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FeaturesMay 11, 1994

If the Bible were taught as literature in the schools, as it should be, young people would get more out of what their elders keep trying to impart to them today. Few speakers or writers in my age-bracket can resist quoting or paraphrasing Biblical bits that have been a part of them since their childhood...

If the Bible were taught as literature in the schools, as it should be, young people would get more out of what their elders keep trying to impart to them today. Few speakers or writers in my age-bracket can resist quoting or paraphrasing Biblical bits that have been a part of them since their childhood.

It is a sad reflection on the state of both secular and religious education today, but few young people seem to be familiar with the poetry of the Bible or any of the literary gems that used to be included in their general education. Literature, or else the importance of it, appears to be eluding even the scholars among them. What a lot of good wholesome pleasure they are missing!

A book titled "Heaven in my Hand" by Alice Lee Humphreys, comes to mind in this connection. Published in 1950, it consists of the author's experiences as a teacher and is written in the unique style of the Bible (King James unrevised Version), liberally sprinkled with such gems as "And it came to pass," and "Thou camest into my room." One chapter tells of a lad whose blue Christmas suit "was fearfully and wonderfully made." Such a reference adds much to the reader's pleasure if he knows that, according to Psalm 39, all God's children are described as being fearfully and wonderfully made.

In the Bible, we read that "many are called but few are chosen." In an essay by the British humorist G.K. Chesterton, we find "Many are cold, but few are frozen." To the reader who is unfamiliar with the Bible, this is a mere statement. But to anyone who knows the passage Chesterton paraphrased, it is much more. It adds a touch of humor to the statement. If the meaning is wide of the mark, so much the funnier. It is hardly original for us to point out that the sublime and the ridiculous are extremes of the same emotion.

Recently I heard a radio speaker declare that the bread of life is not something to loaf around with. A young student I shared this with understood the loafing around but was not familiar with the bread of life though he attends church regularly. To him, bread means money, and he can make a good case for his interpretation. But it is far removed from the meaning the radio preacher intended to convey. His point was that Jesus is the bread of life. To loaf around His truths is hardly the same as loafing around with whatever petty cash a college student can scrape up for whatever secular causes interest him.

The scholarly columnist James Kilpatrick, who is as familiar with the Bible as with all great literature, is given to paraphrasing both the Bible and the classics in almost everything he writes. Not long ago, he began a political column with "Sweet are the uses of perversity." A student of Shakespeare immediately recognizes this as a paraphrase of "Sweet are the uses of adversity," from the Duke's sermons-in-stone speech in "As You Like It," and feels all the richer for the recognition. We like best what we already know, and to be able to turn the knowledge into something that makes us think twice -- once of the source, again for the connection -- is a rewarding experience indeed.

In a column of mine some time ago, I referred to a "cloche of many colors" with confidence that readers would recognize Joseph's coat of many colors and be amused. (Like Chesterton, I never say anything because I think it's funny, but I often think it funny after I said it.) But at least one reader thought "cloche" was a misspelling. She was too young to know a cloche was a close-fitting hat or cap!

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My success with Sir Phillip Sydney is little better. His famous words, "Thy need is greater than mine," spoken on the battlefield when he knew he was dying and offered his last sip of water to a wounded soldier who had a better chance of survival, occur in my conversation regularly. With a bit of changing, that is. "My need is greater than thine" is my way of putting it when there is competition for a comfortable chair, or I am sharing a dish with a friend and find cause to explain she's getting only a sample because my need is for the whole week!

A part of the ignorance of the Bible and other great literature among the young people of today stems from changes in educational philosophy. Educators decided some years ago that memory work prevents thinking. In my experience, it has greatly aided thinking, and the earlier begun, the more likely it is to remain with us. Decades ago, an elderly teacher in our local university requested a verse-choir demonstration by my third-graders. Having been advised by her office-mate that they memorized four-liners on hearing them only once, she brought a purse full of verses unfamiliar to all of us. Her own failing memory and the fact that she was from Missouri raised doubts in her mind. She had to be shown! But to her delight as well as surprise, most of the class memorized her offerings after a single hearing. There were 47 in that class, many from disadvantaged backgrounds.

I learned many a verse along with my pupils, and can recite most of them. But I was still in my mid-twenties when I taught third-graders, and my head was not so full of other things that later vied for precedence. Today, I need our hymn book for a new version of the Apostles' Creed lest I disgrace myself in the company of more regular church-goers, though the changes be few.

My Clayton School superintendent had a printing press in the basement of his home, partly to publish The Bracken Gazette and avoid individual letters to relatives. This way, he couldn't be accused of favoritism. Smart people, those Brackens! On one wall of the printshop was a cartoon of a small boy with his nose in a book. Standing behind was his grandad, or a reasonable facsimile of one. "Readin', readin', always readin'", the old man chided. "Don't you never think for yourself?"

The cartoon was kept there for laughs, for John Bracken believed in reading and memory work as aids, not hindrances, to thinking. He knew, as well we all do, that we need the ideas of others in order to form judgments of our own. We need the great parables of the scriptures as well as the ideas of poets and philosophers to consider and relate to. We need to know how Jesus and His disciples expressed themselves, even if interpretations vary.

In summary, we need the quotations and near-quotations of all great thinkers of all times, to expand our lesser thoughts, and to associate them with what we wind up thinking and wish to live by and convey. This includes knowledge of the Bible.

First appeared in Aileen Lorberg's Nip and Tuck column in the Bulletin-Journal on May 20, 1984.

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