Have you seen the recent “colored book” decoration trend? The basic idea is to take books whose covers have the same basic palette and put them together, thereby arranging all your books by color. Some used bookstores are even offering bundles of all-blue, all-green, or all-yellow books that you can buy just for this purpose.

If you’re anything like me, you understand why this trend might be appealing, but at the same time, something in you recoils. To see books thrown together just for the color of their covers, or to see books being sold not for what they say but for what they look like, seems to betray the very idea of a book. Something inside me protests, That’s not what books are for!

A kind of alarm goes off inside us when we see something used far beneath its purpose. And the truth is, this doesn’t happen just with the physical exteriors of books. It happens with what’s inside of them too. Have you ever wondered what it means to read like a Christian? Surely it means more than being a Christian and reading. There are precious realities that shape and season what and how we read. Let me commend five principles that help and challenge me to read like a Christian.

1. Read whimsically, not wastefully.

By whimsically, I mean literally “at whim.” My teacher in this regard has been Alan Jacobs, whose lovely little book The Pleasures of Reading in an Age of Distraction makes a compelling case for reading “what gives you delight” (23) rather than what conforms to abstract standards of literary greatness. In other words, Christians do not think of their reading as primarily the fulfillment of a duty, but as an astonishing joy. This doesn’t exclude a place for a Great Books canon. But there is a difference between seeking out a book because others esteem it and may esteem you for reading it (more on that in a moment) and seeking out a book because its greatness promises delight.

“Christians should not think of their reading as primarily the fulfillment of a duty, but as an astonishing joy.”

Whim, however, does not mean waste. There is a way to waste your reading, and the fastest way to do this is to never stretch yourself beyond your natural comfort zone. Many readers who never try anything more demanding than a badly written paperback don’t realize how much more delight they could have by maturing their palate. If reading at whim can protect us from elitism, not reading wastefully is a reminder that good and bad are not wholly in the eye of the beholder. Excellence should delight us. We were made for a beatific vision of pure splendor and perfection. Don’t waste your reading.

2. Read personally, not performatively.

One of my favorite passages in The Screwtape Letters occurs after the demon Wormwood has apparently “lost” his patient to a profound and genuine repentance. Uncle Screwtape furiously berates his nephew for his “blunders.”

You first of all allowed the patient to read a book he really enjoyed, because he enjoyed it and not in order to make clever remarks about it to his new friends. . . . How can you have failed to see that a real pleasure was the last thing you ought to have let him meet? (63–64)

Real delight, Lewis says, belongs to the realm of God. It humbles us, quiets our anxious desires for approval, and reminds us that our soul is real and to be accounted for. Reading personally means reading for something far better than applause. As we read personally, we follow the thread of what Lewis called “the secret signature” of our hearts (The Problem of Pain, 151). Our favorite books reveal something that God put in us. The passages we laugh or cry over, even when no one is watching, can be like soul-mirrors.

To enjoy something because we find it lovely points us in the opposite spiritual direction of performing for others. In the latter case, what we are actually enjoying is ourselves. In the age of social media, this is a gaping pitfall. It is so easy to post pictures of our “current reads” simply for the purpose of gaining admiration. In some cases, we have no desire or even intention of finishing the books in our photos. Lewis warns us against this temptation, and so does our Lord: “How can you believe, when you receive glory from one another and do not seek the glory that comes from the only God?” (John 5:44). Let’s not deaden the purifying effects of real delight by being addicts of human glory.

3. Read with generosity, not grievance.

Here’s a diagnostic question for all of us that read and (especially) review books: Do we practice the Golden Rule? Do we read others the way we would want to be read?

Imagine the following scenario. You are reading a book by a Christian writer who is somewhat outside your normal theological tribe. You come across a sentence that strikes you as odd. It’s not clearly false, but it’s not what you would have said, either. At this point, you have a choice: You can read with generosity, meaning you note the ambiguous wording but do not accuse the writer of saying something he is not. Or you can give the words their worst possible meaning, and perhaps even label the author a false teacher.

“The Bible is the book that gives every other good book its power.”

Which of these options reflects the biblical command to “be not wise in your own eyes” (Proverbs 3:7), to “[believe] all things” (1 Corinthians 13:7), and to not render a verdict hastily (Proverbs 25:8)? Christians read with generosity, not because we are too timid to call out error, but because we believe truth is precious enough to pursue with patience.

These biblical warnings should sober us against the temptation to read something solely for the purpose of disagreeing with it. There will be times and occasions when we must read something we know is wrong. But the polemical muscle does not need to be flexed often. Be wary of reading with grievance.

