For those who love the Bible (or want to again)

Why I'm slow to quote Scripture and what I do instead

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When I’m feeling stuck in anything—faith, work, or life—I’ve found these two simple movements to be helpful for getting me unstuck: reflection and practice.

If you are someone who loves the Bible (or wants to again) but feel stuck or hesitant for whatever reason, you’re not alone. (You know this, but maybe it bears repeating?)

First, the reflection.

We’ve all had enough conversation with each other by now to know how varied our experiences are of church, faith communities, the Bible, religion, religious fundamentalists, and also God.

Many of us here want to explore a spirituality that holds a high Christology as well as an acknowledgement that at any given moment in our experience of God, there’s a chance things feel unfamiliar.

Sometimes this scares us. Other times it frees us.

The more I have engaged in these conversations over the years, the more hesitant I’ve become to bring Scripture into certain contexts. Perhaps you can relate. A lot of us, I think, are doing this intuitively but we may not have thought about why.

To be clear, it’s not that I have stopped caring about or respecting Scripture.

This is the book where I learn about my friend Jesus, stories of his birth and life, death and resurrection.

It’s a book filled with evidence of how the Spirit moves, mothers, and makes God-marks on history and the hearts of God’s people.

It’s a book filled with redemption stories, stunning songs, and hopeful, heartbreaking lament from regular people who had fears and dreams like we do.

It’s a book that points to the Trinity—the three-in-oneness of God our Parent, God our Friend, and God our Holy Withness.

This is the book where we learn about the hope of Shalom, the mystery of the life of Christ available now, and the promise of the Kingdom of God.

This is a book that shows us what we are like and what God is like, a mirror and a window all in one.

A photo of a book that is not the Bible but it’s a lovely photo, yes?

So no, I haven’t stopped caring about Scripture. But I have become deeply mindful of how I share it and who the audience is when I do. And I think you have, too.

It’s been a natural shift for me over time as my faith deepens and my writing voice continues to evolve. But any shift in language or expression, however slight or natural it may feel to the writer, may cause alarm among some who watch only from a distance or still hang on to how they knew you to do things in the past.

I’ve been called a “new age spiritualist” a “marxist” and a “heretic.” One woman emailed to ask if I still had a statement of faith. Another man called me an “apparent Christian” as though that’s how I represent myself but isn’t, in fact, who I am.

(Did Emily have to google “marxist” you ask? She did, dear reader, she did.)

I realize these are the extreme opinions of only some, but I share them to simply say there is always a risk in changing your behavior even if your reasons for doing so are deeply rooted in a conviction that you are doing the right thing.

One of the core values I have in my work is to hold a generous orthodoxy. This means I recognize that Jesus is the host of an unbelievably long table and part of the mystery of our faith (that I find to be a relief and a gift) is that we don’t actually know everything.

This is especially true as I’ve served as a spiritual director, holding space for people as they articulate and explore their own questions about and longings for God. What an unbelievable honor to bear witness to people’s becoming. What an incredible responsibility to share ground with them as they discern how the Spirit might be moving in and around them.

The further I walk this road with God, the more thoughtful I’ve become with how, when, and in what contexts I share verses or stories from the Bible, wanting more and more to do so within a clearly defined space, like in my Christmas Quiet Collection or during Psalm Summer, for example.

This all makes perfect sense to me and probably to you too. But I haven’t yet articulated why.

And then about a month ago, a few days before our first Psalm Summer episode released, I read a caption on Instagram from Tara Owens who said in a few concise words what I’ve been carrying for years.

First, she shared this image:

And then, she wrote these words:

Here she says so well what I feel and maybe you, too.

While we are intimately aware of all the ways the Bible has been either meaningful, hurtful, confusing, or comforting to us, we cannot assume meaning, hurt, confusion, or comfort for all.

“You don’t know the contexts in which Scripture is written into people’s lives. What may be comfort to you may be terror to someone else.” —Tara Owens

My hesitation to bring this sacred text in certain contexts is not because of a disregard for God, but a growing regard for you and also for me.

I have grown in compassionate awareness that all may not be well for you and the Bible may be part of why.

Scripture has been used and misused before, we all know it. What we don’t know is if it’s been used and misused in your life, in hers or his or theirs. And so the love of God invites us to hold compassionate space for each other.

