Make a joyful noise unto the LORD, all ye lands.
Serve the LORD with gladness:
come before his presence with singing.
Know ye that the LORD he is God:
it is he that hath made us, and not we ourselves;
we are his people, and the sheep of his pasture.
Enter into his gates with thanksgiving,
and into his courts with praise:
be thankful unto him, and bless his name.
For the LORD is good; his mercy is everlasting;
and his truth endureth to all generations.

I memorized this version of Psalm 100 very early on in my childhood. It has stuck with me ever since. It has seeped into my very bones.

Over the years, my brother, sister, and I memorized many passages of Scripture, sometimes as a school assignment, for we went to a church school that emphasized old-fashioned memorization, but more often a passage would just sink in and become a part of us. Scripture set to music was most likely to do that for me, such as this little ditty:

Beloved, let us love one another (love one another)
For love is of God,
And everyone that loveth is born of God
And knoweth God.
He that loveth not, (knock, knock, knock)
Knoweth not God,
For God is love. (God is love)
Beloved, let us love one another.
First John, four, seven and eight.

It even has the Scripture reference built in to the tune!

I grew up in a culture that treasured the Word of God. We knew that "All scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness." So saith St. Paul in II Timothy 3:16-17, anyway.

My parents took seriously the injunction of Deuteronomy 6:4-9: "Hear, O Israel: The LORD our God is one LORD: And thou shalt love the LORD thy God with all thine heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy might. And these words, which I command thee this day, shall be in thine heart: And thou shalt teach them diligently unto thy children, and shalt talk of them when thou sittest in thine house, and when thou walkest by the way, and when thou liest down, and when thou risest up."

I have here my great-grandfather's Bible, a parallel Bible of two translations, the King James and the Revised versions. It is thoroughly marked up in fountain pen. Sometimes I'll thumb through it and read his marginalia. It is wonderful to know him in this way.

My great-grandfather sent my grandmother, my mom's mum, to the Church of England school in Devonshire, where she went to Morning Prayer every day. At school, she memorized passages both sacred and secular. At the end of her life, when Nana, as we called her, was bedridden with Parkinson's Disease, she could still recite long poems that she had memorized as a schoolgirl in England. "The Charge of the Light Brigade" by Alfred, Lord Tennyson was one:

Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!
"Charge for the guns!" he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

And so forth…fifty-four galloping lines in all. But this was nothing compared to her knowledge of the Bible. When Nana immigrated with her family to Canada, she imported this tradition of memorization to the New World, where it took root in my family. I would say this tradition is my most valuable birthright.

At the end of my life, if Psalm 100 is the only thing I can remember, it will be sufficient, for Psalm 100 is a joyful confession of faith. Through reciting it, I know that I belong to God, and in thanksgiving for that relationship with God, my heart is moved to respond with songs of praise, with worship and with humility in the presence of my creator, the author of truth.

When I have gone to nursing homes, many of the residents are unresponsive to conversation, but when I begin saying, "Our Father," invariably, they join in with me: "…who art in heaven…" A sudden transformation occurs. Who knows how much someone with senile dementia or Alzheimer's Disease understands what he is saying, but there is a connection to something meaningful there, something that restores dignity and gives life.

What are your favorite songs and poems, psalms and scriptures? What will you have to draw on in time of need. What bits and pieces will be rattling around in your mind when most of your mind is gone? Will it be the Lord's Prayer, the twenty-third Psalm, or "There Once Was A Girl From Nantucket?" For my part, I'm afraid that most of my generation knows the theme song from "The Brady Bunch" better than "Amazing Grace."

If limericks and television theme songs are all we have to make sense and meaning of our lives, we have precious little material with which to work. There's an episode of "The Simpsons" (not the one the Regional Youth Group will be seeing this evening, but another one), where the whole extended family is gathered for Thanksgiving dinner: Homer and Marge, the three kids, two aunts, and grandparents. One of the aunts asks the two older children to sing her favorite family song, and the kids break out into a rousing chorus of "I Feel Like Chicken Tonight," a commercial jingle from T.V. Then the whole family joins in, doing a chicken dance around the dining room table. The point, of course, is that it's pretty pathetic when your most cherished family traditions have been shaped by endless hours in front of the television set.

