“But man is not made for defeat,” he said. “A man can be destroyed but not defeated.” ― Ernest Hemingway, The Old Man and the Sea
While on vacation recently, I read Ernest Hemingway’s classic, “The Old Man and the Sea.” The story recounts a lonely old Cuban fisherman, Santiago, who is 84 days without a catch. The widower’s sole companion is a young, dutiful apprentice who is no longer permitted to fish with Santiago due to his misfortune. After three days of battling a commanding marlin, Santiago’s prized possession is torn apart by scavenger sharks on his return into port. Though Santiago overcame his misfortune and gains the loyalty of his apprentice, all that remains of his magnum opus is a fleshy skeleton that is mistaken as a shark by tourists.
As I closed the short story, I could not help but have a heavy heart. Santiago’s character was full enough, but I was not particularly moved by him. Yet, I found myself returning to the story in my mind over the next few weeks for another reason – its author.
Though perhaps framed by a fisherman Hemingway encountered, Santiago’s wounds were no doubt crafted from Hemingway’s own heartache. Despite his fame, adventures, and women, Hemingway was a man tormented by lost love and unmet redemptions. These realities seep through the pages of “The Old Man and the Sea,” which was written a few years before Hemingway’s suicide. While Santiago’s tale was fiction, Hemingway’s torment ultimately defeated him.
At the same time, I was reflecting on this story, I began reading the Gospel of John to my children. In the iconic introduction, John claims the following:
 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things were made through him, and without him was not anything made that was made… And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory…Â
These sentences also sat like a lozenge in my mind as I tried to consider the depths of their meaning. Our words are not who we are, but they are an extension of who we are. Just as a piece of art conveys the artist, our words reveal what is inside us.
But John’s writing is more profound than that. In a world guided by Greek philosophy where meaning was in wisdom and truth, John claimed that purpose is not found in knowledge but a person, Jesus of Nazareth.
I appreciated “The Old Man and the Sea” as a literary classic, but what spoke to me as a reader was knowing the author’s story and how it was reflected in his work. While we can enjoy a story for itself, depth is truly found in knowing it’s author.
In Mark’s Gospel, Jesus reprimands the Sadducees – men who devoted themselves to memorizing the Law – for failing to connect the content of the writings with their author:
Jesus said to them, “Is this not the reason you are wrong, because you know neither the Scriptures nor the power of God?…He is not God of the dead, but of the living. You are quite wrong.”
Jesus words are powerful and humbling. I could spend my entire life reading and writing about the Bible, explaining it to my children, and not know who God is. It’s knowing the author that gives literature its depth, meaning, and connects their personhood to our own. Jesus’s followers should study God’s word for wisdom, correction, and understanding but stopping there would fall short of its purpose. The Word became flesh to be known, not simply studied.
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