Tag Archives: Bible

214. Green Pastures, Quiet Waters and Hot Coffee

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About a week ago, I read Psalm 23 in my reluctant journey through the Psalms. (I don’t care much for the emotional poetry of the Psalms; I prefer the dry wit of Proverbs and philosophy of Ecclesiastes.) You’ve probably heard the twenty-third psalm, the famous Shepherd Psalm, at some point: “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.”

The past few weeks had been challenging. Work had worn me out. My car had issues. I suffered from depression and couldn’t get enough sleep. Life was busy, stressful and complicated. For weeks, I struggled to keep it together.

On that peaceful Sunday morning a week ago, I found Psalm 23 encouraging… in a mild, abstract sort of way. “He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he restores my soul.” It sounded pretty, sure, but it seemed too vague and poetic to be really comforting.

A few hours later, I found myself here:

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Green pastures beside quiet waters, and also hot coffee. I didn’t expect that.

A kindly gentleman from my older brother’s church rented a cabin by a lake for me and my family. We spent an entire week boating, swimming, kayaking, stargazing, watching movies, playing video games, going for walks, drinking coffee, devouring roasted marshmallows and simply hanging out.

My parents live in Uruguay, so we hardly ever have the entire family in one place at the same time. To have my family together for an entire week was awesome, and our cabin by the lake was so darn nice. I felt like a very rich person… and a very blessed one.

Well, I’m back. My vacation is done. I’ve returned to my apartment, my job, my faulty car and all the challenges, trials and responsibilities of my life.

You know what? I’m okay with that.

The Lord is my shepherd, and I shall not be in want.

211. A Witless Witness

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Have you seen those Jesus fish decals Christians put on the back bumpers of their cars?

Jesus Fish

My car doesn’t have one. I have no objection to Jesus fishes—in fact, I value the Ichthys symbol as a relic of Christian heritage—but I don’t want people to know my car is driven by a Christian. I’m not ashamed of my faith. No, I’m embarrassed by my lousy driving. Glory to God and all that, but I prefer not to credit him with my mistakes behind the wheel.

My car has no Jesus fish, but I do wear a cross on a chain round my neck. It isn’t an elaborate rosary or a crucifix with a likeness of Christ crucified—just a plain steel cross. It serves as a constant reminder of my commitment to Christ, and it’s a nonthreatening way to express my faith.

I’m not perfect. I’m most certainly not perfect. All the same, I try to live a godly life. My hope is that people will see the cross, notice my lifestyle and put two and two together. Then, perhaps, conversations can happen about Jesus and grace and faith.

My efforts to witness are rather timid, but they were once quite bold. I would go so far as to call them completely obnoxious. There were several weeks during which I handed out tracts and collared random strangers on the street to share the Gospel of Jesus.

Few thing I have ever done felt so wrong.

Shoving the Gospel down the throats of passersby seemed cheap and shallow—and it was. I wanted to share. They did not want to listen. The best solution was not to share anyway, which was what I did, but to find people who wanted to listen.

There are places where random strangers will listen to the Gospel. America is hardly one of them. In America, where people know just enough about Christianity to be inoculated against it, where Christians have a (tragically well-deserved) reputation for being shallow and judgmental, where faith is a cultural curiosity, the Gospel must usually be shared in actions before people will listen to it in words.

Evangelism isn’t quick and easy. It’s a long-term investment. Evangelism isn’t about statistics and numbers. It’s about people. Evangelism doesn’t consist of cheap tracts and three-step plans. It consists of relationships.

As usual, the Apostle Paul put it well. “Because we loved you so much,” he wrote, “we were delighted to share with you not only the gospel of God but our lives as well.”

202. Church Grumps

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I am a grouchy churchgoer.

Every Sunday morning, I find myself griping about something or other: the music, the sermon or some other aspect of church culture.

For example, it bothers me that churches in America spend tens of thousands of dollars on unnecessary, self-indulgent stuff when Christians in poorer countries can hardly afford to rent tiny buildings for church services. (My favorite church in the world met in a disused soccer stadium: pretty much the only building it could afford.)

