Escaping the Idolatry of Books

Considering that as a teenager I did not enjoy reading, and I struggled in literature classes, it’s somewhat surprising that I turned out to be a bibliophile. But I am. Libraries, bookstores, Amazon.com – I love them all! And I love scout and scrutinize their volumes of collected wisdom.

Love is a powerful and dangerous thing. God’s good gifts become insidious idols when grateful enjoyment of things mutates into devoted service to things. Knowledge is not exempt. It, too, can seduce us to worship.

I’ve often struggled with loving books too much and buying too many. This was especially challenging during seminary. The library hosted used books sales. The bookstore was truly a bookstore, with a book-merchandise ratio quite opposite most so-called “bookstores,” which carry a surplus of gifts and music and a small selection of books. (I’m distressed whenever I wind up in one!) The first shelf in the seminary bookstore displayed all the enticing new releases. The rest of the shelves were jam-packed with weighty tomes from every theological discipline. Each semester’s academic sale offered tables full of deeply discounted commentaries. And in the absence of a sale, the store usually rewarded my patronage by offering me the best deal they could. Needless to say, I visited often, invested a lot and built a terrific library.

I was rarely rash in buying. Money was tight, so I thought carefully about each purchase. I kept a prioritized list. I consulted annotated bibliographies. I planned long and hard before each academic sale, considering how to get the most bang for each buck on the most purposeful purchases. At times, it was consuming. Sometimes I literally lost sleep.

As a result, most of my buys were wise. A few were stupid. In the years since seminary, I’ve made a concerted effort to buy less and read more of what I already own, to fulfill the unspoken agreement I made with myself that I was buying these books to read! Prudent purchasing is hard with the plethora of new publications and the alluring recommendations of friends, bloggers and my personal Amazon page. (Just today, two “new for you” titles caught my eye!) In my effort to buy and read more wisely, I’ve refined the questions I subconsciously ask myself to guide my purchasing. I think the following are worth considering.

1.       How important is the book? I want to buy and read the best, most influential books, so I ask questions like these:

·         Is this a classic that has stood the test of time and proved its power to shape culture (Plato’s Republic)?

·         Is this book already, or will it likely become, a seminal work in my field (Sanders, Paul and Palestinian Judaism)? Or does it significantly advance a discussion (Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God)?

·         Does this book apply truth to current realities with wisdom, precision and passion (Willard, The Divine Conspiracy; Peterson, The Contemplative Pastor)?

·         Or, is this merely a distillation or re-expression of others’ ideas that adds little to the discussion (West, TOB for Beginners; Boyd, The Myth of a Christian Nation).[1]

I should read and consider purchasing books in the first three categories. Those in the fourth category are only valuable insofar as they present crucial and complex ideas with exceptional clarity or beauty, apply them in fresh ways, and/or make them accessible to a new audience (as do the two cited above). They may also summarize recent research. These books are useful when diving in, or introducing others, to a new subject (so they make good textbooks). But we must be careful to find the best ones and consider whether we need to own them.

2.       Will I return to this book? Various books suggest a negative answer:  insignificant books that catch my fancy while I’m browsing through a store; obscure (and often expensive academic) works meet a short-term need or popular books that are making a splash in the church or the broader culture (Brown, The Da Vinci Code; Young, The Shack; recent works by Malcom Gladwell). None of these need empty my wallet or fill my shelf. On the other hand, if it’s clearly tied to my research and teaching, it may be worth owning (C. Wright, The Mission of God).

3.       Is it smarter to borrow or buy this book? The answers to the first two questions suggest the answer to this third. If it’s not influential or enduring, or if it is expensive, borrowing may be the better bet. It was easy to borrow books in seminary, where my daily work was carried out in a world-class theological library, just steps from my home. It got harder when I moved, but I’m learning to think ahead and request titles from my local library. They haven’t yet turned down a suggestion for purchase! Their budget is bigger than mine. If they’ll buy the titles I want to read but not own, I’ll have more resources for the best books.

