HERE! LET ME PUT A CAST ON THAT FOR YOU!

Our dear friend FISMS (aka OGWND) brings back fond memories with his footnote concerning the charming old Dr. Wyngarten, our campus Health Center doctor. I have a couple of particularly delicious stories in which he was a prime player. I’ll begin with this one:

Winter, 1973, my junior year at Wheaton. I’m not sure how carefully any of you followed the Fighting Crusaders basketball team but I think you might remember some of the guys who played. John Lawther (Orange, CA) was our starting shooting guard. He was deadly from the outside and that shooting ability earned him the nickname “Lethal.” Gordie Comstock (Wheaton, IL) was the sixth man and my RA in Traber (then called Tower dorm).

Perhaps you remember Dr. Wyngarten’s reputation for putting a cast on just about anything. There were a number of ailments for which we guys would never go to him due to his casting propensity. Lethal rolled his ankle in practice early one week and it resulted in a rather painful sprain. They took him to the Health Center kicking and screaming and, of course, the good doc proceeded to put a cast on it.

Now our basketball team was having an excellent season. Randy Pfund was shooting the lights out. Steve Clum was in the process of setting all kinds of rebounding records. Bill Borgeson and Dennis Hamill were having career seasons. We were fighting with Augustana for the CCIW crown that year. We had a big game coming up that Friday and there was Lethal, sitting around with a cast on his ankle.

Well, there was only one thing to do. Gordie and I decided we had to take that cast off. On Thursday night we gathered all the tools of our trade up in Lethal’s room on the 7th floor of Traber and went to work. Gordie wielded the hacksaw. I had the screwdriver. It didn’t take too long before Lethal was limping around trying to loosen up his ankle for the game the next night. By Friday morning it was much better. I have no idea what Lethal told Coach Pfund.

I don’t know if you remember that I used to either broadcast the games for WETN or do the game announcing at the scorer’s table. This night I was announcing the game at the table. Dr. Wyngarten was sitting in his usual seat directly behind me in the bleachers. I vividly remember the player introductions before the national anthem. In those days we introduced a player from each team and they would run out to center court and shake hands and then go and stand on the free throw line. When I got to Lethal, it went like this:

“For your Fighting Crusaders, starting at guard, a six foot one junior from Orange, California, John “Lethal” Lawther!” As Lethal trotted out on the court, I heard Doc Wyngarten talking to himself, “I could have sworn I put a cast on that boy!” I totally lost it and could hardly finish making the introductions!

OOPS! THE RAPTURE CLEARLY EXPLAINED AGAIN!

Hi again! Welcome to Rapture 201. I know you’re worried that you missed the rapture in 1988. And you’re probably also worried about what happened to dear Mr. Edgar Whisenant. After all, in his own words a prophet of God is correct 100% of the time! Have no fear. In early 1989 Mr. W. explained what happened in his second book, “The Final Shout Rapture Report 1989.” I hope these excerpts will prove helpful!

“Jesus is really coming, and I believe it’s this year!

“Last year I wrote the book “88 Reasons Why the Rapture Will Be In 1988” because I saw all the signs and believed it would occur during Rosh Hashanah, 1988. I was mistaken! I now believe that Rosh Hashanah, 1988 was the shout, “the bridegroom cometh,” as spoken of in Matthew 25:1-13. This shout gave God’s people a one-year awakening, or preparation period, so they would be ready as was the wise bride who had prepared her light to meet her groom. There are several one-year delay examples in the Bible.

“My mistake was that my mathematical calculations were off by one year. The miscalculation was so simple, perhaps the reason I did not see my error was God’s will in order to issue the warning to awaken a sleeping church.

“Since all centuries should begin with a zero year, the first century AD was a year short, consisting of only 99 years. This was the one-year error in my calculations last year. The Gregorian calendar is always one year in advance of the true year. Numbered correctly from the beginning, 1989 Gregorian would be only 1,988 years of 365.2422 days each.

“I’m glad this delay was a part of God’s plan of redemption so that we can get our loved ones in the Ark of Safety—Jesus Christ!

“I feel 1989 has all the evidence for the numerical cycles given last year for 1988, plus all the additional evidence of the one-year warning God promised to give us. The figures from all the BC dates given in the book 88 Reasons are still true because I didn’t allow for the missing one year in the first century.

“Friends, while I apologize for my miscalculation in the book, 88 Reasons, my heart is full of joy, because so many Christians returned to a faithful walk with God as a result.

“Important dates: Rapture August 31-September 2, 1989. Antichrist signs peace pact Sept. 10, 1989. 2 Witnesses Arrive Sept. 15, 1989. World War III starts Sept. 22, 1989. Tribulation begins Sept. 23, 1989. 2 Witnesses killed Feb. 27, 1993. Antichrist dies April 9, 1993. World War IV starts April, 23, 1993. Church enters new Jerusalem Sept. 16, 1996. Battle of Armageddon Sept. 23, 1996. Start of Millennium Dec. 12, 1996. Satan unchained Sept. 23, 2996. Satan defeated Mar. 6, 3000. Wicked cast into lake of fire Dec. 11, 3000.”

There you go, dear friends. Is it any wonder people think we’re nuts? I trust you will sleep well tonight!

Thanks for stopping by!

THE RAPTURE CLEARLY EXPLAINED

Hi you guys! One of the advantages of having a large library is that you can lay your hands on almost any information you want to at a moments’ notice. Today’s posting on the Occasional Glass of Wine Non-Denominationalist has prompted a number of nervous questions concerning the Second Coming of Jesus. I flew to my library and the section on eschatology and was able to find the book that will answer all of our questions. It is entitled, “88 Reasons Why the Rapture Is in 1988” by Edgar C. Whisenant. I wish to quote a few sections of that book for you in an effort to calm you. After all, if you know what’s coming, you won’t be caught off guard!

Reasons #4 and #5

The 69th week of Daniel ended 6 April 30 AD at the closing of Jesus’ tomb. The 70th week of Daniel starts with the Day of Atonement 1988 when Antichrist signs the Seven-Year Peace Pact with Israel on 21 September 1988, and the 70th week of Daniel ends seven Jewish years later on the Day of Atonement 1995, at the battle of Armageddon, 4 October 1995, thus lasting seven Jewish years

Lunar dates of the last three Feasts of Israel for the years 1988 through 1995 provide the beginning and ending dates for the count of days given by God in Ezekiel, Daniel, and Revelation and verify beyond any reasonable doubt that from the Day of Atonement 1988 through the Day of Atonement 1995 is the 70th week of Daniel. (This single fact is the unchallengeable proof that this book is correct and true.)

The Rapture of the church must precede the peace-pact signing between Antichrist and Israel. Thus we look at Rosh Hashanah 1988 which is ten days earlier than the signing date, 21 September 1988.