Now, the practice.

Years ago I used to take July completely off and had zero episodes at all that month, but last summer I thought instead of disappearing altogether, I would take some time to record various Psalms in advance and then release them throughout July.

We’ve called it Psalm Summer and this is the final week.

Full disclosure, because it’s summer and because it’s just readings, they’re our lowest downloaded episodes. Those who love them love them. But many people skip them, choosing instead to listen to back-listed episodes. I take no issue with this. I simply mention it to say I don’t do it because of a high demand.

I do it because, more and more, the Psalms are deeply compelling to me.

Recording and releasing these episodes for the podcast meant I have spent a fair amount of time with the text: first reading, then recording, then listening for edits, and again before release.

Not only that, once the episodes are published, I listen to them on my walks, shifting from creator to consumer, listening as you do, forgetting it’s my own voice in my ears, hearing instead the words of the Psalmists in all their honesty, desperation, beauty, and sometimes ugliness.

Walking the streets and paths of my own neighborhood with the Psalms in my ears has brought an awareness of the compassionate patience of God.

A path near my house.

Because the Psalms don’t tell us how to live but reveal the many ways we may respond to life. It is not a rule book but a refuge and a record, evidence of the reality of human life in all its complexity.

The Psalms are proof that God can handle all of what we are, what we feel, what we long for, even when what we long for might be revenge or destruction.

The words of the Psalms are not meant to be prescriptive for life, but proof of life.

People lived, they wept, they rallied, they praised. They needed comfort and wisdom and beauty and strength, and so do we.

In the Psalms we see how people experienced God as one who hides, as one who stays silent, waits too long, offends us, surprises us, and doesn’t always speak in the ways we expect. This is a God who makes all things new, the God who stoops down, weeps and delights; the God who, like a mother comforts her little ones, draws near to comfort us.

Reading the same Psalms over and over has reminded me of these things. But a practice that has helped bring these things out has been to listen to them in various translations.

Sometimes we need new ways to say old things.

I love you is sometimes said with those three words and we need to hear them that way. And then other times we need the dishes washed or the meal delivered or the hand-written note tucked into our bag.

Sometimes I love you is pronounced thank you, I’m sorry, or let’s do it your way. Hearing I love you is important, but it may not land the same way on Tuesday as it does on Saturday night.

So when we read Psalm 91:15-16 in a familiar translation, like the New International Version it sounds like this:

He will call on me and I will answer him.

I will be with him in trouble.

I will deliver him and honor him.

With long life, I will satisfy him and show him my salvation.

But in The Message paraphrase, those same words become:

Call me and I’ll answer, be at your side at bad times,

I’ll rescue you, then throw you a party.

I’ll give you a long life, give you a long drink of salvation.

It’s a different way to say the same thing, both needed, both true. If you love the Bible (or want to again) but don’t know where to start, perhaps listening to the Psalms in various translations could be a first step.

I’ll read them to you here.

As you listen or read on your own, perhaps you’ll join me in reading Scripture with a posture of curiosity about the God story, about the person of Jesus, about how people responded when God was around or what they did when they sensed God’s absence.

Spending time in the Psalms this summer has been less about seeing how these words “apply to my life” (making me the center) and more about bearing witness to the pain, joy, praise, hopes, and longings of the people who wrote them.

When it comes to bringing Scripture into public conversation, I will continue to hold important questions of discernment. I’ll list some of these questions here not as a rubric to follow but as a way to express what I think many of us intuitively do anyway:

• What is the purpose of this gathering, offering, or space we share? (The expectation is different at a Bible Study than at a dinner with friends, for example)

• Do I know these people and their story?

• Do they know me and mine?

• Do I understand the context within and about which these verses were written?

• Am I tempted to share a verse or two because I don’t know what else to say and I feel pressure to “help”?

Again, most of us do this intuitively. But part of what it means to be a soul minimalist is not only knowing a thing but being able to name it out loud. In this, we can see not only some things we might be holding on to that we no longer need, but what things may still have a hold on us.

Here’s to being people who are always learning, who hold generous space for one another, and who refuse to yank a verse of Scripture out of context in order to win, one up, or shut down.

Amen.

P.S. I’m glad you’re here! You can read more about this newsletter and the intention behind it right here. Most posts are for paid subscribers but I occasionally post a public essay like this one.