4.       When should I buy this book? If I’m not ready to read it today, I don’t need to buy it today. This is a tough principle to follow. Sometimes a great deal may override this rule, but a deal must not trump questions 1-3. A bargain won’t make a bad book better or give me any more time to read it. I bought many books in seminary with good intention to “read them eventually.” I’m working through the stacks, but some of the best deals I scored may never reach the top of my list. Unless it’s a classic, it may be outdated, updated or replaced by the time I get to it. The point is, I can make the most informed choice when I’m actually ready to read the book.

If we don’t prioritize, we’ll end up with shelves full of words rendered worthless through negligence.  A wealth of wisdom would sit silent. A wealth of money would be wasted. This would be tragic, considering Jesus’ call to stewardship and the poverty of many of our brothers and sisters throughout the world. Recognizing the proclivity of our hearts to idolatry, let us not displace devotion to God with veneration of knowledge.

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[1] Some people “Wright” books to summaries their own work; sometimes I’m guilty of buying these (Surprised by Hope) for the sake of expedience: I can read the digest to get the main ideas and read go back later to tackle the monster(s).

Bible Reading 2: The Blessings and Curses of Being a Biblical Scholar

Four years getting a bachelor’s degree in biblical studies and four more years studying Scripture in seminary have obviously changed my approach to the Holy Book. I would not trade my education, for it has enriched my life and my faith in countless ways. Yet serious study has also made some aspects of Bible reading more challenging. I begin here, with what I’ll call the “curse,” before returning to the rich rewards I’ve reaped from serious engagement with sacred Scripture (blessings).

Curse: My first reaction when I approach a text is to think of what I don’t understand, even though I probably do understand the main point.

For example, I get frustrated reading one of the most straightforward, black and white books in the Bible – 1 John – because I can’t discern its structure and did not understand why John said the same few things over and over in slightly different ways.

When I try to read devotionally, all the “rules” of interpretation come into play:

• How can I meditate on a verse I haven’t read in context? Just one isolated verse? Really?
• How can I learn from a passage when I don’t understand linguistic details, historical background or how it fits and functions in the whole book?
• Don’t I need to interpret a text in canonical context, that is, in light of the whole scriptural story?
• How can I faithfully apply a text if I don’t grasp its meaning and implications for its original readers?

The questions can be paralyzing, when I simply want to listen to the text and apply.

But there are also rich blessings of academic study of Scripture. Often, these blessings are received through and because of rigorous wrestling with interpretive questions like those above. One such blessing came up in a conversation I had with a college student about reading the Bible devotionally. I’ve always struggled with this. I tend to read for ideas rather than “application points” that speak right into my life, especially. But then I realized two things:

• Even If I’m not specifically inspired each time I open the Word, the truth is in me, and it speaks to me when I need it, especially when I’m walking through a valley or undergoing trail.
• I’m learning to apply the Bible’s “big ideas,” that arise out of its Grand Story. I find these themes far more exciting and inspiring than the relevant nuggets that we can – responsibly or otherwise – mine out of texts.

There are other blessings too:

• I have skills and tools to discover the meaning of difficult ancient texts.
• I have greater capacity to learn from the labors of great teachers who write about the Scripture.
• Study increases my grasp of who God is and how he’s working to redeem this broken world.
• It also continually clarifies my picture of righteous worship, faithful living, and how God’s Spirit empowers both.
• I have come to see so many glorious dimensions to the saving work of Jesus.
• I have a greater hunger for heaven, and I understand why it will be wonderful: because we’ll live as priests in the presence of our God offering sacrifices of praise to him, just as he created us to do!

So, at the end of the day, I would say the puzzlement and occasional paralysis in approaching Scripture is a small price to pay for the rewards I’ve reaped from my first decade of academic study. Even if I my personality pushes me be more academic than devotional and more abstract than practical, I’m convinced that these elements can – indeed must – be wed. To this end I labor and study and read and pray.

What’s your “bent” when you come to the Bible? What parts of reading and study do you find most challenging or exhilarating? How do you see the relationship between devotional reading and study?

