Helping ordinary people learn to study the Bible
Donald Whitney reminds us to ask this most basic question as often as possible: “What does the Bible say?”
Nothing will simplify our lives more than finding the will of God on a matter and doing it. And the best way to discover the will of God is to search the Word of God.
This habit will change everything.
Whitney’s short post is worth considering in full. Check it out!
Knowable Word just had its 500th post, and I’m feeling a bit like the Egyptians giving all their stuff away to the fleeing Hebrew slaves. Except I don’t want you to leave. And I promise not to make you find your own straw. And I’m not hardening my heart against God’s promises to his people. And… Well, okay, it’s not a great analogy. I was just trying to come up with a biblical example of exuberant generosity.
Eric Angelo (2007), Creative Commons
The point is this: To celebrate the 500th post, I would like to give away a free Bible to someone who can use it. You can have your choice of an ESV Reader’s Bible or any one of the markup Bibles Ryan recommended.
In addition, four runners-up will each receive a free e-book of Knowable Word.
To enter the giveaway, all you have to do is show us you’ll know how to use your new Bible. To that end, you’ll have to make observations of the text of Job chapter 14. I’m counting on the fact that you’ve never been in a Bible study on Job 14 and that you’ll come to the text without too much familiarity. Perhaps I’m just a sucker, though, and I presume too much, like the Jedi in that prequel episode everyone loves to hate.
Last week, Desiring God published a revised version of an article I wrote as part of the “Big Bible Words” series on this site. In the article, I explain the concept of glory in plain language.
Glory is value, beauty, importance, weight, or rank. It’s possible to praise something without truly glorifying it, such as the public official who smiles with his wife for the cameras but reserves fondest and truest affection for his nameless mistress. And it’s possible to glorify the wrong things — things unworthy of supreme value. But it’s not possible to fake glory. We can’t truly assign value to things we don’t value.
This revised article has more explanation and application than the article here on KW. You may want to check it out!
Let’s not overreact.
When the Bible’s glorious message of grace penetrates the hearts of Christ-loving people born or bred in legalistic communities, the temptation to overreact looms large. Such folks draw attention away from rule-keeping and toward faith and mercy. They notice the largely narrative makeup of Scripture, and they revel in this greatest of all stories. They delight in the overarching narrative of God’s plan to rescue his people through the person and work of Jesus Christ. They bask in God’s redemption, and they get the shakes around too many precepts, moralisms, or “Be good like Bible character X” sermons.
Emily Raw (2008), Creative Commons
And they should do all these things. But please, let’s not overreact.
I’m guilty; I’ve done it. I’ve encouraged others to do it. And it’s dangerous, because something about this particular overreaction feels right.
For example, Sally Lloyd-Jones, who did the world a tremendous service by writing The Jesus Storybook Bible, overstates her case in an article entitled “Teach Children the Bible is Not About Them“:
When we drill a Bible story down into a moral lesson, we make it all about us. But the Bible isn’t mainly about us, and what we are supposed to be doing — it’s about God, and what he has done!
When we tie up the story in a nice neat, little package, and answer all the questions, we leave no room for mystery. Or discovery. We leave no room for the child. No room for God.
When we say, “Now what that story is all about is…”, or “The point of that story is…” we are in fact totally missing the point. The power of the story isn’t in summing it up, or drilling it down, or reducing it into an abstract idea.
Because the power of the story isn’t in the lesson.
The power of the story is the story.
It’s funny, because just a few paragraphs later, Ms. Lloyd-Jones states that she wrote The Jesus Storybook Bible in part so children would know “that — in spite of everything, no matter what, whatever it cost him — God won’t ever stop loving his children… with a wonderful, Never Stopping, Never Giving Up, Unbreaking, Always and Forever Love.” I’m not sure how that’s any different from saying, “The point of that story is…” Lloyd-Jones has a great story to tell, and she teaches an essential lesson from that story.
