It started with a cinnamon roll and a question. Henry, a retired math teacher with a slow smile and bright eyes, slid into the vinyl booth at Mimi’s Diner, Bible in hand. Every Tuesday, he met his granddaughter there. She brought the conversation, he brought the Scripture.
But today, he brought a confession.
“I think I’ve been reading the Bible wrong.”
She blinked. “Grandpa?”
He tapped the worn cover. “Fifty years, and I’m still learning. Last night, I reread Acts 17:11—how the Bereans ‘received the word with all eagerness, examining the Scriptures daily to see if these things were so.’ And I realized…I haven’t always done that. I trusted sermons. Commentaries. Even my own bias. But not always the Word.”
That verse—tucked in the narrative of Paul’s missionary journey—isn’t a thunderclap like the Ten Commandments or a roar like Revelation. But its quiet wisdom? It echoes. The Bereans didn’t just listen to Paul. They opened the Scriptures for themselves. They checked. They questioned. They compared. Faithful curiosity, not blind approval.
And that’s where Henry had stumbled. Where many of us do.
It’s one of the most subtle dangers believers face: not that we don’t read the Bible, but that we don’t read it with precision. Interpretation errors don’t always come in big, bold heresies. They creep in through assumptions—through verses pulled out of context, modern lenses applied to ancient truth, or devotionals that feel good but drift subtly from sound doctrine.
Hosea 4:6 warns us, “My people are destroyed from lack of knowledge.” It’s not a lack of faith. It’s not a lack of passion. Knowledge. Truth. A hunger to get it right.
I’ll be honest: I’ve made those mistakes too. Maybe you have.
Like the time I was sure I knew what Jeremiah 29:11 meant. “I know the plans I have for you…” I'd recite it like a magic promise. A golden ticket. Until one day, a friend gently asked if I’d ever read the verses before it. I hadn’t. It wasn’t a quick prosperity blessing; it was a letter to exiles, a reminder they’d be in Babylon for seventy years. It was a call to trust God's goodness even when the timeline doesn’t budge.
That changed me.
Sometimes, what we need isn't a new verse but a new lens. A slower read. A softer heart.
The Bereans didn’t correct Paul. They didn’t dismiss him. They just wanted to make sure it came from God and not merely from man. Imagine if that became our posture—not skepticism, but reverent curiosity. Listening well. Cross-checking with Scripture. Trusting God’s Word as final.
In the cafeteria line of spiritual voices, we need to learn how to eat the meat and leave the bones. Not every commentary is gospel. Not every tweet is theology. Not every tradition is truth.
And that’s okay. Because God never asked us to know everything. Just to seek Him—wholeheartedly, daily, Biblically.
The danger isn’t doubt. The danger is confidence without testing. Assumptions dressed as beliefs.
Henry looked up from his Bible and smiled at his granddaughter. “God’s Word never changes. But my understanding? It’s growing.”
She nodded. “Mine too.”
Maybe your spiritual map has included a few misreadings. Maybe you’ve built ideas on verses that aren't really about what you thought. Don’t be discouraged. That’s not failure. That’s invitation.
An invitation to linger at the page longer. To ask better questions. To trust the living God over every human voice—even well-meaning ones.
The beauty? The same Spirit who inspired Scripture is eager to interpret it—if we’ll ask. Search. Wait.
This isn’t about being smarter. It’s about being shaped. Not by catchy quotes, but by truth that cuts to the heart.
So when the house gets quiet and your Bible lies open, dare to ask: What does this really mean? What came before it? Who was it for? What might I have missed?
And listen. Watch how layers unfold. How the Bible explains itself. How the same story has a thousand angles, all converging on Jesus.
Understanding the Bible isn't about winning knowledge—it’s about walking with God more deeply.
Because there's always more to discover. Grace upon grace.
And maybe that’s how God intended it. Not a textbook to master, but a conversation to treasure.
You don’t have to get it all right the first time. You just have to come with your heart open and your eyes on the page.
That’s what the Bereans did.
And they were called noble for it.
