“Bard of the Bible”

Several years ago, it being my turn to do the Children’s Time in worship on Mother’s Day, I came up with a pop quiz disguised as a Children’s Message. I handed out a handful of biblical names to the kids on the chancel steps, then read aloud the names and asked, “Who’s my mother?” The names were as follows:  Cain and Abel. Isaac. Jacob and Esau. Samuel. Jesus. John the Baptist. Timothy.

Can you name the mothers of the above?

Given the kids’ ages, I wasn’t expecting many right answers (and I wasn’t disappointed). But if I had brought the middle school or high school youth up front, would they have fared better? Or the board? Or the elders? 

Biblical literacy is in short supply these days and has been for decades. One constant in my ministry across forty plus years now is noticing that many of the people in my churches who have a semblance of biblical literacy were former Baptists. Nearly to a person, they have a memory, albeit a vague one, of the contours of many of the Bible stories. They can’t always remember all the details and sometimes not even the major characters or plot, but by and large the stories of the faith have been deposited into their memory banks.

As they aged, many of them no longer agreed with the way the Bible was interpreted (read: a literal reading of Scripture) in the more conservative congregations of their childhood where the earth is 6,000 years old and women should be silent in the churches and specified makes and models of human beings, not to mention people of other faiths, are destined for an eternally burning hell. Seeking another way to read Scripture (read: informed by a knowledge of the culture and worldview of those who wrote it), many of those former Baptists found a home in Discipledom where our mode of baptism (immersion) and hymnody is familiar, and our theology is more inclusive and less judgmental.

Well and good. I’m always grateful when our open table and wide-armed welcome in the name of Jesus Christ provide a long sought-after balm and refuge for people who have been stung, shamed, or scorned in other congregations.    

At the same time, I admire the biblical literacy instilled in children and youth by more conservative congregations and lament the comparative lack thereof in more progressive churches. Progressive Christians are wont to dismiss the misuse of Scripture by more conservative Christians, saying, “I’m sure glad we don’t read the Bible that way,” and then not read it any way.

Granted, being able to name Samuel’s mother isn’t the telltale sign of a mature faith. I can hear the late Dr. Fred Craddock’s lament that he had students in his seminary Bible classes “who had a ‘four point’ (4.0) and missed the point.” That being said, however, an informed acquaintance with Scripture and a lifelong engagement with it through study, meditation, contemplation, and worship is an indispensable staple for life in Christ that directs and inspires the love of God and neighbor which is the point of the Bible.

As such, I give thanks for the women and men who give themselves to the faith formation of children, youth, and adults by teaching the Bible. I give thanks as well for adults who are lifelong learners of the faith, including those in my current congregation who faithfully attend our Tuesday evening Disciple Bible study, Wednesday morning lectio divina Bible study, and Wednesday evening book discussion group.  

I for one owe the continued deepening of my faith to teachers who have interpreted God’s Word for me in words that I could understand and digest. They opened the Bible for me in ways that were intellectually honest, emotionally engaging, culturally relevant, and spiritually transforming. They changed my life.

I remember the professor of an elective I took during my sophomore year in college after I dropped a political science class. It was the only class still open: “The Bible as Literature.” After rolling my eyes and sighing at having to take a class on the Bible, I took my seat in Dr. Battenhouse’s classroom. For the first time in my life, the Bible came alive for me.

An English professor whose specialty was Shakespeare, Roy Battenhouse taught with verve and delight. After his class, I took another Bible class. Then another. And another. Finally, after beating my head against Organic Chemistry for a semester (and my brain chemistry never gelling around the subject), I changed my major from Pre-Med to Religious Studies. Went to Divinity School. Learned more Bible. Began to teach it. Preach it. Pray it. Live it (or try to, anyway). Bottom line: the way Dr. Battenhouse taught the Bible changed my life.

I googled his name and found an obituary in The New York Times (!) from 1995:

Roy W. Battenhouse, an Episcopal priest who was professor emeritus of English at Indiana University, died on Feb. 17 … He was 82 … Professor Battenhouse not only combined two great interests – literature and religion – but also argued, against many secular critics, that an understanding of Christianity was essential to understanding Western literature.

I had no idea he was a priest. But I should have. The Latin word for bridge is pontis from which we get our words pontoon and pontiff.  A priest is a bridge. The role of a priest is to be a living link – a flesh-and-blood bridge – whose words, deeds, and demeanor connect human beings to God.  

Dr. Battenhouse, professor of the Bard and the Bible, bridged the distance from the sacred scriptures to my muddled mind.

A priest, indeed.