Six Easy Steps

Track two trades the fire for something colder - a sardonic instructor pulling up a chair to teach you the institutional curriculum. You want to know how it's done? Pull up a chair. I'll tell you. And what she teaches, step by mocking step, is how to bury the Bible. How to read the Bible like it's any other book on the shelf. How to wait for an institution to bless the page in front of your face. How to ask a fourth-century council if the Author meant the case.

The song is about self-authenticating Scripture, chapter twenty-six of the book. The whole sardonic list exists to expose one assumption - that the canon needs a committee to validate it, that you must act like Hippo gave the Word permission to survive. And running underneath every verse is the line the instructor cannot quite suppress. The fire is still burning while you sit there. The Author has been signing every chapter while you've been waiting for somebody else to say it's okay.

Then comes the turn, and it is the turn that makes the song honest - the instructor confesses she did every step herself. I have nodded through the sermon. I have waited for the bishop's pen. I have kept the firmware locked. Until a Tuesday in October when she sat down with Romans 8, and the words came in and laid me low, and I could not keep the gate. That is the doctrine proving itself the only way it ever can. The Bible proves itself in the reading. No council ever gave it weight. The Author signed His name.