There are some things you don’t think about too much when you announce you’re transitioning to a new ministry. One is your library. After more than 53 years of ministry, I have accumulated a few books.
I’ve had the privilege of either church-provided space or, as a state missionary, I enjoyed a separate room filled with shelves attached to my office for my library. That didn’t count the books Sharon and I collected that we used for personal study, or to provide for our sons when we were educating them.
With a collection that grew to 3,000 volumes at one time, the time has come to downsize. You have to draw the line and acknowledge you can’t keep them all. But with each volume going out the door comes a little bit of a feeling that I’ve lost a good friend. A treasure given away.
A. E Newton (1863-1940) said, “We cherish books even if unread, their mere presence exudes comfort, their reading access, reassurance.”
Sven Birkerts, in “An Artificial Wilderness,” 1987, shares, “Just to see my books, to note their presence, their proximity to other books, fills me with a sense of futurity … I have not read every one, nor is it likely that I will – but to know that I might!”
I’m sure many of you think in terms of just moving over to electronic versions of the books. To some extent, that’s a great idea. I do own a copy of Logos Bible software, and it provides many marvelous advantages.
“People who need to possess the physical copy of a book, and not merely an electronic version, are in some sense mystics,” writes Wall Street Journal columnist Joe Queenan (One for the Books). “We believe that the objects themselves are sacred, not just the stories they tell. We believe that books possess the power to transubstantiate, to turn darkness into light, to make being out of nothingness.”
I don’t know Mr. Queenan personally, but I get what he’s talking about.
When the allocation of space for bookshelves at the downsized house is minimal, you have to cull the stacks of anything that may not provide research, consulting, or leisure reading. The keepers must have a future use.
Then, there are the books that bear my name on the title page, like the 25 volumes of the SBC Annual, the three books I authored or co-authored, or books authored by my friends and mentors. I have to keep those. I will save them for my heirs to sift through.
While going through the stacks, I came across my mother’s Bible, the one she used to faithfully teach the adult women’s Sunday school class. That one has to stay.
All that’s left now at my home library is about 30 percent of my printed friends. The rest are gifted to many who visited the Baptist Building and perused the giveaway table. May they bring my colleagues as much a sense of comfort, encouragement, equipping, knowledge, and enjoyment as they have for me before the dreaded downsize fell upon us.