It started with a cinnamon roll and a question. Henry, a retired math teacher with a slow smile and bright eyes, slid into the vinyl booth at Mimi’s Diner, Bible in hand. Every Tuesday, he met his granddaughter there. She brought the conversation, he brought the Scripture.
But today, he brought a confession.
“I think I’ve been reading the Bible wrong.”
She blinked. “Grandpa?”
He tapped the worn cover. “Fifty years, and I’m still learning. Last night, I reread Acts 17:11—how the Bereans ‘received the word with all eagerness, examining the Scriptures daily to see if these things were so.’ And I realized…I haven’t always done that. I trusted sermons. Commentaries. Even my own bias. But not always the Word.”
That verse—tucked in the narrative of Paul’s missionary journey—isn’t a thunderclap like the Ten Commandments or a roar like Revelation. But its quiet wisdom? It echoes. The Bereans didn’t just listen to Paul. They opened the Scriptures for themselves. They checked. They questioned. They compared. Faithful curiosity, not blind approval.
And that’s where Henry had stumbled. Where many of us do.
It’s one of the most subtle dangers believers face: not that we don’t read the Bible, but that we don’t read it with precision. Interpretation errors don’t always come in big, bold heresies. They creep in through assumptions—through verses pulled out of context, modern lenses applied to ancient truth, or devotionals that feel good but drift subtly from sound doctrine.
Hosea 4:6 warns us, “My people are destroyed from lack of knowledge.” It’s not a lack of faith. It’s not a lack of passion. Knowledge. Truth. A hunger to get it right.
I’ll be honest: I’ve made those mistakes too. Maybe you have.
Like the time I was sure I knew what Jeremiah 29:11 meant. “I know the plans I have for you…” I'd recite it like a magic promise. A golden ticket. Until one day, a friend gently asked if I’d ever read the verses before it. I hadn’t. It wasn’t a quick prosperity blessing; it was a letter to exiles, a reminder they’d be in Babylon for seventy years. It was a call to trust God's goodness even when the timeline doesn’t budge.
That changed me.
Sometimes, what we need isn't a new verse but a new lens. A slower read. A softer heart.
The Bereans didn’t correct Paul. They didn’t dismiss him. They just wanted to make sure it came from God and not merely from man. Imagine if that became our posture—not skepticism, but reverent curiosity. Listening well. Cross-checking with Scripture. Trusting God’s Word as final.
In the cafeteria line of spiritual voices, we need to learn how to eat the meat and leave the bones. Not every commentary is gospel. Not every tweet is theology. Not every tradition is truth.
And that’s okay. Because God never asked us to know everything. Just to seek Him—wholeheartedly, daily, Biblically.
The danger isn’t doubt. The danger is confidence without testing. Assumptions dressed as beliefs.
Henry looked up from his Bible and smiled at his granddaughter. “God’s Word never changes. But my understanding? It’s growing.”
She nodded. “Mine too.”
Maybe your spiritual map has included a few misreadings. Maybe you’ve built ideas on verses that aren't really about what you thought. Don’t be discouraged. That’s not failure. That’s invitation.
An invitation to linger at the page longer. To ask better questions. To trust the living God over every human voice—even well-meaning ones.
The beauty? The same Spirit who inspired Scripture is eager to interpret it—if we’ll ask. Search. Wait.
This isn’t about being smarter. It’s about being shaped. Not by catchy quotes, but by truth that cuts to the heart.
So when the house gets quiet and your Bible lies open, dare to ask: What does this really mean? What came before it? Who was it for? What might I have missed?
And listen. Watch how layers unfold. How the Bible explains itself. How the same story has a thousand angles, all converging on Jesus.
Understanding the Bible isn't about winning knowledge—it’s about walking with God more deeply.
Because there's always more to discover. Grace upon grace.
And maybe that’s how God intended it. Not a textbook to master, but a conversation to treasure.
You don’t have to get it all right the first time. You just have to come with your heart open and your eyes on the page.
That’s what the Bereans did.
And they were called noble for it.