4. Read with wonder, not weariness.

I am discouraged when I find a “What are you reading?” interview with a prominent pastor or Christian leader, and the interviewee remarks that he doesn’t read fiction. Great literature is a treasure of wonder. The best stories seem to turn the light on in our own hearts; in heroes and villains we can see the range of human nature, and in journeys and transformations we can be reminded of how much we don’t know. I sometimes wonder how much we evangelicals read simply for the purpose of accumulating more data, rather than reading so that we can move a little bit closer to the image of Jesus.

The Preacher remarks, “Of making many books there is no end, and much study is a weariness of the flesh” (Ecclesiastes 12:12). If reading has become wearisome to you, consider taking an inventory. Does your reading captivate you? Does it make you forget yourself? Does it open your eyes and soften your heart? Or is it just more information to absorb? Consider the metaphors and parables of God’s Word. You and I are created to wonder at God the poet.

5. Read for eternity, not for ephemera.

We live in a noisy world. There is no end to the novelty. And the vast majority of it is meaningless: thousands of tweets, articles, and even books that will be almost immediately obsolete, millions of hours of video and audio that will hardly make sense in a week. We don’t have a choice whether we will live and read in such a world. But we can choose how we live and read in it.

The books, stories, poems, and essays that will stay with us the longest, perhaps even for a lifetime, will be the ones that make eternity come alive in some way. A theological work illuminates just how much we can trust Christ. A classic novel makes virtue feel worth the suffering. A poem’s beauty hits on our hearts like sunlight on a starved leaf. An essay makes ultimate reality just a little bit clearer. These are hours of reading that we never truly leave; the words leave an imprint on us. These are treasures that can make the noise we often consume feel as fleeting as it is.

As I read the Bible, I’m continually amazed by how its freshness grows with each passing year. The Scriptures are more than our first reading priority each morning, or the only inerrant words we can read (though they are that). The Bible is the book that gives every other good book its power. It is the epicenter of beauty, the metanarrative of meaning — every story that reverberates in our hearts comes, ultimately, from God’s Story.

As you read — books, essays, poems, plays, and more besides — look for eternity. Look for the Bible’s residual presence. Look for the aroma of transcendent truth. And with gratitude to the one who is himself the Word made flesh, let this kind of reading do its good work in you.

http://rss.desiringgod.org/link/10732/15009540/how-does-gratitude-serve-the-will-of-god

Let’s admit, kissing is not what it used to be.

With the passage of time, the act has been romanticized and its applications narrowed. Once its associations were far more generally familial and brotherly; now they are more specifically marital, even sexual. Once kissing was a frequently exchanged sign of affection, particularly among close friends and extended family, and especially among the people of the one true God, both first covenant Jews and the new covenant Christians of the early church. Being a kissing people had something to say about their God. His people not only thought rigorously; they felt deeply. They not only spoke of familial allegiance, but showed familial affection. They not only confessed their love; they kissed.

That may sound well and good looking back at the past, but, closer to home, what do we do with the apostles’ repeated charge to Christians like us, “Greet one another with a holy kiss” (Romans 16:16)? Paul ends four of his letters with the command, and Peter adds his own: “Greet one another with the kiss of love” (1 Peter 5:14). So, do you? And if not, why not?

Previously, we surveyed a brief theology of kissing by tracing the Old Testament backdrop, and identifying a key takeaway for the church age. Now we turn to the two signature instances of kissing in the New Testament, both in the life of Jesus.

He Came to Be Kissed

Before reviewing the two sets of lips that kissed Jesus, let’s first marvel at the very reality of the incarnation, that the eternal second person of the unkissable Godhead became man, and dwelled among us — and could be kissed. Doubtless his mother showered his newborn cheeks with countless kisses as she “treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart” (Luke 2:19). Surely Joseph too. And Jesus’s relatives and younger siblings, in those frequent moments when they appreciated his holiness (rather than being unnerved by it).

For thousands of years, the Creator God, existing above and outside his created world, though ever present and watchful and near, could not be physically kissed by human lips. Lips and tongue could kiss him with expressions of worship and praise, but he had no human forehead, cheeks, or feet to literally kiss — that is, until the Son came, to be heard with human ears, seen with physical eyes, looked upon and touched (1 John 1:1), with both hands and lips.

“The unkissable God became man — and kissable.”

So, the unkissable God became man — and kissable. And in a striking contrast, the Gospels’ two reported touchings of human lips to the flesh of God himself come from the most unlikely of persons: “a woman of the city” kissing his feet in humble worship, and one of his own disciples kissing his face in awful betrayal.

