Are the Gospels reliable?

Quote: FrGamble

The question was if the Gospels were reliable in that they express accurately what the original authors wrote and intended, and I think it has been shown that they are.

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Would you like to dialogue next on if the history of the Church and violence?

Quote: Evenbob

In reality they
are based on a wish and a prayer.

Quote: FrGamble

You still think this after our discussion?

Quote: FrGamble

Am I being closed minded as well, because I am really trying not to be.

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“I’d like to talk to Father Finn alone,” Asbury said, feeling suddenly that here
he had an ally, although he had not expected a priest like this one. His mother gave
him a disgusted look and left the room. He knew she would go no farther than just
outside the door.
“It’s so nice to have you come,” Asbury said. “This place is incredibly dreary.
There’s no one here an intelligent person can talk to. I wonder what you think of
Joyce, Father?”
The priest lifted his chair and pushed closer. “You’ll have to shout,” he said.
“Blind in one eye and deaf in one ear.”
“What do you think of Joyce?” Asbury said louder.
“Joyce? Joyce who?” asked the priest.
“James Joyce,” Asbury said and laughed.
The priest brushed his huge hand in the air as if he were bothered by gnats. “I
haven’t met him,” he said. “Now. Do you say your morning and night prayers?”
Asbury appeared confused. “Joyce was a great writer,” he murmured,
forgetting to shout.
“You don’t eh?” said the priest. “Well you will never learn to be good unless
you pray regularly. You cannot love Jesus unless you speak to Him.”
“The myth of the dying god has always fascinated me,” Asbury shouted, but the
priest did not appear to catch it.
“Do you have trouble with purity?” he demanded, and as Asbury paled, he
went on without waiting for an answer. “We all do but you must pray to the Holy
Ghost for it. Mind, heart and body. Nothing is overcome without prayer. Pray with
your family. Do you pray with your family?”
“God forbid,” Asbury murmured. “My mother doesn’t have time to pray and
my sister is an atheist,” he shouted.
“A shame!” said the priest. “Then you must pray for them.”
“The artist prays by creating,” Asbury ventured.
“Not enough!” snapped the priest. “If you do not pray daily, you are neglecting
your immortal soul. Do you know your catechism?”
“Certainly not,” Asbury muttered.
“Who made you?” the priest asked in a martial tone.
“Different people believe different things about that,” Asbury said.
“God made you,” the priest said shortly. “Who is God?”
“God is an idea created by man,” Asbury said, feeling that he was getting into
stride, that two could play at this.
“God is a spirit infinitely perfect,” the priest said. “You are a very ignorant
boy. Why did God make you?”
“God didn’t.…”
“God made you to know Him, to love Him, to serve Him in this world and to
be happy with Him in the next!” the old priest said in a battering voice. “If you
don’t apply yourself to the catechism how do you expect to know how to save
your immortal soul?”
Asbury saw he had made a mistake and that it was time to get rid of the old
fool. “Listen,” he said, “I’m not a Roman.”
“A poor excuse for not saying your prayers!” the old man snorted.
Asbury slumped slightly in the bed. “I’m dying,” he shouted.
“But you’re not dead yet!” said the priest, “and how do you expect to meet
God face to face when you’ve never spoken to Him? How do you expect to get
what you don’t ask for? God does not send the Holy Ghost to those who don’t ask
for Him. Ask Him to send the Holy Ghost.”
“The Holy Ghost?” Asbury said.
“Are you so ignorant you’ve never heard of the Holy Ghost?” the priest asked.
“Certainly I’ve heard of the Holy Ghost,” Asbury said furiously, “and the Holy
Ghost is the last thing I’m looking for!”
“And He may be the last thing you get,” the priest said, his one fierce eye
inflamed. “Do you want your soul to suffer eternal damnation? Do you want to be
deprived of God for all eternity? Do you want to suffer the most terrible pain,
greater than fire, the pain of loss? Do you want to suffer the pain of loss for all
eternity?”
Asbury moved his arms and legs helplessly as if he were pinned to the bed by
the terrible eye.
“How can the Holy Ghost fill your soul when it’s full of trash?” the priest
roared. “The Holy Ghost will not come until you see yourself as you are—a lazy
ignorant conceited youth!” he said, pounding his fist on the little bedside table.