A personal journey through the “Bible Collection” at the National Library

On a typical plenary day, with files of laws on the table and the voice of the hall rising and falling, I decided to make an unusual detour: to leave the Parliament and enter the National Library.

At first glance, it seems like a technical move – from one institution to another. In fact, it was a small journey through time: from today's political debate, to a history much longer than any legislature, a history that begins in the first pages of our written language.

The reason was beautiful: the opening of the exhibition "Collection of Bibles", where for the first time over 400 rare Bibles collected from the mid-15th century to the present day, printed in Italy, France, Germany, the Netherlands, Greece and beyond, are exhibited; complemented by precious manuscripts of the Holy Scripture.

But the real reasons for such a trip are always deeper than the official invitation of the Director of the Library, Mr. Pirro Misha, whom I sincerely thank for organizing the exhibition.

For me, the Bible is not simply a “book of faith.” Long before I took on public responsibility, I sat down with the Bible as a law student. The topic of my thesis, in the early 90s, was the history of the institutions of ancient Israel and the law documented in the Bible. This text, which many see only as a religious book, I first recognized as a book of law: where law, mercy, forgiveness, and justice are not mutually exclusive, but rather interact.

Later, in the late 90s and throughout the 2000s, I had another privilege: to serve as a member of the Interdenominational Bible Society of Albania. And there I saw up close a scene that I will not easily forget: a Catholic priest, an Orthodox priest, and two Protestant pastors sitting around the same table, over the same text, working word for word, verse for verse, on the translation of the Bible from the original languages.

From this table emerged the translation with the meaningful title “Together.” Not only because it is the fruit of the joint work of the three church traditions, skillfully organized by the Interdenominational Bible Society, but because it symbolizes something that we often forget: in Europe, religion has often been a pretext for division, while in Albania there have been powerful moments where faith in God has become a reason for unity.

This is not normal even in the world of biblical societies. The Albanian case is considered unique: three different traditions that, instead of producing three “competing” translations, choose to sit at one table and offer a common text to the society.

But this story does not begin with us. We are, at best, a continuation of a much older tradition.

We often forget that our written language has entered history by speaking to God. John Buzuku, with his Mass, is the first great testimony: there Albanian is the language of prayer, of blessing, of announcing the reign of God.

Centuries later, Vangjel Meksi would translate the text of the New Testament, written in Albanian with Greek letters, which he would never see published. Until we come to Kostandin Kristoforidhi, who not only translates, but also purifies, corrects and strengthens Albanian. The Bible, in his hands, becomes a kind of laboratory where words, rhythms, structures are tested. It is significant that the English Bible Society, which contacted Kristoforidhi, agreed to sponsor a primer of the Albanian language – not because it had a textbook as its subject, but because Kristoforidhi convinced them that without a primer, people cannot read the Bible.

In this sense, we can say without falling into pathos that: Albanian was learned to be written by talking to God.

The first steps of our written language unfold on the pages of biblical and liturgical texts.

This line continues with the Qiriazi family, Fan Nolin, and all those names that today we probably know as notes in the margins of histories.

The “Bible Collection” exhibition does not only show the bright side of this history.
There is also a dark corridor that we cannot ignore.

From 1967 to 1990, the Bible became a "banned book" in Albania.
The same book that stands at the foundation of Western literature, that has inspired art, music, painting, jurisprudence, was treated as a threat to the atheist state. Not only the Bible, of course, but it is the simplest symbol to understand.

I heard the story of a math teacher in Berat, imprisoned simply because a Gospel was found in his house. He was not a political agitator, nor a clandestine organizer; he was simply reading a book that the state had declared unacceptable.

If once the first word written in Albanian was the Bible, during that period this word was put in the basement, burned, confiscated, and criminalized. From "the first book" it became "the book that should not be seen."

Therefore, there is something silent, but powerful, in the fact that today, in the National Library, hundreds of Bibles – old and new – are exhibited. Restored, documented, placed in lighted display cases. There is a kind of delayed justice in this return from the basement to the display case.

Today, Albania is a much more diverse society than it might seem at first glance. We have Christians of all traditions, Muslims, Bektashis, atheists, agnostics, people who define themselves as “spiritual but not religious,” and even individuals of other faiths living and working in our country.

In such an environment, it is easy to confuse two opposing attitudes:
– the society that is afraid of books,
– and the society that trusts itself enough to exhibit books, put them in the light, and discuss them.

I believe we should choose the latter.

A mature society is not afraid of books. There is no need to lock them up, no need to censor them, no need to demonize them. A mature society preserves them, studies them, criticizes them, reads them and rereads them, looks at them both from the outside and from the inside.

In this sense, the “Bible Collection” is not an exhibition “for believers only.” It is an exhibition for everyone:
– for the Christian believer who wants to see the journey of his sacred text;
– for the atheist who wants to understand where Western culture got its influence from;
– for the linguistics student who follows the evolution of Albanian;
– for the lawyer who seeks the roots of the modern concept of law;
– for the historian who reads through the pages the fates of a small nation on a troubled continent.

Those who worked with these texts – the translators, editors, publishers, restorers, and preservers during the ban – deserve recognition today. Not only as “heroes of the faith,” but also as servants of our language and culture.

The exhibition will remain open until December 19, 2025.

It's not just a cultural news item on the end-of-year calendar; it's an invitation to a meeting with yourself.

If you decide to visit, I would suggest you do so with three questions in mind:

What has this book done to our language?

What has our history done to this book?

What can it teach me today, even if I don't believe like the people who wrote it?

The answers will be different for each of us. But the fact that we can ask ourselves these questions freely, in the middle of Tirana, in a National Library where once such a book could not be read publicly, is itself a sign of hope.

From the “first book” to the “forbidden book,” and today to the “exposed book,” the journey of the Bible in Albanian is an important part of our history. And, yes, I continue to believe that: Albanian learned to be written by talking to God.

Now it is our turn to learn to read, with courage, with an open mind, and with respect, the books we once hid in the dark.