“You study the Scriptures diligently because you think that in them you have eternal life. These are the very Scriptures that testify about me, yet you refuse to come to me to have life.” – John 5:39-40

Let’s play a game.

Close your eyes (wait—actually, don’t, because you’re reading this) and picture a Bible.

What does it look like?

Maybe it’s that big, leather-bound one on your grandmother’s coffee table, the one with your family genealogy scribbled in the front. Maybe it’s a pocket-sized New Testament, printed by the Gideons and left in a hotel drawer. Maybe it’s an app on your phone, offering verse of the day inspiration between doomscrolling sessions.

But now, let’s go deeper. What is the Bible?

Is it a divine rulebook? A history of the world? A flawless, dictated Word of God, dropped out of heaven, bound in King James English, and handed to us for all eternity?

Or is it something else entirely?

Because here’s the uncomfortable truth: Most of what people believe about the Bible comes not from the Bible itself, but from centuries of religious institutions, political interests, and well-meaning (but often misinformed) preachers.

And the Bible itself? It’s much weirder, much messier, and far more human than most of us have been led to believe.

The Bible Didn’t Start as “The Bible”

Imagine walking into a library and pulling random books off the shelf.

You grab a collection of ancient war poetry. A few personal letters between religious leaders. Some legal codes from a long-extinct civilization. A book of erotic love poetry. A fiery political manifesto written under oppressive rule.

Now, mash them all together, translate them into a language that didn’t exist when they were written, and declare that this collection is the direct and inerrant voice of God.

That’s sort of what happened with the Bible.

The Bible isn’t a book—it’s a library of writings from different authors, across different time periods, in different languages, addressing different cultural contexts. The word Bible shares etymological roots with library and essentially means “The Books”. The people who wrote these texts weren’t writing “The Bible”—they were writing to their communities, responding to their struggles, trying to make sense of the divine and the human experience.

And yet, somehow, we’ve turned this wildly diverse collection into a singular, monolithic weapon—one that’s often wielded to uphold power structures, silence dissent, and justify just about every form of oppression known to humankind.

But let’s step back and ask: Is that what it was meant to be?

Who Decided What Belongs in the Bible? (And What Got Left Out?)

Most people don’t realize this, but there was never a single moment in history where someone declared, “Okay, folks, this is the Bible. Final draft. No more edits.”

The process of canonization (deciding which books were in and which were out) was long, messy, and full of disagreements.

• The Hebrew Bible (what Christians call the Old Testament) wasn’t fully settled until at least the 2nd century CE.
• The New Testament wasn’t finalized until the 4th century CE—a full 300 years after Jesus.
• Even today, different Christian traditions have different Bibles—Catholic, Orthodox, and Protestant Bibles don’t all contain the same books.

Now, let’s pause and think about that.

If the Bible is supposed to be the absolute and unchanging Word of God, why did it take centuries of human debate to decide what belonged in it? And what does it mean that some texts were excluded? What happens when we realize that decisions about the Bible weren’t made by prophets or angels, but by councils of bishops, church leaders, and—let’s be honest—Roman emperors with political agendas?

Lost in Translation: How Words Change Meaning Over Time

Even if we all agreed on which books belong in the Bible, we’d still have another problem: Translation.

Because unless you read ancient Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek fluently, the Bible you’re reading is not the original text. It’s a translation. And every translation is an interpretation.

Let’s look at a few examples:

• The Hebrew word “Sheol”—which originally referred to the grave or the realm of the dead—was later translated as “Hell” in English, despite being a completely different concept. Actually none of the words translated as “Hell” actually mean hell.
• The Greek word “metanoia”, which means a radical change of mind, got translated as “repent”, which now carries connotations of groveling before an angry God. Not to mention the Hebrew and Jewish practice of Teshuvah, which is also translated as repentance.
• The word “Satan” wasn’t originally a proper name. It simply meant “the accuser”—it wasn’t necessarily an individual being, let alone the horned, pitchfork-wielding villain we imagine today.

See the problem? Entire theologies, doctrines, and worldviews have been built on mistranslations, misunderstandings, and cultural biases. And yet, people will say, “The Bible is clear.”

Which Bible? In which language? Interpreted by whom?

What If We’ve Been Reading It Wrong This Whole Time?

Let’s go back to Yeshua of Nazareth (because yes, Jesus’ real name wasn’t “Jesus”—that’s a Greek translation of a Hebrew name).

Yeshua didn’t walk around quoting the King James Version. He wasn’t interested in religious legalism. He wasn’t building an institution, creating a doctrine, or drafting a systematic theology.

In fact, he spent most of his time challenging the religious elites who were obsessed with law and control.

• He broke Sabbath laws to heal people.
• He told stories that made the religious establishment look like villains.
• He hung out with prostitutes, tax collectors, and social outcasts.
• He flipped tables when he saw religious leaders exploiting the poor.

And yet, somehow, modern Christianity has often taken the very system of control, hierarchy, and legalism that Jesus opposed—and made it the foundation of the faith.

A Contemplative Exercise: Read Differently

Take a deep breath.

Now, let’s do something radical: Read the Bible differently.

Instead of reading it like a rulebook or a science textbook, read it like a conversation.

Instead of asking, “What does this command me to believe?” try asking, “What questions does this raise?”

Instead of assuming certainty, sit with the mystery of it.

And most of all, instead of seeing the Bible as the end of the conversation, start seeing it as an invitation—to wrestle, to wonder, and to open yourself up to a deeper, more transformative truth.

Because maybe—just maybe—the Word of God was never meant to be just a book at all.

Maybe it’s something bigger. Something alive. Something that can’t be contained in pages or doctrines or institutions.

And maybe, just maybe, you already know it.

Sit with that. See what happens.