Instead of building a church gymnasium which will be used twice a week for potlucks and basketball, why not build five new churches in Vietnam or support ten pastors for a year in Colombia or feed thousands of children in India? Come on, fancy churches! There’s a world out there, you know, and it needs food and Bibles a heck of a lot more than you need new carpets or stained glass windows!

See what I mean? There I go: ranting like a madman, shaking my fists and being a church grump.

I miss the old hymns. (Many of the newer songs are, um, strange.) The lack of emphasis on international problems like poverty and religious persecution frustrates me deeply, and I’m appalled at the haphazard way the Bible is taught. Don’t even get me started on short-term missions trips.

I’m not usually irritable, and I’m not sure why church makes me grouchy. During college, I grumbled about mandatory chapel services and tried to avoid mainstream church culture. For months I’ve found something to bother me every Sunday morning.

Then, a number of weeks ago, as I mumbled my way through yet another contemporary song that seemed very emotional and completely meaningless, I remembered something.

The Lord Jesus once told a pleasant little story about two men, one of whom showed definite signs of being a church grump.

To some who were confident of their own righteousness and looked down on everyone else, Jesus told this parable: “Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee stood by himself and prayed: ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other people—robbers, evildoers, adulterers—or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week and give a tenth of all I get.’

“But the tax collector stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, ‘God, have mercy on me, a sinner.’

“I tell you that this man, rather than the other, went home justified before God. For all those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.”

All churches have problems. However, as I stand in self-righteous (and grumpy) judgment of these churches, I generally forget one all-important fact.

I have problems. I have a lot of problems.

As the Apostle Paul pointed out, “You, therefore, have no excuse, you who pass judgment on someone else, for at whatever point you judge another, you are condemning yourself, because you who pass judgment do the same things.”

I have no right to be a church grump. Some of my complaints are legitimate, sure, but I don’t have much authority to make them. A man with a plank in each eye is hardly the chap to go pointing out specks in the eyes of others.

More to the point, being a church grump won’t help anybody.

Acknowledging my faults and trying to be humble seem like good ways to start. Then, perhaps, without shouting or shaking my fists, I can suggest how churches can be better.

192. Running Like Frodo

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Today’s post was written by Zak Schmoll, a graduate from the University of Vermont with a double major in Accounting and Statistics. (For me, an English major, mathematical arcana like Accounting and Statistics inspire perplexity, fear and wonder.) On July 23, 2012 Zak undertook an epic quest: writing about one chapter of the Bible every day from start to finish. Check out his progress here!

Wherefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith; who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God.

~ Hebrews 12:1-2

When I think about adventures, one of my favorite literary examples is Frodo Baggins, a reasonably comfortable hobbit who was thrown into the epic saga of The Lord of the Rings.

He carried the one Ring, the only thing separating the land of Middle-Earth from the evil domination of Sauron. Frodo wasn’t looking for an adventure, but one dropped in his lap out of nowhere.

I think we can see something similar in our Christian journey.

We are told that our life is a race. According to Strong’s numbers entry for this word race, there’s definitely an indication that this is not just going out for a jog. Some of the alternative words that are suggested are contest or contention. In other words, there is a definite opponent in this competition with real stakes.

We certainly have an adversary in the world, just like Frodo did. We are on a mission to overcome that opposition. For Frodo, that mission involved throwing the Ring into the fires of Mount Doom to destroy it forever. For us, our mission involves running this race successfully. Implicit in both of these statements is that we both have a target. Ours is not necessarily a geographic location, but it is certainly a place where we are in a good relationship with God.

How do we go about running successfully and making it to that destination?

Jesus himself pointed out a few pretty basic guidelines in Mark 12:30-31 that should govern all of our actions. First, we need to love God, and second, we need to love other people. The more we follow these two guidelines, the closer we will be walking to God.

Of course, I should mention that having a relationship with God in the first place is the most important thing. Without that relationship, all of the works in the world and love that we try to display don’t mean a whole lot.

Running successfully also means that we overcome stumbling blocks that are put in our way. Frodo had to fight through fatigue, betrayal, stress and anxiety in order to finally make it to his destination. Similarly, our lives will never be perfect either. There will always be problems that pop up. However, we are promised that through God, we can do all things (Philippians 4:13).

