Wiersbe’s Reading Room

Many of you will recognize the name Warren Wiersbe—pastor, conference speaker, and author. Born in 1929, Wiersbe devoted his life to helping others understand and love God’s Word. Shortly before his passing in 2019, he donated his vast personal library to Cedarville University. That collection now has a place of honor in the university’s new Bible building: The Wiersbe Reading Room.

Jane and I were there for homecoming a couple of weeks ago. Between events, while others were catching up with old friends, I wandered into the reading room. Before long, I found myself surrounded by Wiersbe’s books—and drawn into one in particular.

Every volume I opened bore his name neatly inscribed on the flyleaf. The shelves were filled with a remarkable variety: theology, pastoral works, devotionals, biographies. Wiersbe himself wrote extensively—his well-loved “Be” series has been a staple in our Ladies’ Bible Study more than once. 
One important rule governs this room: no book may leave it. “Of every book in the room you may freely read,” I joked to myself, “but from the room no book shall be taken, lest you surely die.” (Genesis 2 speaks of another subject entirely—but the rule seemed just as serious here.)

Lately, I’ve been especially interested in Augustine of Hippo—a towering figure from the time of the Roman Empire’s fall, known for Confessions and The City of God. Augustine’s writings contrast the crumbling city of man with the enduring city of God.

On a shelf, one title caught my eye: Augustine the Thinker. I opened it and began to read—and before long, lost all sense of time. The pages felt crisp, almost untouched. It seemed that Wiersbe himself may never have opened this copy. Of course, with 13,000 volumes in his library, who could possibly have read them all? Still, I smiled at the thought that perhaps someday, in heaven, I might tell him what he missed in that book. Though, considering he may be in conversation with Augustine himself, I’d have to wait my turn—and I imagine there are no interruptions in heaven. I’ve since ordered a copy of Augustine the Thinker for myself—though, for now, it’s out of stock.

What was it that made this small experience so meaningful? Was it the room’s unmistakable “bookish” scent? The quiet sense of Wiersbe’s presence lingering there? Or perhaps it was something deeper—the realization that this well-known giant of the faith and an ordinary pastor like me share something essential: a love of books, yes, but more importantly, a love for the same Savior.

It may have been the simplest moment of the weekend, but it has become one of my favorite memories from homecoming.