Reason #13

If you count the first and last days in a 280-day gestation count of the human fetus, then in the 280-day count from Rosh Hashanah 12 September 1988 (the church’s Rapture as day 280), then day number one is 8 December 1987, the day President Reagan the Gorbachev signed the Intermediate Range Nuclear Missile Facilities Treaty. Thus, from 8 December 1987, you can count down the last 280 days to the Jewish date of Rosh Hashanah 12 September 1988, the date of our church’s Rapture (don’t forget that 1988 is a leap year).

Reason #64

America’s famous psychic said that a great world leader was born 5 February 1962 somewhere in the Middle East and that this was the greatest vision she had ever had. A prophet of God is always 100% correct all the time, but by this psychic’s own admission she is only 70% correct. She said this great world leader would have his great influence in the latter part of this century, meaning about 1995 in which year he would be 33 years old. If he is the Antichrist and is cast alive into the lake of fire at Armageddon in October 1995, he would be 33 years and 8 months old. Jesus was 33 years and 6 months old when he died. Alexander the Great was exactly 33 years old when he died. So, if Antichrist is this great world leader and ends his reign at age 33 in 1995 then the tribulation called the 70th week of Daniel had to start seven years earlier and again in 1988.

There. Now does everyone feel better? You know now that the Rapture will take place on September 12, 1988! I guess I was wrong!

(These are actual quotes. I am not making this up.)

Thanks for stopping by!

THOUGHTS AND APOLOGIES

Hi you guys,

I want to apologize if I have triggered a firestorm. I’m also sorry if I came across as nitpicking. I certainly did not intend to engage in “word games.” No, I haven’t been studying up for an answer today. There was a time when I would gleefully dig in and prepare for battle over these things. I’ve learned a lot since then. I love you guys and I figure we are all on the same journey, doing our best. If you understand some things differently than I do, that’s fine with me. I could be wrong.

I really didn’t mean to play word games. I am kind of immersed in Greek. The word for “remember” carries a number of interesting nuances. Primarily, it is used to mean “to remind oneself, to recall to mind.” I honestly see a difference here between “forget” and “remind oneself, recall to mind.” As it relates to our position with God, it won’t make a difference. The point is, our sins will never be brought before us again based on the substitutionary work of Jesus. He took our sins upon us at the cross and paid for them all so there is no judgment still required for them. I just see a special kind of grace being demonstrated when God says he will not remind himself or recall to his mind our sin.

Regarding the questions God asked Adam and Abraham. No, I don’t think he was toying with those men. But neither do I think he was seeking information. I think God can ask questions of us in order to communicate something to us. Questions make us think. I don’t think such questions are indications that God lacks knowledge. I would say he was making a point.

The Son, second person of the Godhead, in some way set aside certain aspects of his divinity for the purpose of the incarnation. This debate has raged for many hundreds of years. In the evangelical branch in which I was raised I fear they failed to see the degree of Jesus’ humanity that they should have. It was too easy to answer questions by saying, “Well, Jesus was God, wasn’t he?” I profess that Jesus was fully God and fully man. He experienced God in the same way we do, by dependence on the Holy Spirit. We just can’t know what it would be like to be in perfect harmony with God because we are not sinless like he was. What might we know? What might we be able to do?

Finally, I think you actually state my position very clearly in your last paragraph: God “promises not to see” our sin based on the work of Christ.

I beg your forgiveness if I came off corrective or directive. I am grateful that God used your comments to humble me. I respect your thinking and your perspectives.

CALIFORNIA HATRED

Why do people here in the Midwest seem to hate Southern California so much? I have lived out here for 33 of the last 34 years of my life and I still can't figure it out. You would think I might have learned just what it is that these people despise so much.

A lot of it seems to have something to do with sports. For example, when USC lost the Rose Bowl game to Texas this year I dreaded my return to Michigan because I knew what was waiting for me. I was right. All my friends just couldn't wait to come up to me and gleefully gloat over the Trojans' defeat.

Back when the Lakers were winning championships (seems like forever doesn't it?), my friends would come over and cheer against them no matter who they were playing. I thought that kind of hatred was reserved for Notre Dame and the Yankees. (You know the old joke: "Who's your favorite college football team?" "Whoever's playing Notre Dame!")

Now the UCLA Bruins have somehow fought their way into the NCAA Final Four. What am I hearing now? "They don't deserve it. All the calls are going their way. They've just been lucky." Suddenly, LSU is America's favorite team! The folks our here are just salivating to see LSU knock off UCLA next Saturday. They're actually trying to find some familial connection with Louisiana! Maybe they all feel guilty about Katrina. I don't know.

What did Southern California ever do to them? They say, "It's the land of fruits and nuts." I remind them that all those "fruits and nuts" came from the Midwest back in the '50s. They all have relatives out there who must qualify.

I just don't know. I figure they must all be jealous of the weather out there or something. I'm not giving up. Like Tommy Lasorda, I still bleed Dodger blue and will continue to support all the great teams of my youth.

By the way, it snowed here yesterday!

MY NIGHT IN JAIL

I bought my ’69 Firebird in the spring of 1973, my junior year at Wheaton. I was going to stay in Wheaton through the summer to work concrete construction. It was a great job opportunity and besides, the girl I wanted to marry lived nearby. We would get to spend the whole summer together and hopefully we could get engaged in September. This story isn’t about her because she decided to go to Wheaton in Israel and she wasn’t around at all!

I came back to the dorm with my brand new wheels and the only thing I wanted to do was drive out and show the car to my girlfriend who had gone home for the weekend. Her mother took the obligatory photos of us beside the car and we went for a joyride down to Chicago. It was a wonderful evening!

I stayed at her house way too late. She was always worried about me driving back to Wheaton late at night. She was afraid I would fall asleep and kill myself. So we had this arrangement. I would get back to the dorm and call her house and let it ring one time. Hopefully, the one ring wouldn’t awaken her parents and she would know I was home safely.

Well I was hurrying back to campus and I was flying through Bloomingdale, which was almost all cornfields in those days, when I noticed the flashing red lights in my rear view mirror. I pulled over and prepared to receive my first speeding ticket (first of many) in my fast new car. Instead of coming to the car and asking for my license and registration, the officer asked me to step out of the car and assume the position. Being a Wheaton student, I wasn’t really sure what “the position” was!

He put me in his car and took me in. I found I was being charged with stolen license plates. You see, it was the weekend. I had taken the plates off my old beater and put them on the Firebird, just as I was supposed to do. However, the paperwork hadn’t cleared down in Springfield, or wherever it was supposed to clear, and the radio report told the officer that the plates belonged on an old beater.

I was told that I had to post $50 bail. I had about $3 left after my wonderful evening. I asked if I could use the phone to get bail and they told me I could make one call. I was in a predicament. I really didn’t want my girlfriend’s dad to have to get out of bed and come and bail me out, but she was waiting for my call to be sure I was home safe. So I dialed her number and let it ring once and them slammed the phone back down on the receiver and said, “Oops! Wrong number!” Then I called my roommate and told him the situation. He told me that he didn’t have $50 but that he would gather it up and get there as soon as he could.