Our race does not stop because of roadblocks, but they do us to rely on God.

Our lives might not quite compare to the epic quest of Frodo Baggins, but we are in the middle of a race, a race run by being in a relationship with God and living with love. We need to love God and to love other people.

That is an adventure in itself.

Jesus Christ and Admiral Ackbar

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Then the Pharisees went out and laid plans to trap him in his words.

~ Matthew 22:15

Meet Admiral Ackbar.

Admiral AckbarThe Admiral is a minor character from a Star Wars film. Although he presumably has a life beyond the few scenes in which he appears, he is remembered for one thing and one thing only.

He proclaims, with a glassy-eyed expression of dazed astonishment, “It’s a trap!”

Admiral Ackbar, the ever-useful trap detector, was absent in the days of Jesus Christ. Fortunately, the Lord was shrewd enough to detect a trap without the advice of Star Wars characters.

Quite a number of people disliked Jesus, you see. Two religious groups, the Pharisees and Sadducees, hated the way his teachings upset the balance of things. They wanted him gone—disgraced—dead. These religious groups resorted to all kinds of underhanded traps to bring down the controversial upstart called Jesus Christ.

I find it hilarious, and extremely impressive, how the Lord Jesus dodged every trap with bravado and brilliance.

The Pharisees watched Jesus closely on the Sabbath, the divinely-ordained day of rest, to see whether he would heal a crippled man and thereby dishonor the day by “working.” Jesus didn’t heal anyone secretly. He was way too cool for that. Instead, he had the crippled man stand up in front of everyone and healed him in the most public way possible, pointing out that doing good on the Sabbath is more important than merely following regulations. (See Luke 6:6-10.)

It happened again and again. Even without Admiral Ackbar’s insight, the Lord Jesus never fell for a trap.

The priests demanded to know who gave Jesus his authority. If he claimed it came from God, they could accuse him of blasphemy. If he gave some other answer, or simply refused to reply, they could claim his teachings carried no weight.

Jesus answered this trick question with one of his own: “I will also ask you one question. If you answer me, I will tell you by what authority I am doing these things. John’s baptism—where did it come from? Was it from heaven, or of human origin?”

The priests were baffled: “If we say, ‘From heaven,’ he will ask, ‘Then why didn’t you believe him?’ But if we say, ‘Of human origin’—we are afraid of the people, for they all hold that John was a prophet.”

They couldn’t answer his question, so Jesus declined to answer theirs. (See Matthew 21:23-27.)

“Is it right to pay the imperial tax to Caesar or not?” demanded the Pharisees. If he answered “Yes,” they could accuse him of being a sellout to the Roman authorities. If he answered “No,” they could get him into trouble with those authorities.

He pointed out that Roman coins came from Caesar in the first place and said, “Give back to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and to God what is God’s”—an answer with which neither Romans nor Jews could find fault. (See Matthew 22:15-22.)

The Sadducees added a trap of their own, but Jesus kept his cool.

If a woman is married more than once, they asked, whose wife will she be in the afterlife? By this question, the Sadducees (who didn’t believe in life after death) meant to discredit Jesus and his teachings.

Jesus’ answer? There is no marriage in the afterlife. Take that, Sadducees! (See Matthew 22:23-33.)

One trap stands out among the others. It was a matter of life or death. A woman had been caught in an affair. According to Old Testament laws, she deserved to die. However, in Jesus’ day, Jews couldn’t sentence anyone to death without consent from the Roman authorities. (This is why Jesus was taken to Pilate, a Roman official, to be condemned to be executed after the Jews had already declared him worthy of death.)

If Jesus said the woman should die, he would break Roman law. If he said the woman should live, he would break divine law. There was no way out. It was a trap even Admiral Ackbar could not avoid.

Go ahead, said Jesus. Execute the woman according to Jewish law—but let someone who hasn’t sinned begin the execution.

With infinite calm, Jesus called their bluff. They could threaten to kill the woman—perhaps even watch her die—but not one of them could carry out the execution with a clean conscience. One by one, they slipped away. (See John 8:3-11.)

