Me And The Bible

I think my friends have gotten a little concerned about me.

They see me writing this “blog”, mourning the loss of John Prine, making up a soundtrack for the coming apocalypse, and questioning my Republican roots, and they’re starting to worry.

They think this pandemic, and this quarantine, are starting to get to me.

Well, I guess they’ll be reassured now.
I bought a Bible.

Now, don’t you worry. I’m not fixing to die, not just yet.
This is not me hedging my bets on where I’ll end up in the afterlife.
(Although I do always dress for warm weather, anyways.)

*          *          *

The truth is, I bought The Bible because of four people.

The first is Stephen King.

Yes, the horror writer.

I was listening to him, a few weeks back, being interviewed on NPR’s Fresh Air.
He was explaining to Terry Gross his love for The Bible – not what you’d expect from America’s foremost scare monger.

He was enjoying the language of the King James version, as he listened to it on Audiobook – all 45 hours.
(He pointed out that it was still shorter than his magnum opus of pandemic horrors, The Strand.)

“It’s beautiful to listen to,” he said. “It’s liquid and it’s rhythmic. I love some of the lines that pop up again and again, the incremental repetition of it.”

And I thought: If a master of the English language like Stephen King is so in love with The Bible… why aren’t I?

*          *          *

The second is John Mellencamp.

I’ve written about how I was going back to Mister Mellencamp recently, falling in love again with his Lonesome Jubilee album.
I wrote about how he delved into The Bible while writing that album, and how Ecclesiastes was a source of inspiration for him.

I knew that Ecclesiastes has been the source of inspiration for other musicians, too.
Pete Seeger took his lyrics for “Turn, Turn, Turn” right from the book, word for word. (And then The Byrds made the real money off it when they made it a hit in 1965.)

And God knows, Bob Dylan has derived all kinds of material from The Bible.
You could put together a good solid album of Dylan’s biblical reference songs – and that’s without touching his born-again, Saved era albums.

And I thought: If “The Coug”, and others, can divine inspiration from The Bible… where have I been?

*          *          *

The third is my father.

I’ve written about him, too.

My Dad was never an openly religious guy. He was an accountant, a numbers guy, and he never made a big deal out of his religious beliefs.

When he and my Mom moved the family to Massachusetts in 1967, they settled us into the unassuming little Unitarian church in the center of Stow, a 5,000-person town.

I recall it being more of a social gathering place.
It was a house of worship, but what we really worshiped most was our fellowship, and our little community.
We gathered there with our friends, we had bake sales and apple pie festivals, and on Sundays we’d engage in discussions of all religions, rather than hold court on a school of doctrine of one particular belief.
I recall there being members of the Jewish faith there, Catholics, and Lutherans.

When I describe my religious upbringing to friends, I call it “watered down Protestant.”
It was the sort of place where, one Christmas Eve, the sermon was an analysis of how Mary might’ve actually been a virgin, before giving birth to the baby Jesus.
Another sermon was about the three rock icons who had recently overdosed on heroin – Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, and Jim Morrison.
It wasn’t your traditional church. But it probably was a good way to try and get people – especially young people – connected to the church during the “enlightened” age of the ‘70s, when we were all questioning authority.

Later on, I got to see my Dad as an interesting spiritual mix, drawing from Christianity, as well as Eastern religions (though he never put a name to it).

I remember him telling me, during a night of rare deep discussion, that he believed in reincarnation.
This logical, pragmatic man, who slept with a Bible next to his bed, truly felt that he and Mom had known each other in another lifetime.
I guessed that explained their incredible 45-year marriage.

Dad let me in on that, on that night at my parents’ house, when he was battling cancer.
He had beaten back three forms of it – beating all kinds of odds – but it was returning one more time, and he could see this one coming.
I was having regular dinners with my folks, taking advantage of whatever time I could get with my Dad.
Mom was cooking dinner, and Dad and I were pausing outside of the kitchen, talking serious.

I took advantage of the unusually somber tone, and asked him if he thought he would be reincarnated this time.
He looked out through the windows at the front yard, and thought.
“Nobody knows, son,” he said quietly.
But then a sly twinkle alighted in his eyes, and he smiled at me. “One thing’s for sure. I won’t be able to tell you when I get there!”
For some reason, we both thought this was the funniest thing we’d heard all day, and we giggled like schoolboys.

With all of my Dad’s mongrel spirituality, I guess I was surprised to see a copy of The Bible next to his bedside. He kept it there, and I know he read it regularly.

I never really did talk with him about what he drew from The Bible.
He was never one to get too philosophical, or to push his beliefs on me, or anybody.
He lets his actions speak for themselves.

I saw him turn the other cheek, many times.
I saw him refuse to cast the first stone, knowing he was not beyond sin.
I know he lived his life by the creed: Treat others they way that you would like to have others treat you.