I waited and waited in the holding cell. Hours went by. I was beginning to feel like a hard-bitten con. I started looking for a tin cup to drag across the bars of the cell. My roomie didn’t show his face until about 11:00 the next morning. He posted bail and we went to get my car. I was full of questions. “What took you so long? Did you have trouble getting the money? Who do I have to pay back?” All he would say was “Don’t worry about it.” Well, I wanted to pay back the people who had helped me out. He just told me, “No way. You can’t pay them back. I didn’t keep track of who gave me what.” I wasn’t very happy about that.

By this time I was starving so we went straight to the dining hall for lunch. As I walked into the building I couldn’t believe my eyes! There, right by the entrance, was a table with a giant tag board sign with the lettering, “Donations to Bail Moorhead Out of Jail.” I didn’t live that one down for a long time!

(When the state offices opened on Monday the paperwork went through and all charges, including speeding, were dropped with an apology from the Bloomingdale police!)

You guys are great! Thanks for stopping by!

THE PURPOSE DRIVEN WIFE

You’ve been watching it on CNN or Fox News all day today. A most unfortunate event in Selmer, TN. Mrs. Mary Winkler (minister’s wife) shot her husband, Rev. Matt Winkler (minister) twice in the back, killing him. She took their three daughters and fled to Alabama which is, to quote a CNN talking head, “about as far as you can go before reaching the Atlantic Ocean.” (A brilliant insight barring the fact that Alabama doesn’t touch the Atlantic Ocean.) Minister Matt (the church people asked the media not to refer to him as “pastor”) was found dead in his bedroom when the faithful came to find him after he didn’t turn up for Wednesday night prayer meeting.

The news people have been struggling all day trying to find some reason for Mrs. Winkler’s actions. They have asked all the leading questions which would serve to destroy the poor minister’s reputation. “Was it a crime of passion?” “Was one of them having an affair?” They went on and on to no avail. Of course, everyone they interviewed was stunned, “Oh my! She was the sweetest thing. None of us can even imagine her doing something like this! We just can’t figure it out.” (I keep waiting for one of these things to happen and hear some old guy say, “We all tried to tell Rev. Matt that she was just no good, but he wouldn’t listen to us!)

By the way, this is one of the reasons I’m not a hunter and don’t want guns in the house. Mia and I had a very long conversation this morning and she assures me she is very happy.

It’s time I put an end to all of the useless speculation about why Christian wives sometimes crack and do things like this. It’s all in my book, The Purpose Driven Wife. Now some of you might say, “It sure looks like Mrs. Winkler had a purpose in mind!” I grant your point. But did she really understand her purpose in life? I submit that if she had a firm grasp on God’s purpose for her as a wife this tragedy never would have happened! Here are a few chapter headings and bullet points from the book:

WHAT IN THE WORLD AM I HERE FOR?

This is not an accident. As good Calvinists we know that there are no accidents. You married him, you keep him. Husbands are not disposable objects

What drives you as a wife?

Seeing life from your husband’s perspective.

YOU WERE PLANNED FOR HIS PLEASURE

What makes him smile?

How to become his best friend.

What to do when he seems distant. (This chapter carries an “R” rating)

There are more chapters designed to help the Christian wife discover her purpose:

FORMED FOR YOUR FAMILY
SHAPED FOR SERVING
MADE FOR A MANSION, etc.

There will be a future volume entitled, Color Me Driven.

I’m just trying to do my part to help cut down on the needlessly high divorce rate. We just need to all get along.

COME INTO MY CLOSET! PART 5

Or, Can’t I PLEASE Be a Presbyterian?

The remainder of my time at Trinity Evangelical Divinity School was spent trying to catch up on a ton of things I realized I should have learned a long time before. Things were flying at me from every direction. I was thinking so much that my brain was starting to smoke. (Even my brain was Presbyterian!)

I was still serving as youth pastor at the church in Medinah, IL. An event happened there that would shape my life forever. After I had been there only a month the senior pastor called me into his office and informed me that he was resigning. This was a rather large church which had two morning services. Within days the deacons called a meeting to try to decide what they would do in the interim. Somebody came up with the idea of turning the early service into a kind of youth service. I was shaken from my reverie when I heard the words, “…and Dave can preach at it!” “Now wait just a doggone minute here! I’m a youth pastor. I do youth talks, not sermons!” My protests were useless. I started preaching every week in the early service while they brought in my former professors from Wheaton and other great speakers to handle the second service and the evening services. Talk about intimidating!

In my new Calvinist clothes I had to admit that this was not just bad luck but it was the providence of God! God was doing something that would force me to take a quick one hundred and eighty degree turn. This preaching arrangement went on for a little over a year while I was at TEDS. They finally found a new senior pastor. He was a great guy. I really liked him and he seemed to like me. The only problem was that he couldn’t preach. We soon discovered that he had preached both of his sermons during his candidating week. Before long there were complaints. Then I heard the words of doom, “Hey, why not have him split time in the pulpit with Dave?” If there are any youth pastors or associate pastors out there, let me just say this: If you ever hear these words, RUN! It’s over for you. Your days are numbered. Even I was smart enough to know that.

In the meantime my plans were also being ruined on the theological front. I’ll be brief. My view of eschatology (the end times) was quickly running toward a Presbyterian view. All the futuristic stuff of my childhood evaporated when I began to understand apocalyptic literature. It was certainly prophetic, but it seemed to me that almost all of the prophecies had already been fulfilled by the end of the 2nd century. And the millennium? Gone!

Church government? The church government with which I grew up couldn’t be found anywhere in the New Testament. Being faithful to my oath I decided to try to figure out what I believed about church government. Let’s see…there seem to be elders who are in charge of just about everything. Deacons seem to be in charge of almost nothing other than serving the church. The pastor seems to be an elder who has the gift of preaching and/or teaching. Hmmm. What denomination is most like this? Presbyterian!

That was it! I really was a Presbyterian! I decided to come under the care of the local PCA session and become a PCA church planter. The Presbyterian Church of America was the up and coming denomination with all my pub buddies. I was really excited!

That’s when I had the Lutheresque experience. Remember when Luther celebrated his first mass and sloshed the blood of Jesus onto the altar and he almost passed out as he elevated the host? My moment had to do with baptizing a baby. (Please don’t hate me here.) Thankfully, I wasn’t the one doing the baptism. I might have dropped the baby. In short, I had to go back and study the sacrament of baptism and I was convinced that baptism was for believers. Needless to say, the PCA wouldn’t have me.

Oh well. I’m graduating from an Evangelical Free Church seminary, aren’t I? They’ll have to take me, won’t they? As I sat with the executive minister for the Southern California district of the EV Free and planned where I would plant a church for them everything was sailing along beautifully. As he closed his notebook and told me how glad he would be to see me back in SoCal, he said in passing, “Of course, you are pre-millennial aren’t you?” “No, in fact, I’m not,” I naively replied. “I’m sorry,” he said. “We can’t use you.”

I am a rock. I am an island. And a rock feels no pain. And an island never cries. A man without a denomination. A Calvinist, amillennialist, Presbyterian church government, baptistic mess! That’s what I was. Oh please! Can’t I be a Presbyterian?

