This is the beginning of a book I am working on so it is a little longer than the normal blog post...
Road Kill In Ohio
A Lesson in Meditative Bible Study
It was 8 am and I was at praise and worship practice, however my mind was racing. Had I done everything I needed to make my upcoming trip successful? Had I done everything I needed to make sure the family and church would be cared for in my absence? The morning went by quickly. It wasn’t one of my best sermons, but it also was nowhere near one of my worst. I thought I did an admirable job of focusing on the morning and not looking forward to the afternoon when I would mount my bike and hit the open road. I was relieved when the Holloways asked if they could pray for me before I left. I needed the prayer as I must admit I was a little apprehensive about riding my motorcycle some 3000 miles in a week’s time all by myself.
My trip essentially began in Ohio. I may have packed, said my good-byes, and left home in Michigan, but within fifteen minutes I was already in Ohio. I was already in Ohio before it dawned on me that this was it. I was on the trip that I had been planning and looking forward to for months. I was on the trip that I was sure was going to make a difference in my life. I was on the trip that some said I was crazy for attempting on a motorcycle, much less on a motorcycle all by myself. I was on my way to Sturgis, South Dakota.
I tried to let this fact soak in. I didn’t want to forget how it felt to undertake such an adventure. Oh, I may not have been Sir Henry Morton Stanley on a quest to find David Livingstone in the heart of Africa, but I was still on a quest to see things that I had never seen before. I thought about how Stanley lost his prized thoroughbred to a tsetse fly bite and prayed that my thoroughbred (a 2009 Harley Davidson Softail Custom) would carry me the distance without any such problems. Just in case I made sure my H.O.G. (Harley Owners Group) membership was up to date and I purchased the extra road side assistance coverage. I thought about how Stanley encountered one misfortune after another and prayed that my journey would be blessed and not filled with misfortune, although deep down I did want to run across some misadventure—after all, what is a trip if everything goes smoothly? I was deep in thought on these matters as I cruised down Ohio Road 109 so that I could jump on Interstate 90 that would take me all the way to South Dakota. It was then that my senses awoke me from my meditative state into an acute awareness of what was going on around me.
I looked up at the darkening sky as the clouds began to roll in. The weather report had promised no rain in the area until later that evening. I looked again and with all my metrological training (which is none) determined that these were not rain or storm clouds. I do not like riding my motorcycle in the rain (do you hear the Billy Joel song in the background?), but because on a 3000 mile journey it is almost inevitable that I will drive through some rain I had my rain suit packed. I looked at the corn fields as I raced by and thought if the corn could think it would probably be thinking yes here comes some rain clouds. I wondered if it was selfish of me to hope that those big billowing clouds were not rain clouds. I justified my thoughts by praying that if the corn needed some rain that it would be great if it did rain, but only after I passed through. I looked at the horizon and saw I-90 cutting across and above the road ahead of me. Vehicles were zipping by on a fast track to somewhere and soon I would be one of them.
I heard the wind as it rushed by me. It was loud and I wondered if maybe I should have purchased some ear plugs before I left. I read on some blog site where a man’s ears were seriously injured on a cross country bike trip and he lost almost 50% of his hearing as a result. My hearing was bad enough and I couldn’t afford to lose anymore. The roar of my 96 cubic inch American made engine was just a backdrop to the roar the wind made in my ears. Yet, even so, I heard a bird squawk as my approach scared it out of the weeds it was dinning in.
I tasted the air as it rushed over my windshield and struck me in the face. I hated to admit it, but it tasted moist and heavy—like rain. I made a mental note to keep my mouth tightly closed. Not only so I could live in denial about the rain, but also so that no bug would fly in. I have had several incidents when a bug had inadvertently flown into my mouth and slammed into my teeth or the back of my throat. In all the times that it has happened I would never have described it as a pleasurable experience. When I am on the bike the less I taste the better it is.
I felt almost every bump in the road. My Softail suspension is light years better than a rigid frame, but it is not the picture of comfort that some modern automobile suspensions provide. I also felt the vibration of the bike under my hands. I wondered if my new handgrips, which I purchased because they look cool, would end up being a problem in the comfort department as I moved on down the road some several hundred miles. I felt the sting as a small bug missed my mouth but mercifully ended its life by smashing kamikaze like into my forehead. I thought about how unpleasant a few thousand rain drops would feel if it did suddenly start to rain.
I saw, I heard, I tasted, I felt, but it was what I smelled that really ripped through my silver screen of imagination and made me fully alert. It was a smell like no other. It was a smell that quite frankly made you want to empty the contents of your stomach in a violent and rapid manner. It was a smell that once you’ve smelled it you would literally pay a monthly fee to never have to smell it again. It was the smell of decomposing, rotting flesh from a not too recent road kill. I rolled into my throttle hard in an attempt to distance myself from the horrible stench as quickly as possible. It wasn’t long until it was well behind me, but my olfactory memory wasn’t about to let it go so quickly. It lingered with me no matter how hard I tried to forget it.
All of these senses were experienced on a little stretch of Ohio 109 just before the toll road exit. I find it amazing that I can recall them all so clearly. This is one of the wonderful experiences about riding a motorcycle across the country that you just don’t get in a car. Yes, you see in a car, but there are many things that impair your vision. Yes, you hear in the car, but usually it is the chatter of the radio or the melodies of a CD and not what is happening outside the car. Yes, you taste in the car, but chances are it is your fast food to go or the sweet taste of the beverage you’ve pulled from the holder near your seat and not what is beyond the windshield. Yes, you feel in a car, but it is the climate controlled environment, not whatever nature throws at you. And yes, you smell in the car, but it is not usually something unpleasant unless you happen to be traveling with a teen-age boy or two. But on a motorcycle you experience these senses as they are without controlling them. You experience the road in a way that is unique to the two wheeled traveler. You experience the road in a way that helps you remember it.