The simple truth is this: Bible stories have a point. Biblical authors had pastoral reasons for including some stories and excluding others from their narratives. They had educational reasons for including certain details and excluding others. (For a case study, see my analysis of the four feeding of the 5,000 accounts.) When it comes to interpreting the point of a story, we could be right or wrong, but we can’t say there is no point. We’re misreading the Bible unless we remember that “all Scripture is … profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, that the man of God may be complete, equipped for every good work” (2 Tim 3:16-17). Even when we keep Jesus at the center, where he belongs, these stories still have lessons, principles, and role models for modern readers young and old.
Everything written was meant to teach us, that we might be encouraged to have hope (Rom 15:4). Biblical narratives offer both examples and warnings to us (1 Cor 10:6, 11). Of course, these stories are about what God has done. But that doesn’t mean they’re not also about what God wants for us, through us, in us, or around us.
We can and should look for the author’s main point in each story, and we can do so without falling into the errors of legalism or self-righteous moralism.
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If you’re looking to buy an amazing storybook Bible for children and you click the Amazon link above, you’ll support this blog at no extra cost to yourself. This is not a legalistic disclaimer; just free grace coming from you to us so we can keep blogging about Bible study.
Sometimes we don’t observe well because we’re too familiar with a passage. Then we presume the meaning of a text and stifle ongoing curiosity. In the end, things stay the same, and inertia prevents vibrant application.
Sure, we can see the problem in others. Jehovah’s Witnesses miss the point of John 1:1. Theological liberals miss the mark on John 14:6. Many presume upon Romans 1:26-27 and mistakenly consider it irrelevant to the contemporary same-sex marriage movement.
But can we see the problem in ourselves? We, who claim to love God’s knowable word and who work to study it and submit to it? The deadening progression from familiarity to presumption to inertia is subtle enough that we usually can’t see it, even when we’re aware of the danger.
That’s why I decided to tackle one of evangelicalism’s most hallowed mottos: “Jesus didn’t break a bruised reed.”
The metaphor seems self-evident. “Bruised reeds are people who are broken and needy, people worn out and tired and exhausted with life’s circumstances, people neglected by the world, but accepted by Jesus.” We casually toss the phrase out like a trump-suit ace impervious to counter-play. No need to explain; just assert: “Jesus never broke a bruised reed.”
But have you considered why the reed doesn’t get broken? Look at the text carefully, and you might find you’ve become a little too familiar with this biblical phrase and perhaps have missed a profound point. In fact, hastily assuming the “what” may have obscured your insight into the “why.”
My point is not that we shouldn’t have compassion on needy people (of course we should). My point is that this biblical phrase means something other than what we’ve come to presume.
Check out the full article at Desiring God.
Jonathan Parnell’s beautiful piece reminds us that we don’t read the Bible for ourselves alone. We read and study for our children, for the watching world, and for future generations.
The goal of Christian maturity is not merely that I might get along better in life, but that I might, being glad in the glory of Jesus, love more like Jesus did. The aim behind Bible-reading, after all, is not some kind of black-hole holiness — that theoretical moralism that envisions character in isolation from others — but rather, that we might learn how to roll up our sleeves for the people God has placed in our lives. In other words, we don’t just read the Bible to read, we read it to walk.
Last week, I asked my class what God had taught them so far this year through our study of Romans. Here’s what I got:
I’ve learned that I can’t please God by keeping the law, doing good deeds, or through church rituals.
I learned that Abraham was justified by faith.
Everyone is sinful and needs righteousness from Jesus.
I learned what circumcision means.
No joke. These four remarks came from a group of 3rd-to-5th grade boys in our local AWANA club class. My friend Jeff and I have had the honor of teaching these boys since the beginning of September. The AWANA program focuses on Scripture memory, and our 30-minute teaching time gave us the opportunity to develop the boys with the skills not only to memorize verses but also to read and study larger passages.
When I asked them what they’ve learned so far, I honestly had low expectations about what they’d say—and shame on me. Their answers delightfully shocked me and showed me evidence of God’s powerful work through his word.
And here’s what I’ve learned in the process.