COME INTO MY CLOSET! PART 4

Or, Battling Presbyterians

So I finished my coursework at Wheaton Graduate School in August, 1977 and married Roz a couple of weeks later. We spent two years living in Glen Ellyn where I served as youth pastor at the Evangelical Covenant Church. That’s where I began to wise up about denominations and seminaries. Let me say this succinctly: They had no lifestyle rules there. I went to their seminary at North Park for a year because I thought I might like to stay in the Covenant. What I didn’t realize was that the Covenant might not want me. The senior pastor was forced out and I was toast. We packed up and moved into Grandma Palermo’s house in Melrose Park. (Did I mention Roz was Italian?) And Roz was expecting Aaron.

I applied to and was accepted at Trinity Evangelical Divinity School in Deerfield, IL where I began studies in October, 1979. I was living in Melrose Park, attending classes full-time up in Deerfield, and working full-time as a youth pastor in Medinah. (Google a map of the Chicago burbs to see how much driving that entailed.)

I LOVED TEDS! I liked almost all of my profs. Notice the “almost” in the sentence. In my first semester I had to take Eschatology, the doctrine of the end times. You will not believe who my prof was for that class. Dr. Paul…wait for it again…a little longer… this is going to kill you… Feinberg! (May he rest in peace.) Yep! The son of dear old Dr. Charles Feinberg from my Talbot days! This guy hated me! He had dispensational eschatology running in his veins! But this time I had the advantage! TEDS doesn’t require any specific position on the end times and I could say whatever I wanted to! I took out all my frustrations on Dr. Paul. I just tortured the poor guy! (Real mature, I know.) I would offer some bizarre idea on a regular basis and he would just stand in the front huffing and puffing and sputtering and then just burst out, “Moorhead, you’re just…you’re just….WRONG!”

TEDS was where I started battling with Presbyterians. I loved these guys. Really! We would go out to an Irish Pub after classes and light up our pipes and cigars and argue theology for hours and hours over dark pints of ale. They, of course, were Calvinists and I was still an Arminian. I knew they were wrong but I liked arguing with them and I think they saw me as a likely target for conversion.

We had a famous guest lecturer at this time who shall remain nameless. He was a frighteningly brilliant man who was teaching American Church History. He too was a Presby. (If you didn’t already know that, you could figure it out because he had a pipe in his briefcase!) I was intimidated by this guy’s genius. He would walk up and down the rows of desks while he lectured. Once he whirled around on his heel and glared down at me with those bushy eyebrows and growled, “Mr. Moorhead, what was the cause of the Second Great Awakening?” I hemmed and hawed and began to talk about sociological, economic, and cultural conditions in the early 19th century and he just cut me off. (This time I knew I was really wrong!) I’ll never forget his words, “No, Mr. Moorhead. The Holy Spirit caused the Second Great Awakening.” Good Calvinist! The Presbys were killing me!

It was late one night at my dining room table in Melrose Park. Roz and Aaron were sleeping and I was writing an exegetical treatise on Ephesians 1 and 2. I came to 2:1, “As for you, you were dead in trespasses and sins…” My brain woke up and panic struck. “Dead? It can’t mean DEAD. It must mean something else. Sick. Wounded. Diseased. If it means dead, then…” I frantically got out my lexicons and concordances and desperately tried to find another meaning of the word somewhere, ANYWHERE, in the entire New Testament. Not a chance. I realized what that meant. If I was spiritually dead then my coming to spiritual life was solely and completely a work of God. I saw it, “God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ Jesus.” (2:4, 5)

Remember my sworn oath from undergraduate days at Wheaton? No matter what anybody else believes or thinks, I will build my own theology from the Bible myself. My God! I was a Calvinist! I was becoming a Presbyterian! My Presby buddies bought the next afternoon.

To be continued…

Next: Can’t I PLEASE Be a Presbyterian?

COME INTO MY CLOSET! PART 3

Or, Back Where I Belong

Why Wheaton Graduate School? Well, it looked like my ministry options were narrowing down. Obviously seminary wasn’t the answer for me. I figured that meant the pastorate was out of the question. (Remember, I thought all seminaries were the same, like law schools. If you’re asked to leave one, why try another?) Maybe my career would be in academia. My dad always thought I would make a good teacher or college professor. Perhaps I could dedicate my life to college students and teach them to get into trouble by thinking for themselves. I could get my MA at Wheaton and then go on for a PhD in Church History or Theology. Since I transferred to Wheaton as a junior, I felt cheated out of two years of the Wheaton experience. Besides, I still had some really good friends back there, including the YB of the SC. They might welcome me back!

It was a rather well-known fact that the grad students were nerds so I tried to disguise the fact that I was one of them. Nerds have a hard time getting girls and I knew I needed a wife sooner or sooner. I lived off campus in a nice apartment complex which was cool. I had the only ’69 Firebird in the grad school. And I had the YB of the SC who was willing to keep my secret and let me hang around with him and his buddies (including the Yakimaniac) and they always had girls (including Mrs. Yak) around them.

(YB, this would be the time for the Roberta Bruss story. Yes, the YB and I both had a crush on the same girl at the same time. We competed for her attention. She was very happy to let us do so. I remember once when we spent an evening trying to woo her together! It wasn’t until later that she told us she wouldn’t date us because she was going to remain true to her boyfriend up in Wisconsin! She did tell you that, didn’t she YB? At least that’s what she told me!)

When I began at the grad school I went into the office to take care of all my paperwork. They gave me a copy of the Pledge to sign along with all of my other papers. I signed all the papers except the Pledge and handed them back to the lady. A few days later I got a note asking me to come in to see the assistant dean. Déjà vu all over again! He asked me why I hadn’t signed the Pledge. I told him I had signed it AND KEPT IT when I was an undergraduate and I pointed out that some of the grad students were old enough to be my dad! How could they require grown men and women to sign a pledge like that. He told me I would be required to go into the office and sign it anyway. I never did. They never called me back.

I loved my time at the grad school. I loved the classes. I loved being back in an atmosphere where I could ask questions and debate without getting in trouble. I loved my off campus job as a waiter at Victoria Station. I loved working in Campus Life. And I loved a girl I met working on the Campus Life Haunted House in October, 1976. She would become my wife in August, 1977.

So I studied hard and did well. Time came for me to write my master’s thesis. Wheaton is pretty tough about theses. I had to write on something no other Wheaton grad student had ever written on before. I decided to write something on the parables. I wasn’t sure what it would be but I was interested in the parables. I started researching. I translated all of the parables. Nothing was coming to me! I worked on it for months. My advisor did everything he could to help kick start my thought process. Nothing! I was starting to panic. I’d never get into a PhD program without a thesis! I had mountains of materials but not one creative idea. Finally, my advisor sat me down for the talk. He said, “I just think you’re not an original thinker. You do well taking material and putting it together but you haven’t had an original idea!” We were both discouraged and heartbroken. I took the two additional classes instead of writing the thesis and kissed my PhD goodbye.

