This morning, I plowed through a National Geographic article titled “The Bible of King James,” which told the story of how this remarkable translation came about and the continuing influence it has today. It’s a fascinating tale—at least for a history geek like me. Turns out, Christians already had a couple of serviceable translations, the most popular being the Geneva Bible. Writes author Adam Nicolson, “It was loved by Puritans but was anti-royal in its many marginal notes, repeatedly suggesting that whenever a king dared to rule, he was behaving like a tyrant.” The other major transformation, the Bishop’s Bible, was just plain unreadable. Writes Nicolson:
This was the divided inheritance King James wanted to mend, and a new Bible would do it. Ground rules were established by 1604: no contentious notes in the margins; no language inaccessible to common people; a true and accurate text, driven by an unforgivingly exacting level of scholarship. … We desire that the Scripture may speake like it selfe," the translators wrote in the preface to the 1611 Bible, "that it may bee understood even of the very vulgar." the qualities that allow [the Scriptures to connect with people today]—a sense of truth, a penetrating intimacy, and an overarching greatness—were exactly what King James's translators had in mind.
The National Geographic story included a list of common phrases that either originated or were popularized in the King James Bible: “A man after his own heart;” “From time to time;” “The skin of my teeth;” “A thorn in the flesh” and dozens of others. Folks who’ve never cracked open a Bible use these clichés all the time without a clue where they originated. It speaks to the translation’s influence that, for 400 years, these turns of phrase have endured and flourished.
The story reminds me that back in King James’ day, books were cutting-edge technology—and were often just as controversial as some entertainment avenues are now. Books were thought by some to be dangerous, corrupting forces, and in many countries only the very learned—those who knew a little Latin—were allowed to peruse the Scriptures for themselves.
And maybe, looking back, they had a bit of a point. The King James helped put Scripture in the hands of literate people, and the translation became a key player in the spread of Christianity. But in bringing God’s holy Word to the masses, its distributors lost the ability to shape how that Word was interpreted. We probably all know of people who misuse and mistranslate the Bible for their own purposes and to support their own pet causes and biases.
It’s a good lesson, I think, for us today. Christians everywhere are spreading the Good News through a dizzying array of media: Bible verses on Twitter, sketches on YouTube, statements of faith on Facebook. We’ve been given a fantastic opportunity to tell the world, in so many ways, just why we think Christianity’s so great. But once the message is out there, we’re given no guarantees how that message will be perceived or how people will react.
Is that a reason to close off such modes of communication? To hold firm to more reliable media where we’re able to hone and mold public perception better?
I don’t think so. But we can learn something else from the King James translation—a translation that took seven years and involved 54 of the brightest linguistic and theological scholars of the day. If we bother to talk about our faith or bring the Bible to others, even in the midst of our day-to-day interactions, we must take the work seriously. When we speak of and for our faith, we must do so with a sense of responsibility, and in a way that honors God.
It’s in this way that our messages will endure. It is in this way that we will allow the Scripture to speak like itself.
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