Pursuing Veritas

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the simple act of reading.

Not studying.

Not skimming headlines.

Not scrolling.

But sitting down with a book—pages in hand—and choosing to pay attention.

In a world shaped by images and algorithms, reading is almost a countercultural act. It asks something of us. It requires time, patience, and a willingness to be shaped by another voice. As Byrd points out, there is something inherently purposeful about picking up a book. Even when the book is imperfect—even when we are not reading “the classics”—the very act says: I want to think. I want to grow. I want to listen.

That’s no small thing.

Why Read a Book

As few months back, I read Aimee Byrd’s No Little Women, where she offered some salient thoughts on reading. She notes, “We read for different reasons…. There is something noble about reading—even if it isn’t quality reading—in an age that is captivated by visual media. Picking up a book comes with an intended purpose.” (11) Later, she offers a series of simple but profound reasons for reading—each one pushing back against the shallow ways we often approach information.

“Read books because there is a big difference between gathering information and reading for discovery and understanding.” (203) We live in the age of information. Answers are instant. Summaries are everywhere. But understanding is slower than information. Discovery requires more than a search bar—it requires wrestling with an author’s argument, tracing a story, letting unfamiliar ideas stretch us. Reading teaches us not just what to think, but how to think.

“Read books because difficulty is not an excuse to stop.” (204) This one stings a little. So much of our culture is built around ease. If something is hard, we assume something is wrong—with the book, with the author, with us. But growth rarely happens on the path of least resistance. Difficult books teach perseverance. They remind us that not everything worth knowing comes quickly.

“Read books to join in the conversation.” (204) Every book is part of a conversation that started long before we arrived and will continue after we’re gone. To read is to pull up a chair at a very old table. As Christians, that matters even more. We are not the first generation to pray the Psalms, wrestle with doubt, or try to follow Jesus in confusing times. Books connect us to that wider communion of saints.

“Read books to develop critical skills of discernment.” (205) Reading well forms judgment. It helps us recognize truth from half-truth, wisdom from noise, depth from manipulation. In a moment when so many voices are competing for our attention, discernment is not a luxury—it’s a necessity.

“Read books in order to learn.” (205) At its simplest, reading is an act of humility. It assumes someone else might know something I don’t. It assumes I still have room to grow. That posture—open, teachable, curious—is deeply Christian.

More Than a Hobby

I don’t think reading is merely an intellectual habit. I think it’s a spiritual discipline. To read is to practice attention. To read is to resist hurry. To read is to admit we are unfinished people. These are practices we need to cultivate in our current moment.

The Scriptures themselves come to us as a book—inviting us to slow down, to meditate, to return again and again. The same muscles we use to read wisely in general help us read the Bible faithfully.

So maybe one small act of faithfulness in our distracted age is simply this: pick up a book. Stay with it when it’s hard. Listen for voices outside your own echo chamber. Join the conversation God has been hosting for a very long time. And trust that, line by line and page by page, you are being formed in ways you may not even notice yet.