To be continued….

Next: Battling Presbyterians

COME INTO MY CLOSET! PART 2

Or, Who Will Have Me?

I knew I was called into some form of Christian ministry before I ever went to Wheaton College. I took my degree in Communications with minors in Spanish (just in case I got to go to the mission field where I would hopefully be so successful that they would put a bust of me in Edman Chapel and maybe name a dorm or the baseball field after me), Bible, and Education. What does one do with such an academic resume? Go to grad school!

So I knew I would have to do seminary and I was homesick for Southern California. Many of my friends had gone to Biola so I decided I would join them and go to Talbot Theological Seminary on the Biola campus. This was one of the biggest mistakes of my life. I thought seminaries were kind of like law schools or medical schools. (Remember, I’m still rather naïve!) I thought they all taught the same thing and prepared you for ministry. Who knew? I didn’t realize I was walking into one of the bastions of dispensationalism. At that time, Talbot didn’t tolerate people who thought for themselves. I call it the intravenous style of education. They just stick the needle in your arm and pump in what you’re supposed to believe. Was I ever in trouble!

I never fit from the beginning. I was still only twenty years old when I matriculated at Talbot. The average age of the students there was about twenty eight. The thing that amazed me was that the other seminarians sat and dutifully took lecture notes without ever raising an issue! Well, I was better taught than that! My Wheaton professors had drilled it into me. Ask questions! Debate! That’s how you learn! So I started asking questions. You wouldn’t believe the looks I got from the other guys! It was like, “Who do you think you are, arguing with the professor like that? He’s the professor! The fountain of all knowledge and truth!

Somebody turned me in. I still don’t know who it was. The dispensationalism of my childhood and youth had disappeared along with all my other margin notes when I hit my crisis at Wheaton. So, in the dining hall I began debating with the other students. I began arguing with them about other views of the Second Coming of Jesus. I think I wanted them to see me as a wild-eyed-radical. The frightening thing was that many of the guys had never even heard of any view other than the dispensational, pre-trib, pre-mil position! I said, “Some of you guys are going out to pastor churches at the end of this year and you’re not even familiar with what you’re going to run into out there!”

I guess the kicker finally came in one of my theology classes. The prof was “proving” the pre-trib, pre-mil viewpoint from the Bible. I raised my hand and said, “This is really interesting! That is the same passage I use to prove a post-tribulational return of Christ!” The next day there was a note in my box telling me to report to the dean’s office. Dear old Dr. Charles Feinberg (God rest his soul).

He commented on the fact that I seemed to be stirring things up a little among the students. (I take after Mr. Fun!) He also mentioned that I had been reported for arguing with a professor. I was dumbfounded. “Is there something wrong with that?” I queried? “It wasn’t like this back at Wheaton!” Dr. Feinberg opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to me. It was a statement of faith. He asked me if I could sign it. I read it over and told him that I had no problem with most of it but that there were a few things there that I didn’t agree with. He then informed me that I would have to sign the statement before I could graduate. I asked him why I hadn’t been informed of this before I started at Talbot. He said, and I quote (the words are burned into my memory), “Everyone agrees with us before we’re finished with them.” I’ll tell you something; at that point in my life I didn’t have the maturity to deal with that situation very well. I said, “Well, I won’t!” The venerable dean leaned over his desk and said (I remember these words too), “Then I suggest that you go back where you came from, young man.”

(No Talbot students were injured in the writing of this story.)

I suppose Talbot has changed over the years. I sure don’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings or belittle their education. After all, the Smoking Christian’s good friend, Josh McDowell graduated from Talbot, along with many other fine Christian leaders. I’m certain they let students question and debate these days. (How’s that for covering my rear?)

So, that’s what I did! I packed up the ’69 Firebird with the air shocks, mag wheels, and chrome mud flaps and headed back to dear old Wheaton.

To be continued….

Next: Wheaton Grad School, or I Don’t Think We’re in Kansas Anymore

COME INTO MY CLOSET! PART 1

Or, Am I a Presbyterian?

It all started when I was at Wheaton College. One of the most important things I learned while I was there was how to think for myself. That’s a dangerous thing. It was so much easier when I could just take the pastor’s word for truth and leave it at that. As you all know by now, I was raised in a conservative, fundamental church. Thinking for oneself was not highly prized there. At least that was the message I got.

In his sermons, my pastor had a habit of telling us to underline certain words or phrases and then he would give us an explanation of what they meant and tell us to make a note of it in the margins. By the time I got to Wheaton my margins were pretty filled up. But then I started taking Bible classes and the professors didn’t always tell us the truth. I knew this because what they said didn’t match the notes in my margins! The trouble was only beginning! I began studying Greek. Then my own discoveries didn’t match the notes in my margins! This was a problem! Someone was wrong! I checked. I double-checked! They still didn’t line up.

What was I going to do? Finally, I decided I was tired of listening to what other people told me to believe. I didn’t care what the pastor believed. I didn’t care what the professors believed. I wanted to know what I believed! So I chucked the whole thing out the window and started over. Now, what did I believe? I came to the conclusion that the only thing I knew for sure was that I believed the Bible really was God’s word and that it contained truth. I decided that from that point on, only the things I discovered in the Bible on my own would go into my paradigm. (Arrogant, I know, but I was naïve!)

There was a second thing. I had this girlfriend at Wheaton who lived in a nearby suburb. I really liked her dad. He was a solid Christian who really knew what he believed and lived it out. (He was a lot like my own dad in that way.) One Sunday my girlfriend’s parents invited us to church and then to dinner. When we pulled into the parking lot I was shocked to see that it was a Presbyterian church! How could such a good Christian guy go to a Presbyterian church? I had learned they were all liberal, social gospel type places. I was amazed! The sermon was powerful and the worship inspiring! I think they call it cognitive dissonance. But that was just the start!

Before dinner her dad and I were sitting in the living room discussing the theology of the morning sermon. He got up…went to the fridge and…wait for it…wait for it…ready…. asked me if I wanted a beer! (Being under the Pledge at Wheaton I respectfully declined.) What in the world was going on here? As they say on those cheap late night TV commercials, “But wait! There’s more!” After dinner he got out his pipe and lit it up right in the living room! I think I might have fainted. I don’t remember any more of that day!

Shocking lesson #1: Presbyterians can be good Christians!
Shocking lesson #2: You can be a Christian and not live by my church’s rules!

This launched me into a state of confusion which would only get worse as I entered my graduate studies.

To be continued….

BORN AGAIN MOTHERS

I received rather a shock today. My beloved mother emailed and informed me that my SYS directed her to The Shilohman blogsite. It seems I am discovered. OK, since we've talked a little about self-disclosure, I guess it's time. I love my mom. She really is great. I don't know any other mom I would rather have. (That may not have been the case in Jr. High but what did I know then?) I want to tell you about Mom. There was a book published in 1987 entitled "Growing Up Born Again" by Patricia Klein. My SYS and NSYS and I have discovered that it has more truth in it than any book other than the Bible. (However, we can quote more GUBA than we can the Bible, I fear!) Klein perfectly describes my family and upbringing and I suspect the Smoking Christian's family bears a strong resemblance.

