How to Read the Bible Without Losing Your Soul

Full disclosure, I have really struggled to write this post. At first it was because I’ve read other “read the Bible” posts and have rarely felt encouraged or motivated. I don’t want to be another judgey Christian telling other Christians to just try harder.

Once I got started it was so overwhelming! So many conversations and moments and ideas swirling around in my head and I couldn’t seem to make them all line up and be still. So I stopped. Feeling sure that I was probably the only one thinking about this problem, I took to Instagram and asked folks, “What the hardest part about reading the Bible?” I expected two or three responses. 

I received over a hundred. Apparently this is a thing.

Still, even with all that good feedback, something in me still feels stuck. Or scared. I think maybe it’s because of this next sentence:

I’ve been reading the Bible more or less every day for eighteen years.

Cringe. Let’s all take a deep breath.

I am not more disciplined than you. I am not more righteous than you. I am not smarter or more committed or more successful as a Christian. I’m not reading the Bible every day because I’m just that determined. To tell you the truth, I lucked into it. (I get that luck is a weird concept to bring up here, but hang with me.)

I learned to read the Bible the same way I learned to walk and joke and cut fried eggs with the edge of a fork. I saw my parents doing it. To clarify, I saw each of my parents at separate times of the day and in distinctly different postures, reading their own Bibles by themselves. They seemed to like it. So I thought I’d try it out.  

I didn’t think about rules or theology or time frames or chapter counts. No one had told me to. I read what was interesting until I was ready to stop.

When a passage was confusing, I asked God about it and kept on reading. No one had told me I should already understand, so I didn’t feel stupid. If my question bothered me enough to remember, I asked my dad about it later. The answer was usually, “That’s a good question, what do you think?”

My reading time wasn’t that emotional. I didn’t often cry or thrill or weep with repentance. No one had told me I would or should, so I didn’t think anything of it. 

I assumed that learning to read the Bible would be like anything else an eight year old learns: annoying at first, and more fun as you go along. 

When I opened my Bible I assumed that Jesus would be there with me, just like He was when I was writing my spelling words or jumping on the trampoline. I assumed spending time with Him would be like spending time with anyone else—sometimes really fun, sometimes annoying, sometimes nothing much at all. 

I assumed He wanted to hang out with me. I figured that meant that I could just show up to do a little reading, and if anything particular needed to happen, He could take care of it. 

In the words of that great sage Andy Dwyer, “I mean, seriously, I cannot emphasize how little I thought about this.” 

I wasn’t trying to produce anything by reading the Bible. I wasn’t hoping to advance my spiritual growth or overcome my sin. I wasn’t thinking about what other Christians were doing. (Christian eight year olds are pretty much doing exactly what regular eight year olds are doing.)

I had no goals. I followed no plan. I was just reading. A little every night. Or occasionally a lot if it was really interesting, like the first time I stumbled on the story of Job. Holay molay.

But here’s the lucky part. The sweetest, truest part. If you hang out with a person regularly over a period of time, in various circumstances and levels of interest, with no expectations other than being together, you end up with intimacy. You know them, they know you, and each knows that they are known.

That’s what happened. I didn’t do it on purpose. I wasn’t trying to understand the deep things of God. I was just showing up, and Jesus was there.

I kept going back because I liked Him. I liked having uninterrupted time with Him. He was a safe person to talk to. Even if all the verses were boring and I had nothing to say, we were together, and it’s nice to be with someone that knows you, even when it’s quiet.

I think that’s why I’ve kept reading for eighteen years, through angst and doubt and grief and theological shifts. I want to be with someone who knows me, even if I’m mad at Him.

I’m not eight anymore. I’ve got a bible degree and three years of church ministry under my belt,  and I see now more than ever the profound gift it is to have built this habit on intimacy rather than obligation.

I think most of us don’t pick up a Bible until someone we want to impress says we should. Later on someone else comes along and gives us some special pens with instructions for how to study the Bible. We learn about parsing and literary styles, exegesis and cultural context. We read books by smarter, older Christians that tell us how early they get up, how faithfully they pray, how long they read. We hear a hundred lectures on the tools of Bible study.

We learn the Bible without knowing the Person. For all our books and tools, we don’t have intimacy. 

Tools and books are worthy, helpful gifts, but they’re too heavy to be carried around all the time. Best to lay them in a box or on a shelf where they are easily reached, and we are free of their weight.

It’s hard to lay down our toolbox and textbooks and start again. I find that remembering makes it easier for me.

