It was about Exodus 39 that I began to spot the similarities.
I'd started back in December, reading the gospel of Luke. Then I'd moved on to Isaiah - enjoying the much-loved poetic prophecies, and realising I'd forgotten how much of it was railing against Moab, Tyre, Tarshish and Edom - and after that I turned to page one, In the beginning... and reckoned, with solemn determination, that I could make it all the way through the Pentateuch in one go. That's the first five books of the Bible. The Law. The Torah.
Genesis was great. Of course, I couldn't read the narrative of Joseph without hearing the music from Technicolour Dreamcoat in my head (seven fat cows came up out of the Nile, uh-huh-huh). It's an excellent story. And so into Exodus, and the equally flamboyant story of Moses. But halfway through the book of Exodus comes the Ten Commandments, and it all changes. The Israelites are in the wilderness and the reader is too, with nothing but rules, regulations, and instructions on how to build a holy tent in stitch-by-stitch detail. And occasional deaths.
By the time I got to Exodus 39, I'd read the phrase blue, purple and crimson yarns, and fine twisted linen around twenty times, and was wondering why I was finding this interesting at all. That's when I thought: Reading through the whole Bible is a lot like following a long-distance trail.
My next thought was, Do I have to compare everything in life to walking?
And after that: Well, why not? Because look, if I just do a one-off walk, it's like picking a Bible passage for something specific. I want something that generates emotion - a good view, a nice turn of phrase - and a destination, a definable point to head for. Possibly some nutrition, of the physical or spiritual kind. I don't want to be slogging across flat fields on ill-defined paths. Particularly if I've got a friend with me.
But on a long-distance walk, I know it's going to involve some slog. There are still exciting bits, but there are plenty of housing estates, featureless fields, and mud in between. That all becomes more bearable when I've got an overall goal in mind. I learn to look for smaller, more obscure objects of interest.
Similarly, when I set out to read the whole Bible, I knew it was going to include the equivalent of streets of terraced houses. I did not realise it included Numbers chapter 7, which reads like The Very Hungry Caterpillar but without the narrative tension. On day one, Nahshon son of Amminadab presents his offering: one silver plate, one golden dish, five rams and so on. On the second day, Nethanel son of Zuar presents his offering: one silver plate, etc, etc. On the third day... wait, did they actually all offer the same thing? Yes, they did. Right up to Ahira son of Enan on the twelfth day. I have to admit to skimming that chapter.
The big advantage of not just picking out the interesting bits is that you get a much better overview of the territory. Many people drive out to notable points in the Peak District - Mam Tor, Dovedale, the Monsal Trail - and never connect the dots between them. Likewise, many people know the Sunday School stories from the Bible, but don't find out why David was fighting Goliath, or what Daniel was doing in Babylon, or how the Christmas story fits into the rest of the narrative. As I read the sections in between, I am getting a better mental map of how the Bible fits together.
Sometimes I get the impression that the "fit" is the depressing tendency of humans to justify their violence. In Genesis 9, the part of the Noah's Ark story that we don't read to kids, Noah's son Ham sees his father naked and drunk. Ham's brothers carefully cover their dad up, and when he recovers, Noah curses Ham and his son Canaan: "lowest of slaves shall he be to his brothers". And so, generations later, it's somehow no surprise that the Israelites' promised land is the Land of Canaan, and that they have this neat little justification for pushing the Canaanites off of it. The Amalekites get similar treatment: their battle against Israel under Moses in Exodus 17 is cited as a reason for King Saul to destroy them about 400 years later.
Sometimes it's more positive than that. When Jesus says he has come to fulfil the law and the prophets, it surely helps my understanding if I've actually read the law that he is referring to, and tried to imagine living under it. A bit like knowing the history of an area helps me to make sense of the current-day landscape.
And finally, back to the walking analogy: even when there are gaps, it's all part of the same thing. Sometimes I have weeks between walks, but when I get back on the trail, I'm still following the Portway. I keep track of how far I've come and where I am going next. I'm managing to read the Bible at a fairly steady rate of three chapters per day, but if I miss a day, I'm still reading the whole thing. I tick off the chapters as I read, and each book when I finish it. I wrote about this before; mentally, walking the National Forest Way is completely different to going for occasional walks in the National Forest, and I was surprised at how much difference it makes.
So that's why I'm still working my way through Numbers. I'm not just reading the Bible occasionally. I'm reading the whole thing. And that's what makes the difference.
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