When the Bible Cuts Against How I Feel

John 6 records a mass departure. Jesus had said something extremely hard — whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life — and the crowd muttered, "This is a hard saying! Who can listen to it?" (John 6:60). Notice how Jesus responds. He does not chase them down the road and soften the wording, and he does not say, "Relax, it was only a figure of speech." He turns to the twelve and asks a question that leaves them completely free: "You don't also want to go away, do you?" Peter's answer became a signpost for believers ever since: "Lord, to whom would we go? You have the words of eternal life." Notice that he does not say "we understood all of it." The people who stayed were not the ones who had it all figured out. They were the ones who had settled on the person doing the speaking. What faith finally takes hold of is not having reasoned out every sentence, but someone worth entrusting yourself to.

Hebrews says the word of God is like a two-edged sword, piercing, dividing, discerning even the thoughts and intentions of the heart. Being laid open hurts, of course — the verse you react against is most likely lodged in the exact place you let no one touch. But look at whose hand holds the sword. Right after "naked and laid open," verses 14 to 16 say that we have a high priest, Jesus, who sympathizes with our weakness, and that we may come boldly to the throne of grace. The hands holding this sword were themselves pierced first — "by his wounds we are healed" (Isa 53:5). A cut on an operating table and a knife wound in an alley look similar and mean opposite things: one takes your life, the other saves it. The discomfort of being opened up may be exactly where the healing starts.

When you hit a sentence you cannot swallow, stop and work out which of three things you are actually saying: "the Bible is wrong," "I don't understand it yet," or "I am not willing." Most of the sting belongs to the second. Put the context, the genre and the original meaning back in (the four steps from lesson 9) and a good deal of the resistance loosens on its own. Some of it belongs to the third: the meaning is perfectly clear, and the cost is simply too high — forgiveness, money, the person who has still not apologized. The most honest prayer then is not to pretend nothing is wrong, but to say it as it is: "I believe. Help my unbelief!" (Mark 9:24). Obedience is not burying a feeling; burying locks it in a basement to grow mold. Carrying "I don't like this sentence" into the light and saying it to God is itself an act of trust — the Psalms are full of prayers exactly like that. As for "the Bible is wrong," before you rule on it, think about who vouched for this book (lesson 7), and ask whether you are willing to extend it the patience you would give an old friend.