Nora's Bible

You can find out a lot about a person by looking at his bookshelf, especially his cherished books. One such volume in my library is an old Bible which once belonged to Aunt Nora.

Aunt Nora wasn't a blood relative, but as far back as I can remember she shared in all our family celebrations. When Nora died my grandmother saw to it that I was given her Bible.

I noticed immediately that Nora was not the type to keep her Bible safely hidden away until Sunday mornings. Virtually every page had red pencil markings, notes and dates written.

In addition, all the fore and aft blank pages had pithy comments and sayings, some of which I recognized, most of which I did not. I spent an afternoon reading what she had written and imagining what her spiritual life must have been like.

One poem in particular caught my eye. I don't know its origin, but the effect on me was dramatic. I'm a little embarrassed to tell you that it kind of choked me up.

I read the simple words, imagining myself a frightened bystander at Jesus' execution. Blood stained his hands, feet and side. A pool of it gathered at the base of the cross. Moments before he had breathed his last. The crowd dispersed but I remained, pondering the surreal image before me.

Here I sit in wonder, viewing
Mercy's streams in streams of blood;
Precious drops, my soul, believing,
Plead and claim my peace with God.

Here it is I find my heaven
While upon the Lamb I gaze.
Love I much? I'm much forgiven:
I'm a miracle of grace!

On the one hand, the scene was pathetic and horrifying. But on the other it was a picture of hope and forgiveness. For his blood was a holy stream -- a stream of mercy -- which secured peace with God.

"Love I much?" the text asked. "I'm much forgiven," it replies. "I'm a miracle of grace."

In a scene pungent with irony, Jesus was once anointed by a "sinful" woman. He was the guest of respected religious leader but had been treated with contempt. Common courtesies were omitted: no footwashing, no welcome kiss, no oil of comfort.

During the meal a woman with a reputation enters uninvited. She is overcome with love and gratitude to Jesus. His feet are washed by her tears, kissed by her lips, anointed with her oil.

The host is offended at this untoward display of affection, particularly given the woman's history. "If this man were a prophet, he would know what kind of woman she is."

To his host, Jesus says, "He who has been forgiven little loves little." To his admirer he says, "Your sins are forgiven. Your faith has saved you; go in peace."

The longer I live the more grateful I am for mercy and forgiveness. I know it reeks of sentimentality in this forum. But in those moments -- and this is one of them -- when I am most conscious of my personal failures, I am also profoundly grateful for mercy, grace and forgiveness.

Here it is I find my heaven/While upon the Lamb I gaze/Love I much? I'm much forgiven/I'm a miracle of grace.

Happy Thanksgiving.