When I was a freshman at Bible college, Randy, a friend of mine, confessed to me that he was having a hard time in his American literature class. The problem: Moby Dick. The professor expected him to read the whole thing.

Randy felt that he could fake his way through the quizzes and probably get by, but the teacher had him sign a piece of paper confirming that he had read the whole book.

With his name on the line, he knew he had to forge ahead and read every page at some level. I still remember his words, “I have never read a book from beginning to end.” I thought I had misunderstood him, so I questioned him. What do you mean? You mean this school year? Not your whole life. How could that possibly be true?

Randy explained that in his school, he was never required to read entire books—just excerpts in anthologies. He didn’t know what to do.

I told him to keep reading. The book might grow on him as the class discussed it. Then again, it might not. I mean, the prof wasn’t asking him to love the book. He only had to read it through and give it a chance. I felt for Randy. I mean, for the first book ever . . . why couldn’t she have assigned something shorter like Winesburg, Ohio or The Old Man and the Sea or A Tree Grows in Brooklyn or, given the way this musing is going, Fahrenheit 451.

I thought of Randy’s struggle when I came across a recent article in The Atlantic that reported a growing number of students, even in the Ivy League schools, don’t read books from beginning to end. They just can’t focus enough to read an entire book. Class curriculums are changing to a collection of shorter essays. One literature class reportedly no longer requires the reading of Crime and Punishment. But if they can’t read that one, how will they ever get to The Brothers Karamazov?

The thing that seemed especially strange about Randy’s question was that he was a Bible major. A book. A really long book. I did not ask at the time if he was including the Bible in his statement. A collection of books. Old and New Testaments. Had he read that book all the way through from beginning to end?

Maybe in Randy’s mind the Bible didn’t count because it was the Bible. Of course, the Bible is the ultimate book. What Moby Dick is to American literature, the Bible is to the universe and eternity and life itself. Lowest, highest and deepest. Everest. Death Valley. Lake Baikal. The Word of God. Actually more than a book.

After David, after Solomon, after the kingdom split and most of the people did evil, along came Josiah (2 Chronicles 34). He was doing right, cleaning up the land, tearing down idols, purging the land, rebuilding, renewing, bringing his kingdom up to date and generally doing good.

Then during all the cleaning, Hilkiah found the Book of the Law. And Josiah, for the first time ever, heard and listened. He read his Moby Dick. OK, well, maybe he had it read to him, but he really heard it.

And when he heard it, he tore his clothes and grieved for his sin and the sins of his people. He didn’t keep the word to himself, just for his own repentance and renewal.

And the king went up to the house of the LORD, with all the men of Judah and the inhabitants of Jerusalem and the priests and the Levites, all the people both great and small. And he read in their hearing all the words of the Book of the Covenant that had been found in the house of the LORD. And the king stood in his place and made a covenant before the LORD, to walk after the LORD and to keep his commandments and his testimonies and his statutes, with all his heart and all his soul, to perform the words of the covenant that were written in this book. (2 Chronicles 34:30–31)

We cannot truly hear the Word without conviction of sin. We have no choice when we truly hear than to tear our clothes and fall prostrate to the floor.

If you, O Lord, should mark iniquities,
    O Lord, who could stand?
But with you there is forgiveness,
    that you may be feared.
(Psalm 130: 3–4)

But where is this forgiveness? Where is it?

“Sacrifice and offering you did not desire—
    but my ears you have opened—
    burnt offerings and sin offerings you did not require."
Then I said, “Here I am, I have come—
    it is written about me in the scroll.
I desire to do your will, my God;
    your law is within my heart.” (Psalm 40:6–8).

Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign. Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel. (Isaiah 7:14)

And Mary said to the angel, “How will this be, since I am a virgin?” (Luke 1:34)

“Then will the eyes of the blind be opened
    and the ears of the deaf unstopped.
Then will the lame leap like a deer,
    and the mute tongue shout for joy.
Water will gush forth in the wilderness
    and streams in the desert.” (Isaiah 35:5–6).

Do we ever really stop reading the Bible? What about not just reading, but actually living the Bible? Repent. Tear down the idols. Read the whole book. If Randy could make it through Moby Dick, and he did, what about us, the people of God, steeping in it, savoring it, smelling, tasting, hearing every word of every delicious page.

Jesus, aware of this, withdrew from there. And many followed him, and he healed them all and ordered them not to make him known. This was to fulfill what was spoken by the prophet Isaiah:

“Behold, my servant whom I have chosen,
    my beloved with whom my soul is well pleased.
I will put my Spirit upon him,
    and he will proclaim justice to the Gentiles.
He will not quarrel or cry aloud,
    nor will anyone hear his voice in the streets;
a bruised reed he will not break,
    and a smoldering wick he will not quench,
until he brings justice to victory;
   and in his name the Gentiles will hope.”
(Matthew 12:15-21)

Through the pages, Jesus comes to us like the whale we cannot escape. Who would want to escape? Keep reading.

Then he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant and sat down. The eyes of everyone in the synagogue were fastened on him. He began by saying to them, "Today this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing." (Luke 4:20–21)

“He went to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, and on the Sabbath day he went into the synagogue, as was his custom. He stood up to read, and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was handed to him. Unrolling it, he found the place where it is written:

‘The Spirit of the Lord is on me,
    because he has anointed me
    to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners
    and recovery of sight for the blind,
to set the oppressed free,
    to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.’
(Luke 4:16-19)

Keep reading. Let us strap ourselves to Christ, Ahab-like, to the great figure of the deep, riding, diving, drowning, living and dying in the wonder of the love that answers every question asked by anyone. And beyond that—falling down prostrate not before the swelling judgment of our overarching sin from which we cannot find landfall; but rather, falling down before the Word who spoke and gave and pursued love for us, who redeemed the irredeemable, the one who plants us new like Psalm 1 meets A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.

Behold, I am doing a new thing;
    now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?
I will make a way in the wilderness
    and rivers in the desert. (Isaiah 43:19)