Tales from Canterbury Cathedral - part II

Tuesday was the first official day of the Canterbury Scholars Program. It was a day of more formal introductions and study. There was time for a walk around Canterbury, as well as dinner at the Deanery.

One of our topics today was reading the Bible and our early memories of the Bible. I have come to realize that I was raised in a home that though we attended church we did not own a Bible. And I know that I am not alone in that experience. The Bible was read as part of church liturgy, but not at home and not by laity.

I was constantly reminded of the story of why Episcopalians like the Bible so much - they like the Bible because it quotes the Book of Common Prayer so often. That story tells much of how a person could be raised in the Episcopal Church and not read the Bible.

Several colleagues with Evangelical childhoods told stories of how the Bible had been used as a weapon to force a particular behavior. There were also challenges between kids to show how quickly you could locate a particular passage in the Bible. For some the Bible was read at family meals. One person from south Asia told of using the Bible to learn to read because it was the only book available.

A particularly strong story was told by one of our brothers from an African nation where persecution of Christians is still common. When he was a child thieves broke into his home and stole everything; every belonging was gone. Several days later the bag in which he kept his personal belongings was located. It was empty of all his toys and possessions. Empty except for the Bible that his mother gave him at age eight. The thieves had left behind the Bible. That Bible remains a treasure these decades later.

What became evident from our discussion is that as we read the Bible we often find questions rather than answers. These questions are a gift from God. So why do we resist receiving these gifts? Why do we resist the formation that occurs when we read the Bible?

This poem, shared with us by The Rev. Dr. Kathy Grieb, may help us to see how we can best learn to read the Bible, accept the gifts of questions that God gives us, and cherish the formation that occurs.

I ask them to take a poem

and hold it up to the light

like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem

and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside a poem’s room

and feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to waterski

across the surface of a poem

waving at the author’s name on the shore.

But all they want to do

is tie the poem to a chair with rope

and torture a confession out of it.

They begin by beating it with a hose

to find our what it really means.

Billy Collins

May the Bible be for you a poem with which to dance.

Peace and Blessings from Canterbury,