Elementary Gospel

Because I come from a long line of teachers, playing school was one of my favorite things as a kid. The chalkboard easel beckoned, and stuffed animals settled themselves across my bedroom—eager students waiting to be taught whatever golden nuggets of wisdom should drop from my mouth.

I love education even more intensely now and hope to cultivate a learner’s mindset for the rest of my life. Whether the avenue is a good conversation, an online course, a thought-provoking book, or a fascinating speech, I genuinely enjoy gathering and assimilating knowledge. (Bonus: it comes in handy as a writer.)

Despite my ardor for learning new things, every once in a while, I like to circle back to basics, to work deeper into the soul what my brain has considered familiar for far too long. It’s not enough to understand truth; I want to have a life rendered radioactive by it. And nowhere is this more applicable than in the foundations of faith. Grace, repentance, redemption, adoption, justification — such concepts are not meant to be outgrown but to provide a shape to grow into.

This can prove difficult, especially for those of us with a Christian background. Knowing the right answers carries a risk of being hijacked by autopilot. It’s easy to check out when hearing something (even something earth-shattering!) for the thousandth time. How can we take surface learning and transfer it into our hearts? I’m still wrestling with that, but I’ve discovered a few helpful starting points. We’ll keep it elementary. Let’s look at the three Rs: reading, ’riting, and ’rithmetic.

READING

Hi, my name is Kassie, and I majored in English before becoming a pastor’s wife/missionary. And I’ve been reading the Bible wrong for pretty much my whole life.

Apparently I’m not supposed to be content in finding a flash of beauty or a spark of amusement when it comes to Scripture. If I read the living Word exactly the same way I would approach any other book, I’m only getting an ounce of the ocean. While encountering Scripture does require my brain to process symbols on paper, it has been stated that

The problem of reading the Holy Book—if you have faith that it is the Word of God—is the most difficult problem in the whole field of reading. There have been more books written about how to read Scripture than about all other aspects of the art of reading together. The Word of God is obviously the most difficult writing men can read; but it is also, if you believe it is the Word of God, the most important to read. The effort of the faithful has been duly proportionate to the difficulty of the task.*

Aiming for transformation is different from simply desiring information. If I want to read the Word well, in a way that honors God’s intent, I cannot constrict it to a mental exercise. No more, “Welp, today’s chunk was really good! I like how that last verse was worded. Now breakfast.” I must beg the Holy Spirit to help me read with my soul and then dwell on it throughout the day.

This is an offensive approach. But there’s a defensive posture in the reading category, too: it is just as important to guard against hostile information as it is to pump in healthy content. Not to seem dramatic, but no data is neutral—every bit you allow into your mind either represents heaven or represents hell. If any source pulls you to turn your eyes from the Father, whether it’s social media or the news or a book or a friend, ain’t nobody got time for that (Sweet Brown). Too much is at stake here.  

WRITING

Research shows that the physical act of writing ignites something unique in the brain. (Thanks, Indiana University!) Let’s make the most of our time by leveraging the way God wired us. Find a great notebook, sit down, and slowly copy a passage for the day: topical writing plans and book-by-book approaches are both fantastic. Or journal prayerfully through a prompt. Or record a conversation between yourself and a meaty paragraph from a great book. No matter what you write or how pretty it looks or what you realize later you could have added (oh, just me?), allow space for the Lord to work in the messy here and now. This is so much less about the destination than the journey. Give yourself twenty minutes to change the trajectory of the next twenty-four hours. And yeah, we’re talking daily here. Our spongey minds leak truth as easily as they absorb it, so today’s clear thinking doesn’t guarantee tomorrow’s health. Accept this as grace, and keep running to the Lord for the bread He delights to give daily.

ARITHMETIC

Jesus + 0 = everything

Jesus + me = 0

My most desperate moments are also my most lucid. I rightly see my utter helplessness. When things are going smoothly, I forget to depend on the only Source of life. In this ridiculous state, I unconsciously rewrite John  15:5 to say, “Apart from Me, you can do some things, but I’m here if you want help with the big stuff.” Nope. That’s bad math. When it comes to adding in my own strength, I manage to undo the glory of the cross. Heaven doesn’t need me to assist. Leaning fully on the abundant mercy of Christ takes any sweetness out of all lesser loves—including the poison of believing in myself.

So daily subtraction matters: before my feet hit the floor, I have to empty me of me. No ability, no plans, no boundaries. Only then can I say with Paul, “I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me.” (At this point, I’m being hilariously theoretical, because I’ve never lasted a whole minute in such a state, but oh, how I long to. Lord, would You do it?)

Jesus is waiting. He is the best teacher to have ever walked this earth, and He invites us into His classroom. When we get over knowing the right answers, when we sense a burden to let the truth rip us open until grace and peace pour out from us like a river, when we get desperate enough to change—then we will be ready for school.

*How to Read A Book by Mortimer Adler and Charles Van Doren