May I share a few short quotes? (Legal department...am I ok here?) "Born again mothers look like mothers--not like older sisters. And they only wear makeup when they go to church or to a missionary banquet...She wears clip earrings--never danglies or pierced--and a choker to match...The only jewelry on her hands is her wristwatch and her wedding rings. She wears no nail polish, of course."

"Mrs. Gordon down the street is not at all like your mother. She doesn't blot her lipstick. She puts it on thick, like the movie stars in the fifty-cent picture frames at Woolworths...She's very thin and wears slacks. She leaves lip prints on her cigarettes (she smokes!) and she does not act or look like your mother at all!"

IF YOU WANT TO BREAK A BA MOTHER'S HEART...
1. become charismatic
2. convert to something else
3. marry a Catholic, Jew, Presbyterian, Episcopalian, or charismatic
4. include a champagne toast in your wedding reception
5. tell her you are considering having your baby baptized
6. forget to hide the liqueur in the bedroom before she comes over
7. admit you can't remember the books of the Bible in order

(Again, thanks to Patricia Klein in "Growing Up Born Again." Maybe if I mention her twice I won't get in trouble!)

These don't all apply to Mom. I don't ever remember a choker.

You'll guys are great! Thanks for stopping by!

THE WEARIN' OF THE ORANGE

I would like to join the Smoking Christian in wishing you all a happy St. Patrick's Day. Do you wear green or orange on St. Paddy's Day? Our family comes from the north of Ireland and happens to be Protestant so we wear orange. This is the color of King William of Orange, the Dutch prince whom the English parliament brought over after they got rid of James II who in there eyes was a dangerous papist. It's a long story.

King James I of England and VI of Scotland followed his cousin, Elizabeth I, to the throne of England. He is famous for authorizing the translation of the Bible that bears his name; thus, the King James Version and the Authorized Version are the same thing. He took advantage of the hatred most of his English subjects bore for Roman Catholics to expand his possessions in Ireland. During the reign of Elizabeth I vast tracts of land were confiscated in retaliation for a Catholic rebellion. These, of course, were given to loyal Protestants while the rightful, Catholic owners were put out or executed. This practice was called "Plantation." James I continued and increased this practice. This is where the Moorheads come into the story.

We're Scots. The name used to be spelled "Muirhead." Scots will take anything if it's cheap, or better yet, free. All we had to do was swear the loyalty oath to good King Jimmy and the land in Ulster was ours. It was in County Antrim, the far northeast corner of Ireland. Our branch of the Moorheads didn't stay in Ireland very long. (Many others did stay and many more never left Scotland.) For some reason, our Moorheads left for the American colonies in the very early 1700s. Probably more free land.

So the Moorheads are technically Scots-Irish. We wear orange because we are Protestants, part of the people who were responsible for driving the Catholics into poverty (or to the American colonies where they took over New York and Boston). We are part of the reason for the "troubles" in Northern Ireland. Now I don't really know how my ancestors figured into all this. They may not have taken any free land at all. They were probably poor or they never would have left for America. Maybe they didn't hate Catholics. Nevertheless I would like to apologize for the Protestants who cared more about getting land than they did about loving their neighbors. There was no need for all the religious hatred and fighting. St. Patrick would not have been proud of us.

So, in the spirit of brotherly affection and good will to all, I would like to share a very interesting factoid I read today. Doctors have recently said that drinking one Guiness every day is the equivalent of taking one aspirin a day. It is good for your heart because it lowers the cholesterol deposits in your arteries.

We're all Irish on St. Patrick's Day! Thanks for stopping by. Cheers!

CREATIVE FUNDRAISING

Rush hour is just about to come to an end here in far southeast Grand Rapids. I'll wait for you Southern Californians to stop laughing. Rush hour for us is between 4:30 and 6:00 when we have to wait for at least a minute before being able to turn left out of our subdivision onto M 37. It's dusk. The lights are flickering in the kitchens and dining rooms of Glen Valley Estates where we don't have to speak to our neighbors for months on end. It's kind of a cozy picture worthy of painting by that guy who is called the "master of light." I wonder what Van Gogh would think of that appellation?

Remember last weekend when I was talking about the signs of Spring and how warm it was here in beautiful suburban Caledonia? Well, just as we said, the warm weather ended and it was below freezing on Tuesday. But today I saw another sure sign of Spring. I happened to look through the sliding glass doors of the dining room and there on the railing of the deck sat the biggest, plumpest, most beautiful robin redbreast you have ever seen! Aha! The first robin of the year! It just sat there for the longest time! It was almost as if God wanted me to have an opportunity to enjoy the glory of his creation. Finally, I decided to see how close I could get to that robin. I silently slid the glass door open. The bird didn't even notice me! I began to slide the screen open when a gust of wind came up. That robin never even glanced in my direction as it fell unmoving onto the deck... frozen solid! A sure sign of Spring!

I heard a moving story today. It seems that a Carlos M. Rojas was mistakenly receiving the military life insurance checks for the deceased soldier-son of a Carlos G. Rojas. Carlos M. put in a lot of effort to try to locate Carlos G. He succeeded and returned $200,000 of life insurance checks to the bereaved father. That is a really good thing he did.

But then I thought of the Smoking Christian. The indulgences issued by the Church of the Smoking Christian really aren't moving that well. Maybe we need something new and different. It occurred to me that perhaps there are a lot of young soldiers who have no families or girlfriends or anything. What if we were able to persuade them to make the Smoking Christian the beneficiary of their military life insurance? I admit, if there is financial gain to be made from this war then we might not be as anxious to see it come to an end. But then I remembered that there are at least thousands of American businessmen who already feel that way!

Poor taste? Inconsiderate? Offensive? OK. There are always Girl Scout Cookies. The Girl Scouts of America seem to have done all right for themselves for a number of years. I don't know. What do you think?

You guys are great! Thanks for stopping by!

Shiloh Number One

We started our church in July, 2004. We'd been having a Bible study for about three months when the people said, "We want to start meeting on Sundays so we can have something to invite our friends to. We want a church." I wasn't ready to start a church. I wasn't sure I wanted to start a church. There were several reasons why we couldn't start a church. I shared all of those reasons with the core of people who had started the Bible study with me. They said, "OK. We'll pray about those things." To make a long story short, all five of the problems I presented to them were resolved within two weeks. So the people said, "We suppose we can start the church now!" We did.

We meet in the "cafetorium" of an elementary school in beautiful, suburban Caledonia. Every Sunday morning the loyal "set up people" arrive at about 8:00 to set up the room for our meeting. Tables are set up. Chairs are arranged around all the tables. The "coffee lady" comes early to brew coffee and set out all the snacks. (Our meeting room looks more like a Starbucks than a sanctuary!) The "sound guys" come early to put up the sound system. The "computer geeks" come and get the projector and computer all ready for the powerpoints for song lyrics and sermon outlines. It's a lot of work. Never once have I hear a complaint from these people about the extra effort they put in.

