11:28am Friday, 23rd September 2011
COMMENT Joshua Maule
I've searched the Bible long and hard and still have not found a reason for Christians to look markedly different to others. Physically, I mean. While the church gives mixed signals on this issue - jangling with accessories in some parts and seeming trapped in 60s elsewhere - there's certainly nothing in God's word calling us to wear crosses, certain hair, or peculiar garb. If anything Jesus warns against those who "like to walk around in long robes".
But until recently there was one fail-proof way of knowing someone on the train or in the local cafe was a follower of Jesus. Their Bible.
In my experience, very few atheists pull out a pocket edition New Testament on the train to work. Reading the Bible is an activity, endorsed by God, creating a physical sign of one's allegiance to him. Those thin, silvery pages, the book's design, "The Holy Bible" printed on the spine are clues to something much more than one's taste in literature. To read a Bible in open air is to come out of the closet as a child of light.
However, with the popularity of the smart phone and the tablet, I wonder if Christians are all of a sudden slipping under a bushel? Are we now running for the cover of darkness? Is it now only our faces illuminated by the neon glow of our iPad screens, and not our whole bodies? As we adopt e-reading, is it possible to tell the run-of-the-mill newspaper devourer from the Bible reader?
Countless stories testify to the unsubtle presence of the Lord's word as it balances on a knee. Let's face it, unlike a smart phone, the Bible is downright weird. One friend of mine ended up giving his to the person next to him when it sparked such intense intrigue during his commute.
I can't see anyone giving away an iTablet.
Sometimes the reaction is blatantly hostile. Another friend of mine in France experienced this when reading the Word in a coffee shop. A woman bowled up to him and told him off for bringing the Scriptures into a public space. He politely defied her logic and continued reading. Now there is real résistance Française.
It's even possible our hard copy editions could land us in territory stranger still. Places as yet uncharted. It did when a young guy and I read Colossians facing a busy Sydney strip. A curious passer-by stuck her head inside. "Is that a Bible?" she asked, revealing a near toothless mouth.
"Yes," we replied.
"Well, I'm an angel," she said through a wry grin. Turning on her heel, she left.
As the Land Downunder catapults down the broad highway of secularism, we are certain to bump into more hostility. The public presence of our Bibles will be a stench to some, and the sweetness of eternity to others.
When my friend in France told me the story, he did so laughing. It makes me think: are we in fact denying a chance to experience what James calls "pure joy" in the face of trials as we hide behind a digital substitute?
