We've Been Reading the Bible Backwards

He lived at the turn of the first century. A descendant of King David. One of the most respected teachers in all Jewish history. His name? Rabbi Hillel.

Not only was he known to be humble, but he also had the talent to take complicated scripture and condense it into little nuggets of wisdom. This made him a favorite of both scholars and commoners alike. To this day, his teachings continue to shape Jewish thought around the world.

There’s one particularly intriguing story about him. A man came to him and asked the rabbi to summarize the entire Torah while standing on one foot. He answered:

“That which is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbor. That is the whole Torah; the rest is commentary. Go and learn it.”

Sound oddly familiar?

So often, when we’re seeking righteousness, we begin with, “What should I stay away from? Where are the lines? How do I keep myself from failing?”

Not long after Hillel spoke those words, another descendant of David, a carpenter’s son from Nazareth, became aware of his quote. By the time Jesus was beginning his ministry, Hillel’s teachings were already being repeated in synagogues throughout Jerusalem and Galilee. And Jesus offered His own summary of the law:

“So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you, for this sums up the Law and the Prophets.” (Matthew 7:12)

When you first hear these two quotes, you might think they’re saying the same thing, but look a little closer, and a deeper divide emerges. These quotes point out two very different ways of approaching God. And two very different ways of reading His Word.

Hillel’s version focuses on restraint: “Don’t do harm.” It’s a defensive posture, keeping oneself from crossing lines. And if we’re being honest, that’s the tendency of many religious hearts. We put up “hedges of protection.” We build spiritual guardrails. We measure faithfulness by how rarely we stumble. But real, true, vibrant love is not built on passivity.

Elie Wiesel, who stared evil in the face during the Holocaust, once said, “The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference.” Hillel’s quote can be fulfilled quite easily by simply staying disengaged, keeping your distance, and staying uninvolved. You may not cause any harm, but you also lose relationship. That’s exactly where Jesus interjects.

“So, in everything, do to others…”

Where Hillel offers a safe retreat, Jesus flips the whole thought process. It’s no longer, “How do I avoid sin?” but “How can I actively love?” This isn’t telling us to refrain from wrongdoing. It’s a command to serve, to bless, to sacrifice for others even before they voice a need. That’s far more demanding. And far more beautiful.

This contrast doesn’t just affect how we treat other people. It bleeds over into how we approach the Bible as well. Many of us grew up, perhaps unknowingly, treating Scripture like a spiritual rulebook; what not to say, what not to look at, what not to think. Even in our most sincere Bible studies, self-preservation sneaks in. We read searching for safety: “If I follow these rules, I’ll stay clean and stay in God’s favor.”

But when we read Scripture this way, we warp it. We turn it into something God never intended. We turn it into a survival manual for personal purity. And when that happens, something dangerous occurs. Our focus, even while reading God’s Word, remains centered on us, our comfort, our reputation, our spiritual status. God becomes a tool to secure our wellbeing. And when we subtly use God to serve ourselves, we are no longer worshiping Him. We are worshiping ourselves.

Of course, sin is real, and yes, holiness matters. The Bible warns us against genuine dangers. But if our entire relationship with Scripture never moves beyond sin-avoidance, we turn it into a list of landmines to dodge. What we end up with is a faith marked by cautious restraint. A faith that’s terrified of failing, and a faith that’s rarely courageous enough to love deeply. We become skilled at not messing up, but clumsy at compassion. We stay behind our hedges, unwilling to bear one another’s burdens.

This is precisely what Jesus came to confront. His mission wasn’t simply to help us avoid sin; it was to lead us into something far riskier. Real love. Active love. Inconvenient, vulnerable, self-sacrificing love.

The Pharisees were brilliant at rule-keeping. They tithed every herb from their garden, meticulously scrubbed their hands, memorized every legal iota. And Jesus looked at them and said,

“Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You give a tenth of your spices—mint, dill and cumin. But you have neglected the more important matters of the law—justice, mercy and faithfulness. You should have practiced the latter, without neglecting the former.” (Matthew 23:23)

Jesus didn’t come to abolish the law (Mt 5:17). He was exposing how empty the laws are when separated from love. If we approach Scripture only as a checklist, we will miss its heartbeat entirely. God didn’t give us His Word so we could avoid sin. He gave it so we could know Him.

Just before the cross, Jesus prayed,

“Now this is eternal life: that they know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom you have sent.” (John 17:3)

Not “know about Him.” Know Him. To experience His justice, His mercy, His holiness, and His tenderness. When we truly see Him, our hearts shift, not out of fear, but out of love. Obedience becomes less about avoiding disappointment and more about reflecting His beauty. His commands stop feeling like hedges and start feeling like open gates inviting us into His likeness.

When we read Scripture through this lens, it becomes more than a purity manual. It becomes a window into God’s heart. And as we witness Him, something astonishing happens. We start to want what He wants. We begin to give, forgive, serve, and sacrifice; not under compulsion, but because our hearts beat like His.

This is why Jesus didn’t leave Hillel’s quote unchallenged. Avoiding harm requires only distance. True love crosses that distance. It moves in. It takes risks. That’s the love God wants to see taking root in us, because it’s the love He’s already poured into us.

We’re tempted to read the Bible like a legal contract: “Where are the lines? What’s permitted? What’s off-limits? As long as I stay within the lines, I’m safe.” But Jesus never offered such an easy route. He continues to lead us beyond safety, beyond restraint, and into authentic love.

And honestly, I don’t think this misunderstanding is entirely our fault. Many of us were taught this way, often by well-meaning teachers. For generations, Christian preaching has leaned heavily on rule-following and sin-avoidance. Those boundaries aren’t worthless. But they don’t capture God’s deepest desire.

I don’t think we’ve neglected Scripture. We’ve simply come to it with the wrong question. Instead of asking, “How can I avoid failure?” we should be asking, “How can I know God?” The Bible isn’t primarily a manual for avoiding disaster. It’s an invitation into fellowship with the one true, living God. That’s what Jesus pointed to when He called His followers into a love that moves. A love that doesn’t sit still in safety. A love that doesn’t stop at avoiding evil but pushes forward to seek good. A love that reflects God’s own heart.

The Bible was never meant to be a sin-avoidance map. It’s God’s love letter. A call to behold Him, and through His grace, to become like Him. That’s why Jesus could sum up the entire law with these words:

“In everything, do to others what you would have them do to you, for this sums up the Law and the Prophets.”

Even from the very first pages of Genesis, God’s law was never just about the things we should avoid. It has always been about being in relationship with Him, about learning who He is, and through his mercy and grace, about becoming the people we were always meant to be.

So, this week, don’t settle for simply avoiding sin. Follow the Spirit’s lead. Look for one small, concrete way to bless someone around you. That’s where the world will begin to see God’s beauty.

-Mark Gregory