Guarantees
This morning, I shut my Bible the way I often do—unaffected.
I’d just read the third chapter of Amos, which is about (get this!) God’s judgment on Israel. And it’s not like there weren’t interesting things to be read or some moving, if violent, imagery. But I always want to close my Bible in slow motion, awash with golden light, the spiritual thunder of what I’ve just read echoing in my brain. And I’ve certainly had powerful moments with the Scriptures, but I readily confess they don’t come often.
“All Scripture is God-breathed, and useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting, and training in righteousness so that the servant of God may be thoroughly equipped for every good work.” 2 Timothy 3:16 (NIV)—I don’t even need to look it up, so heartily has it been drilled into my brain by Sunday School teachers, pastors, professors, and small group leaders. It hangs over every time of Bible reading I’ve ever had.
If the chapter I read doesn’t cascade through my heart, then I figure I’m missing something. Perhaps I haven’t understood what I’m reading correctly, or I’ve thought about it too hard. Maybe I’m distant from God, or have some unconfessed sin panhandling in my soul. Possibilities, all.
But something occurs to me. All Scripture is useful, but being “useful” isn’t really good enough for me. I want all Scripture to be entertaining. I want all Scripture to make me feel inspired and capable of deep thought and feeling. In short, I want the Bible to make me feel wonderful.
But I look at that list. “Teaching, rebuking, correcting, and training.” Those are sturdy verbs, full of grit and spine. They are guaranteed, in one fashion or another. Are you a serious student of Scripture, seeking truth and correction? Then go to your Bible and open to any page.
But if you’re looking for the emotion, then it’ll take a little more. You can no more expect to be bowled over by a single, arbitrary passage in the Bible than you could from a single, arbitrary passage in Pride and Prejudice.
I’d just read the third chapter of Amos, which is about (get this!) God’s judgment on Israel. And it’s not like there weren’t interesting things to be read or some moving, if violent, imagery. But I always want to close my Bible in slow motion, awash with golden light, the spiritual thunder of what I’ve just read echoing in my brain. And I’ve certainly had powerful moments with the Scriptures, but I readily confess they don’t come often.
“All Scripture is God-breathed, and useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting, and training in righteousness so that the servant of God may be thoroughly equipped for every good work.” 2 Timothy 3:16 (NIV)—I don’t even need to look it up, so heartily has it been drilled into my brain by Sunday School teachers, pastors, professors, and small group leaders. It hangs over every time of Bible reading I’ve ever had.
If the chapter I read doesn’t cascade through my heart, then I figure I’m missing something. Perhaps I haven’t understood what I’m reading correctly, or I’ve thought about it too hard. Maybe I’m distant from God, or have some unconfessed sin panhandling in my soul. Possibilities, all.
But something occurs to me. All Scripture is useful, but being “useful” isn’t really good enough for me. I want all Scripture to be entertaining. I want all Scripture to make me feel inspired and capable of deep thought and feeling. In short, I want the Bible to make me feel wonderful.
But I look at that list. “Teaching, rebuking, correcting, and training.” Those are sturdy verbs, full of grit and spine. They are guaranteed, in one fashion or another. Are you a serious student of Scripture, seeking truth and correction? Then go to your Bible and open to any page.
But if you’re looking for the emotion, then it’ll take a little more. You can no more expect to be bowled over by a single, arbitrary passage in the Bible than you could from a single, arbitrary passage in Pride and Prejudice.
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