I want to be clear, however, that I'm not advocating some onerous regimen of Bible memorization instead of watching T.V. As if. I wouldn't do that, let alone recommend it. But we do need to be aware of what forces are most effective at shaping how we look at the world. We need to take stock of what seeps into our brains and holds our attention when we're not paying attention to anything in particular. How much of that is from the Bible?

You probably know more Scripture than you think. Our lectionary is basically a "greatest hits" list, and I'd bet that most of us have at least a vague recollection of what happens next in a reading or story because we've heard it all before. The Liturgy of the Word is like watching re-runs. Even very old re-runs are familiar, and you can say to yourself, "Oh, yeah. I've heard this one before."

Here's what I do. When the lector is reading, I play a little game where I try to anticipate the next word or phrase. I try to say in my head the words the lector will say next. Much of the time, I recognize the passage, not because I've preached on it before, but because it's the text of an anthem or hymn. I have all the psalms sung by the great cathedral choirs of Britain on C.D., for instance, and it's amazing what phrases waft into my consciousness just when I need them. And that's what treasuring Scripture is all about: making the words of the Bible your own, so that in time of need they are there to comfort, console, instruct, and protect you.

Captain James E. Ray of the U.S. Air Force learned just how important those old, familiar words of Scripture were when he was a prisoner of war in Vietnam, at the infamous "Hanoi Hilton" and other camps. In his memoir, The Secret of Our Survival: A Former Vietnam POW's Story of Faith, Captain Ray recounts a clandestine conversation he had with the prisoner in the next cell, who one day asked:

"Do you know any Bible verses?"
"Well, the Lord's Prayer," I answered.
"Everyone knows that. How about the twenty-third Psalm?"
"Only a little."

I began whispering it. He'd repeat each line after me. A little later he whispered the entire Psalm back to me…Other prisoners joined in, sharing verses they knew. Through these contacts a fellowship grew among us. I didn't feel so alone any more…[O]ur common denominators were the Bible and Jesus Christ, and we were able to share and write down a great deal of Scripture. For by now it had become vital to our daily existence. Often racked with dysentery, weakened by the diet of rice and thin cabbage and pumpkin soup, our physical bodies had shrunk within the prison walls. We spent 20 hours a day locked in our cells. And those Bible verses became rays of light, constant assurances of His Love and care.

[T]he urge to share these verses with others developed inventiveness. One night I lay with my ear pressed against the rough wooden wall of my cell to hear Thump...thumpety thump as somewhere on the wall, cells away, a fellow POW tapped out in Morse code: "I will lift up my eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help" (Psalm 121:1). He tapped out his name-Russ Temperly-and passed on the seven other verses in that Psalm, which I scratched on the concrete floor with a piece of broken tile. "My help cometh from the Lord," the Psalm assured us, and with that assurance came His Presence, soothing us, telling us to fear not…From that we learned a most important lesson. Bible verses on paper aren't one iota as useful as Scripture burned into your mind and heart where you can draw on them for guidance and comfort.

By the end of several months, Captain Ray and his fellow prisoners were able to "memorize collectively the Sermon on the Mount, Romans 12, First Corinthians 13, and many of the Psalms. Now we had our own 'living Bible,' walking around the room."

Reading Captain Ray's story, I can't help but wonder about our own soldiers in Iraq. I wonder what will carry them through "the perils which beset them" (cf. BCP p. 821). I hope that their families and communities of faith have given them the gift that Captain Ray was able to draw upon in his hour of deepest need.

Thinking of them, and of our own need to keep in mind our Biblical heritage at all times, I am reminded of a beautiful collect in our own Book of Common Prayer. It encapsulates perfectly our tradition of reverence for Scripture. Doubtless my Nana prayed it when a schoolgirl in England, and in closing, let us pray it together now:

Blessed Lord, who hast caused all holy Scriptures to be written for our learning: Grant that we may in such wise hear them, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them; that, by patience and comfort of thy holy Word, we may embrace and ever hold fast the blessed hope of everlasting life, which thou hast given us in our Savior Jesus Christ; who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.