More Questions Than Answers

As I gaze ahead into the next weeks and months, I find I have more questions than answers. How will a year in the Torah affect me? What will I see that I've never seen before?

I can't possibly learn everything there is to learn, do everything there is to do, or read everything there is to read. That's the power of a yearly rhythm, that each year is a reminder of the years before, and a chance to discover something new. Almost everything this year will be new.

I'm looking forward to being part of a shared consciousness that takes place around the world as millions participate in the largest, longest group Bible study on the planet. For centuries, the Torah has been divided up into segments so that a reading of the scripture happens every week to cover Genesis through Deuteronomy in a year. All around the world, synagogues and certain churches read the text aloud. Jesus was part of this tradition when he stood to read in his home synagogue. (If you're wondering why he read from Isaiah, that came from a second set of texts from other books of the Old Testament which is read after the Torah each week).

Here are a few of the questions I am mulling.

Why does Rosh Hashana, the Jewish New Year, fall on September 14, but Simchat Torah (the rolling back of the scrolls to the beginning of Genesis) doesn't happen Genesis until October 10?

Which holidays do we know Jesus observed? What did he do on those days? Did he stick to tradition or buck the system?

If God and the son are one, what will I discover about Jesus and I walk through the Torah this year? How will the vengeful God of the Old Testament and the Loving Savior of the New Testament meld into the One they have always been?

Will I find a Friday evening to Friday evening rhythm that feels natural or will I still function Monday to Monday?

Will I discover enough about God, his people, and myself through the year to keep my attention or will I be distracted by new ideas, new projects, and whatever happens to pop up in my path?

I am fully aware that I am stepping into a river of history. Whether I float or drown or get washed back on shore, the river will continue to flow without me.

Photo credit: Marco Bellucci via Visual Hunt / CC BY