It's For Class, Okay?

I am embarrassed by my Bible. On the first day of my Elements of Early Politics class, we discussed Genesis. I looked around the room as I removed my forest-green-polyester-covered, Jesus-fish-labeled NIV. Letters from family members and friends, booklets from my confirmation and colored note cards with favorite verses bulged from between the pages. Uh-oh¸ I thought. They'll think I'm one of those kind of Christians. I won't be taken seriously.

By then, it was too late. I was outed by the little white Jesus fish and there was no turning back. The guy sitting next to me said, "Wow, you can really tell who goes to church here when you look around the room." Great, that's exactly what I was trying to avoid. They'll never buy my analysis now. Most had text-bookish study Bibles with fresh binding and neat corners. A couple had black leather-bound NIVs like me, some with named engraves engraved in gold. But no one else had a cover that screamed "confirmation gift." No one else had sentimental little notes and cards with doodles of flowers around the verses stuck between the pages. I was sure my analysis of Abraham's covenant with the Lord would be pushed aside for one from someone with a sensible Bible. In short, I believed that in exposing myself as a Christian, I sacrificed my chance at scholarly respect.

This is either my own ironic anti-Christian bias or a bias toward secularism in the classroom (present even, and maybe especially, while discussing religious topics.) I had to read Genesis on my way to school a few weeks ago and was absolutely and inexplicably mortified to pull out my Bible. "Homework before class has even started, can you believe it?" I joked with my seat mate on the plane. I didn't want them to think I was reading the Bible just... to read the Bible. What if they thought I was holier-than-thou? What if they thought I was trying to convert them? What if they thought I was... a conservative Christian? Nope, better let them think I wasn't enjoying that Genesis one bit.

"Bible-thumper." "Bible belt." The best-selling book of all time has somehow developed a negative connotation. I like a little Ecclesiastes or Matthew before bed, but only in the privacy of my dorm room, where no one can mislabel me as something I'm not. Maybe it was an overdose on election coverage (when accusing a candidate of "pandering to the evangelical base," could we characterize Christianity any more narrowly?) Maybe it was my own stereotype of the "other" kind of Christian, a bias I've developed through my own flaws. Maybe it was just an Episcopal thing (we don't even bring our Bibles to church!) Whatever the cause, it was very hard for me to bring my Good Book out into the world and let that candle shine.

After a few classes, I got used to speaking in class, Jesus fish on desk and all. I didn't notice any scholarly bias toward the textbook Bibles or the "obviously Christian" Bibles. When I said something silly, I was discounted; when I said something intelligent, my contribution was valued, flower-doodled verses and all. The bias was only in my head, but the fact that I even thought that way continues to perturb me. Is it me? Is it society? What's wrong with "those Christians," anyway, and why does my perception of them make me embarrassed to carry around one of the best books ever? The best book ever, maybe. (Sorry, Gatsby.) Maybe even Episcopalians need to flex their Bible-thumping muscles every once in a while. The response might be better than we expect.

By Erin Becker  |  September 4, 2008; 11:01 PM ET  | Category:  Tar Heel Testament
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