Editor’s Note: This is the second of two essays on loving scripture. The first is here.
Because I did not receive good biblical formation as a child, I landed in an evangelical college functionally illiterate about Scripture. Sadly, my lack of knowledge did not stop me from being insufferable. I would say things like, “I only read the parts of the Bible that work for me.” This was, of course, a lie: I didn’t read the Bible at all. I was just trying to show that I was better than my backward evangelical classmates. ’Ultimately, I was a reflection of the ecclesial culture in which I’d been formed. I didn’t hear clergy or Sunday school teachers in my home parish dismiss or belittle Scripture, because I didn’t hear them say much about it at all.
God in his mercy refused to abandon me to my whims, but sent me a priest who unashamedly, enthusiastically, intelligibly, and joyfully preached and taught Holy Scripture. Being shepherded by someone who loved the Bible taught me something no one had ever shared with me before: that reading and interpreting Scripture was not just good for the life of faith but is a source of inexhaustible joy. This completely changed my encounter with the Bible, and my faith life.
So why do some priests fail to do this? Part of it is a formation problem: at my Episcopal seminary I was required to take only three Bible classes, with no biblical language requirement. Is it any wonder that our clergy don’t feel equipped to teach the Bible to laity? But I think the bigger challenge may be fear: fear of getting it wrong, fear that it won’t be worth it, even fear of what one might find in the Bible. It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God. But perfect love casts out fear, and a priest who has learned to love the Bible has a responsibility to offer people the joy into which God invites us in his Word.
Preach with Boldness
Given the liturgical context of our tradition, a 45-minute expository sermon with lots of exegesis is not possible (and may not be desirable). But this must not be an excuse to ignore the Bible from the pulpit. Too many preachers in mainline churches treat the assigned lectionary readings as anecdotes made available to the preacher to make a favored point.
Preaching well is hard. Preaching while bound to the shape and content of the passage without forcing it into a favorite topic or simple diatribe is extra hard. But we owe it to the people of God. When we are called to preach, we are entrusted with the responsibility of opening the Scriptures and making Jesus known to his disciples, as he modeled on the road to Emmaus.
Priests shouldn’t complain to parishioners (from the pulpit or otherwise) about the assigned lectionary passage or how hard it was to prepare the sermon. It isn’t your parishioners’ job to make you feel better about a half-baked sermon. It is one thing to say, “This passage is challenging, and we will look at it carefully together.” It is another to say, “Paul is being sexist” or “Jesus isn’t being very loving,” both of which I’ve heard in real sermons by clergy. The first shows a healthy respect for Scripture as an ancient text with its own context, tells the congregation that it is okay to feel confused, and promises guidance. The second two are flip, dismissive, borderline blasphemous, and lazy.
Preach with the Bible in your hand (or at least open in your pulpit). This demonstrates to the congregation that you are not an authority on Scripture, but are under the authority of Scripture. Ask your parishioners to read along in their Bibles, and make sure you have Bibles in the pews for them to open. Do not shy away from difficult passages, but put in the hard work to uncover the good news that speaks from every page of Scripture. Show them both that you are a preacher who loves and reveres God’s word, and that this Word for them.
Read within the Communion of Saints
Few parish priests are true experts on Scripture, and even those priests who also have doctoral degrees in Old Testament or Christian theology and moonlight as academics are not authorities over Scripture. All of us, regardless of education, are bound by the authority of Scripture, and of the church. Our job is not to share our brilliance with parishioners, but to help them learn to interpret for themselves, within the devotional life of the community. The Bible doesn’t have one perfect interpretation, but there are many wrong interpretations. Often, these are the interpretations we like best, because they make things neat or tidy or affirm what we have already decided we believe.
The best way to avoid this pitfall is to read within the Christian tradition, looking to the interpretations of the saints who have gone before, and teaching only within the bounds of the Creeds of the church. This limits what we can say, but it is a limit that is freeing, not stagnating.
When faced with a difficult or befuddling passage in the lectionary or in a parish Bible study, the priest should resist the urge to find the easy out, and should instead look to the Church Triumphant for help. We have more than 2,000 years of faithful Christians who have read, marked, learned, and inwardly digested nearly every passage of the Bible. How did Origen, Athanasius, Augustine, and the Cappadocians interpret these passages? What did the Reformers think and write about these issues? How did Dietrich Bonhoeffer, C.S. Lewis, or Julian of Norwich hear these words? Look especially to those whose faith and devotion you admire; those whose lives reflect the goodness and holiness of the risen Christ. None of these thinkers have the monopoly on truth, and neither do we. But we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses, and we can call upon them to help us love the texts they loved and for which they lived.