Once in awhile someone asks me about the vision for Shiloh Church. (The official name is Shiloh Community Church of West Michigan.) The most often asked question is, "Do you envision buying land and putting up a building?" I don't have an answer for them. I really don't know. In my experience, buildings create more problems than they're worth. People start to refer to the building as "the church." I don't think I want our folks to start thinking that a building is a church. They are the church. I'm not sure I want us to go into debt for land and a building. There are so many other ways we could invest our money in serving people in our city who have genuine needs. I don't like the idea that the "church" is a place where the ministries of a group of Christians take place. I would prefer that the ShilohFolks learn that ministry is supposed to take place wherever they are every day. The place where we meet on Sundays seems really irrelevant to me. The gathering for worship could be taking place anywhere! Someone said, "But if we have a building, people will see it and be more likely to come." I'm not sure I care about that. I would rather that people come to worship at Shiloh because someone who cares about them has brought them.

I'm thinking aloud here. I just don't think that buildings should be all that important. People are important, not buildings. Maybe if we really tried hard to love people we would discover that the places where we meet just don't matter that much. I don't know. What do you think?

You guys are great! Thanks for stopping by!

GLOBAL WARMING

Recently a group of evangelical Christian leaders joined together to make a statement that had to do with global warming. These are very important people in evangelical circles. Together they influence hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of good people. These leaders wanted to raise the level of concern about global warming. In short, they said they were concerned about global warming because it is a sanctity of human life issue. They put global warming into the same bailiwick as abortion. They all oppose abortion based on the principle of the sanctity of human life. Their statement boils down to this: If something isn't done about global warming then there will be no earth left for future generations to inherit and human life will come to an end. If human life is sacrosanct then, they reasoned, it is incumbent upon us to preserve it by doing something about global warming.

I am not a scientist. In college I took the easiest science classes available (including the famous Lunch with Leedy). Setting my lack of scientific knowledge aside for the moment, I wonder when the theory of global warming became a scientific fact. Last I heard, it was still a theory about which real scientific geniuses continue to argue. Nevertheless, the evangelical leaders consider it enough of a threat that they need to band together like Farm Aid to make a statement. I'm really struggling here...

Why are statements being made about the sanctity of human life as it relates to a possible ecological phenomenon about which we may or may not be able to do anything? I believe in the sanctity of human life. I passionately believe in the sanctity of human life. So when will these evangelical leaders join together to make a statement concerning issues we can actually do something about right now? When will they address the genocide that is taking place in more than one African nation? When will they address the issue of slavery in Sudan? When will they address the sale of little girls in India as sex slaves? What about the sanctity of human life and the intentional wholesale slaughter of preborn females in China? Apparently female lives are not as sacrosanct as male lives. As long as we are talking about the sanctity of human life, what about the lives of soldiers in Iraq? What about the sanctity of the lives of people sitting on death rows across our country? We know all these things are happening but no group of evangelical leaders stands up to say anything!

Do I think we should simply disregard global warming? Not at all! I'm just begging for consistency. Who gets to decide who benefits from the efforts of those who claim to be pro-life? If we're going to be pro-life, then let's be pro-life and begin thinking about dealing with issues that are affecting lives in the world around us now!

THE OLD NEIGHBORHOOD

I've been thinking about neighborhoods for quite awhile. Almost four years ago we moved here to beautiful, suburban Caledonia. Our previous home was in a summer resort community just over the dunes from the beaches of Lake Michigan. (As my SYS says, "If you live in a place you call paradise you can probably kiss it goodbye!) When we moved up here to suburban Grand Rapids we still had six of our seven children at home. Aaron had already made his escape to Lake Tahoe. So we had to buy a big house. In fact, we bought a house with six bedrooms in a brand new subdivision called Glen Valley Estates. Glen Valley was a farm about six years ago. That means we have a bunch of brand new homes with no trees. Mia hates the fact that there are no trees here. We planted three on our lot and none of them has a trunk more than two inches thick. I imagine that in about forty years this might be a pretty attractive neighborhood.

Back to neighborhoods. The Smoking Christian has moved into a place which he refers to as a retirement community. My neighborhood is just the opposite. The Smoking Christian and I are only one month apart in age but I am the grandpa in this neighborhood. All of my neighbors are engineers, dentists, lawyers, and hospital administrators. I am at least twenty years older than any of them. You can tell it is summer here when all the wives in the cul de sac meet on the sidewalk pushing one baby in a stroller and talking about when they are due next. My youngest daughters, the twins, are about to turn twelve. At least my girls are guaranteed many years of good babysitting jobs!

But what happened to the old neighborhood? The neighborhood in which I grew up was so different. We knew all our neighbors. The women had coffee together and the men met and talked on the streets. When it was time for supper the dads just stepped out on the front porch and hollered our names. Everybody knew everybody else.

Maybe I'm just being left out. We were invited to the neighborhood Christmas party a couple of years ago. Mia and I were excited about that and thought it would be a great opportunity to get to know everyone and make friends. We went to the party which was a progressive dinner. We walked from house to house for each course of the dinner. By the time we finished the main course all our neighbors were so inebriated that they had a hard time finding the dessert house. Mia and I don't drink much so we were the only ones sober. We thought the dessert would be the end but it wasn't! There was one more house to go to for after dinner drinks! That's where everything fell apart. There seemed to be a lot of flirtatious messing around there and I was feeling rather uncomfortable. We decided to go on home.

Ever since then we have felt a little left out. Maybe people are uncomfortable around a pastor. I don't know. Maybe they feel embarrassed about how the Christmas party turned out. Maybe they just think I'm too old to be out late. I'm going to keep trying because I like all these people. I want to walk up the sidewalk and have conversations with all the men. I want to know their families. I want the old neighborhood back again!

I like you guys too! Thanks for stopping by.

A Californian in the Midwest

Good evening all!

The Smoking Christian is far more perceptive than even he knows! He asked me how a native Californian can stand real winters, especially Midwest winters. I've been discovered! I might as well come clean. No matter what my younger sisters say, we're not native Californians! Nope! All three of us were born in what has become the ghetto of Flint, Michigan. We packed up the family car and hooked a Nationwide trailer to the back of it and headed down Route 66 to sunny Southern California in August of 1959 when I was almost six years old.

In fact, our first stop wasn't even in the beach city with which we have come to be identified. We spent our first year in a cloud of smog in San Bernadino. You see, Dad was a high school teacher in Michigan. California was being overrun by the second great westward movement and they needed teachers. He posted his resume and began to pray, promising God he would take the first job offered to him. It came from San Bernardino. Dad says that when you live in Flint, MI, any city that has a "San" or a "Santa" in front of it must be beautiful! He should have held out for a city with "beach" in it! Which is where we ended up in 1960. Long Beach. I must have soaked up a lot of beach characteristics in my twelve years in Long Beach because no one ever questioned whether I was a native Californian. When I moved back to the Midwest to go to college everyone was so impressed when I said I was from Long Beach that they never wondered either!

