c. 2006 Religion News Service

(UNDATED) Thanks to a Hollywood ending and avoidance of the novel’s more bizarre musings, I doubt that many viewers will walk out of “The Da Vinci Code” questioning their faith, planning to leave the Roman Catholic Church or embracing paganism. Some might join me in thinking this a better film than early reviews had suggested.

What I treasure is how this movie-going experience deepened my understanding of Scripture.

We had tickets for the movie’s opening night on Friday. First, however, my son fulfilled a commitment and mowed a neighbor’s grass. By the time we arrived, the only seats available were too close to the screen. I exchanged our tickets for Saturday. We settled for ice cream beside a fountain.

Where was divine agency in this? It depends on which details you notice and what you make of them.

If you notice a boy honoring a commitment, you might thank God for duty over entertainment. If you look at a full theater, you might praise God or curse Satan, depending on your view of this fictional tale about Mary Magdalene and the church. If you look at our ticket exchange, you might say we ignored God’s desire that we shun this film or were admirably persistent. You might see God smiling at family time beside a fountain or frowning at the self-indulgence of ice cream.

It’s the same dilemma in reading Scripture _ we notice different details.

We bring a point of view to what we notice. We project onto God value-statements that, in fact, arise within us. We bring basic assumptions about God’s role in human affairs _ intervenor, planner, bystander, lover, judge _ and apply those to what we read.

Add to this complexity some unavoidable gaps in the record. Many details are absent, because earlier observers didn’t think them worth recording, because they didn’t fit the writer’s bias, or because the entire thread wasn’t known. Differing accounts of the same events cannot be reconciled.

Take the Last Supper, for example. Each Gospel records it differently. Details are missing, such as who sat at the table (the starting point for Dan Brown’s musing in “The Da Vinci Code”). Some details collide, such as the sequence of events, what Jesus said and the role of Judas.

If we were less concerned about being right and more curious about God’s nature, we could study this imprecise record, avoid turning it into doctrine and liturgy, and muse together about meaning.

The tragedy _ perhaps unavoidable, given human nature _ is that we don’t bring such humility and openness to Scripture. We want to be right. We want to read the Bible in a way that confirms our deep-seated and largely unexamined assumptions. We want to turn Scripture to our needs, rather than turn our hearts to Scripture. We see what we want to see.

In other words, we get in our own way. And thus we get in each other’s way. We aren’t the first generation to find it virtually impossible to have a civil discussion of the Bible. Our need to be right _ a deep, visceral need, which we rarely acknowledge _ far outweighs our ability to learn from each other.

Besides, we have these heavy-overhead institutions _ denominations, seminaries, congregations, television networks, publishing houses, political movements _ that could go out of business if we stopped chasing right-opinion.

What’s the answer? Humility, always humility. Open-mindedness. Not needing to be right. Accepting other points of view as worthy. Allowing God to be God.

That’s a lot to ask, isn’t it? Until then, we will argue.

(Tom Ehrich is a writer, consultant and leader of workshops. His book, “Just Wondering, Jesus: 100 Questions People Want to Ask,” was published by Morehouse Publishing. An Episcopal priest, he lives in Durham, N.C. His Web site is http://www.onajourney.org.)

KRE/PH END EHRICH

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