There is a special relationship between a pastor and their Bible … or, at least, there should be.

On this, the last official day of my call at the church in which I’ve humbly labored for four years, I am reminiscing about the past.

Such an odd word… reminiscing.

The creative art of dusting off the past and remembering it with pleasure.

It would not be truthful to say that the entirety of my run as minister here has been filled “with pleasure”—as my wife is prone to saying, the drama began the week before we arrived—but it HAS been with love, wisdom, and discernment that we have led each step of the way, and I will remember it fondly.

One of the things that initially attracted me to this call was the spiritual temperature of the core of the congregation. Not so much that it was white-hot but that it was, one might say, on “simmer.”

They wanted more.

I wanted a congregation that desired to go on a journey with Jesus.

What more did I need to know?

As I contemplated whether or not a relationship with this new congregation was a recipe for disaster or a match made in Heaven, I couldn’t stop thinking about the Bible that I had used for years. For almost a decade, my sensible black Bible had accompanied me to untold gravesides, stood with me between couples at the altar, and held my hand during every weekly sermon I’d preached.

We had logged a lot of miles together, she and I.

I’ve never had nor held a more perfect Bible. The size and weight were just right for my hand. Not too thick, Not too wide. Not too tall. The pages were thin but not sheer. And the leather… oh, the leather! Highland goatskin from Great Britain that was as supple as butter. And it had the perfect amount of yapp, . This Bible was unimaginably flexible and melted into my hand like an extension of my body. It wasn’t just a work of art, it was a masterpiece. Made by hand in a little bindery in England, this R.L. Allan Bible is widely accepted as one of (if not the) highest quality Bible in the world. They are always in short supply, and to own one is often more about luck than money.

Yes, I loved that Bible. It had stood by me during my favorite sermons, funerals of friends, tearful altar exchanges, and untold hours of study.

But I couldn’t shake the feeling that her run was done.

She just didn’t seem designed… or perhaps, destined… to run the next leg of my race.

So I went to the only place you can acquire one of these Bibles, knowing I wanted a New Living Translation and finding… Ugh… they really only have one color left!

Red.

Red?

Red!

red.

I’ve always had an uneasy relationship with rouge.

Once, through a mixup at the local rental car company, I had to lead a graveside service in a red mustang. Can you imagine clergy showing up to your Dearly Beloved’s grave in a candy apple red sports car? Well, I know some people for whom it’s not a hypothetical question.

I stared at the shopping cart on the computer, hesitant to click purchase.

Can a new pastor really show up to a new church and preach from a bright red Bible?! … a church whose current clergy attire was jet black robes, no less.

This church was pretty formal. They wore clergy robes.

A bright red Bible alongside jet black clergy robes is going to stick out like a red sports car at a graveside, I thought to myself.

I looked at my beautiful old black friend, then at the uber ostentatious Bible on the MacBook. I knew what my spirit was telling me to do. I hovered my mouse over the Buy Now button, closed my eyes, prayed a quick prayer of forgiveness, winced …then clicked.

FULL DISCLOSURE: When the Bible arrived by Royal Post, I didn’t open it. I think I feared opening it. I’m not sure what worried me more… me not liking it, the new church not liking it, or Sally not liking it!

But when I finally steeled my courage enough to open the box, I gasped.

It was absolutely beautiful,

It was perfect.

I knew that this was the Bible that was supposed to accompany me on the journey with this church.

Or perhaps, it was me who was accompanying the Bible.

The bold red color immediately made me think of Christ. And to this day, without fail, every single time I look at this bright red Bible, my first thought is always and immediately: CHRIST!

And over the years, I have preached the Christ out of that Bible.

For four years, I laid truth and Christ on the field each Sunday. I left nothing in the tank. I was faithful to what Christ called me to teach and preach in sermons, in groups, in meetings, in counseling, mentoring, and one-on-one’s. There were many times that what I God desired me to speak was not taken to kindly, but prophets are rarely saints among their own.

Wherever I went that Bible went.

Or, rather, wherever that Bible went, I would go.

So, on the last day of my time here, I find myself reminiscing and looking back on those early days of my journey.

I don’t rightly remember if I felt awkward using such a garish red Bible in such a reserved place and refined space, but I do remember this: the feedback.

I remember the surprising number of comments about the fact that I was using a Bible during the sermon… not a red Bible… but A Bible. People noticed that I was holding a Bible on the platform… that I was teaching from the pages of the Bible, an actual Bible.

Really?!

From day one, that Bible sealed both the tone of my entire tenure as well as my long term legacy in that congregation:

The Bible is central and will not be disregarded or dismissed.

Over the last four years of ministry here, the centrality of the Bible and the Christ whom it proclaims has been both a powerful tool for personal transformation within the congregation… but it has also caused division at times.

There have been surprising moments of hostility when using it or quoting from it. I’ve received more than a few eye rolls and pushbacks from those for whom the Bible is not so central.

That shouldn’t surprise us, though, the writer of Hebrews reminds us that the word of God “is alive and powerful. It is sharper than the sharpest two-edged sword, cutting between soul and spirit, between joint and marrow. It exposes our innermost thoughts and desires” (4:12).

I had to remember, in those moments of pushback where I had proclaimed the power and presence of the truth, that it wasn’t really me with which they were frustrated, but the Word himself.

This Bible became a literal thin red line… a point of no return, a limit past which safety can no longer be guaranteed.

Pastoring is not always for the faint of heart.

And today, on my last day, I am thankful for both the good times and the hard times and all times in between. I am thankful that I remained steadfast in the proclamation of Christ in both my words and actions. I am thankful that remained true to what God and this church originally called me to do.

… and I am thankful for an ostentatious Bible that always drew attention to itself and away from me.

I got a ziplock bag down from the cupboard today, one of those big ones that hold a lot.

I thumbed through the pages of that red Bible, remembering all of things that we had experienced together on our journey.

I couldn’t help but notice the signatures of my four kids in the front flyleaf of the Bible, put there on the first day of our journey all those years ago. I see so much hope and joy as I reminisce about that moment.

I also couldn’t help but notice that this Bible, even after all these years, still looks quite good. She had more years left in her, but no matter.

Her run is done. It is time to move on.

And then I remembered this wonderful little verse in Mark where Jesus tells a parable about moments like this and feelings like these:

“No one pours new wine into old wineskins. The wine would swell and burst the old skins. Then the wine would be lost, and the skins would be ruined. New wine must be put into new wineskins” (2:22).

God has something new for me.

To try and contain the future within the tools of the past would be ruinous.

Today, the red Bible retires.

Tomorrow, new wineskins.