The ’s Bible: Pentateuch
Donald Jackson, artistic director and illuminator
Liturgical Press, 2006
158 pages, $69.95
To order: (800) 858-5450
litpress.org or sjbible.org
Want to rile an evangelical Protestant into issuing an impromptu preachment? Point out a stately old Bible that’s sat so long on its shelf, untouched, that its spine makes a pained crackling sound when you open it. Want to shock a cradle Catholic into a frozen moment of wide-eyed horror? Show him a dog-eared Holy Bible that’s been handled so casually so many times — written in, highlighted and otherwise used — that a couple of pages fall to the floor when you thumb through. Want to delight both? Give each a volume from the Bible, arguably one of the few in the world that can invite engagement with God’s Word as readily for Scriptural teetotalers as for Bible scholars.
You might start with the latest release, Pentateuch, comprising the first five books of the Old Testament. Like the two volumes that preceded it, Psalms and Gospels and Acts, and the four due to follow by the end of next year — Prophets, Wisdom Literature, Letters and Revelation and Historical Books — Pentateuch features hand-written calligraphy for the text. This is punctuated, if you will, by a series of original illuminations rendered with ancient materials and techniques. Together, the text and artworks are the fruit of a $4 million project to hand-copy the Bible as Benedictine monks did in the centuries before the printing press.
The massive undertaking launched back in 1998, when the Benedictines of St. John’s Abbey and University in , , commissioned ’s Donald Jackson — senior scribe to Queen Elizabeth and, to many, the top calligrapher in the world — to serve as artistic director and illuminator.
Like those monks of old, saw to it that the imagery included elements from the local environment and culture. In this case, that means you’ll be able to pick out plants and animals indigenous to the Great Lakes region, along with hints of ’s American Indian history. Some of the illumination work, which mixes classical and contemporary styles, really is riveting. And the elegant calligraphy really does invite the eye to slow down and soak in God’s Word.
Now for the bad news. The Collegeville Benedictines have gone with the New Revised Standard Version of the Bible. This uses “gender-inclusive” language, changing many of the RSV’s male references to non-gender-specific substitutes. For example, in Psalm 95:9, “when your fathers tested me” becomes “when your ancestors tested me.” The NRSV’s approach to gender-inclusiveness is not heavy-handed, as it certainly is in some other translations, but it can be distracting. And the monks’ decision to season their savory banquet with a smattering of politically correct anachronisms just seems in bad taste, especially given the pains taken to otherwise ensure historical authenticity.
Then again, many Catholics who prefer traditional translations in all their Bible-based materials have made their peace with this modern concession — so long as gender-inclusive usage doesn’t become, well, exclusive. And the Bible is neither a study Bible nor a nightstand staple. It’s a keepsake and a witnessing tool. Its handsome presence on the coffee table can invite Catholics to explain the sacramental-like reverence with which we esteem the Bible. And the labor of love behind its achievement should remind us, along with our separated brothers and sisters in Christ, that we wouldn’t have the Bible for reading at all if not for the countless monks who, wracked with writer’s cramp, hand-copied Scripture word by word in the centuries prior to Gutenberg’s 1436 invention.
This admirable re-creation of their absolute dedication ought to rouse all Christians to a deeper and fuller love for the Word of God.
David Pearson is the
Register’s features editor.