In a recent book I finished reading called The Way of Thomas Merton: A Prayer Journey through Lent, the author makes this insightful claim, reflecting on Merton’s approach to reading the Bible: “[T]he Bible must be read existentially. That is to say, in order to read the Bible at all is to read it as if one’s life depended on it, not as if the book were meant for someone else. The book’s meaning and value simply does not yield itself to a purely analytical or dispassionate reading. An ‘alienated reading,’ as Merton calls it, looks at the Bible as an artefact of the past or a species of antique theology. Neither reading is in sync with the book’s true organizing principle” (from Robert Inchausti, The Way of Thomas Merton: A Prayer Journey through Lent, London: SPCK, 2022, p. 89).
I’ve certainly found in my teaching that the Bible is often approached as an artifact, or at the very least, with some sense of separation, or “alienation” as Merton put it, between reader and text. I have come to diligently avoid Biblical commentaries that are dryer than a valley of bones and that miss the forest for the trees in interpreting a living Word that should put sinews and flesh on the dry bones of our lives. After all, the Letter to the Hebrews tells us that “the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing until it divides soul from spirit, joints from marrow; it is able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart” (4:12). Our modern mindsight too often wants to treat Scripture as an archaeological dig or an objective text mined for knowledge or, more usually, clues to be crudely used for salvation.
But historically, the Bible was read more imaginatively, and certainly more prayerfully than we are wont to do. Monks of old, who had few books in their libraries, would “chew” on the text slowly. This method of reading, often called lectio divina, involved a slow and prayerful reading of a Biblical text until some word or phrase would “light up.” The reader would then put the text aside and use said word or phrase as an impetus to prayer.
Another prayerful way of reading Scripture is Ignatian in character (inspired by Ignatius of Loyola). One puts oneself in the text, “as if you were there” when the action happened. The readers hears things, smells things, touches things, and is sensorily engaged with the text. One might be the woman at the well whom Jesus doesn’t condemn but looks upon in love. One might be Jonah, pouting under the bush. One might even be Judas, who betrays his Lord.
In the bimonthly Bible study that I lead at Bryn Mawr College, we attempt to read the text on various levels, but principally, in a spiritual fashion. And my experience has shown that most of the students are less interested in heady, academic “mining” of the text than they are in discerning how the text is speaking to their lives, right then and there. Such holy reading submits to the movement of the Holy Spirit.
The final spiritual practice of Lent named in the Invitation to a Holy Lent on Ash Wednesday is “reading and meditating on God’s holy Word” (BCP, p. 265). There are many ways to do this, some of which I’ve already enumerated. Praying the Daily Office of Morning and Evening Prayer is one of the best ways to swim in the sea of Scripture. The Daily Office regularly exposes us to more Scripture than we’d normally encounter in other liturgies. And obviously, we hear a lot of Scripture at Sunday Mass. But I want to suggest that the way we encounter Scripture liturgically is far different from a Bible study. In the liturgy, we don’t encounter Scripture with our heads buried in the text; we allow God’s Word to speak to our hearts through the ritual movement of our bodies and the shape of the liturgy. We listen. And when we listen—rather than read—we are impacted differently.
We will soon be entering into the holiest of weeks for Christians. In the liturgies of that week, we participate in the saving events of our salvation, and the use of Scripture in those liturgies is intended to convict, judge, and give hope to our mortal lives. Above all, this Word of God, which we hear all the time, is living and active. It gives meaning to our lives, past, present, and future. It’s one way in which God touches each of us personally. As we draw near to the cross and empty tomb, may God’s holy Word enliven your heart and your mind, and may you find in it, the risen Christ, who has already prepared a place for us in the heavens.
Yours in Christ,
Father Kyle