Lisa Hensley

I finished reading Leviticus last week. If there’s a book in the Bible that Christians want to avoid reading, it’s Leviticus. Or maybe Ezekiel. I actually loved reading Leviticus this year in my chronological reading. (That’s my favorite way to read the Old Testament.) This is not a theological study that I’m offering here. I simply want us to all know that the Bible is for us: the plain, everyday believer. Actually, we are all the same kind of believer; there’s no hierarchy in the faith (2 Peter 1:1).

God has done a lot of work in my heart, teaching me who He is and how His Word connects together. I’ve shown up for that too. I’ve put in a lot of work to get to a place where a few of the layers of Leviticus makes sense to me. It’s taken work to be able to read Leviticus with awe of how God reaches out for humanity.

I want to start there because often we tell a story that reading and understanding the Bible is easy. That you simply show up (which is most of the battle) and it all falls into place and it isn’t ever confusing or hard to process. That has not been my experience. It has been my experience that it is worth the effort and that small work done frequently will pay off in the long run.

Let’s start somewhere besides Leviticus and make a few points that drastically affect what we’re reading.

The world is loud and noisy. My mind is loud and noisy. The enemy is loud and noisy. God is never described as loud and noisy. His voice thunders, yes; but with power and majesty, not confusion and turmoil.

I have to keep retraining my heart and mind to listen for His voice. I must quieten, be still. John 10:3-4 says, “The sheep hear his voice, and he calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes before them, and the sheep follow him, for they know his voice.” In verse 27 Jesus says, “My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me.” He speaks and we can know Him. Is that not one of the greatest miracles? We can know Him.

I love that God is such a patient teacher. He’ll gently remind me again and again, until I finally notice that He’s reminding me of the same thing and, that perhaps, I should pay closer attention. Even this weekend, it was the same reminder that I’m not here to adjust to the temperature of the room. I’m here to adjust the temperature of the room. I’m not here to fit in, to reflect what’s already happening, to mold myself to what’s going on. I’m here, bringing the temperature. I’m here, passionate and gracious, because of Jesus, not what’s going on around me.