I remember the exact moment I put the book down and just sat there, stunned. 

Back in college, I had been reading The Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis, and for the first time, I saw my own choices—the path I was walking—laid bare before me. Though the book is fiction, its depiction of souls journeying toward heaven, clinging to their excuses and attachments, struck a nerve. As the title suggests, there can be no mingling of heaven and hell—only a complete separation. And for us, that means a total conversion. 

Lewis’s story opened my eyes to the excuses I had been making, the sins I was unwilling to surrender. But beyond that, The Great Divorce awakened something deeper in me: a hunger. I became a seeker, someone who longed to grow in faith through the wisdom of those who had walked this road before me. 

As one of the angelic beings advises, “There was a time when you asked questions because you wanted answers, and were glad when you had found them. Become that child again: even now… Thirst was made for water; inquiry for truth.”  

For years afterward, books became my spiritual mentors—The Rule of St. Benedict, The Story of a Soul by St. Thérèse, The Autobiography of St. Teresa of Avila, and one of my personal favorites, Introduction to the Devout Life by St. Francis de Sales. 

For a long time, I felt drawn to Carmelite spirituality. As I matured in faith, I found myself captivated by the deep, contemplative wisdom of St. Teresa of Avila and St. John of the Cross. Their words shaped my prayer life, teaching me how to seek God in silence. 

And yet, after years of immersing myself in these spiritual classics, something unexpected happened. 

I began to feel a pull—an almost restless longing. 

At first, I couldn’t explain it. 

I was doing all the “right” things: reading the saints, meditating on their wisdom, praying daily. And yet, I had this nagging sense that I was missing something. Something essential. 

Then it hit me. 

The One Necessary Book

I had read so much good material—books on virtue, prayer, and holiness. The saints had become mentors to me through their writings. But I had unintentionally overlooked the most important thing. 

And it was the one thing necessary: the Word of God Himself. 

At the time, I couldn’t quite articulate what was missing. It’s not that I stopped reading the saints—I still do. Their wisdom is invaluable. But I realized something was off: I was filling my spiritual life with secondhand encounters with God, rather than going straight to the source. 

There is something uniquely powerful about the Bible. 

That might sound obvious, but in practice, I had forgotten it. And if I hadn’t forgotten it, I certainly wasn’t living it. 

Then, in prayer, I came across a passage that clarified everything for me. It’s actually a somewhat humorous one—because it’s when Jesus rebukes the Pharisees for obsessing over washing their hands: 

“Now when the Pharisees with some scribes who had come from Jerusalem gathered around him, they observed that some of his disciples ate their meals with unclean, that is, unwashed, hands….So the Pharisees and scribes questioned him, ‘Why do your disciples not follow the tradition of the elders but instead eat a meal with unclean hands?’ 

He responded, ‘Well did Isaiah prophesy about you hypocrites, as it is written: 

“This people honors me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me;
In vain do they worship me, teaching as doctrines human precepts.” 

You disregard God’s commandment but cling to human tradition.'”
— Mark 7:1-8 

It hit me like a ton of bricks. 

I had been doing good things, spiritual things—but had my heart drifted? Had I been honoring God with my lips while forgetting to encounter Him directly? 

Pope Benedict XVI, when he was still Joseph Ratzinger, explained what’s really happening in this passage: 

“In place of ritual purity, what we have now is not merely morality, but the gift of encounter with God in Jesus Christ. It’s the incarnate God who makes us truly pure and draws creation to unity with God.”
— Jesus of Nazareth: Holy Week 

Encountering the Living God

Morality matters. Virtue matters. Living a good life matters. 

But here’s the hard truth: you can pursue all of those things and still miss Jesus. 

What changes us isn’t just knowledge—it’s encounter. It’s meeting the Living God and letting Him reshape everything. 

This was the pull I felt: the realization that every day, we have the opportunity to encounter the Living God in the person of Jesus Christ. 

Reading the saints is invaluable—they have had an enormous impact on my faith. But they all point in the same direction: toward Christ. 

The Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches that we encounter God in multiple ways. One of them is by striving to live a good Christian life. But that’s just one of five ways. 

Another is through Scripture. 

By reading and reflecting on the Word of God, we don’t just learn about Christ—we meet Him. 

What an incredible gift we have at our fingertips—no matter the time or the place. 

And if you’re wondering, the other ways we encounter God are: Prayer, the Sacraments, the Eucharist, and Serving others in charity. 

All of these are essential. But I had been neglecting one of the most direct and powerful ways to meet Christ: in His Word. 

The saints are our guides, but they aren’t the destination. They all point to the same place—to the same Person. 

So keep reading them. Learn from them. But don’t stop there. 

Open your Bible. Step into the story. Meet Christ in His own words. 

He’s waiting. 

Mark Quaranta

Mark Quaranta is a Catholic husband, father, writer, entrepreneur, and marketing consultant. By day, he helps apostolates and nonprofits grow through digital marketing. He lives in Eastern Pennsylvania with his wife and four children and writes daily reflections at ReadSummons.com.