Bible Reading 1: Get out of It or Get It in Us

This post is about how we approach the Bible. I begin with a caveat and some historical background. I am, admittedly, writing in response to my upbringing. In my teen and early adult years, I spent much time in terrific, Bible-focused churches led by great, godly leaders. There was one thing, though. The more I grew, the more it bugged me. It was Bible reading. I have lived with a long-standing uncertainty about what is typically called “quiet time” “personal study time” or “daily devotions.” I affirm the supreme importance and value of constant engagement with God’s revealed Word. I know the wonderful intentions of those who told me to spend daily time with God. But, looking back, I see two things that bothered me. First, every problem one faced should be solved, sometimes exclusively, by more Bible reading and prayer.^[1] Second, and more to the point, there was a prescribed method and mindset for Bible reading. It could be brief, if necessary, but it must be done daily, and first thing in the morning is the ideal time. Why? So morning reading can inspire and direct the day. This is a wonderful ideal. But for young, overtired kids who’ve not learned how to manage time, get enough sleep and certainly don’t rise refreshed and ready for a new day, it’s also a bit like trying to nail Jello to the wall (to borrow a phrase from one of our wonderful HS youth speakers). Not to mention the fact that, in a TV culture that taught us to hold information in our heads for three seconds and then forget it, the chances of my taking some spiritual truth with me throughout the whole day were extremely slim.^[2]

I tried the daily reading method many times, after inspiring retreats or mission trips made me think I could do it. Eventually, the routine would fail. Lack of discipline? Yes. Perhaps I was also trying to work within an unfitting mold.[3] In college, I found a way to justify not using the daily devotion model: if I could read longer chunks (like my Bible profs told me was important, to get context) with greater focus by reading 2 to 3 times a week for an hour rather than 10-15 minutes a day, wasn’t that just as good or better? And if I was more awake and focused in the evening (life in college starts at 10pm and my average bedtime was 2am) then isn’t evening superior to the supposedly “fresh” time (sometimes as short at 10 minutes) between rolling out of bed and arriving at my 8am class? In seminary, study often did double duty as school work and personal devotion. This had drawbacks, but, thanks to my personality and God’s grace, it worked okay. Study feeds my soul.

Part of me still thinks I should and wishes I would rise early each morning to read and pray. I still don’t. I still struggle for consistency in these disciplines at other times. But with more years of reflection on this personal struggle, I’ve come to question the underlying motivation that seems to lie behind the generally-prescribed devotional method, and to wonder if that nagging prescription promotes unnecessary guilt.

We live in a consumeristic age. And religion is not exempt. This is noted often and by many, especially by observing how the church (indeed, the whole Christian subculture) mirrors the entertainment industry and markets religion to passive, comfortable consumers. It’s worth asking, as many have,[4] how this consumeristic faith compares with Jesus’ call to cross-bearing discipleship. More specifically, it’s worth considering how this environment affects our approach to Scripture and our aims in reading it.

The goal proposed, or presupposed, by some proponents of daily devotional reading is to get something from the text – some truth, story or proverbial statement – that will inspire our Christian living. The logic runs like this: I put in my daily devo time, I get inspiration for the day. Sounds rather transactional, like buying our daily bread.[5] Without denying the truth that God does, in fact, inspire us through his Word and often speaks directly to our current need, I think this mentality misses the mark. When the goal is merely to get something out of Scripture, we forget another, perhaps greater, goal: getting the Scripture into us. We need more than a morsel of truth to strike a heart chord each morning; we need to soak in the Story of Scripture until it saturates our soul.

The tidbit for today approach has three negative consequences:

1. It frequently leads to discouragement. What do we do when the text we turn to does not inspire? What if we are trying to develop the discipline (for that’s what it is) of reading of the whole Bible? Today’s passage is a long genealogy, a laborious architectural plan, or a slice of scrupulous sacrificial regulation? Were we filled and inspired? Probably not. Will we want to want to pick up the Book again tomorrow? There’s a good chance we won’t.^[6] And missing a day[7] is the beginning of the end, especially on a through-the-Bible-in-a-year plan. If you’re a slow reader like me, it’s hard enough to read all the assigned chapters each day, let alone catch up on the two days I missed last week.^[8]

2. It shrinks our canon. If we’re not following a plan, we tend to return, again and again, to our favorite texts. So we never read all of Scripture. We avoid the books that are equally inspired by God, but less inspiring to us. Their genre, historical-cultural distance or interpretive difficulty keeps us from mining their treasures. Until I started reading and studying them in seminary, the OT prophetic books were the unwrinkled (= unread) pages in my Bible. Why? Because they’re hard! Poetry in English is tough. But Hebrew poetry full of alien allusions and foreign place names, that’s too much! How can these texts inspire me if I don’t even know what they’re talking about (except, of course, for a few favorites like Isaiah 40)? However, if my goal had been to get the Word in to me, slowly and bit by bit, rather than to get something out of it, I might have been more motivated to press on through the prophets.