“Woman, where are they?” asked Jesus at last. “Has no one condemned you?”

“No one, sir,” she replied, perhaps trembling in fear and awe.

“Then neither do I condemn you,” declared Jesus. “Go now and leave your life of sin.”

I find it fascinating that Jesus gave tricky answers only to trick questions. When a Pharisee finally asked him a fair question, Jesus’ answer was honest and straightforward.

What, asked the Pharisee, is the greatest commandment in God’s law?

Love God and love others, answered Jesus.

That, dear readers, is not a trap.

182. Books I Want to Write

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I have many ideas for books and stories rattling around in my head. Sadly, most of these won’t ever be written. I’ve been stuck on one manuscript for a long, long time. I’ll frankly be satisfied to finish The Eliot Papers and never write a book again.

All the same, my mind is cluttered with ideas for more books. I’ve decided to share some of the best. Who knows? When Lance Eliot’s journey is done—whenever the heck that may be—I may begin a new adventure.

Here, then, are some books I want to write.

Chimera

Several centuries in the future, as the world begins to recover from a nuclear war, a student named Adam is informed by his friends (all of whom wear white coats for some reason) that he is actually a chimera: an organism engineered with genetic material from two separate species. Adam happens to be a chimpanzee with human intelligence—or as one of his white-coated friends cheerfully puts it, “A crime against God.”

Since the experiments that produced Adam are highly illegal, he is also a crime against the now-authoritarian government of the United States of America. When the Humanitarian National Service sends agents (nicknamed Huns) to eliminate Adam, he escapes and becomes a fugitive. Adam decides to flee to Alaska. Along the way he keeps a diary, which he began as an assignment from his white-coated educators and continues as a distraction from the hardships of his life.

The League of Young Detectives

Gabriel Green is an ordinary kid in Indiana, the most ordinary place in the world. Upon entering seventh grade, he makes two extraordinary friends: Nathan Quist, a reserved exchange student from Britain, and Samuel “Samurai” Reyes, a geeky Ecuadorian-American immigrant.

As the school year progresses, Gabriel and his friends uncover hints of a sinister conspiracy involving strange acts of vandalism, an honorable thief, a retired FBI agent, a local murder and a dark organization known only as The Week. These three young detectives must overcome the skepticism of grownups, the awkwardness of adolescence and the very real dangers of crime-solving to find the truth and bring justice to their little Indiana town.

The Oakwood Home for Special Gentlemen

The Oakwood Home for Special Gentlemen is a group home for men with mental and physical disabilities. Twelve incidents occur over the course of one year: some comic, some tragic.

In one incident, a depressed worker frustrated with her life abducts a resident—a mild gentleman with an obsessive-compulsive desire to visit California—and take him on a trip across the country to fulfill his dream. In another incident, a worker conspires with a resident to terrify the home’s superstitious manager as a Halloween prank. Every incident, whether funny or sad, is unique and unexpected.

Samuel White

I’ve mentioned that I love changing perspectives when telling a story. Samuel White would be an avant-garde novel telling the life story of its eponymous protagonist in the form of thirty brief vignettes from the lives of thirty different people. The twist? Samuel White himself would never make an appearance. Like dear old Godot from the play by Beckett, Samuel White’s entire life would defined by the incidental remarks of other people.

Professional Wanderers

Daniel Grey is a wandering vagabond, working odd jobs and never stopping in one place for more than a couple of days. His brief but memorable stay in a small Indiana town draws the attention of an out-of-work journalist, who decides to accompany Grey for a few months to gather material for a book. As they travel, the journalist becomes increasingly puzzled by his companion. Grey, an unshaven vagrant who carries all his worldly possessions a rusty wheelbarrow, has an impossible knowledge of geography, history and literature.

The mystery deepens as Grey runs into “a very, very old friend.” This man, who wears a silver albatross on a chain around his neck, warns Grey that “the man with the mark” has begun a campaign of murder. Grey resolves to track down the man with the mark, and his journalist companion follows in search of answers.

