I’m a bookophile … for most of my ministry, I worked hard to create a functional library of current and classic materials, a library of which I was proud because of its breadth and depth, a library that kept me reading far and wide in pursuit of the holy grail: the one and final book that would definitively reveal the secrets of preaching. Alas, after nearly 40 years of hot pursuit, like an Indiana Jones, browsing out-of-the-way places and following endless footnote trails, I have yet to find my holy grail.
And now that I’m nearing the end of the arc of ministry, having disposed of 90% of my library and thrown out a near-40 years of sermons, I’m still reading, of course, but reading fewer books, while trying to read them more deeply.
Needless to say, I’m still a bookophile, and the feel of a new book, or that of a well-worn and underlined volume, offers a living day dream of ideas and wonderment: the writers who crafted them for love or money, and maybe both, and in those used volumes, the mystery of why such-and-so was underlined, and what did they mean with that cryptic note hastily scribbled in the margin.
Browsing, or some would say, carousing, in a used book store, filled with the passions and dreams of last year’s top-selling, hot-button, guaranteed-to-win promises for church growth, over-coming whatever the sin might be and prevailing in every and all circumstances, I suddenly stopped in my tracks before an 8-foot high book shelf stretching 30 feet, perpendicular to more bookshelves, with more to be found in side-rooms, and tucked away in every nook and cranny, and thought to myself: dust to dust, ashes to ashes, earth to earth.
What suckers we Christians are. All of these promises for whatever ails the soul and plagues the church – we buy this stuff by the ton, marketed by giant publishing houses, tantalizing us with glory while subtly condemning us for our many and repeated failures thus far. However, this could all change, if only, we’d buy the latest offering, the latest course, the newest research, and, of course, the musings of the latest star-preacher who’s meteoric rise to fame must be only a few days shy of the Second Coming of Christ Himself.
There, by the hundreds, nay, the thousands, the marvels of yesterday’s publishing phenomenon, the one book you need right now, the last book you’ll ever buy – there they are, gathering dust, dust jackets faded or stained, looking slightly out-of-date, some never sold at all and shuttled around the country in UPS trucks from one giant clearance sale to another, or if sold, never opened, gilded with promises, of course, to be read next month.
I watched some young theological students (that’s my guess, being in Pasadena near Fuller Theological Seminary and San Francisco Theological Seminary, Southern CA) madly dashing about in search of their holy grail.
Of course, they’re young. Let them build their libraries now, and may they read voraciously, stretching mind and heart as far as they can go, and then some, enjoying the mysteries of God’s love and the frustrations of never understanding such love, or even grasping much of themselves, not to mention, others.
Yet the lesson lingers – like so much in America, we consume vast quantities of sugar and processed foods with all sorts of promises of health and vigor, if not delight, and if not satisfied, if not healthy, just wait: there will be something new on the market next year, or maybe tomorrow.
To all the preachers who enjoyed their 15 minutes of fame, who made a killing, or maybe didn’t, and to all those who bought the books, who may have read them and told others about them, saying, “This is the latest and the best” – well, hats off to you for giving it a good try.
But today, in that store, I paused to look, even as I smelled the dust of time, and wondered, where’s the dream and what’s the dross?
No comments:
Post a Comment