3. This perseverance would, in turn, help reverse a third regrettable result of selective reading, namely, misguided interpretation caused by reading texts (esp. NT texts) in isolation from their canonical context. When I started reading the prophets, I realized that this was what Jesus and Paul and all the rest were talking about too! It only makes sense that, since the OT was their Bible, they would speak in its terms. So the more the prophets’ words sunk into me, the more clearly I heard what they and their successors were saying.

Thus we’ve come full circle. Reading the whole Bible, and doing it even when it does not inspire, provides a context in which the whole Bible – our favorite texts and the rest – comes to have more meaning for us. Even Leviticus fascinates and pulsates with glory when we read it as part of the larger Story of a chosen family from a rebellious race (Genesis) who were redeemed from bondage by their covenant-keeping God (Exodus) and called to covenant faithfulness (Sinai), which, among other blessings, would allow the holy God to dwell among them (Leviticus 26:11-12)! If Leviticus is seen within that Story, as God’s gracious provision for sinful people to live in his presence and enjoy his fellowship, the details, though still difficult, become a bit more bearable and even beautiful.

As we read again and again and learn from wise teachers, the big picture begins to take shape in our minds. We get glimpses of the grand Story that inspire us to take up and read on. Foreign parts grow familiar, difficult parts make sense. The Word takes root in us so it can bear fruit through us. I read not just to get something for today, but to get the Word in my heart and mind so it is there when I need it.

I have hidden your word in my heart that I might not sin against you. –Psalm 119:11

What are you’re thoughts on the daily devotions model? Does it work for you or frustrate you? How do mindset and motives affect our regular Bible reading? What should be our goals in reading?

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[1] They were right that these are crucial elements in spiritual health, growth and wholeness and that they are the first things to slide when a person pursues sin, but there may be more factors at play and more holistic solutions.

[2] On this point, see Neil Postman, Amusing Ourselves to Death.

[3] I’m fully aware of the anti-authority sentiments in this sentence and this post. I’m increasingly aware that I am by no means immune to the rebellious streak that blossomed in the 1960s and now characterizes America’s youth culture. I hope I’m learning to live in the tension between humbly learning from tradition and critically engaging past and present to find a more faithful way forward.

[4] E.g. Eugene Peterson, A Long Obedience in the Same Direction: Discipleship in an Instant Society (Downers Grove: InterVarsity, 1980; 2000).

[5] Daily bread, Jesus reminds us, is a gift we seek from the Father (Matthew 6:11), not a product we purchase. Reading scripture is a relational communion of heart and mind, not a results-driven religious obligation.

[6] There are, of course, some among us with extraordinary discipline, who thrive on the daily reading routine. But an equal danger lurks for them: routine can easily run dry. We may do it just to check a box, or worse, to tell others that we’ve checked a box. True, at least we’re doing it, but it doesn’t approach the joyful, worshipful experience that the quiet time promoters promise, so it too can produce discouragement.

[7] One might think of numerous other reasons for missing a day that would discourage a person who’s convinced that daily reading is essential: unexpected family emergency, illness, travel, etc.

[8] My defensive side wants to add: “Don’t even start with the ‘If you were really serious you’d make the time’ guilt trip. I’m a pretty serious guy, but that means I’ve got a lot going on. I try to do it all for God’s glory. Bible reading is one thing among many.” But I know there is some truth in that guilt trip and there is room to improve my priorities and practices. However, the point remains that life is full of unexpected event and competing demands, and “just making the time” is not as simple as some make is sound. If old habits are hard to break, new ones can be equally hard to begin and demanding ones can be hard to sustain.