The Highway.com

"You’re taking it out of context," one posted. "You are teaching false doctrine."

"You lack discernment," followed another. "You can’t just pick and choose."

"You need to read all of the Bible," added a third.

"You need to let the Holy spirit guide you," a fourth continued.

"Context. Context. Context."

Context Context Context.

The day did not matter; the responses were always the same. It always began with a verse, but ended with a question of credibility. This, the world of the cyber-Christian, had become our nightly home, and we had just finished another "scripture war." My wife would man the keyboard, and I would be available, if she needed help, our computers side by side on a homemade desk. She was the voice; I was the research, and the room was simply titled "Beliefs Christian." Often alone within a hostile crowd, her quick wit, rock-solid faith, and love for her neighbor drove her passionate defense of those deemed unworthy, unfit to share cyberspace with a "true believer." From homosexuals, to pagans, to any of the participants deemed as failing "to bear good fruits" . . . my wife would always come to their aid, living the message she understood always as the core of her faith: Love God; love your neighbor as yourself.

"But We have the Word," was always their response. A book written by God had given them permission to ridicule and persecute all who did not meet their standards of purity and piety, yet they ignored their own shortcomings, exemplified by their harsh treatment of all who crossed their path. They were saved; they had said the Sinner’s Prayer; they were no longer accountable for their sin, having "accepted Jesus as their LORD and Savior." They felt duty bound to point out the sin in everyone else’s lives. They felt this was love. They felt justified in "hating the sin," and their weapon of choice was always a book:

"Not my words . . . the Word of God!"

The Holy Bible, God breathed, the Word, literal, inerrant, and truth to fundamentalism: it represents the cornerstone of Christian faith, the only connection we have to the events that shaped our entire religious system. Every Sunday more than a billion Christians go to services to hear it read and explained. Some go further, attending study groups, purchasing guides, concordances, and lexicons designed to facilitate understanding of what we are convinced is a highly complex book only a select few can truly grasp.

For those who crave more, universities were created to teach "discernment," Bible Colleges complete with tuition fees and a well-paid staff to further instruction on what a religion says a book really means. What Paul called a gift from God (1Cor 12:4-11) can now be purchased for a small fortune, and a growing number of our young adults are taking full advantage. They attend lectures and study commentaries that are supposed to prepare them for any "stumbling block"(cf. Mt. 16:23) that they may encounter, but they only succeed in restating, refining, and reinforcing the dogma they already knew. After four years, they come out with a degree and a mission to save the world; but they really haven’t left with much more than what they had when they entered . . . at least when it comes to understanding what the Bible says. They were simply more polished, subtle in their spiel . . . at least the many I met.

For our children, Christianity provides schools, youth groups, and Bible camps, another expense and staff designed to guide and mold their proper spiritual education. They learn, make friends, play games and share in activities as they mature into responsible Christian adults ready to save the world . . . or at least attend a Bible College that will get them better prepared. These were the ones "on fire for Jesus," the passion and innocence of a child tapped into by a well-oiled machine, and I often remember that this was how my wife’s childhood friend used to be. The world was her oyster, and Jesus was her pearl. But sadly like her, the children we met in the chats would someday grow up, and the foundations of hatred and fear were already being laid. But we left them alone; it was not our place, and their future was not necessarily carved in stone. Time would have to tell.

For those who still crave more, Christian television and radio stations abound, supporting what a religion teaches, dictating what is proper in the eyes of "the LORD." Often billed as "wholesome entertainment for the entire family," they simply regurgitate dogma in a more marketable form, reminding us all of our need to save the world. It is lights, action, cameras as we watch the star of the show "testify," and we conveniently see images of an eager, agreeable audience with eyes closed in serene meditation at just the right moment. A picture is worth a thousand words, and Christians now have a steady stream, to fuel their tanks when they felt they were running dry.

A religion provides and sanctions all of these to help its membership understand and apply the words of a single book.

Whatever happened to just reading it?

A product of the Catholic education system, I felt confident that I was getting all the tools I needed to understand my Christian faith. I went to Church twice a week, more when I served as an altar boy, and I had a class in religion every day. The Bible was read, sermonized, taught and discussed, ready-made answers given to me to guide me in my faith. I was told what to believe and why, and felt confident that I was well versed in the Bible, understanding its central message. Naturally, I assumed that after all the classes I had taken, services I had attended, I had made it through the Bible at least once vicariously, so I never really considered cracking its binders myself. As an adult, I carried the presuppositions of my youth, confident that my belief system was well founded and biblical, never once questioning the fundamental truths I had learned.

Jesus was God to me . . . Mary, the perpetual virgin. Joseph was the kind carpenter who provided them a home and a heritage. He taught his adopted son the trade, and I pictured them working side by side in a crude workshop, making furniture or fixing doors. At the age of thirty, Jesus comes to the Jordan River to be baptized by John, his cousin. (Lk 1:36) He leaves the water and ventures into the desert for forty days where he is tempted by Satan. He returns unscathed, selects his twelve chosen Apostles, and they embark on a three-year ministry, which ends in a triumphal entry into Jerusalem before the Passover Feast and his preordained sacrifice on a cross. The lamb of Exodus is the Son of God sent to offer Himself as ransom for our sins. On the third day he rose to fulfill the promise God made to us, and the rest is history.

