It’s flattering when someone says you’ve changed their life—and it’s rarely true. It’s much more likely that God has long been at work, carefully, slowly, kneading the dough of transformation. You, at an opportune moment, may have offered to a friend a word, a hand, a prayer. But the resulting change was not instantaneous as they suppose. A loaf rose by virtue of invisible yeast and the ordinary miracle of time.
I have several friends who’ve said I “changed their life,” simply because I encouraged them to join me in reading the One Year Bible. Truthfully, I don’t know what I said that proved so persuasive. I’m sure it was something like, “It’s really worthwhile to read from both the Old and New Testaments consistently, and I’m always surprised by how much the assigned daily passages speak to each other.”
The One Year Bible is built on daily readings from the Old Testament, the New Testament, as well as Psalms and Proverbs. I know I’ve mentioned it here many times before. Committing to this kind of reading plan does guarantee you will occasionally find yourselves in a long slog of days, even months, through the kings and the prophets, and it’s a commitment of time, for sure. (If you want “nice thoughts for your best day ever,” the One Year Bible is not for you.)
Because I’m following the plan currently, I’m just finishing the books about Israel’s kings: 1 and 2 Samuel; 1 and 2 Kings; 1 and 2 Chronicles. There are so many interesting insights from the stories of these men, who at their best, still fell miserably short; who at their worst, brought the entire nation to catastrophe. What is clear is that we need the more perfect king who is Christ. What is also clear is that leadership matters, though even wise leadership within a family is no guarantee of outcomes. Good kings have evil sons, and evil kings have good sons.
The life of faith in the Creator God doesn’t paint like dot-by-number.
Case in point: On August 1, I finished reading through 2 Chronicles 31, a chapter which ends, “In all that he did in the service of the Temple of God and in his efforts to follow God’s laws and commands, Hezekiah sought his God wholeheartedly. As a result, he was very successful.” Fair enough, you think at first glance. Hezekiah, one of Judah’s faithful kings, had reopened the doors of the Temple after his evil father, Ahaz, had shut them. He called the priests and Levites to rites of purification. He reinstituted observance of the Passover. His repentance was real, and his trust in God was steady and firm.
In 2 Chronicles 29-31, readers are brought to a sense of narrative climax, believing it will only be better days ahead for Israel. “So the Temple of the LORD was restored to service. And Hezekiah and all the people rejoiced because of what God had done for the people, for everything had been accomplished so quickly.”
Imagine, then, that on August 2, you open to 2 Chron. 32:1: “After Hezekiah had faithfully carried out this work, King Sennacherib of Assyria invaded Judah. He laid siege to the fortified towns, giving orders for his army to break through the walls.” You’re immediately startled! You must have skipped a day’s reading, you think, the passage that details Hezekiah’s fall from grace, his spiritual descent into idolatry. But no, after you flip back a couple of pages, you realize that in fact, this is exactly as the text reads.
Faithfulness, followed by catastrophe.
You then reread these chapter, imagining the absence of verse breaks (which came many centuries later). “Hezekiah sought his God wholeheartedly. As a result, he was very successful. After Hezekiah had faithfully carried out this work, King Sennacherib of Assyria invaded Judah.” What does this do to the tidy theology you’ve maybe subscribed to, the one that says that good people won’t suffer? Maybe you let yourself wonder: can God be trusted if he doesn’t hold up his end of the bargain, which is to say that I obey and he blesses?
It’s a good example of allowing the Bible to speak to us in ways that make us feel uncomfortable, unsettled. I’ve often described disorienting moments like this as a moment where we “trip over the edge of God’s unexpected truth.” It’s a moment for pausing, for re-examining, for allowing ourselves to puzzle over the discomfiting truths of faith. (Yes, not everything about the Christian faith consoles.)
I think it’s a valuable habit, and if you’re interested to make this kind of probing curiosity a more regular habit of faith, I definitely want to suggest reading Lore Wilbert’s new book, A Curious Faith: The Questions God Asks, We Ask, and We Wish Someone Would Ask Us. I had the privilege of endorsing Lore’s book, and this is what I said about it:
“There are two familiar temptations today: to fear questions and to idolize them. Lore Wilbert has done neither in this gentle, honest, wise book. Stepping into the beleaguered shoes of the prophets, the psalmists, the perplexed disciples, Wilbert invites readers into the human experience of faith. Her words are salve to those of us who wonder, who wait, who impatiently watch for the One who is—and is yet to come.”
You never know: Lore’s book just might change your life.
Yours,
Jen