The Emperor's New Bible

The Emperor's New Bible: [1]
Many years ago there lived an Emperor who cared much for the pleasures of life—good food, fine clothes and a steady coach that got many miles per slave. He also loved to accumulate an assortment of Bibles, though he spent little time reading them. Still, he cherished his collection of Bibles, so he kept it hidden in an anteroom chamber and admired them each night before going to bed.
One day two unsavory characters arrived in his great city and proclaimed themselves Translators of Holy Writ. Hearing of their expertise, the Emperor had them brought to his royal chambers. Proudly he showed them his treasured works. “I have many translations. amplifications, paraphrases and commentaries,” the Emperor said. “I have a One-Year Bible, a One-Week Bible, a One-Minute Bible for People on the Go and a Thirty-Second Bible for People on the Go With Incredibly Short Attention Spans. Can you possibly give me anything new for my collection?”
“We can, Your Majesty,” the wily thieves said. “It is our belief that most Bibles are hopelessly out of date and an insult to modern thinking. We propose to put together an updated version that captures the essence of today’s psycho-socio mores.” The Emperor didn’t understand what that meant, but tried not to show it.
“It will contain the latest in scholarly thought and contemporaneous language,” one of the con men continued. “Those who do not understand this new Bible are simply not very spiritual. Alas, all we need are the funds to get to work.”
So the Emperor gave the two rascals a wad of cash, and they began at once. They demanded the richest ink and the finest parchment for their task. Valuable heirlooms were brought to them at a moment’s notice and were never seen again.
One day, the Emperor thought: I should like to know how far they have gotten. But he was afraid that among the committee’s elite minds he might not understand the translation and thus would prove himself to be unspiritual. “I will send my honest Minister of Theology to the translators,” he said to himself.
The Minister of Theology, a long-nosed gentleman with great bushy eyebrows, walked into the hall which had become a scriptorium. The two men were busy scribbling the following words on the royal blackboard:
Philippians 4:13 – “I can do all things through my own efforts, because the Lord helps those who help themselves.”
“Mercy preserve us!” said the Minister of Theology in astonishment. “You’ve changed the entire verse!”
“Everyone knows that religion should not be a crutch,” said the men. “People must stop believing fables and start taking responsibility for their lives.”
The Minister went closer and found that all masculine references to God were changed from “He” to “He/She” and, where appropriate, to “The Eternal IT.” He was perplexed, to say the least. Can I indeed be unspiritual? thought the Minister. Not a soul must know I cannot see the sense of this translation. So the Minister of Theology left the men and gave a glowing report to the Emperor.
Of course the thieves asked for more money. This time the Emperor sent it along with an honest statesman who was a faithful member of the Emperor’s annual Prayer Breakfast. “Look at our latest translations,” the men said when the statesman entered the hall. On the blackboard he saw the following verse:
Romans 3:23 – “For all have made negative choices in their lives and are not living up to their own expectations.”
“We have made other scholarly revisions and redactions,” said the men. And they pointed proudly to the next verse, which read thus:
Romans 6:23 – “The payment for negative choices in life is low self-esteem, but the gift of The Eternal It is self-fulfillment in all you do. You deserve a break every day!”
The statesman was aghast at what he saw, yet he did not want anyone thinking him unspiritual or opposed to scholarly pursuits. So he too gave a good report to the Emperor.
Word spread of the Emperor’s Bible, and all the townspeople were excited over this new and better translation. Animal rights activists were overjoyed that Old Testament sacrifices were being changed to tree-planting ceremonies. Those who worried over the rigidity of the Bible were delighted in the translation of Romans 12:2 - “Do not be conformed to the things of this world, unless of course you are at risk of not being cool!”
All allusions to sin were, of course, plucked out or downplayed. All references to hell were replaced with positive statements of God’s love. The new Scriptures did not banish the unregenerate to outer darkness but affirmed that “Everyone who is truly sincere in their own personal belief system shall be saved.”
Of course, the miracles of Jesus were now gone. References to Lazarus’s rising from the dead and to Jesus’ resurrection were deleted so as not to offend those who were “resurrection-impaired.”
At last the scoundrels bound their slim-line work with an attractive leather cover and presented it to the Emperor, who then wondered how to showcase it. The Emperor’s counselors suggested that he sponsor a Public Reading of the text for the entire kingdom. “What a splendid idea,” he said enthusiastically. And soon, a great parade was held in honor of the Emperor’s New Bible.
The Royal Orator produced the meager text with a flourish and began to read from Genesis. “Uh-hmm. . . . In the beginning,” he read, “and over billions of years and after much evolution, The Eternal It created heaven and earth.” The footnotes pointed out that the Bible was never intended to be a textbook and that the original creation account was—after all—simply metaphorical.
Particularly well received were the stories of Noah and the local flood—brought on by clogged storm drains. There was a chapter entitled, “Moses and the Ten Suggestions,” and one telling of the survival of the three Hebrew men who were thrown into a hot tub at Nebuchadnezzar’s spa.
When the orator made it to the New Testament, Jesus had very little to say. The account of Judas’ betrayal was altered quite a bit because he was, after all, simply a financial opportunist working within his own moral frame of reference.
The crowd cheered the reading. Never had they heard a Bible so appealing to their sensibilities. The Emperor applauded. But on the edge of the square sat a small child who listened intently to the words. Finally he could take it no longer and cried out above the din, “The Emperor has no Bible! These are not the words I have been taught!”
A murmur went through the crowd. One whispered to another what the child had said. “The lad is right,” said a father, stepping forward. “These are not the words of our Lord.”
The Emperor, who had been so enthralled by the excellent delivery of the orator that he had paid little attention the content, approached the lad. “You are questioning the work done on these texts?” he asked.
“Your Majesty,” answered the boy, “if you will but read from my Bible and compare the words, you will understand.” The boy pulled a shabby old book from his pocket and handed it to the Emperor. “For the wages of sin is death,” the Emperor read, “but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
Upon reading the text the ruler suddenly felt rather naked before the crowd. It was the first time he had read these words as anything but literature. He grabbed the new translation and tore it in half, then commanded that the scoundrels be cast out of the kingdom.
Thus, through the faithful witness of one small boy, the Emperor was saved from spiritual ruin. And from that day forward the Emperor did not merely collect God’s Word, but began reading it, living it, and hiding it in his heart, which he found to be much better than keeping it on his bedroom shelf.

This parable is from the book “Spiritually Correct Bedtime Stories” by Chris Fabry (InterVasity Press: Downer’s Grove, IL © 1995) pp. 71-78.