Taking time to read the Scriptures can be challenging — our day already feels too busy, and when we finally do have a few minutes alone (perhaps rising before the break of day or well after the final pink and orange glows of the sun have faded) knowing what to can be equally confusing.

One common approach is a daily devotion. Take, for example, Chambers’ My Utmost for His Highest, any of numerous lectionaries, publications like Our Daily Bread, or numerous others, in which a handful of verses are presented for review. Often, some sermon-like reflections are provided which may or may not be derived from the passage. There is not necessarily anything wrong with such approaches, though there are, admittedly, certain limitations. Reading five or six verses a day is akin to taking a novel several sentences at a time — tracking the characters, the plot, etc. would be much more trying! Some variety, at least, might be of value.

I’ve previously suggested an alternative approach one might occasionally pursue, but I recently read another which I thought I’d share.

In Tom Wright’s book Broken Signposts, there is a short chapter — an ‘interlude’ to use the author’s language — discussing an approach to reading the Gospels devotionally.((“On Reading John and Listening for Jesus”. Wright is specifically interested in the Gospel of John, but I think the extension to all the gospels quite natural. In fact, the approach may be applied to Acts as well, though the companionship of Jesus must be traded for that of Peter or Paul.)) The approach attempts to let the reader take a glimpse of Jesus on his journeys two thousand years ago, and to present one’s own question, concerns, and struggles within that context.((Admittedly, my interpretation of Wright might stray from his original intentions, so for Wright’s view (not mine), please see Broken Signposts p.133f.))

A typical Christian reader of the Gospels often imposes a distance on the events and that of his/her day-to-day life. The reasons for this seem rather straightforward: the account is almost fantastical. Healings, demon-expulsions, walking on water, exotic parables, and cryptic sayings create a chasm for us to cross — and yet, it seems that there is no bridge. We watch from a distance as Jesus gains a gathering of disciples, announces the kingdom, dies, and is resurrected. It unrolls like a narrative: a movie or book.

I suspect this is why so many prefer the epistles: simple, (mostly) clear instruction. Nuggets which can be safely tucked away or practiced.

But Jesus was the one who left quite an impression. It was Jesus’ teaching and parables that could be recalled effortlessly by the apostles on their worldwide mission. Certainly if our approach to Jesus is at a distance, we are missing something. Why can we not engage with this figure?

Wright suggests we can and should. We should imagine ourselves walking with Jesus, asking questions of him (even if the text promises no answer), telling him that we don’t understand his parable, or that such a teaching is too difficult — the disciples did just that. Confront him with the challenges of our daily life — a sick friend, a fear, uncertainty about the future — and do so meditatively and prayerfully. This is not the path to gain answers or enlightenment, but an opportunity, however briefly, to walk with Jesus and be one of his chosen companions. (We are, after all, chosen by God.) Or, in Wright’s words, ‘It’s all about bringing prayer and scripture reading together in a fresh way.'((Wright, Broken Signposts, 134.))

Even if this does not strike your fancy, why not give it a try? It will certainly take a little practice and getting used to, but it could, perhaps, lead you to an entirely new experience with the gospels.