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Jackson created a new script for the Bible that could clearly and beautifully express the unique rhythms of the English language. Each large capital letter at the beginning of chapters is unique—he designed more than 70 versions of the letter T for the Pentateuch alone. He and his team of calligraphers copy text on handmade vellum using hand-cut quills and hand-ground paints. It takes seven-and-a-half to ten hours to write 108 lines in two columns—a single page. "You can't keep it up, physically," he says. "It's like playing the violin for ten hours at a stretch. It takes absolute concentration."

The entire process flies in the face of modernity's worship of speed and efficiency. This is no longer the Middle Ages. We have the printing press. We have computers. What does the handwritten word have that the mass-printed word doesn't? The Saint John's team hopes more Americans will ask that question.

Jackson explains that calligraphy honors the words and the person receiving those words: "Every tiny mark contains the beat of the heart of the person who made it." The "Illuminating the Word" exhibit notes that the other two "peoples of the Book"—Jews and Muslims—honor scribes as those who handle the very words of God. The Torah read in a synagogue must be handwritten on a parchment scroll. In Islam, calligraphy is considered the highest art form. Eastern religions also esteem it. Christians, by contrast, have almost exclusively embraced the printing press for their sacred text.

We do so for good historical reasons. The advent of printing enabled the Reformation, produced a flood of Bibles throughout Europe and in mission fields around the world, and made Scripture truly a Word for all people. But one wonders whether the abundance of mass-produced Bibles has encouraged modern Christians to treat the book with a casualness that would have shocked those in previous centuries.

Timothy Botts, senior art director at Tyndale House Publishers and a professional calligrapher known for his artistic renderings of biblical passages, hopes that the superb artistry of the Saint John's Bible will raise Christian awareness of calligraphy. "In Christianity, there has been such a zeal for getting the Word into as many hands as possible," he says. "The printing press was seen as a tremendous boost to the Great Commission. So we just became so practical. It's almost inconceivable to me that ever since the Reformation we have lost the sense that the Word is worthy of celebration—not that the Bible should become an object of worship, but that it could stand for the very precious message that it holds."

A good reader of the Sunday Scripture passage will not read it in monotone. She will alter her tone, facial expressions, and even body language to bring out the verses' emotion and significance. Calligraphy does all that in ink.

Calligrapher Diana von Arx, one of three Americans on the Saint John's artistic team, describes her task as "trying to make a picture with words." Certain verses that are particularly important for Jews and Christians—for example, the Shema ("Hear, O Israel") and the Lord's Prayer—get an extra dose of creative attention. The Ten Commandments arise from a chaos of letters into the orderliness of God's laws. The Beatitudes nestle against a beautiful stained-glass-window collage of "Blesseds." Psalm 150's joyful litany of praises, written entirely in gold, nearly dances off the page with reflected light. Elsewhere, pictures are woven together with key phrases from the text—and sometimes cross-referenced to other biblical passages. They are not literal illustrations but evocative visual interpretations.

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September 2007, Vol. 51, No. 9