Hearing and Teaching the Real Bible

Here's a great quote by Frederick Buechner, from the opening lines of "The Magnificent Defeat" in Secrets in the Dark: A Life in Sermons:

When a minister reads out of the Bible, I am sure that at least nine times out of ten the people who happen to be listening at all hear not what is really being said but only what they expect to hear read. And I think that what most people expect to hear read from the Bible is an edifying story, an uplifting thought, a moral lesson—something elevating, obvious, and boring. So that is exactly what very often they do hear. Only that is too bad because if you really listen—and maybe you have to forget that it is the Bible being read and a minister who is reading it—there is no telling what you might hear.

What do we expect to hear in the Bible? Tales of moral heroes? Seven Keys to a successful spiritual life? Or passages that say only what we already think they say? More than that, I hope.

More troubling is the question of what to do when we can't make sense of the Bible, or when a "plain reading" of the text contradicts what we expected to find. Move on to something else? Ignore the differences? Harmonize everything into a nonsensical porridge? Run to the footnotes, as we would the solution to a crossword puzzle beyond our ability, and rest in the arms of whoever wrote the opinions commentary we find there?

Our experiences with the Bible from earliest childhood shape our response to both these questions. If Bible "training" in Sunday School consists of Quiz Bowl drills and fill-in-the-blank responses, then confusion when we try to read the Bible for ourselves should be a too-familiar occurrence, a sort of purgatory in which we must patiently wait until someone more spiritually gifted delivers the unintuitive-but-correct-somehow explanation; and a view of the Scriptures as an unappealing blend of Dick and Jane stories, fortune cookie wisdom, and esoteric riddles would be the natural result of our experience. And if Bible study for adults resembles the kiddie version.... No wonder we sound like the Israelites when they insisted they would much prefer God speak only to Moses. Why try to read the Bible when the pastor is so much better at it? Why bother raising your hand when you're probably wrong? Spiritual pablum goes down easier when it's all we've ever had.

At what age are children in most churches told that parts of the Bible are actually ambiguous, even to the "initiate," or that it doesn't provide satisfactory answers to some very serious questions, or that equally-saved Christians interpret some of the same passages in very different ways—and what those differences are, and how this could happen if we all read the same Bible and have the same Spirit? At what age are they told that the Bible has any purpose beyond "right answers" and that they are allowed to question? I suspect that the age is somewhere between "after finishing Sunday School" and "never." 

But why? What do we gain by creating the illusion of a uniform and perfect interpretation for every verse in the Bible, and suggesting that only our people have it figured out, and ignoring the reality of normal and even healthy diversity within the church, and treating the Bible like a magical dictionary or cookbook to be consulted from time to time? Other than a convenient script and a Quiz Bowl answer key for the harried volunteer in the classroom, that is.

I know what we lose when we engage in this perhaps unintentional mythologizing, when the children figure out that their church is sending them off to college or the workplace "equipped" with a grab bag of Bible trivia, Chick tract theology, straw man scientific arguments, and prejudice against those who don't believe exactly as we do: credibility. We appear gullible and ignorant, if not dishonest and biased. We lose the right to be heard when they have real questions about faith, or when they discover the rest of the Body of Christ. And as a result, and even if we do manage to keep them until they finish high school, the church loses most of its next generation.

We need to do better. We need to be honest about the Bible, the church, and our faith. Messy and complex though they may be, that is what the Lord has given and left for us. Do we doubt that he knew what he was doing? Do we really think he needed us to tidy up his mess and package things better for the little ones? O we of little faith.... Suffer the children. Let them come!

The Appeal of Buddhism

Buddhism appeals to me in several ways. Primarily in terms of fashion, mind you. Who wouldn't jump at saffron robes and a shaved head? Also, mystical disciplines. And the lure of kung fu powers, of course. More philosophically, Buddhism's greatest appeal concerns its understanding of what causes human suffering: our desires or, as I think of them, our expectations.

Some people do a much better job of setting aside their expectations and taking life as it comes. My Uncle Bill, for example. And Llonio in Lloyd Alexander's Taran Wanderer, who smiled and created a feast from whatever his children brought to him each day. These people see serendipity all around them. These people's lives are marked by joy and grace.

Most of what awareness I have of my expectations I credit to ESI, who gave me six weeks of training before sending me to a post-apocalyptic, third world wasteland to teach English.

"Expectations. What are my expectations?" was the mantra. What do I expect that I will accomplish? What do I expect from others in this crazy land? What do I expect from my teammates? Gene Edward's The Prisoner in the Third Cell later taught me to ask myself what I expect from God and what I will do when God disappoints my expectations.

The latter question is the more important one. How will I respond when my expectations are not met? And whose fault will it be? More on this another time.

These are crucial questions in a marriage. These are crucial questions in all relationships, including the church. What are reasonable expectations to place on the church, or on a pastor? Do I expect that people read my mind when I need prayer or am cowering in my sin caves? Do I expect that the music match my preferences? That the sermons address my most pressing spiritual needs each week? That a red carpet be rolled out for my gifts and talents to be used in the main weekly service? That the pastor become my best friend and invite me over for holidays and birthdays? Or do I expect that I "be fed," according to my definition of what spiritual feeding is, of course, and with the spiritual foods that I find tastiest--and as if my feeding were not my own responsibility.

If I am honest, I bring such expectations to my church, though I rarely voice them. Their common theme: Me. The "I" in the middle of "sin," as some have said. Are these expectations reasonable? Biblical? Selfless? Are they consistent with "preferring one another" (Romans 12:10)? Do they lead to greater maturity or testify of Christ's resurrection to a lost and dying world? Do they glorify God or bring him delight? Hardly.

What is worse, I often confuse my expectations with my rights, but not my right to remain silent, or my right to take up my cross daily--to "Die, sucker, die." And now I have a problem greater than disappointment, greater than the Buddha's "suffering." Now I am tempted to justify my displeasure, my boredom, my lack of love. And I fit my neck for a millstone.