Of Boxes and Books

Book allowance. It’s one of those lines in the budget that pastors have used for a long time. It’s used to buy books which are the resources from which lots of study happens. Before it becomes a sentence in a sermon it was probably a sentence in a book that the pastor read. We Presbyterians are committed to having an educated clergy. We spend lots of money on books. We spend lots of time reading. It’s part of who we are and what we do. 

I am no different than my colleagues on this score. For all these years I have been steadily accumulating books that have filled my shelves with volumes and filled my mind and spirit with insights and ideas. Les’s Library has grown, and so have I. 

But now I am faced with one of the consequences of retiring from active ministry—I’ve got a ton of books (haven’t weighed them, but I wouldn’t doubt that estimate!) that have to be sorted and moved. I had thought about just keeping 100 books, but that proved folly. So a whole wall of shelves with dozens of Bibles and works in Greek and Hebrew and Spanish all have to find new homes. 

It’s a daunting task for a variety of reasons. First, having spent all these years collecting has not prepared me for the reverse process. I’m good at seeing them and being intrigued and hitting the order button on the screen. I am infinitely less adept at looking at my hard-earned library and letting go. I’ve gotten very little practice in this phase. I can imagine that librarians go through the same thing when its time to clear the shelves. Filling shelves is fun—emptying shelves is work! 

Second, even looking at them makes me remember countless lessons that these books have contained. I would not be who I am if I had never read Martin Buber’s I-Thou. I can still remember the visceral emotions of encountering the holocaust through Elie Wiesel’ Night. Bonhoeffer’s Life Together has shaped my understanding of church and community in profound ways. Merton’s writings and his monastic life have impressed themselves on heart and soul. I remember the first time I read through the Bible using an old self-pronouncing King James Version that my grandfather had rebound with my name embossed on the cover. I could go on and on with titles and names and what has happened to me in between the pages of my books. 

Third, I realize that there is no one else who will appreciate all of this the way that I do. These words that have formed my mind, soul, and spirit will not resonate as loudly with others. Countless times I have had to stop and reread a sentence and let it soak in. I have underlined more sentences than I can count. In the margins are asterisks that note the phrases that caught me up short. Someone else may read the words or even admire the effort to mark them as I have. But no one will have the same experiences which have literally been my life. 

Fourth, all these containers of wisdom, insight, and knowledge must now be packed into other containers. Boxes are important when moving books. Liquor boxes tend to work well because they are heavily-built and small; they pretty much cannot be overloaded; their size makes them easy to carry and stack. So my spiritual books will find a place in boxes that contained spirits. Soon they will look like restock day at the liqour store sitting in a hallway or basement waiting to be released from their containment. Ah, the world of spirit! 

Boxes, like books, are a wonder. Containers, also made of paper products, that house contents of value. Boxes, like books, are typically made of recycled elements that can be used again and again. Boxes, like books, are digested and consumed and useful for their time. A box is not too different than the books it contains. Life has had more boxes than I can count. 

I am not fooling myself about the task ahead of me. I’ve already packed away most of the books I’ll be keeping. I’ll relish unpacking them and arranging them on a new set of shelves somewhere. Like old friends who unexpectedly arrive for a visit they will bring delight. 

But there are also others whose useful life has now run face-first into the hard wall of practicality. Many are the books that will find their way now to the recycling bin. Having served their purpose for a season they will go through the process in which they will once again become blank sheets in front of the writer of new thoughts and ideas. There is something sad in that. There is a bit of greiving that goes with it. 

So I will sort, purge, pack, move, dispense, and even dispose of my library. I will bless those whose words have blessed me beyond measure. My friends through the ages have given me instruction and insights that have shaped my life. 

And I will look upon the boxes that are the bane that goes with it all. Cardboard that has to be taped, labeled, moved, maybe moved again, until it is once again mined for the jewels that might be contained therein. Or perhaps moved to the dust bin where the whole process might begin once more. 

A box’o’books. An apt symbol for me and my life’s work.