Eugene Peterson: The Story Behind "The Message"

Eugene Peterson grew up in his father's butcher shop in Kalispell, Montana. Young Peterson ran errands, polished the meat display cases, ground hamburger, and was allowed to cut liver "because you couldn't wreck liver." He learned and matured.

More importantly, the butcher boy of Kalispell listened. He listened to the talk of ranchers, woodsmen, farmers, and townsfolk, and reveled in the rich cadences and rhythmic speech patterns. A generation later, that ordinary, plain talk came back to him as he struggled to do what only one other pastor since the 19th century has ever attempted --- a new paraphrase of the Holy Bible. The Message enjoyed immediate acclaim and sold more than 3 million copies of the core editions including Psalms and Proverbs, and another 3 million ancillary products.

"When Paul of Tarsus wrote a letter, the people who received it understood it instantly," Peterson explains. "When the prophet Isaiah preached a sermon, I can't imagine that people went to the library to figure it out. That was the basic premise under which I worked. I began with the New Testament in the Greek --- a rough and jagged language, not so grammatically clean. I just typed out a page the way I thought it would have sounded to the Galatians."

Peterson's contemporary version was judged a vigorous scriptural interpretation for the ordinary person. The renowned biblical scholars who monitored Peterson's work found the same thing. The Message was not only doctrinally sound, but delightfully refreshing.

In Christ's parable of the wedding banquet, for example, the "oxen and fattened cattle" on the menu in older translations, became "prime rib" in the newest paraphrase. Legalistic Pharisees once rebuked as a "brood of vipers" are now roundly castigated as "reptilian sneaks." The apostle Paul has become that "jailbird preacher."

"Many people had never read the Bible before or quit reading it years ago," says Peterson, the former Boston Marathon runner who picks passable banjo. "The Message drew them in."

When the publisher approached Peterson with the idea for the project, he and his wife Jan took six months of prayer and discussion before saying yes. They had always ministered side-by-side, and he felt it was as much her decision as his own. Certainly he was no stranger to publishing. The former Presbyterian pastor is the author of more than 20 books.

Nonetheless, he was reluctant to begin the project. "Who was I to produce another version of the Bible? I didn't think I could do it. My first few chapters of Matthew just plodded along . . . But when I hit the Sermon on the Mount in chapter five, it kicked in, and I just let loose. I got excited. I could do this!"

"He's just an ordinary guy who doesn't take himself too seriously," says Eugene's friend and college classmate Russ Reid. "That's a rare trait among people of his intellect and achievement." It is also the saving grace for a writer/translator attempting to make the Bible more accessible to more people.

Reid agrees. "My wife and I had to laugh at the way he had the mourners in Matthew 9 bring casseroles when the ruler's daughter died. He's one of a kind!"

A private person, Peterson doesn't much care for the glare of public attention. "Jan and I have felt vulnerable. We've said no to most invitations. Our ministry is to teach, to write, to be with students, and not get distracted." Those distractions include as many as 300 speaking requests each year.

Eugene Peterson would rather climb a mountain or teach a class than speak to a large audience. He holds a master's degree in Semitic languages from Johns Hopkins University and is a professor of spiritual theology at Regent College in Vancouver, B.C., where it is said that his bear stories are second to none. Today, however, his knees are bad, and he and Jan must settle for long walks in the woods.

Besides, he must finish that monumental assignment from God received seven years ago. He does it by what one reviewer called "ingenious (writing) in a homespun sort of way" that breathes new life into the old, old story, proving once again that what has been done many ways before has never been done this way. The beauty of the Scriptures is that there's always room for one more telling, just as there was in that butcher shop long ago when young Eugene cut liver and listened to grown men talk.

Clint Kelly is a communication specialist in Everett, WA. Backpacking and canoeing are his favorite outdoor activities.

This article is compliments of Mature Living magazine