Lately, for several months now, I've been hung up on which translation of the Bible is "best." Dumb, I know. I've researched and over-researched translations, mainly just through the internet, and I've heard from some about Eugene Peterson's The Message not being the true Gospel, from others about all meaning-driven (rather than word-for-word) translations being inaccurate at best and lowbrow at worst, from others about word-for-word translations being stiff and literal to the point of incomprehensibility. Dynamic equivalence misses the point. Formal equivalence misses the point. No good translation exists. Every translation is valid. King James is the only valid option. Of course, everybody argues from a different direction, and the arguments fly past each other and into the vacuum of cyberspace. Most arguments seem emotionally charged as well, either mean-spirited or condescending if not both.
I decided a month or so ago to go with one particular translation (which it is doesn't matter) because it has a reputation for being the most "accurate" or most literal as far as word-for-word translations go. I think "seeing" the Hebrew and Greek languages in English is neat, even if it makes for harder reading comprehension. So one part of me has decided to stick with this one as my primary Bible for reading and study. Another part of me, though, continues to be distracted by how fascinating the different translation philosophies are, and how endlessly interesting it is to read from the variety of translations themselves, comparing them and "rating" them in my head.
There is really no end to this though. English speakers have (what some estimate to be) upwards of 200 translations of the Bible to choose from. (A sobering thought when one considers all the hundreds, or probably thousands, of tongues that don't yet have a single translation to read.) The exploration could go on forever, and the distraction from sitting still to actually read the inspired Word of God could go on forever. Last weekend, I heard God. Seriously. Maybe not audibly, but He pressed on my heart in such a way that I heard His voice in my conscience: "I don't care what translation. I don't care about translation philosophies. Just read My Word. The Spirit is there to guide you, to help you understand. Don't grieve the Holy Spirit of God. Listen to Him. And return to Me, Luke. Return to Me."
How easy it is to fall away. Reading about the Bible, or reading it as literature, or reading it with skepticism, or reading across translations only to compare styles, is bunk. It's nonsense, if that's all it is, and it's missing the point. Serious study is great, don't get me wrong, but the relationship comes first. Am I going to read His Word as a means of amusement, or am I going to listen to God's voice in writing and let it change me?
The heated debates regarding Bible translations--the most loud and feverish of them, anyway--are just one of so many instances of Christians bickering and fighting with one another, pointing condemning fingers, speaking with an authoritative judgment that is disgusting when it comes from the mouth of a man. (Even God as a man, who of course spoke with authority, says Himself in John 12:47 that He "did not come to judge the world, but to save it.") And I really need to watch myself so I'm not judging them, but I can't deny that I see in these diatribes a hardness of heart I desire with all my heart to avoid. These folks don't need another pointing finger but prayer, like we all do. God, give me the grace and humility to return to You, follow You, and be more and more like You each day; to be madly in love with You, so that I can say, with the psalmist, "I love you, my Strength. I delight in doing Your will, my God, and Your law is in my heart."
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