A little over a decade or so ago I read a book that transformed my view of the Bible. The book was Philip Yancey’s “The Bible Jesus Read.” … I read another book recently that may change as dramatically the way I read the New Testament, or at least the Gospels. Lois Tverberg’s “Walking in the Dust of the Rabbi Jesus” helped to transport me to the time and culture of Jesus on earth.

I have a hard time watching baseball teams like the Yankees and Red Sox, not just because they are evil AL East empires with vast (and unfair) payrolls, but because I never know who the players are, since they don’t imprint players’ names on the backs of their jerseys. In reading John’s gospel you’ll discover that he never mentions himself by name.

I spent most of my high school years not following Jesus. Not until my senior year did I go back to church, but even then I easily compartmentalized that aspect of my young life. Therefore, I was never really forced to acknowledge that I could possibly be — or at least be becoming — a Jesus freak, as D.C. Talk would put it.

Jesus reminds them that they need to get off the ground and arrest him, to do what they’d come to do, to participate in the fulfillment of prophecy and the plan of redemption.

The other day I was reflecting with a friend on my first real reading of the Bible. I’d graduated high school but wasn’t sure what I wanted to do next. I knew I’d eventually go to college to pursue a music degree, though I didn’t know what for or when. I’d been attending church and playing in the worship band for about a year, after five years away from church altogether.

I remember my dad tending to his rosebushes at my home in Arizona. We had just a few lining our driveway. He would care for them, making sure they had enough water to endure the summer heat. Occasionally, he would clip a rose and present it to my mother. I also remember when he would trim down the bushes, and I always thought they looked awful. Why would he butcher them so?

A few weeks ago someone posted something on Facebook that prompted a chuckle. It went something like this: Watch out! There’s a speed trap on 127 at the I-70 overpass!

I don’t recall a lot of things my dad taught me, but one I do remember is that in order to get someone to do what I want or to give me something, I first need to butter her up. I say her because the prospective giver was usually my mother. “Mom, you look so pretty today, and you wash those dishes so thoroughly. Do you think I could have a cookie?”

During all of Jesus’ homilies on money and greed and God’s provision, two of his disciples received his words radically differently. One was a former tax collector, Matthew, who had enlisted with the Roman occupiers essentially to extort money from his fellow Jews. But he left his lucrative career to follow a homeless teacher. The other disciple was Judas Iscariot, whose occupation we know nothing about.

I was at Chipotle recently, one of my favorite restaurants. I was going to say, one of my favorite Mexican restaurants, but I don’t really consider it to be Mexican food. Probably because I usually get the “burrito bowl,” since I don’t like their tortillas.