A Texas school district has yanked the Bible from its library shelves, citing a new state law that’s got parents and pastors up in arms. The Canyon Independent School District’s decision, driven by HB 900, has sparked a heated debate about faith, freedom, and what kids can read.
The Daily Wire reported that in a move that shocked many, Canyon Independent School District banned the full text of the Bible to comply with HB 900, a law effective September 1, 2023, that prohibits “sexually explicit” books in school libraries.
This sweeping legislation, known as the READER Act, was passed by the 88th Texas Legislature and signed by Governor Greg Abbott. It’s designed to shield students from offensive content, but some say it’s casting too wide a net.
Superintendent Darryl Flusche broke the news to parents, explaining that HB 900’s strict standards left no room for the Bible’s full text.
“This standard for library content prohibits books that have one instance of sexual content,” Flusche said, noting the law’s zero-tolerance approach. Critics argue this one-size-fits-all rule absurdly lumps sacred scripture with salacious novels.
The law requires vendors to analyze books for any depiction of sexual conduct deemed “patently offensive.” If even a single passage crosses that vague line, the book’s out. For the Bible, with its unflinching accounts of human sin, that’s enough to seal its fate.
Flusche tried to soften the blow, pointing out that Canyon Junior High’s library still stocks 30 titles featuring Bible stories or excerpts. He also offered to connect students with donated Bibles through local churches. But for many, this workaround feels like a hollow gesture when the full scripture is off-limits.
“There are 30 titles available in the Canyon Junior High library that are Bible stories or portions of the Bible,” Flusche said.
He added that churches stand ready to donate Bibles to any student who asks. Yet, handing kids a patchwork of verses isn’t the same as letting them wrestle with the whole text, and parents know it.
One mother, with two kids in the district, didn’t mince words when she spoke out on December 9. “Seems absurd to me that the Good Book was thrown out with the bad books,” she said. Her point cuts deep: in a world of school lockdowns and moral drift, banning the Bible feels like pulling the rug out from under kids who need its wisdom.
The same mother doubled down, calling the Bible “the bestselling book of all time” and “historically accurate.”
She argued it’s a source of comfort and guidance in chaotic times. When schools are fortifying doors with bulletproof glass, her plea for scripture’s presence carries weight.
“It just makes sense to have the Word of God in our school library,” she said. Her words echo a broader sentiment: if the Bible’s good enough for courthouses and oath-takings, why not school shelves? The district’s decision feels like a capitulation to bureaucratic overreach.
HB 900, for all its good intentions, seems to have tripped over its zeal. By banning any book with a whiff of sexual content, it’s caught sacred texts in its dragnet alongside genuinely inappropriate material. The law’s defenders say it’s about protecting kids, but critics see a clumsy overstep that stomps on religious heritage.
Canyon’s church partnerships are a nice touch, but they don’t erase the sting of the ban. Students shouldn’t have to jump through hoops to access a book that shaped Western civilization. The district’s workaround feels like outsourcing faith to avoid a legal headache.
Flusche’s offer to arrange Bible donations is well-meaning but misses the mark. If a student wants to read the Song of Solomon or David’s fall, they’re out of luck unless they beg a pastor for a copy. That’s not access; it’s a bureaucratic sidestep.
The concerned mother’s words linger: the Bible, she said, could “provide comfort and a sense of security.” In an era of school violence and cultural upheaval, her argument resonates with those who see scripture as a moral anchor. Banning it feels like cutting kids off from a lifeline.
HB 900’s supporters argue it’s a bulwark against progressive agendas sneaking into libraries. But when the Bible gets collateral damage, you’ve got to wonder if the law’s lost its way. A policy that can’t distinguish between smut and scripture needs a serious rethink.
