is alive with the power of God. No human words have the power that Scripture has. Think about a time that words have moved you: maybe it was a novel you read as a child, a letter from someone you love, a play that you saw on stage. These words are human expressions of love or grief or joy. But the words of Scripture carry the power of God Himself.
The word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and spirit, of joints and marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart. (Heb 4:12)
These are not generic words. They are personal—aimed at you, at me, and at every person who reads them. They are truly personal. In Scripture you can hear God’s Word for you. You can read a passage and hear what God wants you to hear at that moment. Your spouse or your best friend can read the same verse and hear what they need to hear. That’s the power of the Word of God.
When we read Scripture, we take our place in the crowd that Luke describes: “While the people pressed upon him to hear the word of God, [Jesus] was standing by the lake of Gennesaret” (Lk 5:1). The people didn’t come to Jesus to hear generic, abstract truths. Each of them came to hear Jesus talk to them personally. They recognized that Jesus had something to say to them. We read Scripture for the same reason: God has something to say to me, something that I need to hear right now, something for me personally, in the circumstances I’m in, with the needs that I have, the challenges I face, the opportunities I have. There are things that need to be removed from my life. Other things need to be added. We need strength and encouragement. Our eyes need to be opened to see where God is at work. The Lord will talk to us about these things as we read Scripture.
God’s Word has Power
Let me share with you a couple of examples. One of my favorite stories about the power of God’s Word comes from the life of St. Augustine, one of the greatest of the early Fathers of the Church.
You’re probably familiar with the basic story of Augustine’s life. He was a brilliant young man who restlessly searched for love and truth as he made a name for himself as a teacher and writer in the Roman Empire. His mother, Monica, was a fervent Christian, but he resisted her attempts to bring him to faith in Christ. For years he carried on a personal and intellectual struggle. Finally, Augustine became convinced of the truth of the Gospel. He knew that he should accept baptism and become a Christian, but he hesitated at the brink of conversion, embroiled in a spiritual struggle with the sins he knew he had to leave behind:
I was held back by mere trifles, the most paltry inanities, all my old attachments. They plucked at my garment of flesh and whispered, “Are you going to dismiss us? From this moment we shall never be with you again, for ever and ever. From this moment you will never again be allowed to do this thing or that, for evermore.”
They no longer barred my way, blatantly contradictory, but their mutterings seemed to reach me from behind, as though they were stealthily plucking at my back, trying to make me turn my head when I wanted to go forward. Yet, in my state of indecision, they kept me from tearing myself away, from shaking myself free of them and leaping across the barrier to the other side, where you were calling me. Habit was too strong for me when it asked, “Do you think you can live without these things?” (Confessions VIII, 11)
In spiritual agony, Augustine cried out to the Lord. How long? How long is it to be? He describes what happened next:
As I was saying this and weeping in the bitter agony of my heart, suddenly I heard a voice from a nearby house chanting as if it might be a boy or a girl … saying and repeating over and over again, “Pick up and read, pick up and read.” At once my countenance changed, and I began to think intently whether there might be some sort of children’s game in which such a chant was used. But I could not remember having heard of one…. I interpreted it solely as a divine command to open the book [a copy of the letters of St. Paul] and read the first chapter I might find. (Confessions VIII, 12)
His eyes landed on a passage from Romans:
Let us conduct ourselves becomingly as in the day, not in reveling and drunkenness, not in debauchery and licentiousness, not in quarreling and jealousy. But put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires. (Rom 13:13–14)
The passage told Augustine something that he had known for some time—that he needed to leave the old life behind and accept the new life of Christ in baptism. But now the conviction moved from his head to his heart. In a flash, he received the power he needed to act on what he knew to be true. Augustine was soon baptized and became a Christian. Where did Augustine find the power to overcome the fears and doubts that had plagued him for so long? Not from himself. The power came from the Word of God in Scripture.
Here we discover one of the most important differences between God’s Word and mere human words: God’s Word contains in itself the power to accomplish the very things it declares. Unlike the latest self-help book, which may have good advice for my life but leaves me to do the work, God’s Word is able to make happen exactly what it proclaims. This opens up for us a whole new way of reading Scripture—a way in which we expect God’s Word to accomplish in us the very thing we are reading!
God’s Word Gives Direction
Because Scripture is alive in this way, it can also point us in the right direction. It can help us answer the questions we have. It can tell us things we need to know. This happened to me at a crisis point in my own life.
It happened about half way through my first year in diocesan seminary. At that time, many seminaries had not experienced the spiritual reform that has since taken place. I had entered seminary after a careful discernment process, and I was as sure as I could be that God was calling me to be a diocesan priest. But as the year went on, the various struggles in the seminary left me restless and unsettled. I wasn’t sure I was in the right place. I thought I should be a priest, but perhaps I should join a religious order instead of becoming a diocesan priest. The struggle was so intense that I even began visiting different religious orders.
At some point in the midst all of this it dawned on me that I couldn’t make the decision on my own. Even though I was tempted to pack up my room and leave, I was drawn instead to make a special novena asking the Lord to guide me in the direction I should go. At the end of the nine days, I had a strong sense that the Lord wanted me to look into Scripture for some wisdom about my problem. I was led to a beautiful passage from Isaiah:
By waiting and by calm you shall be saved,
in quiet and in trust shall be your strength.
But this you did not will.
“No,” you said,
“Upon horses we will flee.”
Very well, you shall flee!
“Upon swift steeds we will ride.”
Very well, swift shall be your pursuers!
(Is 30:15–16, NABRE)
These words spoke to me immediately. The Lord was telling me to wait, to trust Him and be calm, not to rush into the wrong decision: “in quiet and in trust shall be your strength.” But He also convicted me when, in the same passage, He said: “But this you did not will.” He was right. I was ready to leave, to flee, not to wait and be calm. I understood very clearly that the Lord was telling me not to make any decision about my future now, but to wait trustingly.
So I waited. And about two months later, out of the blue, the Director of Vocations
