Scofield

 May 5, 2022

Last winter, figuring it was time to unpack some of the books I had boxed up when I retired, I refinished a set of barrister bookshelves that had been dismantled and stacked in the back of my garage. Among the various books on history and theology, I unpacked the very first Bible I ever owned. It was given to me by my parents upon my profession of faith in Christ. The cover is tattered and falling apart, as are parts of the Book itself. It is marked and underlined, filled with notes and comments. The bookplate in the front was designed and inked by my mother, which makes it even more of a treasure to me.

Some of my contemporaries would perhaps scoff at the fact that it is a Scofield Reference Bible, the notes and cross-references being the work of C.I. Scofield, forerunner to the fundamentalist movement of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Scoff they may, but it was in this Bible I cut my Christian teeth; the teaching and mentoring I received from the men and women of Westside Baptist Church, many of whom had identical Bibles, has stood the test of time, and remains the foundation upon which my life in Christ has been built.

That old Bible has long since been retired, but its pages are testimony to the power of the Word of God in a young man’s life. Someone once said, “A Bible that’s falling apart usually belongs to someone who isn’t.” I can vouch for that, and am grateful for this old friend from years ago.