Before there were margins... there were words. Before there were footnotes... there was silence. Before there were systems... there was a Voice. Then came the explanations. The arguments. The traditions. The certainty. Soon... the commentary became louder... than the text. A child... doesn't ask, "What does my denomination teach?" A child simply asks, "What does it say?" Somewhere... we stopped reading. We started remembering... what someone else had already decided. We inherited conclusions... and called them understanding. The map... is not the landscape. The finger... is not the moon. The commentary... is not the Voice. Perhaps... the greatest distance... isn't between humanity and God. Perhaps... it's the distance... between the page... and the story we've wrapped around it. Read slowly. Read quietly. Read... as though no one has ever spoken before you. Notice... which words are written... and which words... appear only in memory. Maybe... truth has never been hiding. Maybe... it has simply been... covered... by explanations. When the commentary grows silent... perhaps... the Voice... is still speaking.
