Blaine Detwiler, Lakeview
detwiler@nep.net
I suspect it is a scene that could play out in any given congregation. But on this Sunday morning in 1995 Connie and I, as visitors, took our seats near to the front of a Mennonite church in rural Virginia. Noticeably, across the aisle to our left were several pews filling with older folk. Men moving in alongside one another with their plain coats neatly buttoned to the neck. Women dressed in cape-style dresses and coverings came in and lined up side by side in a pew just in front of the men. Then the worship service began.
I am not usually prone to be looking around during worship. But on this day I could not help it. I began to sense a certain uneasiness to this Sunday gathering. Soon, we were invited to pull the brand new blue hymnals from the racks and to find the assigned page. The spine of our book creaked as Connie pushed it open. The leader was about to introduce a new song.
After we stood and began singing the new song, I stole a quick glance over my left shoulder. I saw three women wearing bifocals, slightly stooped, each with bent index fingers parsing their notes across the fresh page…finding their voices. Behind these joyful women was a pew full of men, their sullen faces facing forward, standing silent with hands clutching the pew in front of them, hymnals still in the rack. Their black covered Bibles lying closed beside them.
We believe the Bible to be an important book to read…for those of us who can. There is a connection between the Bible and its reader. It’s a holy connection, yet one not guaranteed. We confess the Bible has in it a possible authority.
I recently heard authority defined as “that which authors life.” I think that is what I found so compelling about the three singing women that Sunday. In their advanced age they were still very much alive in their new praise. I found out later they were all sisters whose lives were devoted to sewing and service, their work radiating like perfume up and down the rural Virginia valley where they lived. All three were deeply connected to the Author of the book.
I am grateful to Frederick Buechner for pointing me to the subtlety between “peddling” God’s word and “sincerity.” Paul often found himself in the middle of dreary people. To a grumpy congregation in Corinth he urged,“…and through us spreads in every place the fragrance that comes from knowing him…For we are the aroma of Christ to God among those who are being saved…For we are not peddlers of God’s word like so many; but in Christ we speak as persons of sincerity…”
Each Christmas I find myself shopping in Dickson City’s Viewmont Mall. During holidays the center aisles swell with kiosks selling everything from fluorescent pink mobile phones to kitschy calendars. As a shy person I am an easy target for aggressive vendors. Once as I strolled between stores I was approached by a woman displaying a microwave heated neck massager. “Try this on,” she said as she quickly draped the collar-shaped warmth over my shoulders. It was warm. I was easily impressed. I said, “I’ll take one.” As I reached for my wallet she came towards me again with different gadget this time…a spider like scalp massager, “Feel your tension go away when you try this…and we have vanilla candles for relaxation, and scented oils are over there, and…” and it was obvious that she cared much about her selling. She was a peddler.
Bibles get used in so many ways. Not all of them good. Not all of them to “author” life. They get used as amulets for those who are afraid of flying. Oaths of truthfulness are sworn over them by liars. Bible verses appear on placards at protest rallies…on billboards as warnings of a hell to pay. Bibles are used to stake out one’s turf and to defend it. The Bible gets used as a weapon in arguments to wrestle an opponent and to pin them down. People hide money in Bibles along with pictures of loved ones and four leaf clovers as if the Bible itself was a library of lucky and safe. Bibles are printed to proffer, to profit, to peddle.
But when I turned my head to glance across the aisle in worship that Sunday I saw the Bible working its very best. I saw sincerity. I saw three women so full of grace and vigor that I could not help but believe they walked with Jesus every day. It was an authority, not bound in black leather, but written beautifully across their weathered faces and lifted up in their voices. It was a scent so beautifully sweet it lingers with me still.