I transferred to Wheaton College as a Junior in October of 1972. Wheaton is a small Christian college, beautifully located in the western suburbs of Chicago. The campus is historic and magnificent! It was football season. I walked from my dorm down to McCully Field to see my first Fighting Crusaders game. (They are no longer the Fighting Crusaders because that name was deemed politically incorrect by some goofs at dear old alma mater. I just can't bring myself to buy a sweatshirt that says "Thunder" on it!) Anyway, the sky was bluer than I had ever seen it. The trees were more colorful than I ever could have imagined. Someone was burning leaves (a smell unmatched on earth!). I fell in love with Fall, a season I had not experienced since I was a little kid.

So how do I stand Midwest winters? Easy! I'm still feeling all warm and fuzzy from Fall! Even the first few snowfalls of Winter are gorgeous! Then I just grit my teeth through March and I'm almost there!

By the way, after church today I came home and turned on the TV to watch the World Baseball Classic. I was pretty excited because the USA was playing Japan in Anaheim Stadium, the home of the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim. The stadium was pretty full of people and I was horrified to see them all wearing coats and gloves. Many were wrapped in blankets. What the heck? My twins were out making chalk drawings on the driveway in their shorts here in beautiful, suburban Caledonia! I watched aghast, waiting for the announcers to say something about the freak weather in SoCal. Sure enough, they said it was 51 degrees at game time! This is only a few miles from the homes of the Smoking Christian and his YB! It was 57 degrees here in Caledonia. This told me something. Southern Californians freeze at 55 degrees while Michiganders put on their shorts and celebrate! See how much happier we are back here? We are so easily amused!

You're all great! Thanks for stopping by.
Shilohman

Feels Like Spring!

Ladies and Gentlemen! It is with great joy that I announce that it is 5:00 pm eastern time and it has just reached 60 degrees in beautiful suburban Caledonia! Mia has opened the windows. The kids are outside in shorts. The neighbors are walking around the block. These are sure signs that Spring cannot be far away.

But let me just say this: Midwest winters are not to be mocked. They let you think they're gone. The little crocuses peek out of the dirt. Tiny little buds give the woods the appearance that they are draped with a sheer, gauzy green curtain. People start doing little projects outside. Then it hits! The temperature falls far below freezing and stays there for a week. The snow returns to threaten the lives of the baby crocuses. Children all catch pneumonia because they refuse to go back to wearing their winter jackets. Depression falls on the city like a wet blanket.

I laugh in the face of the late winter depression! Ha! Big joke! I'm smarter than to fall for your seductive suggestion of Spring! I simply continue to remind myself that it is coming, the late snowfall. I can remember big snowstorms in May! We're still six weeks away from that! I don't care if they're playing Spring baseball down in Florida and out in Arizona. We all know the Cubs will open their season with 35 degree weather and snow! It happens every year! So here's what you do. Keep wearing your sweaters and jackets no matter what the temperature is outside. Last year I was the last guy in town wearing my black leather jacket. But I never got depressed! I never believed it was Spring! In fact, we don't have Spring here in beautiful, suburban Caledonia. It goes straight to summer overnight. Tell you what, I'll take off my leather jacket right before the fireworks start!

It's been kind of a rough weekend here. My associate was scheduled to preach this Sunday so I spent my whole week doing some reading and paperwork. I never gave a thought to a sermon because I had two weeks to write it. Sadly, my associate's teenage son ended up in the hospital Thursday night. I ran over there to visit them Friday morning and, to make a long story short, I'm preaching tomorrow. So I've been here at my desk for over 20 hours the last two days. Looks like I'm going to make it, thanks be to God! The first copy will be flying over the net to the Smoking Christian in a couple of hours.

You guys are great. Thanks for stopping by.

SPRING BREAK

So I was watching the Today show this morning with Katie Couric. She was doing an interview with some psychologist woman about the phenomenon that has become known as Spring Break. Now Spring Break has changed a lot since I was in college. I graduated in 1974. Some of my friends went down to Florida for Spring Break. I remember being envious of them. I spent my Spring Break in Flint, Michigan at my grandparents' house because I was too poor to even go home to Long Beach, CA. My friends came back from Florida with stories of riotous fun. They dressed up and went to a country club for dinner. They went to the beach and pretended they were from Harvard. They went to see some great historical sites. They met up with some beautiful girls from our college who were also down there. I sure wish I could have been there!

Spring Break has changed. We've seen it on MTV. Girls Gone Wild. Drinking until you pass out. Sex with multiple partners. Girls walking around pulling up their T-shirts. Wild dance parties that become orgies. The TV screen was filled with these images this morning. And then Katie Couric comes up with one of her patented, idiotic questions for the psychologist woman, "How can we as parents protect our children from becoming victims on Spring Break?" Oh, come on, Katie! What in the heck do you think the kids are going to Spring Break for? Historical sites? Practical jokes on the beach? Sneaking into fancy restaurants for dinner? They are going down there to overdrink, lose their inhibitions, have lots of sex, and come back to school to talk about it. Wait! Here's what the psychologist woman said! "Talk to your children before they go. Plan way for them to say 'no.' Remind them they can call you any time they want." There's more. "If you can't persuade them to go on an alternative trip like a ski trip or to Europe..." Since when do college students have a right to go anywhere on Spring Break? What? Are they working so hard at school that they absolutely need to get to Mexico or Florida for their mental health? They'll have plenty of time for that after they retire!

I have two sons in college. They're both at Lake Superior State University in Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan. For those of you who are unfamiliar with Michigan, Sault Ste. Marie is as far north as you can go in the Upper Peninsula. The bridge to Canada is just off campus. They just returned to campus on Saturday after their Spring Break which they spent right here in beautiful Caledonia, MI with their dad and mom. (We tried to persuade them to go to Europe, but...) I have an idea, Katie. Tell your kids they're not going on Spring Break. Tell them you have some jobs for them right here at home. Caleb spent part of his Spring Break cleaning our carpets with a rented carpet cleaner. John cleaned out the basement. They seemed ok afterwards. No signs of any problems with their self esteem.

If your kids are going to Spring Break, fine. I'm not judging you. I'm sure you can be confident that you have raised them well and they will make good decisions. But whatever happens, they won't be victims, Katie!

My First Blog

This is really embarassing. I have to admit that I only started this blog because I thought it was required for me to do so in order to comment on the Smoking Christian blogsite. So every time one of my comments appears my name is in blue and everyone thinks I must be a blogger. I have this blogsite and there are no blogs on it because I never really wanted it in the first place. But who knows? Maybe I'll think of something really important and just have to send it out into cyberspace.

No one really knows I'm here. Maybe no one will look. Maybe I can write whatever I want and no one will ever know about it? That gives me a sense of freedom; of power.

I just realized something else: I don't know how to put a title on this or anything. How does the Smoking Christian do it? Well, let's hit "publish post" and see what happens. If this works...