Portraits in Stained Glass

When a man’s car breaks down at night, he grabs a flashlight and climbs a nearby hill to find the building at its summit is not a house, as he had hoped, but an empty chapel with enormous stained glass windows. The man examines each window in turn. Each provides a retelling of a short story (often an obscure one) from the Bible. At last the sun rises, setting the stained glass ablaze, and the traveler leaves the chapel a better man.

Is there a book you want to write? Is there a book you’re writing? Let us know in the comments!

181. My Battle with Depression

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I am now the most miserable man living. If what I feel were equally distributed to the whole human family, there would not be one cheerful face on the earth. Whether I shall ever be better I can not tell; I awfully forebode I shall not. To remain as I am is impossible; I must die or be better, it appears to me.

~ Abraham Lincoln

I don’t often write about depression. It’s not a pleasant subject, and I make an effort to be optimistic. Quoth Louisa May Alcott, a ridiculously cheerful person: “I can only say that it is a part of my religion to look well after the cheerfulnesses of life, and let the dismals shift for themselves.”

Besides, depression is kind of embarrassing. It’s easier not to talk about it.

I’ve struggled throughout my life with periods of anxiety and hopelessness—I once wrote a post about the worst of them—but depression isn’t usually a severe problem.

Recently, however, it has been more of a struggle. More than once in past weeks depression has impaired my ability to function… and today is one such occasion. Earlier today—not today today, but the day I wrote this post—I made some last-minute arrangements and came home early from work.

I just couldn’t do it.

There was no way on God’s green earth I could spend eight hours in a group home administering medications, washing dishes, changing soiled undergarments or doing whatever the heck else needed to be done. It was hard to do anything except keep breathing.

Thank God, I’m feeling much recovered—well enough, at least, to write a blog post. (Tea, rest and Brawl in the Family are fine cures for depression.) This is a post I’ve wanted to write for some time: not as a complaint or a plea for attention, but an honest acknowledgment of a personal struggle.

Dash it all, personal posts are the hardest to write… except for top ten lists and book reviews. But I digress.

I’m thankful not to have any troubles worse than depression, and extremely grateful for the loving support of friends and family.

Several people in my family suffer from depression. My old man, for example, has battled it throughout his life. Do you know what else?

My old man is awesome.

I will consider mine a life well spent if I grow up to be just like him. My old man is consistently cheerful, funny and kind. People are always surprised when they learn he suffers from intermittent depression and chronic physical pain. He gives me hope that I too can live a cheerful, useful life despite my own struggles with depression.

I wonder sometimes why God allows me to experience anxiety, fatigue and hopelessness. Wouldn’t I be a good deal more effective doing good things if I were not occasionally burdened with debilitating depression? I mean, really, God?

In the end, I always come back to the passage in the New Testament in which the Apostle Paul suffers a paralyzing problem of his own:

I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

Depression might be a thorn in my flesh. It’s certainly a nuisance. Nevertheless, God’s answer to me has been the same as his answer to Paul. The grace of God is sufficient. That, as they say, is that.

God may not have spared me depression today, but he enabled me to pull some strings to come home early from work. He didn’t give me the strength for which I asked. Instead, he gave me tea and rest and funny webcomics.

I continue doing what I can to prevent depression: eating fruits and vegetables, drinking too much tea, working out (often while listening to music from My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic, which is either really stupid or really awesome), watching cheerful cartoons, trying to get enough sleep and asking God for his help.

I have good days. I have bad days.

Through every kind of day, God’s grace is sufficient. Always.

180. Thoughts on Job and Ecclesiastes

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I like some books of the Bible much less than others.

Take Ezekiel. I dislike Ezekiel. Paradoxically, it manages to be both trippy and tedious. It also paints an uncomfortably harsh picture of God.

Then there are the books I love, like Job and Ecclesiastes. Job is a meditation on punishment, pain and the authority of God. Ecclesiastes describes a philosopher’s search for the meaning of life. (Ecclesiastes is not to be confused with Eccleston, who played the Ninth Doctor in Doctor Who.)

These books fascinate me. They put the story of Scripture on hold to ponder some of the deep questions that have frustrated, tantalized and challenged thinkers for millennia: Why do good people suffer? Is God fair? What matters in life? What is the outcome of death?

