My Grandmother had a large illustrated Bible sitting on a table in the center of the living room in her very modest four-room mill house. It was too heavy to lift. As a child, I was at once enchanted and disturbed by the artwork depicting tales of a man-eating whale, people drowning in a flood, and a gentle man named Jesus who was murdered for trying to change the world with love, not violence.

She was a quiet, godly woman who loved her church, her children and her grandchildren. When I stayed overnight, I would watch bull fighting and wrestling with her on a 19-inch black and white TV with rabbit ear antennas and three channels. I was always adjusting the antennas to get a picture we could see. [Read more…] about The Book Is Not to Blame