What Do Miniature Bibles Teach Us About Sanctification? – The Gospel Coalition

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Shelved at toddler-eye-level in my church’s nursery is a row of tiny books designed to fit in the palm of a toddler’s hand. Each one tells a Bible story in just a few cardboard pages—Noah and the ark, Jonah and his whale, baby Jesus and the astonished shepherds. Time and again, kids gravitate to these books. There’s something special, it seems, about holding a book that fits perfectly in your hand. It invites reading in a way that a giant, potentially toe-crushing tome never could.
As people increasingly read the Bible on electronic devices—from cell phones to tablets to audiobooks—it’s appropriate to think about the medium on which we read books in general, and especially the book through which God has been speaking to us for millennia.
In Miniature Codices in Early Christianity, Michael J. Kruger—professor of New Testament and early Christianity at Reformed Theological Seminary—contributes a fascinating glimpse into how some early Christians engaged with the Bible as a book. The delight of those who opted for the miniature codex (defined as a bound book with pages including text on both sides that fits in the palm of one’s hand) was, it seems, not too dissimilar from toddlers’ delight over miniature books today.
This volume is the first full-length monograph on the phenomenon of the miniature codex, offering a framework for distinguishing miniature codices from other tiny texts (e.g. amulets), exploring their practical and iconic functions, and, perhaps most importantly, assembling a detailed catalogue of all known Christian and Greek miniature codices. This distinctive book format provides an essential window into the textual, literary, and visual culture of early Christianity, shedding fresh light on how and why Christians were considered people of the book.
Kruger’s study catalogs and analyzes “sixty-two Greek Christian miniature codices (not including LXX texts)” (173). It prompts us to consider the significance not just of the Christian adoption of the codex more generally (as opposed to the earlier technology of books on scrolls) but also of the miniature codex for individual believers’ reading practices. As Kruger notes,
The popularity of the miniature codex raises a number of intriguing questions for our understanding of early Christian literature. What are the characteristics that define this book format as opposed to, say, amulets? Why were books put in this format at all? What does this format say about the owner’s sociocultural context? . . . Why was this format preferred for some types of literature and not others? And what can this tell us about the reading habits of early Christians and the development of the NT canon? (3)
The delight of those who opted for the miniature codex—defined as a book that fits in the palm of one’s hand—was, it seems, not too dissimilar from toddlers’ delight over miniature books today.
It’s no surprise that those who opted for reading miniature codices often found this format practical—both because such books are easy to hold and because they’re easy to carry around on a daily basis and on longer trips. These practical functions would have been particularly significant for an age where most travel would have been on foot, and therefore, individuals couldn’t bring much luggage.
Furthermore, the practicality of these miniature codices reveals a cultural shift that might pass us by, used as we are to books as the property of individuals who read them in private. The idea of reading books alone was unusual in antiquity, but the popularity of miniature codices shows the importance of individual and private Bible reading in the early church as a supplement to the communal reading of Scriptures in worship.
But these small books weren’t merely for reading, Kruger notes. In addition to their use in private reading, we find their three iconic functions: “(a) symbols of Christian identity, (b) representations of the presence of Christ, and (c) objects of power and healing” (77).
One example of such use of the miniature codices is found in the apocryphal Acts of Andrew. A lapsed convert wearing a Gospel around his neck walks into a brothel. The sight of the book scares off a prostitute, who recognizes its sanctity, which ironically the wearer had temporarily forgotten. The incident calls the man back to God, as he recognizes that wearing the Gospel saved him from spiritual danger.
Of course, it’s not just wearing the Gospels and other New Testament books that did it, but the knowledge of what these books contain. The Bible’s early readers had a high regard for its spiritual power. That awareness resulted in the desire for its physical presence in their lives and a comfort over having it in hand or around the neck:
The miniature codex effectively democratizes God’s protection. It is now available to all people, even women and children. The miniature codex, therefore, is a fascinating example of how early Christians coped with the dangers, difficulties, and tragedies of life in the ancient world. (181)
Sure, the ancient world was filled with magical amulets and protective devices, including written ones, but the miniature codices were clearly made for reading too. Even when devised to be worn, their contents remained a main attraction.
The codex, adopted early on by Christians, was a revolutionary technology that made it easier for readers to look up specific verses and passages. It was also more easily portable than the scrolls on which the vast majority of Greco-Roman literature had been written.
It is no surprise that those who opted for reading miniature codices often found this format practical—both because such books are easy to hold, but also because they’re easy to carry around on a daily basis and on longer trips.
But we’re living through another technological revolution—that of electronic devices, which allow readers to access any Bible passage at their convenience on a tiny glowing square that fits in the palm of their hand, just like the miniature codices of 1,800 years ago. Surely this is a good development?
Not necessarily. It’s not just access to the Bible that matters but also the medium in which we read. In 1994, literary critic Sven Birkerts published The Gutenberg Elegies: The Fate of Reading in an Electronic Age. His argument? Reading on screens will only lead to the decline of reading in general and a devastating change in how people interact with books as human persons rather than machines. Three decades later, we see his predictions coming true. With access to more books than ever before, we read fewer books—and understand less of what we read.
The early Christians’ fascination with miniature Bible books reminds us that reading the Bible was meant to be a delight. It should be that for us too. The good news is that printed Bibles of all sizes—and font sizes too—are available to us to carry along each day, wherever the day may take us.
Nadya Williams (PhD, Princeton) is books editor at Mere Orthodoxy, contributing editor at Providence Magazine and Front Porch Republic, and featured author at Fairer Disputations. She and her husband, Dan, are parents to one adult son and two children still at home. She is the author of Cultural Christians in the Early Church, Mothers, Children, and the Body Politic, and Christians Reading Classics.
Jen Hatmaker’s memoir, ‘Awake,’ is a reminder that whatever else it might be time for, we can be sure it’s always time to love.

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