These books come to the same conclusion, broadly speaking.

Most of us are familiar with the story of Job. At Satan’s request, God torments a righteous man named Job as a test of faith. Will Job remain faithful to God through his afflictions, or will he curse God for making him suffer?

Job’s friends arrive and say some stuff. Job says some stuff. A bystander named Elihu says some stuff. And just when the reader thinks everyone has finished talking, God himself shows up to say some stuff.

Job’s questions remain: “If I have sinned, what have I done to you, you who see everything we do? Why have you made me your target? Have I become a burden to you?”

Now that God has revealed himself to speak directly to Job, it’s time for answers.

Except it’s not.

God’s response to Job is to emphasize his own absolute power and authority over everything. From lightning bolts to ostriches, God has it all under control. Even though God answers none of Job’s questions, he resolves them. Job acknowledges God’s greatness, and God goes on to restore Job’s life.

While the book of Job ends on a comforting note, it’s not a very satisfying one. Job lived happily ever after, but he never (as far as we know) discovered the truth behind the cosmic contest that caused his suffering. Job’s agonies remained a mystery to him for the rest of his life.

The book of Ecclesiastes ends on an even gloomier note. Its author comes to the conclusion that life is beyond understanding, and it’s best simply to live and to work and to be happy. “Meaningless! Meaningless!” he declares. “Everything is meaningless!” Remember, this is the Bible I’m quoting here; these statements seem strangely agnostic to be included in the Word of God.

In the end, as we live in world we can’t understand, we’re left with one guiding principle: “Now all has been heard; here is the conclusion of the matter: Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the duty of all mankind.”

I like Job and Ecclesiastes because they’re honest. They’re not bright, cheerful Sunday School lessons that pretend to make sense of everything. They struggle to find meaning in a world that seems meaningless, and conclude it can’t always be found. The most sensible option is to trust someone to whom nothing is meaningless: the God for whom there are no mysteries.

I once wrote a post for this blog, one of the best I’ve ever written, in which I admitted I have my doubts about Christianity. Some things don’t make sense to me. I’m a Christian anyway because these doubts are outweighed by evidence supporting the twofold idea that God is and that he is good.

God hasn’t answered my doubts and questions—but he has resolved them. Like Job and the author of Ecclesiastes, I must believe that God knows what he’s doing, even when I haven’t the faintest clue.

Jesus Broke the Fourth Wall

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Truly I tell you, wherever this gospel is preached throughout the world, what she has done will also be told, in memory of her.

~ Matthew 26:13

One of my favorite storytelling tricks is called breaking the fourth wall. There was once a playwright, you see, who insisted on making his stage productions as realistic as possible. In a play performed on a stage with three walls, the audience must be the fourth wall.

Thus the fourth wall became a phrase describing the imaginary boundary between the audience and the performers, or (more broadly) between reality and fiction. When a performer acknowledges the audience, that fourth wall is broken. This trick is often used for comedic effect or even as a clever, self-aware way for fiction to communicate its meaning.

It occurred to me not long ago that Jesus seems to break the fourth wall, so to speak, in the Gospels of Matthew and Mark. The story is a familiar one. Days before his crucifixion, Jesus is anointed with perfume by a woman. His disciples are indignant: “Why this waste? This perfume could have been sold at a high price and the money given to the poor.”

Jesus gives this touching reply: “Why are you bothering this woman? She has done a beautiful thing to me. The poor you will always have with you, but you will not always have me. When she poured this perfume on my body, she did it to prepare me for burial.”

Then things get awesome as Jesus breaks the fourth wall.

“Truly I tell you, wherever this gospel is preached throughout the world, what she has done will also be told, in memory of her.”

In simply speaking those words, recorded in the Gospels of Matthew and Mark and later preached to countless people over many centuries, Jesus made them come true.

As much as I’d like to assume Jesus specifically meant the Gospel of Matthew or the Gospel of Mark when he said “this gospel,” history tells us otherwise. The word translated gospel in this passage—and later applied to the books of Matthew and Mark—means good news. By “this gospel,” Jesus was speaking broadly of the good news of his life, death and resurrection—not of a specific Gospel in the Bible.

