Why Do You Read Your Bible, Shelley?

/ MacGregor Evangelical Mennonite Church/
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Welcome to the third installment in the series, “Why Do You Read your Bible?” in which we are asking people this simple question, getting them to answer as personally as they can. If you missed the first two posts, you can find them here and here.

Curious as to how others across the country would answer this question, this week I have asked fellow EMCer, Shelley Mongelli to give it a go. For a short Bio Shelley writes of herself:

“I am a former Catholic and I attend New Life Christian Fellowship, an EMC church in Stevenson, Ontario. I had started attending this local Mennonite church almost 6 years ago now and people tease me that I have become a “Menno-day.” I am a mother to a wonderful teen son and have in the past both written and taught several Bible Studies. Currently, I write for Imprinted to educate parents on the dangers of Child Trafficking.”

Thank you Shelley for taking the time to write this wonderful piece!

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To answer the question, "why do I read my Bible, I would have to start by telling you how I started reading it in the first place.

In my 24th year, I paid a weekend visit to an aunt in America. On Sunday morning we went to her church. She introduced me to a friend named Sophie who gave her Bible to me. It was a red, pre-owned 1971 NASB Model, complete with gilt edging, coloured maps, a plethora of study helps and an ample concordance.

It wasn’t the first time I read a Bible. I grew up with the Good News For Modern Man, which was only the New Testament, but adored it because every few pages were sprinkled with one of Annie Vallotton’s many line drawings; concise enough to form the moment it captured with the minimal lines drawn. But Sophie’s Bible was different, it included the Old Testament which was new to me.

My intent to read Sophie's Bible wasn't purely righteous I will confess. I was always jealous of people that God spoke to and I wanted my prayers answered. I didn't just want to get to know God; I wanted to get something from God. I wanted to be one of the ones that God spoke to and I thought the difference between those that were blessed by God and myself was foolishly some magic formula. So I set out on a journey to discover the secret formula. For nearly a year, daily I scoured that Bible, fumbling the tabs, looking for clues, trying to find the missing piece to my genii in a bottle mindset. Little knowing my misguided selfish quest would lead me to something greater as I would continue to delve into that Bible like a determined detective cracking a case until I was Born-Again.

The Bible became strikingly alive then and God began to talk directly to me in a cherished exchange. 

He really spoke, and He was speaking to me, about me, whatever concerned me and honestly, I loved all His attention. I found this beloved letter to be conversations where God admonished me, picked me up, dusted me off, taught me, counselled me, understood me, corrected me, be it gently or harshly and forgave me. I'll be honest, sometimes I didn't like what He had to say, but it was real. It was raw. It was a reflecting pool, that showed me the good, the bad and the ugly parts of me. Inside my mind was a narrative between Him and every thought in my head and I in turn got the pleasure of hearing His thoughts as well.

Over little time this Bible would become so worn, that on occasion it could temporarily be found glued together in my father’s bench vice. A symbol of a hard-worked relationship.

Some years passed and my aunt called and said, shockingly, "Sophie wants her Bible back." Dread tensed around my neck raising my shoulders. Quickly I thought of all the highlighting, the bookmarks, the asterisks, the tear-stained crinkled pages. This wasn’t just a book! It was a photo album that contained the memory of the two of us. Like the time, I was repeatedly ridiculed for the sound of my voice and sitting crying on a bathroom floor, He reassured me, “Let me see your form, Let me hear your voice; For your voice is sweet, and your form is lovely.” (Song of Songs 2:14). Or what about the time I felt rejection and He showed how He was brutally rejected by those He loved in Matthew 27:20-26, picked over for Barabbas? I slept holding that Bible in times of great sadness. I didn’t dare place anything on top of it, it was so precious to me. It was the story of “us.” You don’t understand!

"What... do... you... mean... she wants her Bible back?" I stammered, "You can't ask... for... a Bible back" as I realized I was in danger of losing this keepsake that held every coloured pencilled lined memory of "us." 

I attempted to harness my anger within my own mind where only He and I could know what I felt. In deep conviction, I decreed “No! No! No!!! Sophie can’t have her Bible back. It is my Bible."