Jesus is the Word.

Jesus is God.

Jesus is the second part of the Holy Trinity, the sacred Godhead, and the only way for us to find salvation. The Bible says so. The Old Testament predicted it, the Gospels proclaimed it, the Epistles defended it, and Revelations told us what to expect when he comes back. All of this I knew to be true, but I had never read any of it for myself. I never needed to. Without ever having looked at the words on its pages, I had been given an entire belief system complete with conditions, expectations and warnings if I failed to comply. If I am good, God will reward me. If I am bad, God will punish me. If I don’t do it the way I am told I should, I don’t belong. The context of my faith, my understanding of the Bible, was wholly the dogma of the Roman Catholic Church.

I left The Church on August 1, 1981, the day I married a non Catholic who would never convert. What God had joined together, I would not allow the Church to tear asunder.

As we journeyed through our adult lives together, we tried on a few different Christian hats, but could never find the right fit. I was still trapped within the vestiges of my Catholic roots, while she carried the teachings of her non-denominational Bible church. We both knew the truth, but never discussed how they differed. We both were confident in our faiths, but never actually read its source. We had found peace and solace in a secular life, some things better left unsaid.

Still, I had no reason to read the Word.

Every time I tried to take the plunge into the seemingly endless archaic passages, I never made it past the Gospel of Mark in the New Testament, the Book of Numbers in the Old Testament. "I already knew what the Bible said," I thought. "What was the point?" I was a Christian destined for salvation, if I towed the line here and now. She was a Christian too, saved in spite of her Protestant ways. God would welcome her in heaven and set her straight there. In a cold, matter of fact fashion I had categorized her and everyone else, decided without a thought where they belonged in the grand scheme of things.

I knew the truth, or so I thought.

"Catholics aren’t Christians," I saw posted regularly in the internet chat forums we frequented.

"They belong to a cult."

"They worship Mary."

"They pray to statues."

Christianity preached from a different context, this was the hard-core, evangelical, fundamentalist position as expressed by its faithful. Salvation was "by grace alone,"(Eph. 2:8-9) my "works like filthy rags." I must accept Jesus unto my heart as my "personal" Savior, always aware that we are all sinners by nature who need to repent. "The wages of sin is death,"(Rom. 6:23) they told me regularly. "The free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord." But the gift was not really free as I heard and read the dogmatic fine print. Somewhere along the line individuality, the very thing that makes any relationship personal, is lost as we begin to mimic the faithful in our new surroundings. The Bible becomes literal, inerrant and true, a history, science, and English book all rolled into one as even the way we speak seems to parrot scripture of choice. Everything I already knew meant nothing. The more than twelve years of my daily study into a two thousand-year history meant nothing. All of the events that lead them to be who they were meant even less, and I wondered if they were forgetting their ancestors, their protest against a religion out of control. Cutting themselves off from their Catholic and early Protestant ancestry, they claimed the Bible was their only source, almost as if they envisioned themselves being the generation immediately following Jesus and Paul. They believed they had captured the essence of Christianity, and they dedicated themselves to being sole masters of the Word, bastions of the true faith.

Or were they?

Every time we discussed the meaning of scripture, I noticed a familiar pattern . . . single sentences sometimes less, taken from different parts of the Bible, combined to form an argument, then labeled a proclamation of truth. A main course of Paul, flavored with a pinch of Jesus, a dash of Isaiah, Hosea or Jeremiah, became a theological feast on which to dine, flavored perfectly to suit their taste. The Pentateuch was our appetizer, and Revelations provided our just dessert. They knew what they wanted before they ever opened the cupboards, selected what they needed, and made what was palatable to them. When I dared select another spice, the meal was all wrong, ruined beyond repair. I was a mocker, trying to purposely spoil the meal. I did not have discernment, not knowing how to properly cook. I was taking it out of context, using the wrong recipe. I needed to invite the Holy Spirit to guide me, using the proper cookbook. I was treating the Bible like a salad bar or buffet, not realizing I had to wait to be served. They were my waiters, and I did not have their study guides, their training nor the reinforcement of their vast theological network. I was unfit to be a proper chef, unqualified to serve myself.

But aren’t we all using the same book?

Is it not supposed to be God breathed?

A book is only as good as its ability to be read. We become drawn into the mind of the author, hear his voice telling the story, and feel drawn into its imagery. Strange exotic locations or a simple farm in the middle of nowhere fills the scene, as we become part of the story from casual observers to main character to omnipotent being that sees and knows all. The characters come to life, are given faces and personalities made as real as the person next door, and we feel their joys and sorrows as if they are a close friend. When we are done, we are left with a memory, a slightly different perspective, or simply something new to think about, the inherent value of the time we spent reading in what we bring with us.

