Michelle DeRusha

Every Day Faith. Faith Every Day.

Bible study

How I Read the Bible

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I write about Scripture pretty frequently here because, well, I write about faith, and for me, faith and Scripture are woven together like a brightly colored tapestry. But let me be clear: I don’t consider myself a teacher of Scripture at all. At all, at all. This gets tricky, because I write in a public space. I have a platform, and though it’s a small platform, it’s still a platform. People are listening. I need to remember that.

Which is why I feel like I need to set the record straight. We might read the Bible very differently, you and I. And while I believe this is perfectly okay — I believe there is more than one way to read the Bible — I feel like I need to tell you how I read the Bible, just so we’re clear.

I read Scripture mostly in a lectio divina kind of way. Lectio divina literally means “divine reading.” It’s a contemplative way of reading, a practice first established by St. Benedict way back in the sixth century. Reading the Bible this way means that I’m typically reading it very slowly, just a few verses, at most a chapter, at a time, and while I’m reading, I’m opening myself to the possibility that God might have a personal, intimate word for me. This doesn’t always happen. Sometimes — frequently, in fact — I read my morning verses and I come away with nothing. But sometimes a word or a phrase resonates, and so I stay there for a few minutes. I often jot that verse in my notebook and scribble a few thoughts about it, trusting that I am hearing it right and true. These verses and my reflections often come to comprise my Weekend One Word posts.

I believe God’s word is infallible, but I also believe we can interpret his message differently today than, say, the first Christians did 2,000 years ago. I believe the essence of God’s word is constant, yet at the same time fluid.

So, for example, I don’t believe Paul’s exact message to his audience 2,000 years ago is necessarily the exact same message God intends for us through his word today. What God needs you to hear in his word might be different from what he needs me to hear, which might be different from what he needed the Roman Jews and Gentiles to hear (even if we’re all reading the same verse). How God speaks to me through his word might be different from how God speaks to you through his word, which in turn might be different from how God spoke to the Jews and the Gentiles through his word (via Paul’s teaching).

I guess what I’m getting at is that I’m not an authority. I’m just muddling through, trying to make sense of what is often a confounding mystery. My interpretation of Scripture in this space is exactly that – my interpretation; the way I believe God is speaking to me through his word. I trust that the Holy Spirit is leading me in the right direction — and I’ll often ask the H.S. (that’s what I call him for short) outright, “Tell me if I’m off-base here!” — but there are no guarantees. I very well could be wrong. I do not have the last word on God’s word.

I like the way Kathleen Norris puts it in The Cloister Walk. “When I quote Scripture, I am not trying to convince the reader that I have some hold on the truth,” she explains. Instead, she says, “I am telling the story as I have experienced it, as ‘an open door which no one is able to shut.’ (Rev. 3:8)”

Scripture is the living, breathing word of God, an open door which no one can shut. It’s as alive and relevant today as it was yesterday, which means God speaks personally and intimately into our immediate circumstances, just as he did yesterday, a century ago, and two thousand years before that. God is bigger, deeper, fuller and broader than we could ever possibly comprehend. Likewise, I believe his word contains more space for us than we could ever possibly imagine.

 

How to Step Out of a Spiritual Rut

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Yesterday afternoon I did something different. I’d been feeling frustrated with my work, at a loss for what to write about on the blog, uninspired by my current freelance editing project. But instead of doing what I typically do when I’m stuck — ie. scroll through Facebook and browse the Internet — I stepped outside. I donned my gardening gloves and tackled one of the raised beds I can see from my desk – the one that will bloom a fireworks display of orange, yellow, fuschia and red in a few weeks, the tulips we planted several years ago in memory of my mother-in-law. Right now, though, the tulip leaves are choked with a jumble of dead grass, desiccated oak and chestnut leaves and weeds.

The chore took me only 20 minutes or so – I wasn’t out there all day (thought I would have liked to have been) — but when the bed was clean of debris, and I’d shucked my gloves, washed my hands and sat down at my desk again, I found not only that I had something to write about (this post you’re reading now), I also felt reinvigorated and refreshed in a way I never would have, had I stayed seated, mindlessly scrolling through my frustration.

This is a good lesson for me and my writing life, but I think it can also be applied to our spiritual lives, our work lives and our lives in general as well.

The lesson here is this: when you’re stuck, change your routine. 

Lately I’ve found myself mired in a spiritual rut. My standard spiritual discipline is morning Bible reading, and it’s something I’ve done pretty regularly, ever since I found my way back to God and Christianity several years ago. Recently, though, Scripture hasn’t shimmered for me in the way it has in the past. More and more I’ve found my mind wandering, obsessing about the day’s to-do list or the emails stacking up in my in-box or the fact that I forgot to send in Rowan’s field trip permission slip. I was still going through the motions of my morning spiritual practice – the Bible was open on my lap, my eyes were reading the words — but I wasn’t benefitting from it in a real way.

