Dear Hildegaard
Dusty Bibles, truth, and brand new suits
Dear Hildegaard,
The man in the suit store knew his Bible. We chatted while your dad tried on a smokey blue, Michael Kors’ blazer from the sales rack.
“That will look nice with matching pants, but could also work with jeans,” I commented, and added, for Leon’s sake: “That jeans-blazer combo seems to be the current trend for pastors.”
He chuckled and nodded, “Oh, I know all about that.”
We talked about suits, the Midwest, and church people.
“I have been exposed to just about every religion you can think of,” he told me. “Buddhism, Islam, a bunch of different Pentecostal churches…”
“Which one did you settle on, if you don’t mind my asking?”
He paused. “The Bible.”
“Hmm….” I said, inviting him to continue.
“I just keep coming back to the Bible. Some people like to take parts out and highlight other parts but…I think we have to take the whole thing as God’s truth.”
We talked about sin, God, and how we have fallen short and need Jesus.
“I just have to accept it all,” he said.
“Even the parts I don’t like,” I added.
We were both quiet for a moment, and your dad interrupted the silence by coming out of the dressing room in a suit and socks. He showed us the fit, noting where the sleeves needed to be altered, then left to put on his original clothes.
I wonder sometimes if we have forgotten that the Bible hurts. It heals, but it also hurts. There are parts we would erase if we could. Scrolls we would un-discover. Lines we wish we could forget. But that’s not how truth works. It isn’t a choice everyone gets to make. We do. We try, but truth is God’s territory, no matter who believes it, tries to reinvent it, or forge their own path.
You will discover this, my love. You are brilliant already, at one and a half, and I can only imagine how incredible you will be at age five, then fifty. But there are truths you can’t bend, no matter how hard you try. And I think it’s all about realizing that we aren’t God. We don’t have his wisdom, his unfaltering love or sense of perfect justice. We didn’t create the world like He did, and we don’t own the cattle on a thousand hills. It’s humbling. But that’s the point. We must be humble.
I want you to understand that God is wiser. His lovingkindness endures forever. He is everything we try but fail to be, and you can trust Him. There is pain in self-denial, but so much comfort in Christ, who denied himself completely, setting aside his status as God to become a baby, then a man, who was beaten, betrayed, and murdered. In setting down our loves and lusts, our addictions and tragedies, we pick up something greater: the cross of Christ. And it comes with a promise: we will be with Him forever. There is nothing greater, baby. Nothing better than being with the God who made you and the Savior who redeemed you.
Faith isn’t always marvelous. It isn’t always Moses on a mountain top or even Abraham leading Isaac to that burn pyre. Sometimes, it's just opening up your Bible when you would rather watch TV. Or showing someone who hasn’t earned it simple, steady love.
Christianity is comprised of the miraculous, to be sure, but it also includes a lot of daily, dusty, obedience. It can feel unglamorous and upside down, and people will mock you. They will call you strange, stuffy, or self-righteous if you choose a different path than the world is walking. But don’t you worry about that. Look forward. Keep your eyes fixed on the Author and Perfecter of your faith. He is steadfast and unmoving, always forgiving; full of grace and truth.
And while Bibles might be the dustiest item in most houses, don’t let yours gather that kind of neglect. Be like Leon and open it up. Read God’s letter to you. Store it in your heart and your mind, so that you might not depart from it.
Because the days are evil, baby. And the way is narrow that leads to life.
Good stuff