All the same, I chuckle every time I read that passage. Jesus was a man of miracles. He walked on water, healed the sick, raised the dead and did what no one (as far as I know) has ever done outside of fiction.

Jesus broke the fourth wall.

Help, I’m a Christian! – The Bible

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The Bible. The Bible. These two words evoke a book which weighs nearly as much as a small rhinoceros: a book with hundreds and hundreds of pages packed with tiny lettering. The Bible is fraught with dull footnotes. The Bible is full of weird names like Hakkatan, Abimelech and Mephibosheth.

The Bible is also the most powerful book ever written.

It’s the bestselling book in history. Along with Greco-Roman mythology, it’s one of the foundations of Western literature. It has influenced thinkers, artists, musicians and writers for two thousand years: Michelangelo, Bach, Dante, Da Vinci, Handel, Newton, Chaucer and Pascal, to name but a few. The Bible has shaped societies around the world. Some of the founding principles of the United States of America were taken from Scripture.

The Bible is an important book, and that’s looking at it from a secular perspective!

For Christians, it’s infinitely more important—it’s the Word of God.

I’ll be the first to admit that reading Scripture is hard. I’ll also be the first to affirm that it’s totally worth it.

When I began reading the Bible, I made three great mistakes.

First Mistake: I thought of the Bible as just a religious obligation. I read it simply because that was what Christians did.

Second Mistake: I failed to understand how the story of the Bible fits together. The Bible is one story. Each part connects to every other part. (Except for the book of Job. It sort of comes out of nowhere.) In Sunday School, I learned the famous stories: Noah and the Ark, David and Goliath and the rest. What I didn’t learn is that they’re all part of a much greater story.

Third Mistake: I didn’t recognize the indirect lessons of Scripture. Sure, there are a lot of direct lessons like You shall not kill, but most of the Bible doesn’t consist of straightforward commandments. There are histories and genealogies and poems, not to mention a lot of ancient laws that don’t apply to us anymore. I thought these things were worthless because they didn’t relate directly to my life.

What I didn’t understand was that they related indirectly.

In a reader skips the slow chapters in a novel, he’ll have an inadequate grasp of the story. It’s the same with Scripture. If we skip the boring parts, we’ll end up with an incomplete understanding of who God is, what he has done and what he wants us to do.

Reading Scripture can be hard, and it would take much more than one blog post to address all of the difficulties that can arise. That’s why Study Bibles and other resources are awesome. They fill in the gaps, interpret the difficult verses and generally make reading the Bible easier.

What’s the best way to read the Bible?

It’s a matter of choice. Some people write down their reflections in a journal. Others make notes in their Bibles. Some people read Scripture every day. Others read it several times a week.

For a beginning reader, I recommend finding a good Study Bible and starting with the New Testament, then reading the Old Testament, then rereading the New Testament. The New Testament probably has more practical lessons for Christians, but the Old Testament influenced the New Testament so much that it’s important for Christians to be familiar with both.

I humbly offer three pieces of advice to anyone reading the Bible.

First, take it slow and steady. A chapter every day is better than seven chapters once a week. Readers risk burning out if they read too much at one sitting, and it’s easiest to absorb Scripture in small doses. Find a reading plan that works for you.

Second, don’t panic. The Bible can be hard to read, and that’s okay. Just take it a little at a time.

Third, don’t be afraid to engage issues that seem confusing or strange. God loves it when we ask questions, and the Bible is a book that has confused people for millennia. Don’t be concerned if something doesn’t seem to make sense. Pray about it, find a good Bible resource or talk it over with someone.

The Bible is my favorite book. When I began reading it, however, I didn’t like it. Scripture seemed boring and distant.

Then little things began to click: a psalm here, a proverb there; a command from Jesus here, a warning from Paul there. I was sometimes convicted. I was sometimes encouraged. Bit by bit, I learned.

Apart from prayer and the good examples of other people, I don’t think anything has helped me grow so much—as a person, as a writer and as a follower of Christ—as the Bible.

Hard to read? Sometimes. Worth it? Totally.

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