These kids can handle more than we brilliant adults usually think they can handle. So Jeff and I decided not to use a specialized curriculum to drive our class. We’d simply read the book of Romans and talk about it with the kids. We started at Romans 1:1. We’d read a verse, ask some questions, read the next verse, and continue week after week. It’s tempting to think these children need pre-packaged guidance from experts who have never met them. But we wanted them to get used to hearing the voice of their God who knitted them in the womb.
On the first week of class, I told the boys we’d have a special visitor with us every week. “He’s an old, old teacher. His voice breaks the oak trees in Park Forest, and he moves Mount Nittany out of his way to get here. He will speak to us in this very classroom. You can’t see him, but a silly thing like that won’t stop us from hearing him.”
Wide-eyed, they took a minute to figure out who this teacher would be. But once they realized it, they were ready to hear him. From time to time, I could quiet rowdy chatter by asking one of them to read the next verse to the class. I’d then project my voice and say, “Quiet! God is about to speak to you through [reader’s name]. You’ll want to hear this.”
Classes went well when we came prepared with a clear main point to focus on. And by “main point,” I mean the main point of the passage and not the main point of whatever we decided the children needed to hear that day. The lessons that stuck (see the first three quotes above) were the ones where they could see the main point right from the text. It made those lessons clear and memorable, and it gave the boys something to return to every time they read Romans from here on out.
The structure of the passage gives them a summary of key lessons. The children struggled in classes when we didn’t have a clear structure, because a long verse-by-verse stream of consciousness wouldn’t hold their attention. But when we could show them, paragraph by paragraph, what Paul was saying—breaking down the argument into simple chunks—they were much more engaged.
The children loved to answer questions. And they loved to shout out whatever answers came to mind. But we refused to accept any answer that didn’t have a verse number attached to it. Week after week, we had to remind them that the answer to every question was right in the passage we had just read. Now that the year’s almost over, they’ve gotten it. Most questions produce a corporate nose-dive effect, where most heads in the room bow down to examine the text.
We didn’t use children’s Bibles or work books. We wanted to give each child the confidence to open, read, and understand his own Bible. Most of them had the NIV, so that’s the version we taught from.
This means we had to deal with “atonement,” “righteousness,” “justification,” “Gentiles,” “reconciliation,” and “circumcision.” We had great fun on the day we dealt with that last term, which is why it showed up in quote #4 above. Though some boys won’t stop giggling at the term, most have learned from it how earthy and relevant the Bible is.
I need to work on this one more. Our application time had some rough spots. But one highlight came when we discussed Romans 6:15-18, and we talked about the start of soccer season. Sin is like your coach from last year. Jesus is like your new coach this year. Choosing to sin is like scoring goals on your own net just because the opposing team is led by the coach you played for last year.
We didn’t complete the book of Romans, as I had expected. We’d cover 2-3 verses per week at first, but now we’re up to 10-15. I hope we can cook through chapter 7 in these next few classes and land on Romans 8:1 in the last week. But it was worth it to adjust my expectations to give the boys time to really get it.
And we haven’t discussed OIA principles at all; we’ve merely practiced them every week. Our intention has been to inspire them with confidence to read and study the Bible on their own. We can give them helpful terminology for the process another time.
It’s great fun to see them learning to study the Bible. Next year, Jeff and I might get to teach the girls’ class, and we’ll have to reconsider how to handle “circumcision” then… Suggestions are welcome.
Parents, you have a weekly opportunity to train your children to study the Bible. It’s taken me some time to realize it. Perhaps this nudge will help you take advantage of it as well.
Erik Raymond writes about “Helping Children Benefit from the Sermon.” He offers tips for both parents and pastors. Parents, have you considered:
Raymond’s ideas challenged and encouraged me. I encourage you to check it out.
James Demetrie (2010), Creative Commons
When you read the Old Testament, I hope you’re looking for Jesus. Otherwise, you’re in danger of sucking from the fountain without first pushing the button to get the water flowing (John 5:39-40).
But many are afraid of getting it wrong, and for good reason. We see no lack of grumpy scholars waiting eagerly to dispense demerits to the simple, uneducated folk who draw superficial conclusions and chase christological apparitions through the pages of Hebrew Scripture. We outgrew the Alexandrians long ago, and we’re tired of hearing about the blood of Jesus—I mean Rahab’s scarlet cord—every time a newbie gets a hankering to Jesusify his devotional life.
