Have you heard this before? “I just finished reading [insert amazing book]. I think it would be undeniably perfect for what you’re thinking about. You are under every conceivable obligation to read it!” So, after hearing these exact words and quickly opening up Amazon you one-click-buy and hoist your sails for a new and better horizon with endless learning possibilities. How beautiful it will be!
What a beautiful day it was for me. I can see them now looking me in the eye with all seriousness, the tears welling up. Perhaps they are a trusted and learned friend who has nothing but love for us. Well for me, it was lecturers and college friends. And the recommendation? Nothing less than John Owen’s “Communion with God”. The path was laid out before me and if I had any hurdles to bound over, all were broken down. There was no wall of hostility between me and John Owen’s book. For you see, like the gift of grace, I found it free in a chuck-out pile (the fleece was indeed covered with dew). Furthermore, grace abounded because it was in easy-to-read English and was abridged (If you are familiar with John Owen then you know that this is an essential amendment for our modern sensibilities).
Did I read it? No. For all the easy-to-read-ness and for all the bridging that was done the book simply did not grasp me enough to keep me reading on. All along I knew it was worth going through those glorious Owen ideas because of just how profound they are, how much influence they have had, how many people recommended it and because those recommending it were of the highest calibre in character and trustworthiness.
But I tell you, like the seed that was thrown in shallow soil to grow up with all zeal and haste only to suffer a sun stricken, soul-withering experience, such was I when I read John Owen’s book.
So what did I do? Well, at first I felt a little guilty (the kind of guilt like when you said you were going to do the dishes because you thought it would be the right thing to do but then when you get to the dishes you realise you don’t really want to do the dishes even though it is the right thing to do so you only do them half-heartedly and they end up only being half dirty dishes by the end anyways so the next time you go to use the dishes that are meant to be clean they are not actually clean because you didn’t really clean them well when you did the dishes in the first place and now your wife is looking at you and looking at the dirty dishes and all you can do is give puppy dog eyes filled with remorse and guilt – it’s that kind of guilt). Slight digressive illustration aside, this was a book that I had tried to read before. Now I was trying again because I had a bit more time. I also had a recent burst of excited energy in regards to reading because I had read other books on the topic and wanted to go to a different source in a different age. But for one reason or another, I couldn’t read this book. So I put it back on my bookshelf on the top row with all the other books that I’ve tried to read but not enjoyed. The top shelf is akin to a little purgatory for the books that I own. Doubtless some of them will be given away, or worse… but I don’t think that will be the fate of John Owen’s book Communion with God. If I had to prognosticate its future then I would say there is a glimmer of hope. With a book such as this, I will endeavour to return to it at a later date because of the recommendations – and its importance is not something I want to take lightly. Nor do I want to only read literature I’m enjoying. As with many things, reading not excluded, there is a certain degree of perseverance that is required and at times a greater degree than we first expect.
I encourage you if you are struggling to read because you are suffering from an intellectual “thorn in the flesh” to not give up too soon. Put it back on the shelf for another time or another season. Perseverance is not just gritting your teeth through a present grind. It could also be, ‘try again later.’ Much like our diets. There are different foods that appease our ever shifting pallets. We like certain flavours and dislike others only to find out that months down the track our bodies have undergone a complete switch. Of course some books will always be like sugary treats to us – just consider, fried bananas with sugar on yoghurt with berry syrup will never cease to be appetising – but other sorts of books will be like boiled broccoli. We know all too well that bodybuilders eat only chicken, broccoli and rice. And yet for us, “the spirit is willing but the body is weak.” Therefore, let us say with Paul, “I discipline my body and keep it under control, lest after preaching (a.k.a. recommending books) to others I myself should be disqualified.” (1 Cor. 9:27).
Bigvai and Shiphrah 