Teach with Courage
When I was in seminary, my field education supervisor told me: “If you ever see the lectionary skip around in Jeremiah, it is probably because there was a prostitute in there.” I generally like the Revised Common Lectionary, but can’t help but notice that it is quite squeamish on issues of sex, bodily functions, or anything that might be make one uncomfortable. Not every difficult or confusing passage of Scripture needs to be talked about from the pulpit — sometimes 15 minutes is just enough time for a preacher to do more harm than good — but they do need to be taught. A priest who only preaches and teaches the “uplifting” parts of Holy Scripture tells the congregation that there are parts of the Bible that are okay to ignore or that can be written off.
It also tells parishioners that hard questions, doubt, grief, and darkness have no place in the church, and that such questions and issues are best left unaddressed. If we cannot handle the violence described in the Psalms or in Judges, how are we going to confront the violence in our world or in our hearts?
It takes courage to guide people into the parts of the Bible that are confusing, frightening, or strange and to remind them that, no matter how mystifying or challenging, all of Scripture is God’s Word and is guided and given by the Holy Spirit. The Fathers saw these difficult passages as skandelon, stumbling blocks, given to us by God to push us deeper and to call us higher. The Bible is not meant to comfort and affirm us, but to stretch and change us. Preaching and teaching hard texts with courage, seriousness, and reverence teaches people that God’s Word is trustworthy, even in their darkest moments. It also shows them that their pastor and their church have the courage to walk alongside them, to help, guide, and equip them to face the challenges and stumbling blocks we find in Scripture, in life, and beyond.
Thanks for these posts. I’ve learned a lot from them, and I think they wonderfully illustrate that pastoral ineffectiveness can result from ecumenical failure and certain (not all) forms of liberal Christianity. Regarding ecumenical failure, I think it’s important that Rev. White didn’t “realize anything was missing” until she “landed at an evangelical university” that was “a brave new world.” Nevertheless, the point of the article isn’t necessarily to go ahead and become an evangelical–after all, she “didn’t learn to love the Bible during college,” long expository sermons may not be desirable, and conservative churches foster their own lack of self-awareness, as they can use Scripture as a “cudgel.” Rather, the point is to recommend a wider spiritual ecumenism–Julian of Norwich and Bonhoeffer–rooted on the shared love of Scripture and a transcendent, not rivalrous mimesis as we “love the texts they loved.”
What gets in the way of this? It’s interesting that Rev. White found the need to distance herself, at least initially, from her evangelical classmates as “backward.” She notices there is a “fear of doing it wrong,… getting it wrong,… fear of what one might find in the Bible.” One must then have recourse to “expert guidance,” even to what must be “withheld from the regular person in the pews.” The preacher feels compelled to become irreverent towards an otherwise frightening text. The fear, I gather, is of becoming “backward,” taking the text too literally and straightforwardly.
The problem here is likely complicated–many congregants in mainline churches rightly talk of damage from conservative churches that seemed incapable of critically examining their beliefs. However, Rev. White insightfully suggests that the problem is also that we would have to take ourselves literally and straightforwardly, for confronting “the violence described in the Psalms or in Judges” may entail confronting “the violence in our world or in our hearts.” We instead have the safety of a “favored topic.”
The answer is to intentionally place ourselves “under the authority of Scripture” with others. This accountability is described very concretely–“underline,” use the “right pen or pencil,” listen to “a decorous 75-year-old grandmother,” use a beautiful Bible with “saddle-colored goatskin.” Scripture is to be our “soil.” The contrast, I gather, is to a more intangible feeling and awareness, perhaps of God’s love, that may come from any number of places, even in solitude, as it remains within each person as their authentic self. The danger is that this feeling and awareness supersedes “the sounds and syllables of the Logos,” with all their roughness, and turns lectionary readings into useful “anecdotes” or legible “artifact[s] of history.” (In terms of sermon genres, even if long expository sermons are undesirable, this may lead to another undesirability: the inevitability of the autobiographical.)
Rev. White also notes that placing ourselves “under the authority of Scripture” along with others means “our pride must die,” especially our “pride in our abilities,” so the ascetic act of trying to understand Scripture itself, with pens and pencils and grandmothers, itself helps us to understand Scripture. The contrast, I gather, is to imagining that Christianity is immanent within us, so that our abilities must be reshaped by the right commentary or expert read in isolation, but that the Gospel narratives might finally be recontextualized away from Christ’s death and our death in him as telos.
Anyway, this was supposed to be short, but thanks for the posts!
Some of it also makes me think of a statement that David Barr made last year: the work of Hans Frei “has remained largely untouched by readers outside of the scholarly guild for nearly half a century.” Why is that?