What Frozen Taught Me about Bible Study

I’ve seen this movie a million times. Not this exact film, of course, but many like it. O Disney, how you love your clichés; let me count the ways:

• Cutting edge, beautiful animation? Check.
• Pleasantly catchy tunes? Check.
• Adventurous young princess pushing boundaries? Check.
• Handsome young feller rolling over for his sweet crush? Check.
• Skin-deep, feelings-driven love at first sight? Check.
• Confusing this love with “true love”? Check.
• Promises of gooey sentimentality? Check.
• Look inside, find yourself, break free, follow your heart, “Let It Go”? Check. Check. Check. Check. Check.

The movie’s action turns on the declaration that “only an act of true love can thaw a frozen heart.” Upon hearing such drivel, I begin preparing an agenda for discussion. I think, My daughter—mesmerized by her first theatrical experience—must learn to see through these lies. I’m glad we came, for it will be a good exercise in discernment.

However, something shifted. I need to see the movie again to remember exactly when and how it shifted, but the shift was clear. The seeds of drivel sown throughout the movie never bore fruit. In fact, those seeds were trampled on, dug up, and burned in the fire (or should I say frostbitten and discarded?).

Everything got turned on its head and flipped around, such that infatuation proved unsatisfying, self-indulgence had to cease, and true love required personal sacrifice.

Now here is something to celebrate.

What did this movie teach me about Bible study?

I could write about the Bible’s message of true love—the sacrifice of the only innocent one, who thaws our frozen hearts and restores us into God’s royal family—but I don’t want to give away any detailed plot spoilers from the movie. (I recommend this excellent reflection on Frozen by my friend Sarah Monticue.)

I could write about the bankruptcy of self-actualization, but it’s way too easy a target.

Instead, I’ll write about how Frozen reminded me not to presume an interpretation simply because I’ve observed something familiar.

The clichés were familiar. The message was familiar. The cinematic devices were familiar. The movie’s direction seemed familiar.

This familiarity led me to presume the movie’s main point. I was preparing to rebut the message of inward sovereignty and misdirected authenticity. But if I had stopped watching and hearing, I could have missed the film’s true intention.

So it is with the Bible. The more we read and study, the more likely we are to find ourselves in familiar territory.

And such familiarity comes at great risk. We presume to know what we’re reading. “I know that story,” “I’ll skim the part I’ve been through before,” and “I understand this; it’s time to move on” all put us in danger of missing the point. And since the point is to know Jesus better, I presume we won’t want to miss the point.

“Therefore we must pay much closer attention to what we have heard, lest we drift away from it” (Heb 2:1, ESV).

How can we become better observers?

I notice this danger when I read emails or blogs or books that quote Scripture. I often skip the quotation (since I’m familiar with the Bible already) and dedicate my attention to what’s new (what this person wrote about the quote). The more I notice myself doing it, the more I realize the frequency with which I do it.

And I’ve realized that I do it in my Bible reading as well. As soon as I hit the familiar parts, I fly through them to get to something more innovative and exciting.

We must be aware of this tendency so we can resist it. Let’s master observation so we can perpetually build on what we know, but without presuming that there’s nothing more to learn. Let’s learn not only to see but to observe.

One thing that helps me to fight deadening familiarity is to read a different translation each year. Also, I like switching Bibles from time to time, so a familiar text isn’t on the same part of the page. But not everyone is like me. What do you find helpful in resisting familiarity and presumption in Bible study?

Perhaps you find my advice a bit cold, as though I would prefer unfamiliarity over familiarity. Please know that I’m arguing not for ignorance but for careful observation.

And, well, the cold never bothered me anyway.