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From the Dead Sea Scrolls to your smartphone, the Word of God has connected with people. And never more so than today.
It was a German printer named Johannes Gutenberg who made the breakthrough. We call it innovation today.
For centuries the Bible had been laboriously hand-copied by scribes and monks in medieval towers. A king or queen might have an exquisite illuminated prayer book or collection of the Psalms, but few others did. Not many could read anyway.
Then, in 1455, Gutenberg, pioneering the use of movable type, printed a complete Latin Bible. A revolution had begun. God’s Word became more accessible, and people could experience a more personal relationship with God.
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Martin Luther translated the Bible into everyday German; then William Tyndale did one in English, claiming, “Before very long I shall cause a ploughboy to know the Scriptures.” The monumental King James Version, produced in 1611, could soon be found in nearly every English-speaking home.
I’m not Gutenberg, I’m a pastor, but I am passionate about getting Scripture into people’s hands. Not long ago, my church came up with a way of doing that, something we believe can be as revolutionary as Gutenberg’s Bible.
Much like the early popularizers of the printed Bible, we struggled to get it right. In fact, I felt like the last person God would pick for this work. But that’s God for you.
Picture a college frat boy who had never been interested in the Bible. I wasn’t the wildest one by any means, but my sophomore year my fraternity was at risk of being kicked off campus. I thought, as sort of a PR move, we should show the fraternity council that we weren’t such bad guys.
“Let’s have a Bible study at the house,” I said. “Anybody can come.” We needed to let people know that our place wasn’t just for wild parties.
Even though some of my fraternity brothers laughed at the idea, we decided to do it. We handed out flyers all over campus, put up posters and called everybody we knew.
The day of the Bible study came and I was feeling pretty proud of myself. In the middle of class, it dawned on me that I didn’t own a Bible. It was too late to buy one, let alone read it. If there ever was a foxhole moment this was it. God, I need a Bible, I half-muttered. NOW.
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When class was dismissed, I dashed outside, hoping one of my buddies might have an extra Bible lying around. I almost ran into an older gentleman in a coat and tie. His name tag said he was from Gideon International, whatever that was.
He was handing out small green books with faux-leather trim. Bibles. “Do you want one, young man?”
“Sure.” I took out my wallet. I would have given him a hundred bucks if I had it. “How much?”
“Nothing. They’re free.”
A God I wasn’t even sure I believed in had hand-delivered a Bible. I took it and thumbed through it on the way back to the fraternity: Matthew, Mark, Luke, John....
What I hadn’t realized was that he had given me a copy of the New Testament. So when we gathered in a circle in the den, the place still reeking of beer and cigarettes, I announced, “We’ll start at the beginning, Matthew.…”
“Mine says, ‘Genesis: In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth,’” one of my frat brothers said.
“Mine doesn’t,” I said. “Let’s start with Matthew.”
And we did. I was hooked. I whizzed through the Gospels and devoured Paul’s letters. One night, when I read about God’s grace in Ephesians, I became so desperate for a conversation with this savior I barely knew that I climbed out the window to escape the crowded frat house.
I wandered to the softball field, knelt on the damp grass, offered myself up to God, and stood up a different person.
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