Unity Without Uniformity: Why “Biblical Christianity” Has Never Meant One Interpretation

There is a familiar pattern that often plays out in conversations about Scripture. Someone grows up in a setting where the Bible is treated as though it speaks with a single, obvious voice on nearly every issue. Questions are discouraged, disagreements are viewed with suspicion, and confidence is often mistaken for clarity. Over time, cracks begin to appear. The Bible proves more complex than expected. Faithful, intelligent people disagree. And eventually, a conclusion is drawn: if there is not one clear interpretation, then perhaps there is no meaningful sense in which anything can be called “biblical” at all.

It is an understandable reaction. But it is, I think, a mistaken one.

The problem lies not in recognising that interpretation is complex, but in assuming that complexity eliminates coherence. In practice, what is being rejected is not “biblical Christianity” as such, but a particular form of it—one that quietly assumed that faithfulness required uniformity. When that assumption collapses, the temptation is to abandon the entire framework rather than to refine it.

Yet historically, what has been called “biblical Christianity,” particularly within evangelical traditions, has never depended on everyone arriving at identical conclusions. It has depended, rather, on a shared conviction about where authority lies.

To see this, it is worth considering how evangelicalism has actually functioned in the real world. Take, for instance, the question of the end times. Within broadly evangelical circles, one can find a range of positions—some expecting a future period of tribulation, others interpreting such language more symbolically, still others focusing less on detailed timelines and more on the ultimate hope of renewal. These differences are not minor, nor are they hidden. They are discussed, debated, and sometimes held with strong conviction. And yet, those who hold them do not typically regard one another as having abandoned the Bible.

Or consider the structure of the church. Some traditions emphasise episcopal leadership, others congregational autonomy, still others a plurality of elders. Each position appeals to Scripture, often carefully and thoughtfully. The conclusions differ, but the underlying commitment remains the same: that Scripture is the place to which one must return in order to justify and refine one’s view.

The same could be said of spiritual gifts, or of various ethical questions that arise in changing cultural contexts. There is real diversity, and at times significant disagreement. But there is also a recognisable unity—a shared instinct that the Bible is not merely one voice among many, but the voice to which all others must ultimately answer.

This suggests that the term “biblical,” as it has been used historically, does not function as a claim to perfect agreement. It functions as a claim about authority. To call something “biblical” is not to say, “All Christians agree on this,” nor even, “This is obvious to any reader.” It is to say, “This position is accountable to Scripture, and seeks to arise from it rather than override it.”

An analogy may help to make this clearer. Imagine a group of travellers navigating a vast and varied landscape with the aid of a shared map. The terrain is not simple. There are mountains, valleys, rivers, and paths that are not always clearly marked. The travellers study the map, compare their observations, and sometimes disagree about the best route forward. One is convinced the path runs along the ridge; another believes it descends into the valley before rising again. They argue, they reassess, they occasionally change their minds.

What unites them is not that they always agree, but that they are committed to the same map. None of them concludes, upon encountering disagreement, that the landscape does not exist or that the map is meaningless. Rather, the disagreement sends them back to the map with greater care.

This is a far better picture of how evangelical theology has typically operated. Scripture is the map—not always simple to read, not always yielding immediate clarity, but nonetheless authoritative. Interpretations vary, sometimes widely. But they are not free-floating. They are tethered, or at least meant to be tethered, to the text itself.

It is at this point that a common critique emerges. If interpretations differ, it is said, then the appeal to what is “biblical” becomes little more than a way of asserting one’s own view while dismissing others. It becomes, in effect, a power move—a way of drawing boundaries and controlling communities.

There is enough truth in this observation to give it force. It would be naïve to deny that the language of “biblical” has sometimes been used in precisely this way. History, both distant and recent, provides examples of overreach, of leaders claiming too much certainty, of communities silencing legitimate questions.

But to recognise the misuse of a concept is not to invalidate its proper use. The fact that some have wielded the term “biblical” carelessly or even manipulatively does not mean that the term itself is empty. It means, rather, that it must be used with greater care and humility.

Indeed, the very possibility of misuse presupposes that there is something real being misused. One cannot distort what does not exist.

The deeper issue, then, is not whether interpretation plays a role—it clearly does—but whether interpretation necessarily collapses into relativism. Must we conclude that because readers disagree, there is no truth to be found?

Here again, everyday experience suggests otherwise. In law, in literature, in history, disagreement is common, sometimes persistent. Yet no one seriously concludes that these fields are therefore devoid of meaning. Instead, there is a shared commitment to argument, evidence, coherence, and, where possible, resolution. Some interpretations are judged better than others—not because they are asserted more forcefully, but because they account more adequately for the data.

The same principle applies to Scripture. Interpretations can be shallow or careful, selective or comprehensive, inattentive or deeply rooted in context. They can be evaluated, challenged, and refined. The existence of disagreement does not eliminate the possibility of truth; it makes the pursuit of truth more demanding.

What, then, becomes of “biblical Christianity”? Not a slogan, nor a claim to possess all answers with equal clarity, but a posture. It is the conviction that Scripture stands as the final norm, even as we wrestle with its meaning. It is the commitment to return, again and again, to the text—to listen, to test, to revise, and, where necessary, to be corrected.

This posture allows for something that both rigid fundamentalism and sweeping scepticism struggle to sustain: unity without uniformity. It recognises that faithful readers may disagree, sometimes sharply, while still sharing a deeper agreement about where authority lies and how it ought to be approached.

The alternative is to swing from one extreme to the other. From the insistence that there is only one obvious reading, we move to the claim that there is no real reading at all. But neither extreme does justice to the reality of the text, nor to the long history of its interpretation.

A more demanding path lies between them. It requires the humility to acknowledge complexity, the discipline to engage carefully, and the confidence to believe that meaning is not an illusion, even when it is contested.

In the end, “biblical Christianity” is not undone by the presence of many voices or many interpretations. It is defined by how those voices are heard and how those interpretations are pursued—under the conviction that the text, in all its richness, still speaks.