What a treasure

Today I held something in my hands that was…remarkable. It’s something I’ve wanted to see in person for a very long time and it’s something I have thought of what a treasure it would be to simply see.

Today I held a pre-civil war Bible in my hands. I ran my hand over the cover. I turned the pages. I looked at the family records within it. I took note of the Scriptures inside, of the way they were presented. And as I held that treasure in my hands I noticed the condition of the Bible. I noticed how the Scripture references were placed in the margins and I noticed that this treasure that I had so long wanted to hold was…

Just a Bible.

Now, there is never a case where the Scriptures are just anything. But the wonder I expected to experience if I ever had the privilege of examining an old Bible was both there and very much absent. I marveled at this very old Bible both because it was very old and because of something that was extremely sad.

You see this Bible was in near perfect condition. The pages were discolored with age, they had a few marks on them but were otherwise in perfect condition. I’m sure I might have discovered some scratches on the covers if I had looked hard enough but I saw no obvious damage. Instead…I noticed that this Bible was probably as close to perfect as you can get in an old Bible. The pages were all intact, all still tightly bound to the spine. There were no creases in the pages, no notes in the margins. The only writing anywhere in it was the few notes written in the family record section. And for a 162 year old Bible there were precious few of those.

For years I’ve wanted to simply see a Bible that pre-dates the 1900’s. Today I not only saw one but held one in my hands with near complete freedom to examine it. I even had the option of buying it. And as I looked through a Bible that had survived the Civil War, it wasn’t the age or use that I noticed but the lack of use.

I told the woman looking at it with me, the woman that would have sold it to me if I had said the word, that this was a Bible that had spent its life sitting on a shelf. She nodded in agreement with me and we both wondered at how the owner could part with it. This woman simply worked in the store that was selling it. She was the cashier for a store with all those little booths that sell antique things. I went in because I wanted to simply walk the aisles and look. In fact I picked up only five things while in that store. A very old rag doll and the teddy bear it sat with, a book I had no interest in but knew others would be interested in it and so I looked at it simply to be able to tell them about it, to look at that book I had to move a zip top bag of small booklets, and I picked up the Bible.

I went in that store not to buy anything, not to look for treasures, but for the peace of walking among the many things with stories to tell if we could but hear their experiences. It was a place to just…be…for a little while.

And when I had slowly walked my way through the store and was almost back to the front doors I spotted an old book that drew my attention. It was in a book box and laying on a table at toddler height. The cover was intricate and old. I went closer just to look and discovered the writing on the front spoke of commandments. I saw nowhere on the cover that said Bible but I suspected it was one. I carefully opened the cover of the book to look inside and discovered that it was a Bible and it was old. The date inside said it was from the 1950’s. I was surprised to discover it was as new as it was, considering the look of the cover, although it, too, was in excellent condition.

That Bible quickly lost my attention, though, when I spotted the one that lay beside it. Wrapped in plastic wrap, with an index card attached to the plastic, was the Bible that I had so long awaited the day that I would find it.

My breath caught and I couldn’t take my eyes off it. There before me was something I had so long wished to see. I carefully, oh, so carefully, picked it up and could make out little of the cover through the plastic wrap but discovered that I could clearly see the spine through the plastic. And the spine was a pleasure to look at. There was no doubt that the Bible I held in my hand was old simply from the look of the spine.

And I was holding it in my hand.

This Bible, that was at that moment resting in my hands, had survived the Civil War. It ‘lived’ through battles on our own soil. It passed through countless generations of people…okay, we could probably count them up and get a good idea of how many generations it saw. This bible had a history.

Who held it in their hands?

Who learned of Christ within its pages?

Who treasured it?

But as I, with permission, examined it uncovered, I discovered that the answers to the last two questions was most likely…no one. And the treasure I had longed to see for so long became sad.

There within my hands was a Bible that had been in print since 1854. It survived wars. It survived births, marriages, and deaths. It survived passing from the ownership of one person to the ownership of another, and it somehow survived 162 years, technically it won’t be 162 years for two days but I’m not worried about the technicalities, only to find itself sitting in an antiques shop in a place where every toddler that comes along will have an easier time getting to it than most adults will. In fact it was situated in such a way that, although, out in very plain sight, wasn’t all that noticeable. It was displayed in an obvious way, in a way that most people would never even notice it. I wouldn’t have noticed it had it not been for the other Bible that drew my attention.

And I suspect this very old Bible, the one I came so close to not seeing, has spent much of its ‘life’ in just such a way. The lack of wear and damage to this Bible, while a Bible collectors dream, shows a very real lack of use. In 162 years no one put this Bible to enough use to even crease its pages. No one underlined a verse in it. No one wrote their thoughts in the margins.

This Bible had to have spent its life sitting on a shelf or tucked in a drawer or chest.

I really don’t suppose I have much room to speak. I own more Bibles than I can read. I have favorite Bibles and the rest sit on shelves. When I wish to read the Scriptures I go to the same Bibles and rarely pick up other Bibles.

And still I find it sad to see a Bible that has survived for 162 years with not so much as a note within its covers…aside for the few records in the family history section. There is literally nothing of the faith of the people whose hands that Bible has passed through. Did the people that have held that Bible have faith in the Lord? Was this Bible the show Bible while another served as the much loved and read personal Bible? Or has this Bible never been in the hands of anyone that held deep faith before?

I don’t know.

All I know is that today I held the Bible I’ve long wished I could just see. I would have been more than happy to stand before a glass case and gaze upon this Bible. But the Lord allowed me much, much more than that. He allowed me the opportunity to hold and examine it.

And what a treasure He allowed me to experience today.