So I tried something new. I purchased a used copy of Phyllis Tickle’s The Divine Hours: Prayers for Springtime, and I began to read the daily offices first thing in the morning with my coffee and last thing at night before I snap off the bedside lamp. I even occasionally manage to read the afternoon office, tucking the book into my purse and pulling it out while I wait in the mini-van for the school dismissal bell.

Changing up my spiritual practice in this one small way has helped. The Daily Office contains some Scripture – a couple of psalms, a reading from the Gospels — along with several prayers and recitations. I am enjoying the rhythm of it – the prayers that are repeated each day of the week, the one that opens the new day and the one that closes the day out in the evening. I find it soothing, and I appreciate the language, which differs a bit from what I’d grown accustomed to in my New Living and New International Bible translations. It’s breathed new life into a routine that had grown stagnant and dull, one that I’d stuck with out of habit and obligation.

I’m a rule-follower, which means I don’t typically have a problem with discipline. The downside to that, though, is that I resist relinquishing a particular discipline, even when it’s stopped working. I feel guilty. I feel like I’ve “failed.” And I especially feel that way because my primary spiritual discipline is Bible reading. I mean really, what kind of Christian burns out on the Bible?

But listen, if this is sounding familiar to you, too, give yourself some grace. Try something new; change up your routine. There are other ways to “read” the Bible. Experiment with The Divine Hours or The Book of Common Prayer. Download an app like Daily Bible, which will send you a verse on your phone every morning that you can either read or listen to. Listen to the Bible while you’re walking the dog. Or try something new altogether – contemplative prayer, silence, weeding. I promise, God will still love you, even if you’re not reading his Word every single day.

If you’re feeling stuck, whether in your spiritual life, your work life, or your life in general, step outside…literally and/or figuratively. I think you’ll be surprised by the postive impact even a small change in your routine can make.

When Your Spiritual Life Looks Like Cheerios and Sliced Red Pepper

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Every few weeks or so we announce it’s “Fend Night” around here. Usually Fend happens when Brad and I are tired of the complaints about stinky fish and laments about “Soup? Again?” Or when the cupboards contain a single stick of Juicy Fruit and a can of refried beans.

That’s when I’ll declare, “Iiiiiiiiiiit’s Fend!” and the kids cheer because they know what it means: Fend for yourself, people. You’re on your own. Scrap around, figure it out. Scrape together what you can. Make the best in less-than-ideal circumstances. The only requirement of Fend is that their dinner include one serving of vegetable. Usually the kids have a bowl of cereal and a side of sliced red pepper. Classic Fend.

I realized this week that sometimes my spiritual life looks a little bit like Fend. The truth is, sometimes I have to make do with less-than-ideal circumstances. I don’t always have the proper array of spiritual ingredients: morning quiet time, Bible study, small group, worship, prayer.  Sometimes I have to put together a smattering of what’s available, when and where I can grab it. Sometimes my spiritual life looks a little slap-dash, like Cheerios and sliced red pepper.

Such is the case with my morning quiet time. During the last two years I’ve carved out a half hour or so every morning to read the Bible and pray before the kids get up and bedlam descends. That all changed, though, when Noah transitioned to middle school this year, which has a one hour earlier start time than Rowan’s elementary school. Suddenly my morning quiet time was disrupted by lunch making and chopping lettuce for the pet lizard. Suddenly my morning quiet time wasn’t very quiet.

For a while I simply bailed on the quiet Bible study time. Getting up an hour earlier was not an option. Even the good Lord knows I morph into Medusa Mother when I am short on sleep, morning Gospels or not. So I slept in for a couple of weeks. But then, as I settled into the new drop-off and pick-up school routine, I discovered a new sliver of time – 20 minutes between Noah’s pick-up and Rowan’s.

And so, for now, I Fend. I make do with what I have. Quiet time in my car isn’t ideal. It’s awkward as all get-up to write with my prayer journal splayed out over my steering wheel. Thanks to Nebraska’s volatile weather, I’m alternately sweating or shivering in the driver’s seat. Plus, half the time I forget my glasses and am forced to squint beady-eyed at the tiny NLT script. I’m considering purchasing a pair of reading glasses to keep in the mini-van. Clearly I am now officially old.

You know what, though? For all its inconveniences, Bible study in the mini-van works for now. It’s good enough. And sometimes, in matters of both physical and spiritual sustenance, we simply have to pull together what’s readily available to get by. Sometimes we have to Fend in order to survive and thrive. Sometimes good-enough turns out to be more than enough.

Do you ever have to Fend in your spiritual life or otherwise? What does Fending look like for you?

Linking with Emily for Imperfect Prose and Jennifer for #TellHisStory.