Her Holy Kiss

First is the kiss of worship and glad submission in Luke 7 — a holy kiss, however difficult it was for his fellow dinner guests to stomach. Jesus was eating at the home of a Pharisee named Simon when,

behold, a woman of the city, who was a sinner, when she learned that he was reclining at table in the Pharisee’s house, brought an alabaster flask of ointment, and standing behind him at his feet, weeping, she began to wet his feet with her tears and wiped them with the hair of her head and kissed his feet and anointed them with the ointment. (Luke 7:37–38)

Unsettling for the pious in the moment, the event is rich with significance, in retrospect, through Christian eyes. Anointing has royal connotations, as she consecrates the one she now believes to be the kingly Anointed One, the long-promised Messiah. And she kisses his feet. Aware of her unworthiness, she dares kiss only his lowly feet. As she weeps, Jesus sees both her sorrow for sin and hope of rescue in him. With her tears and kisses, she mingles grief for her own depravity and love for her anointed deliverer.

Here, to use the later words of 1 Peter 5:14, is the quintessential “kiss of love,” from a sinner to her Lord and Savior. The one “forgiven little, loves little,” Jesus tells the stunned Pharisees; however, “her sins, which are many, are forgiven — for she loved much” (Luke 7:47). This “woman of the city” is no fellow dignitary, like the kings and rulers addressed in Psalm 2; yet, as they were commanded, she takes refuge in God’s Anointed, obeying, with joy, the charge of verse 12: “Kiss the Son.” And so, such a woman as this goes before them into the kingdom.

His Unholy Kiss

Second is the infamous kiss of betrayal in the garden. Unlike the first, this is a manifestly “unholy kiss” — and more than that, the archetypical unholy kiss, a literal kiss of death.

“Betrayal is awful. Betrayal with a kiss? Even worse.”

We may have heard the story so many times that it’s easy to miss the gall of it all. The traitor approaches with, “Greetings, Rabbi!” (Matthew 26:49) and draws near to apply a kiss of greeting. Under the pretense of discipleship, even familial familiarity, Judas desecrates God’s Anointed with the atonement’s first blow to the face — his unholy kiss.

Like the unholy kisses of old — whether of idolatry (1 Kings 19:18; Hosea 13:2) or flattery (2 Samuel 15:5; Proverbs 27:6) or adultery (Proverbs 7:13) — this kiss of betrayal prostitutes an otherwise admirable act. Yet, this kiss of betrayal takes on a deeply sinister meaning, maybe the unholiest of all. Betrayal is awful. Betrayal with a kiss? Even worse. Where conquered kings and slaves bow, dearly loved friends and family are entrusted with kissing proximity. Then, like Joab calling Amasa his “brother” and taking him by the beard to kiss him, while concealing his deadly sword in the other hand (2 Samuel 20:9–10), Judas comes near, within striking distance, to his “Rabbi,” for this peculiarly depraved peck.

Knowing the intent full well, and carrying himself with messianic grace and restraint, Jesus allows the traitor such access. He permits his insincere and exploitative kiss (Luke 22:47), but not without asking, “Judas, would you betray the Son of Man with a kiss?” (Luke 22:48). This is not what kisses are for. This is a deceptive, conniving, evil kiss, a kiss of hatred rather than love, of death rather than life. And given the Old Testament background of the kiss, and the specific duplicity and depravity of this kiss, we might ask whether this, under the pretense of a greeting, is actually an act of good riddance. At least it would prove to be such.

Son Kissed

For both the traitor and his rabbi, the unholy kiss led quickly to death — Judas in devastating regret and suicide, Jesus in sacrificially offering himself to the depths of horror and shame. Within 24 hours, the bodies of both would be dead, suspended between heaven and earth, one from a noose, another nailed to a cross. Might one tormented soul in hades have lifted up his eyes, seen his rabbi far off, with Abraham at his side, and called out for mercy? Alas, none would have known better than this disciple that now the great chasm had been fixed. Now none could cross.

For Jesus, that unholy kiss soon gave way to the holy love of the nations, anticipated by the worship of that nameless “woman of the city” who knew her sin and need. Sunday came. His dead heart beat again. The same body that lay dead, sown perishable, was raised, glorified and imperishable. And then, at his ascension, raised again, from earth to heaven, and exalted to the very throne of the universe, where the Father himself fulfilled the words of Psalm 2, declaring at his coronation for the ears of all, “You are my Son; today I have begotten you” (Psalm 2:7). Then, at long last, commanding the hosts of heaven, and the greatest of men, he issued anew history’s most terrifying and marvelous ultimatum:

Kiss the Son,     lest he be angry, and you perish in the way,     for his wrath is quickly kindled.Blessed are all who take refuge in him. (Psalm 2:12)

And so, we gladly obey. We kiss him now, from afar, by faith — in our worship, and praises, and glad confessions that he is Lord. And we remember that one day soon we will stand before him, in glorified flesh and blood. He will appear, says 1 John 3:2, and “we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is” — that is, our brother, our friend, the God we can kiss.