I have a writing assignment that I give to my 5th graders each fall before we dive into a year’s study of exegetical method. I’ve found that 5th grade is a great age for kids to really start to learn what it looks like to read, study, and interpret the Bible for themselves. Before I teach them what it looks like to make good observations, find a timeless truth, and apply a passage to their own lives, we have to understand what kind of book we’re dealing with. So I start with the simple question: What is the Bible?
Now I only have two requirements for their responses. The first is that they have to answer the question in one sentence (granted, run-on sentences are acceptable in this instance). For some kids, a one-sentence journal answer is the dream, and for others it proves to be a daunting impossibility. But I like that it forces them to be concise and intentional with their words.
My second requirement is that their one sentence cannot be “The Bible is God’s Word.” Every year I’ve gotten a collective groan when I write these forbidden words on the whiteboard. “It’s not that it’s not true,” I tell them, “But in this case, it’s a cop-out phrase that requires no critical thinking on your part and frankly, I don’t know what you mean by it.”
There’s always that one kid who wants to be Mr. Technicality and writes, “The Bible is the Word of God” because I didn’t say they couldn’t write that. But for the most part, I get a nice assortment of responses highlighting the Bible’s didactic and narrative qualities, its revelatory nature regarding God’s plan in history, and its importance in the life of a Christian, all in different sentence lengths.
Naturally, at the end of the lesson, I’ll give them my oh-so-wise one-sentence teacher answer to the question. It’s traditionally looked something like this:
The Bible is a collection of documents written within particular historical contexts and in varying literary styles, all inspired by the very Spirit of God, that come together as one unified narrative centered around Jesus Christ.
If you’re an 11-year-old, you’re overwhelmed at this point. Let’s be honest, if you’re an adult with a seminary degree, you’re overwhelmed at this point, or at least I think you should be. And of course I’m overwhelmed at this point in trying to think how in the world I’m supposed to get my mind around this 2,000 page book that was written millennia ago in weirdo dead languages and faithfully teach it to children. Also, let’s add the fact that this is divine communication. No pressure.
As much as I love my job, most days it absolutely terrifies me. I take James’ words that not many should aspire to be teachers because they will be judged more severely (James 3:1) and run them through my brain at least once a day. The awareness that I could misinterpret the Holy Bible has the potential to spur me towards reverence and awe and handling such a text carefully. It hasn’t. Instead, it’s landed me in a kind of paralysis. And maybe not externally. No, if you walked into my classroom, you’d say I sound pretty confident (and loud. Very loud. My teacher voice scares me sometimes, y’all.). But inside there’s this impulse to hedge all bets, to cover my tail, and to always prepare for the possibility that I’ve gotten it all completely wrong.
But lately I’m finding unexpected consolation as my one sentence definition of the Bible has undergone a shift. It’s not at all that I discount the validity of the words that I wrote several years ago as a brand new Bible teacher. I still agree with my former definition of the Bible. But I don’t think those are the first words from my mouth or my whiteboard marker anymore. Because if you asked me today to write a one sentence response to the question “What is the Bible?”, I think my answer would be this:
The Bible is a means of grace by which we know God.
It’s not comprehensive, but this reframing of my perspective is totally changing the way I approach my Bible. I’m starting to draw immense comfort in the thought that God’s Word is actually a means of grace for us. It’s an instrument through which God gives me Himself. Passages are becoming more of an extension of God’s kindness and less of a code to be cracked. And by code I don’t mean in a hyper-dispensationalist, “let’s add the numbers and see when Jesus is coming back” kind of way as much as a “let’s make sure we know everything we can about context so that we don’t misinterpret” kind of way.
Passages are becoming more of an extension of God’s kindness and less of a code to be cracked.
Don’t get me wrong, I think there’s always going to be a side of me that loves to dig deeper into these texts. Learning historical and literary context has been so formative in growing my faith and understanding of God’s story. But I’m also learning that sometimes it is so good for my soul to simply read this book at face value.
It’s actually become a helpful discipline for me to read the Bible with nothing but God’s Spirit to guide in my interpretation. I don’t always have to immediately jump to reading my ESV study notes. I don’t always have to have a devotional book or article on hand. I don’t always have to open my Blue Letter Bible app to check out a commentary or look up a Greek verb. This practice of just reading has grounded me in the sufficiency of the Word and the unique way that God uses it in our lives.
I remember being so rocked in college to learn that passages took on a whole new meaning after understanding certain historical nuances. Even the way you translated certain prepositions could be the difference between heresy and orthodoxy. I think I ultimately got lost in the weeds. I started to adopt this view that unless I understood it all, I could never trust my interpretations (I’d also like to thank the doctrine of Total Depravity for taking this philosophy of mine to the next level. Love you, Calvin.).
I remember this one specific time on a Greek exam, our professor asked us to write a short essay about how learning Greek had influenced our understanding of the Bible. I took this as an opportunity to vent and spewed all of my concerns to my professor. I told him that I had become terrified of interpreting the Bible for fear of doing it wrong. I was overwhelmed by the burden of correct understanding. I’m so grateful for his patience and wisdom. Because upon reading the words of his troubled student, he sent me an email that I printed and have kept to this day. He wrote:
“There is a difference between being humbled by the responsibility (which is good) and being frustrated by the responsibility (which is not good). Do we all have more to understand, new skills to acquire, more things to read, etc., ad nauseam? Absolutely, your professor included. But do not forget that the biblical text was penned by farmers (Amos from Tekoa), shepherds (that’s what David was before God made him a king), fishermen (like Peter), and reformed religious zealots (like Paul). The biblical text was not penned by scholars behind a desk, but by real people in a real world. Additionally, for every human author of the Bible, there is a Divine one. The same Spirit who inspired John to write 1 John (what we were translating at the time) is the same Spirit who illuminates you to interpret it.“
I wish that I naturally took those words to heart everyday, but I don’t. In fact, a lot of days I still feel like that fear-stricken 20-year-old cynic taking her Greek exam. But as I lean into the power of the Spirit and the belief that the Bible is truly a means of grace, I’m finding that there’s still hope for the cynic, for the perfectionist, for the over-thinker. And if one day my students forget everything I taught them about exegesis, I pray they hold onto that hope too.
I have to believe that our Lord Jesus is not hiding from us in its pages.
I have to believe that this book, independent of commentaries and dictionaries, can make wise the simple (Psalm 19:8). I have to believe that this book truly is unique in that it is living and active (Hebrews 4:12). And I have to believe that our Lord Jesus is not hiding from us in its pages. And with Peter, I’ll say that He alone has the words of life (John 6:68). Where else would I go?
Cultivate. 