature of the “inspiration” involved.
More fundamentally, the JST reflects a hermeneutical assumption that the biblical text is unreliable and requires prophetic correction—that what the Bible actually says is not necessarily what God intended it to say. This view stands in significant tension with grammatical-historical interpretation, which trusts that the text we have preserves (within normal textual-critical parameters) what the original authors wrote.
LDS scholar Kevin Barney’s research comparing JST changes with ancient manuscript evidence found that “the vast majority of JST readings have no ancient parallels.” The JST tends to expand the biblical text by adding material—yet textual scholarship demonstrates that ancient scribal errors more commonly involved additions to the text, not deletions. The JST’s pattern is thus the opposite of what we would expect in genuine textual restoration.
Questions for Reflection
This examination invites several questions—not as accusations, but as invitations to think carefully about how we read Scripture:
Would the original biblical authors recognize our interpretations of their texts? Would Ezekiel understand his prophecy about reunited Israel as predicting a nineteenth-century American scripture? Would the apostle John understand his shepherd metaphor as describing a post-resurrection visit to ancient America? Would Paul understand his passing reference to a Corinthian practice as authorization for an elaborate system of temple ordinances?
If our interpretations require meanings that the original authors could not have intended and that the original audiences could not have understood, what grounds do we have for claiming these are the “true” meanings of the texts?
Is it possible that well-meaning readers, beginning with a theological conclusion, have searched the Scriptures for texts that appear to support that conclusion—a practice sometimes called “proof-texting”? And if so, is such a method consistent with genuine respect for the authority of Scripture?
What would it look like to allow the Bible to speak on its own terms—to hear what the ancient authors actually wrote before asking what their words might mean for us today?
Conclusion: Honoring the Text
To read the Bible on its own terms is not to diminish its relevance but to honor its integrity. The biblical authors wrote real words to real people in real historical circumstances. Those words had meaning—meaning that we can recover through patient attention to language, history, and context. Only after we have understood what the text meant can we faithfully consider what it means.
Rather than an argument, this is an invitation to interpretive humility—to acknowledge that our theological traditions, however cherished, do not have the authority to override what biblical texts actually communicate. When our interpretations contradict the plain meaning of Scripture, we should consider whether the problem lies with the text or with our reading of it.
For those raised in traditions that have relied heavily on certain proof-texts, this may be an uncomfortable realization. But discomfort is not the same as faithlessness. Honest wrestling with Scripture can be an act of profound reverence. It says, in effect, “I want to know what God actually revealed, not merely what I was taught He revealed.”
For over two thousand years, the Bible has endured—not merely as an artifact of antiquity, but as the living testimony of God’s redemptive work through Jesus Christ. Empires have risen and fallen. Philosophies have flourished and faded. And throughout every generation, movements have emerged claiming to restore, correct, or complete what Scripture supposedly lost or never fully revealed.
Yet the message remains. The gospel proclaimed by the apostles is the same gospel we hold today: that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, was buried, and rose again on the third day. No subsequent revelation has improved upon it. No additional priesthood has been needed to preserve it. No modern prophet has recovered truths that the Church somehow misplaced.
The Bible stands as it always has—a collection of inspired texts bearing witness to God’s dealings with humanity, culminating in the person and work of Jesus Christ. That witness is powerful enough without our additions. It is trustworthy enough without our corrections. And it speaks clearly enough that we need not impose meanings upon it that its authors never intended.
Perhaps the most faithful thing we can do is listen.
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This is the fourth post in the series “Questions Worth Asking: Thoughtful Reflections on Latter-day Saint Claims.” Previous posts have addressed questions of religious authority, historical claims, and scriptural witness. The final post, Part 5, will consider “The Space for Doubt – How Healthy Communities Handle Hard Questions.”
This article was developed with the assistance of artificial intelligence tools, which have proven to be valuable research assets across numerous academic disciplines. While AI-generated insights informed portions of this work, all content has been carefully reviewed and edited by the author to ensure accuracy and relevance.