Writing Biblical Fiction Together: Three Unique Looks at the Lame Beggar

Updated: May 14, 2020

I will always be fascinated by the different creative approaches to the same story. Read on for a unique and fun way to study scripture, plus a free downloadable ebook to get you started!

Last week, I shared my short story with you: 'When We are the Lame Beggar'. I wrote it as an assignment with my family Bible study group. Not everyone chose to write a creative poem or story, but with those who did, there was an amazing mix of similarities and differences. Reading each unique perspective plumbed new depths in my appreciation of the wonder that Peter performed when he grasped that lame man by the hand and raised him to his feet.

Everyone deepens their understanding of scripture in varied ways during different seasons of life. Handwriting chunks of the Bible, memorizing, word studies, devotionals—the list of valuable study methods goes on and on!

My current favorite ways to deepen my understanding and appreciation of the gospel are by digging into the Bible's historical background and through creative writing.

Have you ever tried writing biblical short fiction on your own or with a group?

It's not as scary as it sounds! You can check out my downloadable pdf ebook called How to Write Biblical Short Stories. It is totally free for subscribers in the Download Library. (If you choose to download and unsubscribe, that is totally fine, but I hope you stick around for a while!)

Biblical fiction writing is a fun and engaging way to dig deeper into scripture. The goal is to stay true to the truth of the story while allowing your imagination to fill in the details. As you can see by reading the stories and the poem below, each story is unique, but the heart of each piece shines with the good news of Jesus Christ.

I hope you enjoy and are inspired to try your own hand at writing biblical short stories!

(These creative pieces are shared on this website with the permission of their authors.)


The Clouds

By Joni Thue

I watch the sky above me, wispy clouds unaware of any of the chaos ensuing beneath. Wind and condensation, flesh and bones—I wish my body could flit about the way the clouds do: pain-free, simply existing for beauty, morphing and disappearing at will. Instead, I am bound to my limitations: a cripple. My identity is defined by the endless aching, the stabbing pains that light a fire inside these wretched, twisted things that lay where legs should be.

My family carries me to the temple each day. What else are they to do? My siblings are grown, earning money of their own, and what can I do, but beg?

The sun pierces forth from behind a cloud, causing me to squint and turn my face away from the sky. I look to my brother, carrying me where my feet should be, perspiration on his arms from the weight, the stairs. We’re almost there. I wish to thank him, but nothing I can say could possibly encompass my gratitude and shame mixed together. I was born like this.

“There you go, brother,” Malachi, my brother at my head, says to me, setting me down on the cool rock, right outside the gate Beautiful, where many passers-by would see my condition and pity me. Here is where I earn my portion of the income for my mother. This is who I am. I nod a thanks to my brothers as they pick up the matt and leave to earn their money by trade, metalsmiths, like Father was.

It is almost three, the hour of prayer, so I outstretch my thin arms, head bowed, and begin to ask for alms. “Please, sirs,” I say to two men walking by. I hear them stop, and keep my hands out, anticipating.

“Look at us,” the voice said. It was a voice full of humour.

I look. Their sandals are worn, their clothing tattered and faded, beards long and unkempt. “I don’t have any silver or gold to give to you,” the man says, “but I will give you what I do have.” Joy shining in his eyes, he takes my outstretched hands and declares: “In the