What I am about to write is not earth shattering, nor is it even original, but if using our five senses help us experience a situation so that we will remember it better why don’t we use our five senses when we read the Bible? I’m not advocating a scratch and sniff Bible or a taster’s choice type Bible or anything like that. What I am advocating is that we tap into our five senses when we read Scripture. Like I mentioned above this is nothing new. St. Ignatius of Loyola urged his readers in the 16th Century to use the five senses in their meditation. Scripture itself compels us to use our senses: “O taste and see that the Lord is good” (Psalm 34:8a) and “My sheep hear my voice” (John 10:27a). On my first date with my wife I remember the purple shirt and black jeans she was wearing. I remember the sound of pool balls smacking into each other. I remember the smell of grilled hamburger and deep fried French fries. I remember how soft her hands were as we held hands walking back to the car. I remember the sweet taste of her lips as I stole a kiss good night. I remember all of that because my senses were at work. When we put our senses to work reading the Bible we will find that even though our memory may not be what it used to be we will remember a lot more than if we just read the text.
What does this method look like when applied? Let us take a text like John 4:1-42 which is the story of Jesus and the Samaritan woman at the well. If you’re not familiar with this method of study I think it is always best to put yourself in the shoes of the innocent bystander. You are there and able to experience the event, but you are not involved in the story.
What do you see? There is a man, a very kind and gentle looking man sitting at a short brick wall—on second thought it is a well. He appears tired, but yet hopeful. His eyes scan the horizon. It seems he is looking for someone or something. A woman walks up to the well to draw water as he is sitting there resting, he smiles ever so slightly at her like she was the one he was looking for. She is leery of him, but his face shows nothing but compassion for her. His eyes light up as he begins to speak.
What do you hear? He asks her for a drink and by the tone of her voice she is not amused. She declares in no uncertain terms that they should not be having this conversation. It doesn’t faze him. In a friendly, but authoritative voice he begins to talk about living water that renders you never to be thirsty again. She looks confused and her voice is pleading as she questions him further.
What do you feel? The sun is hot and it is no wonder they are talking about water. Who wouldn’t want a drink under the noon day sun? A gentle breeze has blown the sand and gravel over the bottoms of my sandals and I shift my feet inconspicuously to relieve myself of the irritating grit. They don’t seem to notice my slight movements and hopefully it stays that way.
What do you taste? The air is dry and the taste of a parched tongue, like a piece of leather, is in my mouth. I want to walk over and get a drink myself, but I do not want to interrupt the fascinating exchange going on. The man’s explanation of living water has me thinking and I can taste the sweetness of the living water the man is talking about. It is delicious and satisfying in a way that water is not. It doesn’t just quench my thirst it quenches my soul and gives me a peace that I can’t understand.
What do you smell? The woman is wearing some type of perfume or oil. It has a sweet smell, but is simply covering up a smell that is not so pleasant. It is the sweet smell that I’ve noticed on some woman of ill-repute in the market places. I’m not saying she is one of them, just that her smell reminds me of them. In the distance is the smell of animals, perhaps a camel or some sheep. I have gotten so used to the smell that I barely notice it anymore; although I am sure that someone new to the area would be holding their noses in disgust.
Now, as you practice this and get better at it you will notice all your senses working in harmony and it will look a little more like this: The woman jumped up, the scent of her perfume swirled about in the air by her rapid movement. The grumblings of twelve or so men drowned out what she was saying to the kind man who spoke with authority. The sand shifted and crackled as she quickly headed back into town with a glorious smile on her face. The once dry, almost bitter air, was filled with the sweet taste of salvation.
With even more practice you will not only be an innocent bystander, but can take an active role in the story. In this case you can imagine yourself to be Jesus, the woman or the disciples. Let’s try on the sandals of the woman: The sand is hot, the water jar is hot and heavy and to make matters worse there is a stranger at the well and not just a stranger, but a Jew. I had hoped to find the well void of any people. Hopefully I can avoid upsetting him. He looks tired and honestly smells a bit like he has been working up a sweat—maybe that is just how Jews smell. In a kind, dare I say loving voice he asks me for a drink of water. Imagine that a Jewish man asking a Samaritan woman for a drink under the hot sun of the noon day. I’ve got to get to the bottom of what this interesting man is all about…
The more you practice this type of Bible reading/mediation the better you will get at it. Of course there are many times when this method simply will not work. It does not work so well with lists of names or various laws. It does not work so well with a letter of instruction; although if you will let your imagination run wild you can make some great discoveries in this area. It obviously works best when the Scripture is telling a story. You will find the books of Genesis, Exodus, Judges, the Gospels and Acts to be great platforms where you can flex your sensory muscles while you are reading the text.
One warning on using your senses when reading the Bible is that this does not replace serious Bible study. This a meditative way to read Scripture to help you soak in the life giving water that naturally pours out through the words, but do not let it replace serious study. There is a time for meditative reading and there is also a time to break out the commentaries, concordances and word studies. Both, together, will allow you to quaff the elixir (drink deeply from the sweet taste of the Living Water).
