Loving the Bible is a Long Obedience in the Same Direction

I've been reading the Bible seriously for about 12-15 years. I've been reading about the Bible roughly the same amount of time (there's a big difference). In one way or another, the Bible has been a regular staple of my reading diet for almost half of my life. In the course of this time I've done a lot of focused studies on particular sections or books; I've taught various portions of Scripture in church and to small groups; and I've gone to seminary. It's fair to say that I'm comfortable in the pages of Scripture. I can distinguish its genres. I can makes sense of how the New Testament interprets the Old. I can see how Paul is reading Genesis 15:6 to score hermeneutical points against his opponents in Galatians. The Bible tells a story I know well. And the noisy polyphony of voices in conversation with one another between its hand-worn covers are ones I'm used to hearing on a daily basis.

But familiarity can give birth to distance, as I'm finding out. Like any relationship, once the shine wears off, once you think you've learned all of the interesting things there is to know, explored every strange crevice of personality, uncovered every joyful and unpleasant surprise, you're left feeling a little bored and ready to move on to something else. The closer you get to something the more estranged you become. Then one morning you wake up to find yourself having the "it's not you; it's me" conversation over a cold cup of coffee. Your hot pink romance turns into a stale crust of bread.

It's time for couples therapy.

Eugene Peterson (1932-2018) is the closest thing to a modern Church Father we have in 21st-century America. Peterson was the pastors pastor. Not only was he a deft reader of Scripture, he was also a poetic writer and a doctor for the soul. Throughout his life he wrote many books (last I checked, the count was over 30), mostly about the Bible. It's difficult to classify Peterson's work, though, because it's not academic in nature, nor is it devotional. Peterson was too wise to sit conformably in camps. Like the early Fathers of the Church, he was content to write for God's people without the slightest hint of celebrity ambition or self-acclaim. Peterson's desire was not so much to get people into the Bible but rather to get the Bible into people. That is, his intent was to get Christians to gnarl on the words of Scripture like a dog slowly gnarls on a bone (an image he gave at the beginning of his marvelous little book, Eat This Book).

Since entering my relational malaise, I've been reading Peterson as he reads the Bible. I've needed time to lie back in a leather-tufted Rojo Chaise Lounge while Peterson gave me Bible therapy sessions. One of the books I turned to was A Long Obedience in the Same Direction: Discipleship in an Instant Society. In this book Peterson is reflecting on Israel's "Psalms of Ascent" (120-134), showing how each psalm is a well-placed steppingstone on the path of discipleship. There are no shortcuts in the with-God life, he reminds me. Following Jesus is a pilgrimage, not a tourist stop. It's going to take time, and much of the path will look the same as it did before; but keep going, keep walking in the Way of Jesus, keep gnarling on the bone of Scripture, and the familiar will start to look wonderfully strange once again. He's speaking soothing words I need to hear.

At the close of the book Peterson gives some salutary advise on how to begin to renew my love-affair with Scripture. He says "[i]f we are serious about following Jesus and living out the gift of his life in detail in our bodies and circumstances, we must . . . read our Scriptures slowly, imaginatively, prayerfully and obediently." "Each adverb is important," he says pointedly. As I read these words I realized that Peterson has unwittingly hit the nerve of my problem. My relationship with the Bible is routinized. To stay with his image, I'm reading the words of Scripture but I'm not chewing on them. When you were a kid, do you remember your mother telling you to "slow down and chew your food"? Kids are busy. Like flittering hummingbirds, they go from one thing to the next at rapid speed (I have a 4-year-old, I know). Often they have to be reminded to slow down so they don't choke or fall down or kill the damn dog. Here, like a wise parent, Peterson is saying the same thing: "slow down, chew on Scripture, or you're eventually going to choke."

As I read Peterson's section on reading Scripture imaginatively I was instantly reminded of Galatians 3:8, where St. Paul writes a puzzling line about the gospel being preached to Abraham: "And the Scripture, foreseeing that God would justify the Gentiles by faith, preached the gospel beforehand to Abraham, saying, 'In you shall all the nations be blessed.'" This particular verse stuck out to me, I think, because it defies all rational explanation. Here Paul is ascribing some kind of agency to the text of Scripture, saying that it had the ability to go back and "preach the gospel" to Abraham. Commentators will assign theories to it, of course, but can any of them reasonably suffice to explain what Paul is talking about? I have my doubts. I take Peterson's advice on imagination to mean that we should regularly allow ourselves to be surprised by Scripture. The Bible says odd things. I'm working against my imagination when I don't allow myself to revel in the strange world of the Bible. Love demands that I be surprised, jolted, mystified -- perhaps even terrified -- from time to time.

Perhaps the best way to metabolize Scripture is to pray it. Peterson says that "Bible reading is prayed reading." Every day I pray the Morning Office: Rite II from the Book of Common Prayer. If you're familiar with the Book of Common Prayer then you'll likely know that 90% of it is comprised of Scripture. In some cases the arrangement looks different, but it's the same words lifted right off the pages of the Bible. Following Peterson's lead, then, I don't just read the lectionary texts for that day; I pray them. It was a little awkward at first, to be frank. But after awhile I've learned to identify grooves in the text that allow my prayers to go as the words run. There's an intimacy in this practice that escapes description. All I can say is it seems like I'm praying Christ's words after him. He's my older brother teaching me how to pray by having me repeat the lines after him at at steady pace.

Pastors and teachers are fond of "applying" the Bible to people's lives. This is a noble endeavor, to be sure; but it seems to miss what the Bible is all about. Application is too formulaic: Here's the cause, there's the effect; here's the problem, there's the answer; here are the directions, build it. Application requires little if any wisdom, discernment, or trust. It's utilitarian; it uses the Bible for its own predetermined ends. Obedience is different. Obedience is personal. Recently I was reminded that calling God "Father" is not a pointless metaphor.

[I]f God is our father, he will hear us when we cry to him; if God is our father, then as children and heirs we come to him without fear; if God is our father, he will not give us stones when we ask for bread (Soskice, Metaphor and Religious Language).

Obedience to my Father requires trust in his character. I trust that my Father knows what is best for me and that he wants me to be obedient to him because he knows the kind of person I will become in the end. It also requires wisdom and discernment to know how to obey him in uncertain circumstances by looking to his Son, Jesus. Obedience implies that I don't have it all figured out -- I can't just apply a set formula to achieve my desired result. "The Author of the book is writing us into his book, we aren't writing him into ours," Peterson says. Furthermore, he concludes by pointing out that "Jesus calls us to follow him and we obey -- or we do not."

This is an immense world of God's salvation that we are entering; we don't know enough to "apply" anything. Our task is to obey, believingly, trustingly obey. Simply obey.

Obedience is kicking me out of the gutter. I'm frequently asking myself "Why is any of this important if I'm simply not going to obey my Father?" Obedience to my Father is a means of flourishing in his household (i.e. the Kingdom).

Relationships are hard. My relationship with the Bible has been on the rocks for a while. But my therapy sessions with Saint Eugene have been helpful in restoring my love. I have a long way to travel before I arrive at a place of reconciliation. But I take solace in the fact that I'm slowly moving in the same direction.