Earlier this week, I logged onto my desktop computer. I haven’t used that computer in a few years. When I did that, the system spit out a ton of emails that had been pending in my outbox since 2017.

Some of the emails were sent to my work address. I sent a couple to my husband. Yet others went out to professors or business associates with whom I no longer have a relationship. I spent a good chunk of time yesterday apologizing to folks who received my messages but didn’t quite understand what was going on.

The messages made sense in 2017 when I typed them out. But in 2021, when my husband’s name didn’t show up on any of their class rosters, the professors were confused. A survey of church membership was relevant at the time. But by now church members’ views have changed, and that pastor is no longer serving the congregation. My emails did not age well.

That’s why the Bible is a mystery to me. How can words written so long ago still have relevance, even today? How can sermons preached five to ten years ago still prick our hearts?

There’s a timelessness to masterpieces. It why the mystery of Mona Lisa’s smile still captivates our imaginations. It’s why orchestra’s still try to capture the magic of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. It’s why my son still has to read Shakespeare. It’s why kids born after 2009, can still sing and dance to Michael Jackson songs.

The Bible is a masterpiece., a timeless work of art. We should value it as such.