Foreword (Better Ways to Read the Bible)
by Sarah Bessey
If you were introduced to the Bible as an answer book or as a manual for a prosperous life, well, how’s that going for you?
For those of us who came of age with a version of Christianity that depends on certainty, like-mindedness, and answer-book faith, when we lose that certainty, it can feel like we’ve lost God altogether. In all my years alongside people doing the good, difficult work of reimagining their faith, I can attest that nowhere is that disorientation more felt than in our relationship with the Scriptures.
Building a faith that depends on narrow boxes for God may work for a time, but eventually real life happens to us all. Your church has become a political action committee that you no longer recognize, the prayer isn’t answered, the memorized Romans Road feels inadequate in the face of suffering, and the story of Abraham nearly sacrificing Isaac horrifies you as you turn the pages of the children’s Bible you bought for your toddler.
Perhaps it is then that you find us.
You find the misfits and doubters, the question-askers and so-called troublemakers. You find the ones who asked “But what about . . . ?” in church too often. You find bleeding hearts and social justice warriors, burned-out pastors’ wives with a lot of thoughts on patriarchy, purity culture dropouts, liberation theologians and womanists, and gay folks who love and follow Jesus better than your churchy friends, and, well, here you are.
You also find people like Zach Lambert, who was once kicked out of church as a teenager for being a heretic (impressive; it took me until my late twenties to be regularly called a heretic, so clearly you are in the presence of a prodigy) and is now a pastor and theologian.
Welcome. Welcome. We’re so glad you’re here. You’re right on time. Yes, when you find yourself among those whose faith has lost its shine, whose certainty becomes a mystery, and whose relationship with the Bible is best described as “it’s complicated,” you’re exactly where you need to be. You’re at an altar of encounter with God.
This was certainly my experience. I grew up within the prosperity gospel and Word of Faith movements of the 1980s and ’90s. If you needed some naming and/or claiming, some declaring of “the Word” or positive confession or memorized Bible verses to be fired off at will and out of context, then I was your gal. I truly loved my Bible with an intensity reserved for us religious teenagers who equate certainty with faithfulness and belovedness.
When I also entered the healthy and developmentally normal stage of faith of questioning the Bible more than twenty years ago, it was profoundly disorienting. Wasn’t my love for Jesus and my love for the Bible supposed to inoculate against doubt? Was this a sign that I wasn’t as faithful as I had felt? Perhaps I had been deceived. Or was I in danger of being prideful and of elevating my own understanding over God’s Word (or perhaps worse, over my pastor’s opinion)?
But no, I had landed in that place of what I now know as deconstruction precisely because God’s love was so immediate, so real, so tangible to me, that I couldn’t help beginning to grapple with how I was going to embody that hope and goodness, even in my reading of the Bible. As pastor and theologian Jasper Peters said at an Evolving Faith conference a few years ago, “The more God’s love took ahold of me, the more difficult it became to read the text [the Bible] in the way that I always had.”
I have a hunch that that same difficulty with the Bible is what may have brought you to this book. As God’s love took hold of you, the answers that once seemed so secure began to feel trite, the interpretations that once seemed so certain became a source of doubt, and the boundaries that once seemed so settled were expanded. The more we understand and live within the inclusive, welcoming, hospitable, and life-changing love of God, the more we wrestle with an incomplete or even harmful reading of the Bible.
We’re not the anomaly, nor are we a cautionary tale. We are part of a faithful story of believers and doubters, church kids and skeptics who begin to understand that to love the Bible, to truly love this ancient library of books, means to honestly wrestle with the Bible. There is so much good life on the other side of that disorientation.
Sadly, most of us have not had the fortunate experience of doing that good, hard work alongside a good pastor who loves God, loves their Bible, and loves us like Zach Lambert does.
There is no shortage of people who will help you tear down what was once precious to you and then dance upon the grave. But it is a rare thing to find a trustworthy guide and shepherd in the next necessary step of reimagining and rebuilding, in the healing and the hope that is possible. Zach is interested in the unlearning that we need to do about the Bible, absolutely, but he isn’t content to stop there. He invites us to release the narratives and frameworks for understanding the Bible that cause harm and division. Then he flings open the door wide for a broader, wiser, more grounded understanding of the Bible, one that brings healing, and even perhaps some hope, for all God’s children. Learning a better way to read the Bible is part of our work to better love not only God but each other.
None of this is theoretical. How we read the Bible changes how we think, spend our money, vote, show up in our communities, love our neighbors, and so many other aspects of our lives. A bad, incomplete, wicked, or even just selfish reading of the Bible is profoundly dangerous. As Zach writes, “Jesus chastised folks who weaponized Scripture and elevated it above love of neighbor. He repeatedly denounced those who used sacred texts to divide rather than unite, incite violence rather than make peace, and exclude rather than include.” Learning how to read the Bible again is not merely a theory to us anymore: this work matters deeply not only in your own heart and life but in the lives of your neighbors and this world God so loves.
God’s love is what compelled Zach Lambert to ask those pesky questions in youth group. It’s what compelled him to study the Bible years later when he attended seminary. It’s what compelled him to give up a position at a megachurch because of the way the Scriptures were being used to harm the most vulnerable and marginalized. It drove him to teachers and companions who reshaped how he read the same Scriptures he once assumed he knew so well. That same love led him to plant a church in Austin to embody that hope and teach folks how to read the Bible in a more whole, healing, inclusive, and, I believe, biblical way. And that love is what compelled him to write this book for us. Rejecting the lenses of literalism or moralism or even hierarchy among others, Zach invites us to read the Bible through a lens formed by our revolutionary Jesus, by the context of the particulars, by flourishing, and even by fruitfulness.
What Zach models here is the key to carrying forward this conversation about how we read, interpret, understand, and even apply the Bible: it is humility. Zach is a vigorous thinker, unafraid to shy away from the big questions. But he is also deeply pastoral. Underneath all of these words, you’ll find a kind, hospitable, and quiet invitation to curiosity, to wonder, and even to rest in the love of God as we seek to follow Jesus. As Zach says and demonstrates so beautifully in the following pages, the way of Jesus always leads to healing, not harm. And that healing includes how you read and are formed by your Bible.
Reflection Questions:
What resonated with you most? Is there something you could relate to from your own experience?
What did you not resonate with or could not relate to?
How would you describe your current relationship with the bible and why?
What are some of the most salient questions, doubts or wrestlings you have with the bible today?
What would you be your hope as we embark on this collective journey of learning and exploring better ways to read the bible?