The year of my seventh birthday, I wanted a Bible for Christmas. The previous year I had requested a bike, to no avail. But this time I got just what I asked for. There it was: a small blue Bible with the classic line drawings that captured my imagination. I immersed myself in this biblical world. Reading the Bible let me journey with the Israelites, pray in Jerusalem and stand before the cross. Over the years, these stories became a part of me; I came to know them all.
I was proud of this very Christian upbringing as I went on to study theology, learn biblical languages, and even go on pilgrimage to the Holy Land. On that trip, in a surprising way, the story of Jesus would catch up to me and take me back to when I was seven years old.
Each student on that study-tour had to share a reflection at a particular biblical site. I gave a short talk on the Transfiguration at Mount Tabor. And as we went from place to place, I loved seeing the settings for the stories I had been reading my entire life—the sleepless shepherds, Jesus’ amazing healings, and the reluctant apostles. Everything looked just the way I had envisioned from that childhood Bible. But my perspective completely changed when one of my classmates stood at the entrance of the Holy Sepulcher and shared his story.
“I was not always a Christian,” he said. “Neither was my family. I went through my whole life knowing nothing about Jesus, even in my later college years. Yet an inner curiosity started to burn inside me, the desire to know about this Jesus everybody seemed to know about, except me. I opened the Bible for the first time and looked for the gospels (as one of my friends suggested). I read about Jesus: his birth, his preaching, his going around doing good. As the story unfolded and the plot began to build, I was caught up in the experience. I felt like I was reliving it, following Jesus around, cheering him on!
“Then, something went wrong. Jesus started to talk about death and I became worried. Really worried. You have to understand that I never heard anything about Jesus growing up, so I didn’t have a clue about how the story was going to end. What a story! The drama! The symbolism! And how disappointed I was when Jesus was crucified!
“The story did not end, however, where I expected it to. I was surprised by his resurrection. I had never heard of it! This was the first time I had ever read the gospel and that was all it took to be transformed by its power. My life was never the same again.”
My friend’s story re-sensitized me to the powerful story of Jesus. I had read the gospels innumerable times. I had envisioned the stories and even stood where they took place. I had studied, researched, and parsed the words. But my friend’s story reacquainted me with the simple wonder of meeting Jesus for the first time. I started to read the Bible again with new eyes, through my friend’s eyes. It almost felt like I was letting the seven-year-old within me open a God-given book called the Bible.
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