Lesson
Welcome to this journey. You are invited into something more than a course. This is a practice of attention, of learning to see differently—perhaps for the first time, or perhaps again, but more clearly. Let’s begin not with what the Scriptures say, but with how we’ve been trained to read them, and how Jesus invites us to see them anew.
Jesus rarely told people what to think. He almost never gave a direct, dogmatic answer. Instead, he showed a way of spiritual seeing. That’s not just a poetic suggestion—it’s a necessary lens. Jesus was a faithful Jew steeped in his tradition, and within that tradition, there’s a practice called midrash—a method of engaging sacred texts that is more curious than certain, more conversational than conclusive.
Midrash isn’t just about finding a new interpretation. It’s about entering the text, wrestling with it, and letting it reflect something back. It expects a relationship with the text, not a set of rigid instructions. Jesus practiced this often. When asked a question, he rarely answered it directly. He returned a question with another question, or he told a story, or he pointed to the heart rather than the rule. He was doing theology in real time—with imagination, insight, and courage.
The goal here is not certainty. If we want to engage Scripture like Jesus did, we begin by letting go of the need for one fixed meaning. The Jewish tradition has always held that Scripture speaks on many levels: the literal, the symbolic, the comparative, and the mystical or hidden. Midrash allows all these layers to exist together. It says: don’t rush past the surface, but don’t stay stuck there either.
Literalism is not just limiting—it can be harmful. When taken as final and absolute, literal interpretations often lead to exclusion, moral superiority, or even violence. We’ve seen this throughout history. But Jesus offers something very different. He actively rejected harsh readings of his own Scriptures in favor of love, inclusion, and transformation. He wasn’t bound by the text—he dialogued with it. He honored it without being enslaved to it.
Notice how Jesus takes the “eye for an eye” teaching, which is firmly in his tradition, and flips it completely. He doesn’t argue that Exodus or Leviticus were wrong—he simply refuses to let those texts define how the reign of God will unfold. He says instead, “But I tell you…” and reorients the conversation toward compassion and nonviolence.
This isn’t just clever interpretation. It’s the way of spiritual discernment. Jesus knew which texts were drawing people toward the Divine, and which were keeping them stuck in fear, pride, or power. That’s not a rejection of Scripture—it’s a deep honoring of its real purpose: transformation.
What does this mean for us? It means we are called to read Scripture not just with our intellect, but with our whole being. The state of our soul matters when we read. As Thomas Aquinas taught, “Whatever is received is received according to the manner of the receiver.” Who we are when we open the Bible matters more than what we find on the page. Our questions matter. Our humility matters. Our openness matters.
Jesus never weaponized Scripture. He used it to awaken, to challenge, to comfort, and to invite. He de-emphasized legalism and emphasized love. He taught people to see—not just to read, not just to memorize, but to see with the eyes of the heart.
In this first session, consider this the beginning of a spiritual retraining. Reading like Jesus is not about acquiring more knowledge—it’s about cultivating a different kind of presence. A presence that’s open to surprise, contradiction, paradox, and growth.
In summary, the first shift is from what does the text say to how am I being invited to see? That is the path Jesus walked. That is the path he offers to us.