OFTEN, THE FIRST few pages of a novel or the first few minutes of a movie will already set the stage for the story that’s about to unfold. You might learn something important, for example, about the personality of the main character. How do they respond to difficulty? What quirk makes them unique?

Or take the opening scene of a movie. Even if you knew nothing about the plot — What, didn’t you watch the trailer? — just the lighting, mood, and music of the opening scene might tell you whether you’ll be treated to a lighthearted romantic romp or a dark and brooding exploration of the worst parts of human nature. The opening, in other words, can powerfully shape your expectations, even if you’re not consciously aware of it.

As I suggested all the way back at the beginning of our study of the Psalms, Psalm 1 does something similar for the Psalter as a whole. In just six short verses, the psalm sets forth a basic metaphor that will crop up again and again throughout the collection of songs and poems. It’s the image of two paths, one of righteousness and blessing, the other of wickedness and destruction. And as the first two verses of the psalm declare, one who wishes to walk the way of righteousness must be devoted to Torah or God’s law:

Blessed is the one
    who does not walk in step with the wicked
or stand in the way that sinners take
    or sit in the company of mockers,
but whose delight is in the law of the LORD,
    and who meditates on his law day and night. (Ps 1:1-2, NIV)

An excellent example of another text that expands on the lessons of Psalm 1 can be found in the thirteenth stanza of Psalm 119, the long and loving ode to Torah we’ve seen before. The stanza opens with a clear declaration of the psalmist’s devotion:

Oh, how I love your law!
    I meditate on it all day long. (Ps 119:97)

Around the world, many people who might consider themselves religious don’t really understand what their religious tradition is about — and unfortunately, this includes many Christians. Out of a sense of obligation, they do what they’ve been taught, sometimes without really knowing why. But the psalmist’s attitude toward God’s law is nothing like that. The psalmist delights in Torah:

How sweet are your words to my taste,
    sweeter than honey to my mouth! (vs. 103)

That delight may not have been immediate, as if the psalmist was smitten with Torah from the first reading. The psalmist may have been taught to love Torah by faithful and devoted parents. More importantly, though, the psalmist’s delight seems to be cultivated by the continual practice of meditating upon the law. Through such devoted and prayerful reflection, the psalmist learns wisdom:

Your commands are always with me
    and make me wiser than my enemies.
I have more insight than all my teachers,
    for I meditate on your statutes.
I have more understanding than the elders,
    for I obey your precepts. (vss. 98-100)

Here, the psalmist says essentially the same thing three ways: meditation on Torah (whether God’s “commands,” “statutes,” or “precepts”) is the way to wisdom (or “insight” or “understanding”). Moreover, true wisdom is not a matter of mere head knowledge. It’s practical, showing itself in the way a person lives. As suggested in Psalm 1, the law conveys the wisdom needed to stay on the path of righteousness:

I have kept my feet from every evil path
    so that I might obey your word.
I have not departed from your laws,
    for you yourself have taught me.
. . .
I gain understanding from your precepts;
    therefore I hate every wrong path. (vss. 101-102, 104)

Interestingly, the psalmist says it negatively. The image of walking God’s path is assumed; the phrase “I have not departed from your laws” pictures someone who doesn’t stray to the left or right. But here, devotion is described as the flip side of the psalmist’s delight in God’s way, namely, the psalmist’s revulsion toward wrong or evil alternatives.

. . .

ALL OF THIS makes me wonder about our own attitude, as contemporary Christians, toward Scripture. There is a way of reading Scripture that isn’t much more than doing your religious homework. Perhaps we’ve been told that we should read the whole Bible, so we obediently find and follow a reading program that will help us accomplish this, congratulating ourselves for accomplishing the feat at the end of the year.

And don’t get me wrong: I’m not saying we shouldn’t do this, nor am I suggesting that the Holy Spirit won’t meet us in the process. But let’s be honest: how does our experience and attitude compare to that of the psalmist? Do we delight in God’s word, savoring it for its sweetness? Or do we rush through a reading to check it off our list of things to do?

Do we meditate on what we read, prayerfully turning it over and over in our minds? In our reading and reflection, do we find not just interesting ideas but deep wisdom that shapes how we think and what we value? Does it makes us reevaluate what the world tells us to desire and pursue?

We can, to some extent perhaps, walk the way of wisdom by applying rules from the outside in: do this, don’t do that. But that’s not what the psalmist is describing. We meditate on Scripture to get God’s wisdom inside us, then walk wisely from the inside out.

And somehow, in the process of learning God’s way, of discovering what wise living was meant to be, we also find our delight.