Reading the scriptures

The Bible says in the Psalms, “There’s more: God’s Word warns us of danger and directs us to hidden treasure. Otherwise how will we find our way? Or know when we play the fool? Clean the slate, God, so we can start the day fresh! Keep me from stupid sins, from thinking I can take over your work; Then I can start this day sun-washed, scrubbed clean of the grime of sin. These are the words in my mouth; these are what I chew on and pray. Accept them when I place them on the morning altar, O God, my Altar-Rock, God, Priest-of-My-Altar.”
A man came to me recently with a question that I couldn’t answer if my life depended on it, and asked this: “Are you supposed to be able to understand all that is in the Bible?”
Yeah, I know that the answer is supposed to be yes, yes, yes. I also know that many of the persons I come in contact, not all mind you, but many, don’t understand much of it though they read it constantly and consistently. Or I’m supposed to answer yes on all those darn questions of a similar vein. But…
My own mother, bless her, once said to me — as she was reading from that epic theological masterpiece the book of Romans — when I noticed and asked her something about it, “I read it every day, but I don’t understand it.”
I find that the Bible is so rich and so wonderful and so mysterious and so meaningful and so meaningless and never a place to simply address a question and find the answer behind some sort of great golden glowing arrow pointing toward it.
But there comes a time when I simply don’t know the answer. Nope. Nada. No. Sometimes the answers are hidden behind rock, thousands of years of rocks at that.
But every once in a while, sometimes daily, sometimes weekly, sometimes when I need it, sometimes when I’m not expecting it, “God’s Word warns us of danger and directs us to hidden treasure. Otherwise how will we find our way? Or know when we play the fool?”
And yes, I do play the fool. I do stumble. I do fall. I do so willingly. I do so completely unwillingly. I do.
But I also know what I’ve done is wrong by that same word, which I suspect is its purpose and reason.
The point is this: Reading from the scriptures is like pouring honey on toast. It’s sweet. It pours out slowly when it’s cold. It pours out quickly when it’s warm. It covers. It gives until it’s gone. It is my morning. It is my evening. It is all and all.
But the Word is not a bunch of letters in Hebrew, Greek or various and sundry English translations. No, sir.
The Word is one man who came to explain it, to fulfill its promises. This man who calls himself Jesus, born in Bethlehem, moved to Nazareth at an early age, came to walk through the explanation with us, and it was done.
That’s the Word that needs no explanation. That’s the Word of whom John wrote so wonderfully about when he said, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God. He was with God in the beginning.” Meet Him where He is, and He will walk you through the word of God.”
“These are the words in my mouth; these are what I chew on and pray. Accept them when I place them on the morning altar, O God, my Altar-Rock, God, Priest-of-My-Altar.”
That’s whom I talk to daily. That’s whom is reckon is the Word. My Altar-Rock, God, Priest.
Please let someone in Eunice, Church Point or Iota introduce Him to you one day, one day soon.

Billy Turner is a pastor of the United Methodist denomination and a retired journalist.