A young man of my acquaintance casually mentioned that he’d bought a bible recently. He proffered this information shyly yet excitedly, with no trace of embarrassment as he showed me the leather-bound King James version he’d picked up from a charity shop. It was the first time in his life he’d owned one, he said; he liked the heft of it, the age of it, the life it had lived before him.
“I’ve always been interested in it as a text – I just thought, maybe it’s about time I tried reading it?”