So I had to think: It guided this peaceful, gentle man.
Surely I can get something more out of it.

*          *          *

The fourth person is Donald Trump.

When I saw the picture of him, standing in front of St. John’s Episcopal Church in Washington, holding up a copy of The Bible, my first impulse was to laugh.

What was he trying to demonstrate?
That he loved The Bible, so much more than anybody?
That The Bible was shielding him from the protesters beyond the White House gates?
That he would fight to uphold the beliefs in The Bible, harder than anybody?

Of course, a lot went into getting that picture, as we learned later.
We saw the video of the police, clearing Trump’s way to the church.
We saw them wading into the crowd of peaceful protesters in Lafayette Square, indiscriminately smashing them with their batons and their shields, and gleefully assaulting a cameramen for having the audacity of filming them.

SHOCKING: to see members of the media also taking direct, *intentional* punches and swings from police as they cleared the streets of protesters outside the White House. #protest #Washington #WashingtonDCProtest #PictureOfTheDay pic.twitter.com/7zR154O6Jg

— Scott Thuman (@ScottThuman) June 1, 2020

There were D.C. Police, Park Police, and National Guard, as well as some unmarked police.
They gassed out and cleared the protesters, as well as several clergy members and rectors of the church.
All so that he could get a photo op of him with his beloved Bible.

I know a lot of people who voted for Donald Trump, and I actually like a lot of them.
Many are good, hard-working people, with their hearts in the right place.

Some of them are also religious people. I admire their commitment to their beliefs, their knowledge of The Bible, and their efforts to live a good life.

Where I have a problem is when some of them end up using The Bible as a weapon.

While I respect their knowledge of The Bible, it’s hard to respect how they use it to keep people “in their place”.

I’ve seen them use to keep women out of positions of power, saying their place should be in the home, and that they should never lead a church, should never lead a business.
I’ve seen them use it to justify mistreatment of blacks, implying that The Bible says they are less worthy than whites.
I’ve seen them use it to vilify gays and lesbians.
I’ve seen them use it to make an enemy out of anybody with a different religious outlook, to accuse my Jewish friends of heresy, to turn any Muslim into a terrorist.

And I had to ask myself: How can something whose language has inspired masters of English, which has inspired artists throughout the ages, which guided good men like my father, be used as a weapon against anybody?

I may not be the most knowledgeable Bible scholar – but I don’t think it’s supposed to work that way.

If you’re a Trump supporter, I guess I can understand how you got there.
We can disagree on our politics.
But I can’t see how you invoke the word of The Bible when supporting that man.
They have nothing in common, and his use of it defiles it like nothing else.

Go ahead, support him if you want.
Just please leave The Good Book out of it.

*          *          *

As a young father of two young girls, I attended a small church in another small town in central Massachusetts.
The minister there came out publicly as gay, and he was challenged by some people.
“Doesn’t the Bible say, ‘Man shall not lie down with man?’” they’d ask him.  

Yes, he’d agree. It does say that, in Leviticus 18:22.
But then he’d ask them, “Do you eat lobster?”
If they’d happily report, “Yes!” he would ask how they were disobeying Leviticus 11:9, which explicitly says, you shall not eat shellfish.

It all depends, I guess.

All of which just gives me another opportunity to use a timeless West Wing clip.
Just watch how the masterful Aaron Sorkin and the masterful Martin Sheen present their case:

*          *          *

This isn’t my first copy of The Bible. I’m not quite the heathen that I make myself out to be.
(I did teach my daughters’ Sunday School, when they were six or seven, something that still amuses them.)

I still have The Bible that was given to me the day I was born, by my Scottish aunt and uncle.
I really do read it from time to time.
What they don’t tell you is, the older you get, and the more you’ll be likely to read it, the less you’re able to, without a magnifying glass.
Hence, the new, large-print Bible.

If reading it makes me a better person, I’m good with that.
If it gives me solace or comfort, I’m OK with that, too.  

I’m probably more of a Zen Buddhist than anything. Most days, that works pretty well for me.

Like my Dad, I pull solace, or comfort, or inspiration from a lot of different sources.
It could be a Jason Isbell song. Or a Monet painting. Or a James Lee Burke passage.
Or The Bible.

That night we were discussing reincarnation, my Dad was unusually reflective.
He talked about starting up his business, 35 years earlier, and the things he had missed, running his business. He talked about how lucky he was to have found my Mom.
“Out of all of the things we have,” he said, “love is the greatest thing.”

You could’ve knocked me over with a feather.
Like I said, Dad was a numbers guy. I wasn’t used to this.

It wasn’t until later, I recognized the echo of Paul’s words in Corinthians I:
“And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.”

It’s hard to argue with that.