The book becomes a part of us and we are able to describe it in our own words, good or bad. Our ability to sum up the story, praise or condemn it, rests on how well we can put it into our own words, again a credit to the skill of the author. Any book that cannot be understood will never be given a fair review. Any book that cannot be described in a simple conversation usually ends up lost and forgotten on a shelf.

When I think of this, I have to wonder, why God would write a book that nobody can understand?

I would think that if God actually sat down to write a book, it should be fairly clear, concise, and easy to read. He would know His audience, and write in a way they could easily understand. Anybody should be able to open its cover, read the words and find meaning, but virtually every argument centers around what passages are the right ones to use, how they are to be properly interpreted. Somehow there was always a context outside the Bible influencing how it should be understood. A simple book became a vast theological network. Somewhere the network became more important than what it was developed to support, and the central core of Christian thought became more like a dictionary to help true believers dot their "I’s" and cross our "T’s". The Word became an instruction manual; The Bible became "basic instructions before leaving Earth . . . B.I.B.L.E." I began to wonder if they had ever actually read it as it was written

Yet I had been no better.

For thirty-eight years I declared myself Christian well aware of what the Bible said. I assumed what I had learned was in accordance with scripture. I had read the parts of the book that supported my way of thinking, and went into them already knowing what I was looking for. Never once had I actually picked it up and started reading, just to see what it said. Even when I made a resolution to do it my motives were suspect, more an obligation than a desire. I would get frustrated and quit by the time I got to Numbers, yet a challenge from a different context compelled me to question my own. The title of a book, The Dark Side of God, by Douglas Lockhart, had spoken to my doubts, but its pages grated on everything I had once held to be true. I had to read the New Testament just to prove him wrong, but I discovered his challenge to a religion was much closer to the truth than I had ever been. Quite by accident, I also discovered a way to make it past the seemingly endless texts. I began with the Gospels, reading the Old Testament book as they were referenced. By the time I had reached the end of the Epistles, I had read nearly three quarters of the Bible . . . the rest did not seem such a large task. In three months I had done what I was lead to believe impossible without guidance.

"You need to read all of the Bible." The words repeated nightly in the chats.

"I did." I said, and my wife typed, "Have you?"

Silence.

In reading it all, I discovered how much I thought I knew, how little I really did, and came to see the self-proclaimed masters of the Word in a whole new light. They no longer intimidated me. I saw through their charade, but the shock of the revelation became secondary to what was happening to me.

I was changing.

A challenge had become an obsession, as I buried myself within the pages of a book trying to make sense of the many contexts unfolding before my eyes. Initially, I searched for a new network to supplement my reading, the works of many eminent biblical scholars and theologians, including John Dominic Crossan, Elaine Pagels, Burton Mack, and eventually John Shelby Spong. For a while, felt solace in my dilemma, as each explained a book to me as it was being formed. I ventured further into studies of the Gnostic scriptures, the texts cast off as unfit to make the final draft, and the writings of early Christian theologians explaining why. I had found a whole new context from which to understand my faith.

A three-year mission became a "heal and a meal" grassroots revolution of a Galilean Cynic designed to bring about a "brokerless kingdom," where even the most impoverished could forge a path to God. (Crossan) The message began to speak more towards enlightenment from our ignorance than redemption from our sins, as different groups tried to make sense of it all. (Pagels) Even the way the Gospels came into being began to take on a new dimension as I began to read Q , and a history of the earliest Christians came into focus as they struggled to maintain their way of life against mounting opposition. (Mack) Some Christians tried to fit their new found faith with their Jewish ancestry, cut short by the destruction of Jerusalem in 70 C. E.(Spong) Some early followers began to merge what they learned about Jesus with the Hellenistic mystery religions and Neo-Platonic thought, (Freke) while others suggested Jesus was closely linked to the Essenes and the Qumran community (Lockhart). James, the Just, was his brother, Jude Thomas Didymus his twin and Mary Magdalene his life partner, as God became the Divine Wisdom described in terms of Aeons, separated from us by our fleshy desires. (Nag Hammadi) Again, I went everywhere else to find answers I desperately needed in the way I was trained, but I had ignored the one place that held the key to it all.

What was a book trying to tell me?

If a book is only as good as its ability to be read and relayed, what would it say to a middle class carpenter living in the 21^st century? Could he put it to practical use? If he could do it, could anyone else? A religion had taught me that I needed it to read and understand a book. When I finally did, I realized the book was not the religion. I believe Christianity is not a religion or an institutional hierarchy; it is not the myriad of theologians, scholars and clergy; it is average, everyday people who quietly seek to follow the Christ. I believe now that anyone can navigate the Bible with a little patience, effort, time, and motivation, and I hope my words can help put a book into the hands of the people who crave its message the most. I do not seek to provide the definitive answer . . . only an alternative, an invitation by example.