THE FIRST CHAPTER OF JOHN

I left my 8:30 class yesterday with ten minutes to walk across campus to my 9:30 class.  On my way, I passed a man who was distributing small copies of the New Testament to students.  To some students.  As I went by, I heard someone turn down his offer.  “No thanks.”  I smiled to myself.  I thought that I would likely pass the man on the way to another class later in the day.  I thought out how I would respond to his offer: “No, thank you, I have several copies at home.”  I would smile.  I would make eye contact.  I would go on.

I descended concrete steps, I crossed a parking lot, and I descended a hill.  I reached the street and followed it south toward my class, which was going to start in five minutes.  As I drew even with the student union building, I saw another man.  He was handing copies of the New Testament to a pair of girls.  I approached him, because I had to pass him on my way, and he said, “A New Testament for you this morning.”  He didn’t ask, he just said it.

I smiled.  I made eye contact.  I took the book he offered, and I said, “Thank you, sir,” even though I had rehearsed that line differently.

The New Testament burned a bright sort of hole in my pocket all the way to class.  When I got there, I pulled it out to find out what translation I’d been given.  I turned to the first chapter of John, which at that moment was the first part that came to mind which I would be able to identify.  I flipped past Luke.

And John wrote, “In the beginning was the Word.”

And after that it didn’t matter what the translation was at all.