Books do more than just convey ideas. They shape, stir, soften, inspire, and make us different people than we were before we read them. I don’t just understand the abstract concept of redemption after reading Les Miserables. I’m bent toward redemption, desiring it to mold me into a more gracious person. And a change that radical takes at least 1400 pages to accomplish its task.
Books do more than we anticipate because words do more than they have to. Essayist and poet Joseph Bottum, through is book The Christmas Plains, has persuaded me to experience words as more than just symbols or thought-indicators. He asserts, “…language wants to mean more than just its definitions…Words are how we treat the world; organizing, manipulating, adjusting. Words are how we work” (pages 60, 63).
Thus, books of the Bible do more than help us answer questions in the Bible category on Jeopardy. Sure, we learn where Babylon is and who Nebuchadnezzar was and why the threat of having a millstone around our neck should disturb us. But reading a book of the Bible should “equip” us, making us more prone toward saying no to things that will harm us and more inclined to seek things that will make us more like the inspirer of the text.
I’ve already commented about the Psalms and Job. Here are a few more reflections about other books of the Bible, in light of what I’ve been saying so far.
Isn’t the book of Judges disgusting? And tiresome? We read graphic descriptions of sin that turn our stomachs. Once we’ve read Judges, can we ever forget this image: “Ehud reached with his left hand, drew the sword from his right thigh and plunged it into the king’s belly. Even the handle sank in after the blade, which came out his back. Ehud did not pull the sword out, and the fat closed in over it” (Judges 3:21-22).
Perhaps the book is designed to nauseate. Maybe God wants us to be so repulsed by the inevitable results of “everyone doing what is right in their eyes” that we run away from sin and cling close to the God of goodness, holiness, and love.
And the repeated cycle of turning away from God should seem tiresome. All the more support for the notion that the book is designed to prepare us for the endless cycle of temptations that will come our way in a world where everyone does what seems right in their eyes.
Or consider the seeming randomness in the book of Proverbs. Once we pass the introductory 9 chapters, we enter into a series of pithy statements that bounce from topic to topic as diverse as, well, life itself. One minute we’re considering how to handle anger, the next we’re on to money. Then comes the tongue, sex, patience, pride, foolishness (of at least 5 varieties), child-rearing, and a host of other topics in a succession without a discernible pattern.
Maybe that’s the perfect shape for a book that seeks to instill wisdom about all that life throws our way. We don’t wake up on a Monday and think, “Ah yes, Mondays focus on money. On Tuesdays it’s anger, Wednesdays it’s lying, etc.” That’s just not how life works. And thus, that’s not how Proverbs works.
At this point, you may be wondering, “What about Ezekiel? Isn’t that how this whole series of blogs started?” Yes, you’re right. I’m still reading it. And feeling it. It’s rather long, you know. And powerful. I hope to write about it in the next blog.
