I grew up in the Black church, where Bible study was not optional—it was part of your formation as a young disciple of Christ. Wednesday night meant church, and Sunday morning meant you better have read your lesson. From a young age, I was taught that this "ancient book"—with all its violence, sex, joy, lament, and hope—was worth wrestling with. It still is.
Even now, after seminary and ordination, after years of pastoral ministry and justice advocacy, I remain rooted in the evangelism of the Bible—not evangelism as manipulation but as a deep sharing of the Good News. And that Good News still comes alive when we open the Scriptures with humility, curiosity, and courage.
In the Southwest Conference, we can be proud of how boldly and compassionately our churches respond to the call for justice. Whether it's advocating for the dignity of LGBTQ+ siblings, confronting white supremacy, promoting environmental stewardship, or standing in solidarity with migrants and asylum seekers, our actions reflect the heart of a Gospel that insists God's love belongs to all.
But I wonder: while we're in the streets, are we also at home in the text?
I don't mean memorizing chapter and verse. I'm not talking about wielding Scripture like a weapon or reciting it like a test. I'm talking about being spiritually grounded in the biblical narrative, especially the life and teachings of Jesus.
Who does the Bible say Jesus is?
What did Jesus actually say?
Why did he so often quote the Hebrew Bible?
These aren't just theological questions for pastors or seminary students—they are foundational questions for all of us who call ourselves followers of the Way. I'm also not saying one must submit to all the Bible says. However, when Jesus stood up in the synagogue and read from Isaiah, saying, "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me," he wasn't just picking a lovely verse—he was locating his ministry within a long arc of liberation and covenant. When he told stories, he used the language and imagery of Hebrew Scripture. When he challenged power, healed the sick, and embraced the outcast, he was embodying Torah's promises and the prophets' cries.
Progressive Christians are often deeply engaged in doing justice. But to sustain that work, we need to know the story that holds us. Spiritual practices like prayer, worship, and yes—even Bible study—aren't distractions from activism; they are its wellspring. Without them, our justice work can risk becoming reactionary instead of rooted, performative instead of prophetic.
So, what would it look like for our churches to be just as passionate about Bible study as we are about justice?
What if our young people could talk about Jesus with the same clarity they have when discussing climate change?
What if our communities were shaped as much by the Sermon on the Mount as they are by statements of solidarity?
This is not an either/or—it's a both/and. We need bold justice and deep roots, public witness and personal formation, the prophets and the Psalms, protest and prayer.
My invitation to you—congregations, leaders, seekers—is to revisit the text. Not as a rulebook but a sacred story that speaks to who we are and what we are called to be. Not because we need to get it "right," but because God still speaks through it. And the more we know the Word, the more we can live it.