I’ll confess I’ve served my time as one of the grumps. And I’ve been known to chase an apparition or two. Is help available?
I recently came across a valuable quote about the nature of biblical typology. Before I give you the quote, however, let me define a few terms. Trust me; it’ll be worth it.
Len Matthews (2014), Creative Commons
So, when Paul says “the Rock was Christ” (1 Cor 10:4), he recognizes typology. The rock from which Moses drew water was a type that pictured Christ the antitype who gives living water. Paul suggests that Moses wrote of this typical Rock in order to typify what Jesus would later do.
Now that you have the lingo, you’re ready for the quote:
A type can never be a type independently of its being first a symbol. The gateway to the house of typology is at the farther end of the house of symbolism.
This is the fundamental rule to be observed in ascertaining what elements in the Old Testament are typical, and wherein the things corresponding to them as antitypes consist. Only after having discovered what a thing symbolizes, can we legitimately proceed to put the question what it typifies, for the latter can never be aught else than the former lifted to a higher plane. The bond that holds type and antitype together must be a bond of vital continuity in the progress of redemption. Where this is ignored, and in the place of this bond are put accidental resemblances, void of inherent spiritual significance, all sorts of absurdities will result, such as must bring the whole subject of typology into disrepute. Examples of this are: the scarlet cord of Rahab prefigures the blood of Christ; the four lepers at Samaria, the four Evangelists. (Geerhardus Vos, Biblical Theology, Carlisle, PA: Banner of Truth, 1948, pp. 145-6)
Vos goes on to use the example of the tabernacle in Exodus. The tabernacle clearly symbolized God’s presence among his people, and this symbol was clear to the original audience of Exodus. We can take that symbol (God dwelling with his people) and look to the New Testament for its development and fulfillment. Jesus is the new tabernacle, the Word become flesh who dwells among us (John 1:14). His body is the new temple (John 2:19-22). He is Emmanuel, God with us (Matt 1:22-23). He is with us to the end of the age (Matt 28:20).
And with his Spirit in us, we are also God’s new tabernacle/temple, both individually (1 Cor 6:19) and corporately (Eph 2:21-22, 1 Tim 3:15). So the Old Testament tabernacle is a type of both Christ and his body, and the pathway to recognizing the type is to first recognize the original symbol.
Vos is on to something here, but I think he overstates it a bit. He goes too far to require a type to first be a symbol in the Old Testament passage. By his definition, Paul would be wrong about the Rock in 1 Cor 10:4 (since it doesn’t clearly symbolize anything in the book of Exodus).
However, Vos uncovers useful boundaries that prevent us from befriending the deep end of typological interpretation.
I spend most of my time on this blog focusing on the main points of passages. I’ve said we should fight for them and move our study groups toward them. I’ve even promised to follow this practice on point #2 of this welcome page. But in the interest of balance and completeness, I must take some time this day to highlight some of the lesser-known commands of God.
These commands are no less inspired than the biggies. Of course we should love God and love our neighbor; nobody denies this. But that’s not all God wants us to do! The problem with most churches today is that we’ve lost our commitment to God’s word, and we run afoul of God’s explicit will for our lives. And not only do we practice such things, but we also give hearty approval to those who flout these plain imperatives with a high hand. I’m speaking of all those supposed “Christians,” “pastors,” and “disciples” who ignore the clear and plain sense of commands such as:
I mean, who really does these things? I wish I could join a truly faithful church, but I have yet to find one. And we can’t simply claim ignorance of the prophets, either. Jesus was just as clear:
The Bible is full of imperatives that couldn’t be any clearer. I’d love to hear what other commands have impacted you over the years, so we can encourage one another to greater faithfulness.
And may this first day of April inspire a new season of fruitful Bible study for those among the chosen remnant. “If the Lord of hosts had not left us offspring, we would have been like Sodom and become like Gomorrah” (Rom 9:29).
