Science & Religion follow-up

Sometimes, after a Sunday, I think to myself, "ooooh, I wish I could have just said this one more thing." (And I'm aware that there may be some who feel I have said quite enough!)

So, last Sunday, I preached about science and religion, drawing on a few essays in the new Skinner House book, The Whole World Kin. In the sermon, I paraphrased William Murry's succinct description of how people typically reconcile science and religion. In words more eloquent than what I'll say here, Murry laid out these three typical strategies:
1. Say that science and religion are of two non-overlapping domains, each with a valid but different claim to the truth. This is a strategy popularized by Stephen J. Gould. In this line of thinking, science describes the world as it is, and religion speaks to meaning and ethics, etc.

2. Say that religious claims predominate; when science disagrees with religion, go with religion. This, he says, is the strategy used by fundamentalists.

3. Say that, as science expands our understanding of the world as it is, religion must evolve and adapt to speak to it, to respond to it.

The third strategy, it's clear, is the one he recommends. And it's the one I like, too--finding an evolving, dialogical relationship between science and religion, developing a religion that speaks to modern life? Yup. I like it.

But here's where we disagree. He hints that this might best be done by casting off traditions and rituals that no longer speak to modern people.

I think this is certainly a reasonable choice. There are some for whom ancient words and texts have lost all credibility because of the oppressive interpretations that have been laid on them.

But I do think that ancient texts--such as the Bible--can be read in the light of modern science and carry moral authority. There are themes of salvation, redemption, community, courage, and faith in these old stories and poems that resonate in my heart. There are lessons here. I don't hear them proclaiming scientific truths, but human truths. They are not the map, but the story of the overland journey.

For me, the value in maintaining relationship with ancient traditions is the opportunity to take part in the multi-generational conversation of faith that has unfolded for centuries--not only in Judaism and Christianity, but in other traditions, too. To cast them aside and start fresh, with new images and new metaphors, is a legitimate choice. But I suppose I favor creative, faithful interpretation first. The radical claims of faith--love your enemy!--become even moreso when they've survived centuries of oppression.

What do you think?