The Benefit of Being a Scribe

I am working on writing out the book of Acts by hand. Acts is actually my sixth book of the Bible to write out, and I've made it my goal to do the whole New Testament--and then maybe the Old Testament, too, if my eyesight and finger dexterity hold out. The kings of Israel used to do this; it was actually commanded of them (Deuteronomy 17:18). I only do about eight or ten verses a day, which gives me time to think deeply about the verses I'm copying. It's remarkable to see all the things I've read right over for years. Words and sentences and concepts become so much more meaningful to me when I write them with my own hand.

Here's an example. As I was writing out Acts 13 this week, I was struck by two great surprises.

Barnabas and Saul (whose name changes to Paul in this chapter) sailed to the island of Cyprus and were preaching the gospel there. In the town of Paphos, they were summoned by a high-ranking Roman official who wanted to hear what they were preaching. The only problem was that this official was under the influence of a "sorcerer" named Bar-Jesus. He was a Jew, and apparently he hadn't gotten the message that sorcery was strictly prohibited under Jewish law, or, more likely, he just didn't care. His powers as a magician had made him valuable to the Roman official, and this was not an arrangement he was willing to easily surrender. He opposed Barnabas and Paul, trying to keep them from sharing the truth with his important Roman friend.

Here's where I was surprised. Paul, "filled with the Holy Spirit," called this Bar-Jesus out. He called him a son of the devil, an enemy of all that's good, and a lying villain. He then made the man blind and went on his way. OK, God made the man blind, but Paul didn't seem too choked up when he told the magician what was happening. Paul, the greatest evangelist of all time, offered no invitation to repentance. He showed no compassion, no kindness, no interest in the man's salvation. He rebuked him for his sin and moved on. (The Roman official, on the other hand, was "astonished at the teaching of the Lord" and believed.)

I was caught off guard by Paul's treatment of the Jew. Where was the love? Why such harsh words of judgment and nothing more? And then, I was struck by the second suprise. I was surprised by my surprise. Has this tolerance-is-everything culture worn off on me in such a way that I'm now judging the Apostle Paul? Have I been tainted to think that loving someone means tiptoeing around their sin? I was surprised to find that the world's thinking had seeped into my own mind.

This story in Acts reminded me of this: There is a time to simply call out sin. Sometimes that is the most loving thing we can do. Of course that's not all Paul did. Most of the time his message was filled with grace and the good news that we can be set free from our sin. He cared deeply for people, to the point of preaching the good news even to those who were trying to kill him. He wrote letters of great encouragement and exhorted people to faith. But he also wasn't afraid to rebuke sin, to call out those who opposed God and tell them they were wrong. Wrong. Is it even a word we feel comfortable saying today?

Writing out the scriptures draws my attention to details I wouldn't otherwise notice. I think that's what it did for the ancient kings of Israel, too. Deuteronomy 17:20 says that writing out God's word would keep the king from becoming "proud and arrogant, changing the commands at whim to suit himself or making up his own versions" (The Message). I need to avoid this, too. When the world starts to rub off on me, when I'm tempted to reinterpret God's Word in a way that feels more palatable, more acceptable by today's standards, a word-by-word copy in my own hand keeps me grounded in truth.