I’ve never graduated. Sure, I’ve earned degrees and passed tests and collected rolls of paper (otherwise known as diplomas) that haven’t seen the sun in years. But I’m talking about something more basic.
The four accounts of the life of Jesus—I’ve never moved beyond them.
I can empty epistles, handle histories, wrap my head around wisdom, but the longer I study those, the more I sneak back to the four standbys. I’ll attack Hebrews from every which translation I can find—and then wonder what John has to say. I’ll dig down into Solomon’s brains—and then go scrambling for Matthew’s take.
There’s something about those four books—Someone, I should say—that points all my devotions there. If I haven’t read one in a few weeks, you’ll find me there pushing Zacchaeus over for a better look.
And, really, I hope I never move beyond that. The gospel isn’t just for newbies or infants. It’s fundamental for continued growth. You never outgrow Mark and never out-hustle Luke; you only realize what you missed the last time through. The gospels are more than the runway; they’re the airplane.
If you need me, you know where to find me.