Is the Bible Enough? - Part 1
Sola Scriptura vs. Scripture and Tradition
For most of my life, I believed the Bible was all I needed.
As a Protestant pastor, Scripture shaped everything—my sermons, my counseling, my leadership, even the way I navigated personal failure. I opened every meeting, every hospital visit, and every sermon with it. I didn’t just read the Bible—I clung to it. I trusted it to speak clearly. I believed it was all I needed for faith and life.
And I wasn’t alone. In the world I came from, sola scriptura—the belief that Scripture alone is the final and sufficient authority for the Christian—was foundational. It was more than a doctrine; it was a reflex. Any time a teaching or tradition sounded strange, we asked, “Where’s that in the Bible?”
We believed that if it wasn’t in Scripture, it couldn’t bind the conscience. If it was in Scripture, it was enough—end of discussion.
That conviction gave me confidence, even comfort. But eventually, it gave me something else: questions.
Not about whether Scripture was true. I never doubted that. But I began to question whether sola scriptura was what the early Church actually believed—and whether it was even what the Bible itself taught.
What Sola Scriptura Means (and What It Doesn’t)
Let’s be fair: most thoughtful Protestants don’t believe that sola scriptura means the Bible is the only spiritual authority in existence. What it means is that the Bible is the only infallible authority. Church leaders, creeds, and traditions may be helpful—but they are fallible. Scripture alone is divinely inspired, inerrant, and binding on every believer’s conscience in their opinion.
Wayne Grudem defines it like this:
“The Bible alone, and the Bible in its entirety, is the Word of God written, and is therefore inerrant in the autographs and the only infallible rule of faith and practice.”¹
That belief runs deep in Protestant tradition. John Piper emphasizes that Scripture doesn’t derive its authority from the Church—it confirms the Church.² Kevin DeYoung argues that Christians should not seek a new voice or revelation because “the word of God is enough.”³
The intent behind this view is to protect God’s Word from distortion—and in many ways, the Reformers were right to do so. The 16th-century Church had drifted. The Bible wasn’t accessible. Church corruption and doctrinal confusion abounded. The Reformers believed that the only way to recover the gospel was to return to the Bible—and nothing else.
But what began as a protest against corruption eventually became a paradigm shift in how Christians relate to Scripture, to the Church, and to each other.
And that shift had unintended consequences.
What Happens When Everyone Becomes the Pope?
For years I taught discipleship classes that focused on this concept. We covered context, grammar, original languages, and hermeneutical principles. The goal was to equip people to read the Bible for themselves—and I still believe that’s good. But something strange kept happening: even after all that training, we disagreed.
We all loved Jesus.
We all loved the Bible.
We all prayed for wisdom.
And yet, we came to wildly different conclusions.
Some believed baptism was symbolic; others believed it was salvific.
Some affirmed eternal security; others believed salvation could be lost.
Some allowed women to preach; others did not.
Some believed in tongues and prophecy; others called them heretical.
We all used the same Bible—and still, we divided.
And I began to wonder: If sola scriptura is true, why isn’t it working?
D.A. Carson, one of the leading minds in Protestant biblical scholarship, has acknowledged this dilemma:
“The sheer multiplicity of interpretations in Protestantism, all appealing to the clarity of Scripture, has proved a scandal.”⁴
That word—scandal—hit me hard.
The Weight of Authority
As a pastor, I started feeling a kind of quiet panic. People were coming to me with serious questions: about divorce, spiritual warfare, salvation, abortion, contraception, politics, church discipline. They all wanted the same thing: a biblical answer.
I gave them what I had—Scripture. I quoted passages. I compared translations. I cited commentaries. But deep down, I realized something:
I was just giving them my interpretation.
And what if I was wrong?
There was no safety net. No final voice. No visible authority that could say, “This is what the Church teaches.”
Even in disagreements with fellow pastors, I had no place to go. If we interpreted Scripture differently, we either lived in awkward tension, formed separate ministries, or split the church.
I began to realize that sola scriptura, for all its reverence for God’s Word, had left us functionally disconnected—a thousand pulpits, a thousand popes.
Does the Bible Teach Sola Scriptura?
It was only after years of ministry that I started asking the obvious question: Does the Bible itself teach sola scriptura?
The most common verse cited in support of the doctrine is 2 Timothy 3:16–17:
“All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness, so that the man of God may be thoroughly equipped for every good work.”
This verse is true. It is beautiful. And it is insufficient to prove sola scriptura.
It says that Scripture is God-breathed—Catholics affirm that.
It says that Scripture is useful—Catholics affirm that.
It says that Scripture equips believers—Catholics affirm that too.
But it never says that Scripture is the only authority. It never says that nothing else—like apostolic teaching, Church tradition, or ecclesial authority—has a role in guiding the Christian life.
Even Gregg Allison, a strong defender of Protestant theology, admits:
“The New Testament nowhere explicitly teaches sola scriptura… It is an inference drawn from various texts.”⁵
And it’s an inference the early Church simply didn’t draw.
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References:
Wayne Grudem, Systematic Theology, Zondervan, 1994.
John Piper, “The Authority of the Bible,” Desiring God, 2001.
Kevin DeYoung, Taking God at His Word, Crossway, 2014.
D.A. Carson, The Gagging of God: Christianity Confronts Pluralism, Zondervan, 1996.
Gregg R. Allison, Historical Theology, Zondervan, 2011.
