But what if some catastrophe occurs, and only one book could be saved? Faced with that notion, which book would you be sure to rescue? Which one would you save?
It's legal and it's literary. It’s historical and poetic. It's sophisticated narrative and children’s delight. It's sexy and smoldering; compellingly real and enigmatic. Come to it as a scholar, or scientist, an objective observer or a hostile assailant. It's confounding, perplexing, nearly implausible. It yields to antagonism, ignites debate and inspires awe. By it, through it, one can be moved to a depth of intimacy that defies understanding. When a catastrophe strikes, when all books will vanish and I can save just one, this one will be clutched under my arm, shielded from the mayhem of falling, crashing, burning. When I rush out of the flaming building and my family is safe, I’ll have pressed against me this one, my Bible.
I’ll save it, because it first saved me.