This is a loss not only of the Bible or Christian
faith but a severing of his connection to all the other aspects of a culture
that ought to have been ours.
One short conversation from graduate school stands out above all
the others. It was during a cigarette break. (This was back when Californians
could still have a cigarette break, having not yet been legally turned into the
less-social smartphone break.)
The class had been
discussing a modern novel and I had perked up with a comment about how the
author had put an unattributed quote from the Psalms in a character’s mouth. It
wasn’t the first time I had offered this sort of insight in class, but I tended
to keep these observations casual so as not to draw too much attention.
During the break, my oh-so-hip San
Francisco-dwelling classmate turned to me and asked, “How did you know that
about the Psalms?” I explained that I was a Christian and sheepishly confessed
that I read the Bible pretty regularly. He looked at me with longing and
confessed in turn, “I wish I knew the Bible.”
Knowing the Bible
I didn’t know how to respond. I had spent most of my young life
avoiding letting people know just how well I knew the Bible. In thousands of
veiled and unveiled ways, it had been clear to me that having spent evenings
and weekends reading, studying, and memorizing the Bible made me odd. Yet here
was the secular cool kid I’d envied my whole life, having reached the logical
end point of his educational career, looking longingly back at me.
I was odd, yes, but odd in a way that was needed. A colleague of
mine studied for his Ph.D. under renowned deconstructionist scholar Jacques
Derrida. He recalled that each year when Derrida taught, he spent lots of time
covering the biblical literature. When asked why, Derrida’s response echoed my
cigarette break revelation: If they don’t know the Bible, they won’t know much.
The lack of
biblical literacy has been catalogued by various polling firms
and lamented from
countless pulpits (or at least at pastor support groups), but no one is
cataloguing the emptiness of a culture without a sacred rock at its foundation.
It isn’t catalogued because it isn’t quantifiable.
I’m not talking here about
the value of religious belief, although I’d be interested in discussing that on
wholly other grounds. I’m talking solely about about education and culture. My
graduate school friend desired a particular educational experience of being
formed as a child by a tradition that included the biblical authors, plus
Dante, Shakespeare, Milton, Fielding, Dostoevsky, Melville, Faulkner, and so
many more. My friend was sad that he, being now older and done with his
education, couldn’t go back and be formed the way these and countless other
authors and artists were formed.
The Tradition of the
Bible
This formation is a tradition that he, not possessing, cannot pass
on. This is a loss not only of the Bible or Christian faith but a
severing of his connection to all the other aspects of a culture that ought to
have been his. Studying the liberal arts without any knowledge of the Bible is
to dine without salt. Having become a reader, my friend knew he would prefer my oddness.
I am sure
that this oddness-envy is being experienced right now by the writer at NPR
who wrote this
spring that Easter is “the day celebrating the idea that Jesus did not die and
go to hell or purgatory or anywhere at all, but rather arose into heaven.” That
is what I imagine California Buddhists sound like to monks in southeast Asia
when they describe the Four Noble Truths: in the ballpark but still basically
wrong. This is self-anthropology, American style.
The Wall
Street Journal corrected a similar error when their reporter misunderstood
Israeli Prime Minister Netanyahu as saying that
“Moses brought water from Iraq.” Oddness isn’t just about our enjoyment of the
flavor of culture; it can also spare us from embarrassment. These journalists
can write clean copy, but like my graduate student friend who can’t pick up an
author’s biblical hint, they’re poorly educated. Unlike my graduate student
friend, they’re probably too dumb to know it.
An End to Biblical
Knowledge Through Osmosis
Where in the
past we could hope that the general population would pick up a good bit of
biblical teaching from a book, film, or at least a department store, we now
live in a world where that’s all in the past. Google will gladly doodle out about Hannah Glasse’s 310th
birthday or the 30th anniversary of Pi day but, come Christmas time, it will
merely say “Holidays 2018.” Come Easter, and it will celebrate nothing at all.
Thankfully,
however, with just a little bit of intentionality, most people can enter into
this tradition of learning. My kids, for example, really get a kick out of
the “What’s in the Bible” DVDs,
which are instructive and entertaining, even for adults. But the real McCoy is
to dig into the Good Book itself.
For that I recommend finding a local organization
that runs Bible-reading groups like Bible Study Fellowship or Intervarsity Christian Fellowship. These groups
tend to have plenty of non-Christians in attendance and are often led by
enthusiasts who make for better teachers than your average theology professor.
The Good Book is also a pretty good book.
For me, the paradigm has shifted. I’m glad for all
the sword drills I
did as a youth and for all the Scripture I was forced to memorize. I am glad
not only because I’m a Christian and because in Jesus’ death and resurrection I
live, move, and have my being. I am also glad because as I continue to study
and teach literature, art, philosophy, music, and history, I do not have to do
so as a stranger in a strange land. Rather, I am an insider to a conversation that’s
been taking place for thousands of years.
I look at my college
students now and think about that cigarette break. If you want your kids to
thrive in graduate school, send them to Bible study.
Colin Chan
Redemer is a professor at Saint Mary’s College of California and a fellow of
the Davenant Institute. His writing has appeared in the Englewood Review of
Books, Evansville Review, Sojourners Magazine, and the Tampa Review.