Remember how you make a friend.

No one shares all their secrets on the first trip through the Chick-fil-A drive through. No one feels any soul-deep bonding at the first game night. The first time you hang out with a new friend, the most you hope for is a fun time. Maybe it’s awkward. Maybe you say something weird, or they do. But as long as it’s not terrible, you hang out again.

Maybe next time you share the general stuff. Where you grew up, what you do for work, how you met your spouse. Someone makes a joke you both laugh at.

As time goes by you learn they’re bad at texting but always respond on Instagram. They figure out you communicate in spurts — daily texts for a week or ten days followed by nothing at all for two weeks. 

You learn each other and settle into a rhythm of friendship that can weather the changing rhythms of life. It takes time, some awkward conversations, some disagreement. But now you know each other. You’re friends.

Now, imagine you show up to get an eight count nugget, your first time interacting with this person, and this is how they greet you: 

“Hi, I’m here, I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner. I know I should’ve been, I know it’s disrespectful, your other friends probably never leave you hanging like this. I promise I won’t be late next time. Are you getting the nuggets? The chicken sandwich is my favorite but I know your other friends like nuggets so I guess I should get that because I don’t want you to be mad at me. Hey, if I spend a whole hour here with you without looking at my phone do you think you could make me like nuggets more than the chicken sandwich?”

Whoa man. Maybe ease up on the pressure. It’s the first hang out.

Remember that making friends takes time and shared experience, and no two friendships look the same. You can’t speed it along with comparison or performance or pre-planned activities, because friendship is a thing that grows. Be yourself, share your experience over time, don’t compare. Just let it grow. That’s how you make friends with people. Good news for us, Jesus is a person.

Remember how you read a book.

When I’m reading a novel and a character pops up out of nowhere, but everyone else seems to know them, I go back a few pages.

When I get bored with a story I put it down and read something else.

When I dislike a plot or a character that everyone else loves, it’s fine. 

When the rest of my life is overwhelming I read less and watch more TV. 

Reading is personal. Not everyone does it the same way. No one likes the same genres or connects with the same characters. Some of us read entire books in one sitting. Some of us read one book a year. 

The Bible is a book. You’re allowed to read it as such. You do not have to check your opinions and personality at the door in the name of spirituality. You are allowed to be bored or confused, angry or apathetic, uncertain or fervent, because you are a person reading a book and that’s what happens. 

Remember what intimacy actually looks like.

Getting a friend from the airport when we’d rather do something else isn’t faking it. It’s just being a good friend. Close friends are honest. “I’m having a bad day and I’d rather be home in my sweats right now.” 

Showing up to read the Bible when you’d rather be doing something else is only fake if you pretend there’s nothing you’d rather be doing. But starting off a time of reading with an honest statement like, “I’m mad at you,” or “I feel like you’re mad at me,” or “I’m exhausted and I’d rather just watch TV,” is the kind of thing you say to a good friend you trust will understand.

Intimate relationships constantly require that we “go through the motions,” when we’d rather not. No relationships would last long enough to grow deep roots if we didn’t. I’m close to my husband not because I always feel close to him, but because we keep hanging out and being honest. 

You can grow deep closeness with Jesus from a stale crust of Bible bread, as long as you’re honest about how it sticks in your throat.

Remember the reason.

I don't follow Jesus because the Bible says I should. I follow Jesus because He pulled off His own death and resurrection. My faith is built on an event and a person, not a book.

That means when I come across something in the Bible that feels weird, I can afford to question it. I can press against it without panic, because I trust the Author.

When I get a weird text from a friend I ask for clarification. If their social media post hurts my feelings, I tell them so and ask what they meant by it. There’s room for that, because the friendship goes deeper than texts and instagram posts. 

I hold a high view of the Bible. I believe it’s good and true, that God Himself inspired and preserved the words. Still, sometimes those words feel weird or wrong. I can ask Jesus for clarification—as often and for as long as it takes to get it—because He made a way to be close to me hundreds of years before the Bible existed.

I hope you read the Bible. 

But not so that you can be close to Jesus. He’s already with you. Read the Bible, but not so that you can impress Jesus. He is already impressed. Read the Bible, but not so that you’ll have the strength to be a better Christian. Jesus is already working to transform you. Read the Bible, but not because it has all the answers to your questions. Jesus knows it all. 

Read the Bible, knowing that Jesus wants to hang out with you. Show up for a little reading, and trust that if anything particular needs to happen, He can take care of it.