I have too many books. Maybe the trouble is that I have too many bookcases. Having so many places to put books—at home, in my office, in our living room, on my bedside table—means that I have no reason to restrict the number of books I accumulate over the years. Most of them I’ve read, so there have been both functional and pleasurable aspects associated with owning all these books. But in the end, there are simply too many of them.
In an interview with a British author (with the wonderful name of Penelope Lively) it was noted that she has lots of books, lined up in shelves and stacked on tables, and that she can’t bear to part with any of them. She said, “Your books tell you where you’ve been—they’re the story of your own mind. Getting rid of them would be like getting rid of that [story].” There is truth in this remark. By looking at the bindings of books squeezed into my shelves, I remember a bit of what it felt like to read each of them—what they taught me. It’s true; they are a representation of the story of my mind.
I find this topic analogous to why we go to church regularly and why we still enfold our life story in the story of scripture, even when it speaks to us from 2000 year old texts. If you attend church regularly, over the course of a year you will move through a range of stories each highlighting different life lessons. There’s Advent (anticipation), Christmas (humility and surprises), Lent (confession), Easter (God’s persistent Yes to the world’s No), Pentecost (spiritual gifts and creative fires), and then the long-stretch of Ordinary Time (grace-tinged routines, the persistence of life and hope and love). The seasons of the church year “tell you where you’ve been,” tell you who you are, and remind you of much you might have forgotten.
The same is true with scripture—the 66 books of the bible lined up neatly as if on a library reference shelf, offering a wide range of reading and learning options. There are the creation stories in Genesis, the tales of Abraham, Moses and desert wanderings totally dependent on God, the wonders of judges, the stern lectures of prophets, the honest poetry of the Psalms, the wonderful stories of Ruth, Esther, Jonah and others. Then we move into the condensed historical record of the New Testament—gospel accounts of Jesus, full of parables and passion, epistolary exhortations by Paul to toddler-aged Christian communities, apostle Acts, sermons from James and in Hebrews, expansive visions in Revelation. They all are reference points for the stages of our life—stories of redemption, grace and power that give order to our ever-changing days.
I need to give away some of my books, and I promise to do so someday. But some things I’ll hold onto, just as I’ll hold on to the rhythm of the church year. The saga of Genesis to Revelation. The Word made flesh in Christ and (in some pale way) in me, by God’s grace and timeless scripture. May the same be said of all of us.
Randy Bush