Saturday, October 3, 1998

Childhood lie to obtain Bible haunts -- a little

By Clark Morphew

Knight Ridder Newspapers

I remember the first Bible I ever owned with feelings of guilt and sadness. I had won the Bible, actually a pocket-size New Testament, on the day the Gideons came to my fourth-grade classroom to give Bibles to the students.

This was a long time ago, when religious people could come into public schools and make speeches to the students. The Gideons no longer operate in any government-owned facility.

Two men came to our classroom. They were dressed in business suits and carried a box full of New Testaments. I was sitting almost in the back row -- a place that afforded me opportunities for minor mischief, such as passing notes. But I was always careful because Mrs. Quinby was a formidable woman.

So the Gideons made a speech about how great the Bible is: the wonderful stories and the sound advice of thousands of years of human wisdom. I was impressed and I decided I really, really wanted one of those Bibles.

But then the Gideons threw up a hurdle. They would give Bibles to anyone who could recite the 23rd Psalm. Now some of those students who went to church and had to memorize Bible verses for Sunday school class would have no problem. But I seldom went to Sunday school. And I had never memorized a Bible verse. But I figured I could start just a fraction of a second later than the rest of the class, pick up on what others were saying and I would get my Bible.

That didn't work. I ended up just standing there and moving my lips and making no sound. A couple of kids noticed and teased me at recess, but Mrs. Quinby and the Gideons didn't notice. So I cheated to get a Bible. I am still feeling guilty about it as I write this piece. "He cheated to get a Bible," people would say about me for the rest of my life.

Because this incident haunted me, I took to Bible study when I was in my 20s. I became fully acquainted with most of the Bible and memorized many verses. I just want you to know that even a wayward boy can realize his folly and never return to it. Since then I have owned many Bibles and one was so thoroughly used that it has frayed pages and handwritten notes in every chapter.

My morning mail brought me news of another Bible, called the Pennyroyal Caxton Bible, which will be published in November 1999. The publishers are touting it as the finest book of this century, a claim that seems a bit arrogant until a person sees the samples. This the most gorgeous book I have ever seen and there will only be 450 copies made. Each Bible will cost $10,000. I want one of those Bibles, but of course, on a journalist's pay, that is beyond the realm of possibility.

Every book of this Bible has an engraving by Barry Moser, probably one of the finest artists in the United States. He has illustrated some of the best literature ever created by international writers. But he has always dreamed of illustrating a Bible.

The Bible will be printed in two volumes, leather bound with special bindings. The paper is handmade by a company in Germany and for the special editions, by Kathryn and Howard Clark of Twinrocker Handmade Paper in Brookston, Ind. The publishers say the last major work to come close to the completeness Moser intends for the Pennyroyal Caxton Bible is Gustave Dore's La Sainte Bible of 1865.

Now I'm asking myself why I want to own this Bible. I'm starting to feel guilty again. One young fellow I talked to about this Bible said, "Well, I guess the Bible is worth $10,000." Of course, I agreed.

But now I'm asking myself if I would lie to get the Pennyroyal Caxton Bible. Is it possible that a fellow of my stature would return to his folly for a $10,000 Bible? Yes, that is possible.

If a Gideon stopped me on a street corner and asked, "Sir, would you like one of these New Testaments bound in fine simulated leather or would you rather have this two-volume, leather-bound Pennyroyal Caxton Bible?"

"Sure," I would say, "I'll take the Pennyroyal Caxton Bible."

Then the Gideon would say, "I'm sorry sir, but you must answer one question. Have you ever lied?"

I would look him straight in the eye and tell him I have never lied once. Then I would lug my Bible home and look up all the verses about lying, and I would feel guilty.

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(Clark Morphew is an ordained clergyman and is religion writer for the Saint Paul Pioneer Press. Write to him at the Saint Paul Pioneer Press, 345 Cedar St., St. Paul MN 55101.)

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(c) 1998, Saint Paul Pioneer Press (St. Paul, Minn.).

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