Tattered Bibles. Tattered People.
The new year births changemakers intent on forming new habits, building new dreams, and launching new ventures. New rhythms designed to bring peace and solve problems trend hot, yet I spiral cold, overwhelmed with volumes of possibility.
I don’t want new; I long for old. I favor handheld books instead of devices. Weathered and cracked Bibles capture my attention. The ones worn from overuse, featuring tattered pages smudged from tears, spine bent, sections stained and taped with hope and despair, hold appeal.
I want to own this life Bible, marked with highlighter and grief and underlined with pen and faith. A diary of sin and redemption, spotlighting notes in the margin and on yellowed slips of paper, which float to the ground and re-bend knees. I long to clutch this tattered Bible, knowing it gave life through passages marked in desperate times and promised victories.
In college, I met a young man who favored rock and roll, Bob Dylan, and rebels. His tattered Bible represented the Crayola box, and he could find and quote verses without hesitation among numerous highlighted chapters. I soon acquired my own leather-bound Bible, matching his chosen version, as well as a box of highlighters. It didn’t take long until this coloring effort slipped into the graveyard of failed resolutions.
Today I possess various Bibles in different versions and type sizes. Some of my father’s Bibles augment my collection as his assortment changes. One Bible called “The Rainbow Study Bible” features pre-colored passages. I thought it might save me some work, but it didn’t.
I’ve spent time considering better memory techniques, such as journaling favorite verses, index card writing, sticky notes affixed to bathroom mirrors, or applying temporary anagram tattoos on my arm. Nothing worked, but I never made it past the thinking stage.
Recently, I attended service at my father’s church and sat behind a white-haired lady. I watched her hands readily find Bible passages being taught. I saw her tattered pages filled with writing. When the service ended, she turned and smiled while stretching her hands out for mine. “I don’t think I know you,” she said.
This woman read the ancient words and lived its modern language. How to love and extend love are messages tucked in her DNA. Her threadbare Bible taught her to look beyond self and for others. The living words found in well-used Bibles don’t remain on crisp pages, line foggy bathroom mirrors, or look pretty. These words propel action, fall on people, and create change.
The Bible burrows into our minds and becomes treasured in our hearts. These words of life provide energy to hands and guide feet. They light our souls, speak volumes without sound, and transform lives.
I have stored up your word in my heart, that I might not sin against you.
-Psalm 119:11 (ESV)
Tattered Bibles belong to tattered people. The ones in need of God’s love and grace. The Bible tells the stories of us: sinners, adulterers, betrayers, murderers, gossips, liars, thieves, and more. We have been and are these same people, falling short of expectations and reaching for help. We deceive, sin, and seek redemption; We try and try again.
We aren’t perfect people, and there is no perfect method enabling us to acquire knowledge. There’s only God. Waiting for us to realize we are tattered people in need of His perfect words enabling us to receive life.
His words save the ones smudged by tears, cracked with worry, lined with regret. His words heal dark shadows under eyes glistening with sin and remorse. His words cleanse our stains, initiate further action, and catalyze us to “walk before the Lord in the land of the living” (Psalm 116:9 ESV).
I’m back in my favorite Bible. I write and highlight at will without a system to memorize and with intention to obey. My Bible is becoming tattered – just like me.
