He Brews

Every night, before I go to bed, for a few months now, I've read at least a chapter of the Bible. New Testament, specifically.
Considering where I started (Matthew) and where I am (Hebrews) and how fast I read some of the books (Acts took about two days), I know I have missed days--probably many--but this is still the longest stretch of disciplined commitment to the Word I've yet experienced in my 23 years, and my however many of those spent identifying as a Christian (we'll leave the hairy question of when exactly "identifying" properly changed to "being" or "living" or even "believing", since that's not one I'm interested in [or really capable of] addressing at the moment).

I started, as I said, in Matthew. I loved the Gospels. Really loved them. I found that I had a different interrogative for each book: How? Why? And in the case of John, What?! I lingered over the Gospels, I admit. I didn't want to finish them. Here was Jesus, himself. His own words. Not the extrapolations of generations of followers, but him. And yes, I know that the gospels weren't jotted down during Jesus's sermons, like notes in a class lecture. Nonetheless, I didn't want to leave the Gospels. I didn't want to leave Jesus.
I know that that sounds irrational, but I'm the kind of literature student who connects irrationally with fictional characters on a printed page, much less Real ones. I envied the disciples, fiercely. I wanted (and I'd forgotten about this until just now, sitting on my couch and writing this while consuming half of an excellent omelet) so badly to have my own experience of that Jesus that I reread chapter after chapter, verse after red-inked verse, reading his words out loud to better understand what he might have been saying (which he said, of course, in the King's English).
Leaving the Gospels was eased somewhat by the adventure of Acts, which was so exciting that I burned through it like I was getting paid. But then my headlong course hit Romans and I bounced off of it like I'd hit a wall.

So for the past few months I've been making more laborious process through the pauline epistles. There have been amazing moments there, too. In the spirit of candor, however, it's just easier for me to read story than philosophy. So it's taken me more effort to read these; effort that has, until now, been quickly rewarded with some illumination, some conviction, some healing, some breaking. For some reason I felt as though I were reading II Corinthians for the first time. Ephesians knocked the wind out of me. It was great. Everything was great. I felt--come on, candor, out with it-- like I was getting what I deserved-- what I'd "earned." Effort in, Enlightenment out. Isn't that how it works?
Well, sure. Except last week I read Hebrews.
And this week I'm reading Hebrews.
And I'll probably be reading it next week.
Look, Hebrews has some famous moments: The "faith" chapter--what self-respecting church kid can't quote it? And more. So this is not a book without signposts for me, points that I hit in unfamiliar reading territory that tell me, "oh, this is where I am. Now I know what he's talking about." Except that on my first read-through of the book none of those registered. I just felt lost.
I read Hebrews in only a few days, a few chapters at a time, hoping that if I read long enough, everything would make sense. I hit chapter 11 without a clue as to what had come before. True, I could have finished it up, marked the mental notch, and moved into James, but I didn't.
So now I'm on my way through it again. I've been hovering around the early chapters, rereading 4 and 5 last night. Along the way I ran across one of those signposts I must have either missed or glossed over the first time:

"For the word of God [is] quick, and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and [is] a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart."

Ow. There's something that made sense. I still didn't quite get why the author was telling us to labor to enter in to rest--

"Neither is there any creature that is not manifest in his sight: but all things [are] naked and opened unto the eyes of him with whom we have to do.

"Seeing then that we have a great high priest, that is passed into the heavens, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold fast [our] profession. For we have not an high priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities; but was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin. Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need."

Nope, still don't get the rest (no pun intended) of chapter 4. I don't understand why such importance is being placed on the idea of the sabbath, of God's first and eternal rest, or why there needs to be such emphasis on the issue. But.
I think maybe the whole thing hinges on that last clause:
to "find grace to help in time of need."

Yes, this is all very elementary stuff. I've spent the past years analysing Victorian social conventions and women's literature and not studying theology and sanctification and justification and doctrinal issues. As a PK who's spent most of her Sundays in a church, maybe I should be embarrassed that I'm still making these kind of baby steps. Maybe I should be. I'm not.

This is, as discoveries go, probably minuscule. I can live with minuscule. I still don't get Hebrews. the more I read the less I think it's at all possible for me to live the kind of life I've signed up for, and that's the point: it's not possible. I can't live the way I want to. many people have discoursed about that topic much more eloquently than I'm capable of doing, so I'll leave it at that. I can't live how this book is instructing me to. I don't have the capacity to do it.

"Let us therefore come boldly before the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need."

and all I can think, reading this, is,
OK.