My Early Story (9)

 

Bible College - The Exodus, Part One

 

Each day at Bible College began with chapel, which was held in a large lecture room and consisted of prayer, a hymn, and a short devotional. The devotional was led by a student and students were assigned this task in alphabetical order. This being the case I was not scheduled to share a devotional until late in the academic year - I guess God had other plans.

 

A phone call, a conversation over coffee, a "chance" meeting at a conference or in Wal-Mart, following up on an impulse to contact someone; for every seemingly insignificant interaction or encounter we have in our lives that leads us to something significant, I wonder how many we miss?

 

On the first academic day in January 1967 the student who was scheduled to give the chapel devotion was sick. I don't recall who the student was. I don't know if he had a bad cold, or chickenpox, or measles, the flu, or leprosy. I don't know if he was relieved he was sick so he wouldn't have to give the devotion; though I doubt it, one reason most of us were at the school was to preach - so who would want to pass up even 5 minutes before the student body and faculty?

 

That morning began like all other mornings for me, and as I sat in my dorm room preparing to head for breakfast and chapel there was a knock at the door. When I opened the door there stood two seniors, they were leaders in the dorm - they carried that "all-knowing" look about them, they'd been there and done that, and while people weren't wearing T-shirts in those days that proclaimed accomplishments, had T-shirts been available they would have been the first to receive them. I suppose their T-shirts would have carried the words, "We have been to the heights and depths of theology, and explored the hidden wisdom of preaching, and know the deep secrets of the faculty - follow us."

 

I'm not sure these guys ever smiled or laughed, but hey, they were kids too - which is to say in the season of life in which I write this most all the students then were kids. They were doing the best they could with the models they had.

 

You know, or maybe you don't know, that every time I've taken myself seriously I've messed up. I don't know about you, but I know about me, at least a little about me. And when I take myself seriously I tend to not take God seriously and I tend to not take others seriously - this is by way of comparison with myself. For when I take myself seriously then I put myself at the center of the universe and that's never a good thing. I end up thinking less of God then and less of others - whether I intend to or not. Now I want to take what I do seriously because I want to be a good steward of life, a good friend, a good employer, a good pastor; whatever the relational case may be.

 

I think maybe Bible College and seminary students should have T-shirts that read; "Take God seriously and forget about yourself." What do you think?

 

One of these guys was tall and slender, the other of middle height and a bit portly. I'm not sure that prior to this particular morning I'd had a conversation with either of them.

 

"Brother Withers," one of them began, "Brother Clovisfundruckerstein (that's as good as any name when you can't remember the real name) is supposed to give the devotion today and he's sick, would you do it?"

 

"Sure," I replied.

 

Have you ever said "sure" when you didn't know what you were getting into? Come on now...have you? Do you have any examples you could contribute to an anthology titled, "When Saying 'Sure' Was Not the Smartest Thing to Do"? Or what about one titled, "When Saying 'Sure' Led To Surely Unintended Consequences"?

 

When the senior brothers left the room, I sat at my desk and opened my Bible looking for Divine inspiration, for it wouldn't be long before chapel and I needed something to say, something that mattered. It was a Schofield Reference Bible that had been given to me, used - as in previously read, by pastor Donald Wilkes.

 

It was important to say something that mattered, that is different than taking yourself seriously, that is taking what you do seriously. The Apostle Peter says in his first letter (1Peter 4:11) that "Whoever speaks, is to do so as one who is speaking the utterance of God..." My old preaching professor at Gordon-Conwell (not the Bible College), Scott Gibson, says that "If there is a mist in the pulpit there is a fog in the pew." What he means is that if the preacher isn't sure about what he is saying that that uncertainty will be exponentially communicated to the congregation. I think that's true of leadership in general - what do you think?

 

I turned the pages of that old red Schofield Bible, with its well-worn binding and frayed edges, looking for a beam of light to shine from the heavens down on just the right passage. No beam of light. No voice from heaven. No goose bumps. Not even an image of a goose. Not a candle flicker of light. Not a twinge of excitement. What to do? I couldn't hide in the dorm. I could pray for an alien abduction - but that prayer probably wouldn't be answered.

 

My attention was drawn to John 13:34 - 35 in which Jesus says, "A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another, even as I have loved you, that you also love one another. By this all men will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another." However, no beam of light, just a couple of verses spoken by Christ in the Upper Room shortly before His arrest, trial, and execution.

 

I took my seat in the lecture hall not knowing what I would do. The protocol was that after the hymn that the student giving the devotional stood at his chair and spoke from there, rather than walking up to the front. No one but the two senior brothers knew I was the substitute speaker.

 

The hymn was sung; it was time for me to stand and speak...and I froze.

 

My Early Story (8)

 

Bible College and George Will

 

As I write this [in 2010] George Will is likely in Italy, at least he was a few weeks ago when I answered my phone. George doesn't call me usually unless he's in the States, usually when he's back home in Florida, but I was especially glad to hear his voice most recently because I had been wondering if perhaps he hadn't gone home to be with Jesus. It had been a while since I'd heard from him, and after all he is pushing 73 or 74, somewhere around there. When he does leave this life I won't know it because no one will telephone me or send me a note; maybe I'll have a "sense" that he's gone, maybe not. I'll probably just wonder why I haven't heard from him.

 

Whether or not I hear from him again I'll keep praying for Debbie and Art, they are his children. I've been praying for them for around 44 years, ever since I first met George at Bible College. I guess they both have children now and they probably aren't far behind me in terms of age. They don't know who I am, they don't know I've been praying for them for almost 44 years, and they don't know that their dad has played a significant part in my life. Heck, if it hadn't been for George I wouldn't have been expelled from Bible College, but I'm getting just a little ahead of myself.

 

I met George in the fall of 1966 at Bible College, he was 13 years older than I was then and he still is 13 years older than I am, I haven't been able to gain any ground on him. George was also a first-year student. He had been in business and had had a miraculous conversion, pulled off the side of the road, tears streaming down his cheeks, and gave his heart to Jesus. Actually, he gave his life to Jesus.

 

George is from south Florida, around Homestead, is around 6' 5", and had a southern drawl 44 years ago, as in a real southern d---r---a---w---l. I don't pick up the drawl from him anymore, but back then waiting for George to finish a word was like waiting for a train with 200 coal cars to pass a railroad crossing; you might as well turn your engine off and settle back 'cause you ain't going anywhere anytime soon. George's drawl was especially evident when he sang - an item I'll touch on in another reflection. I mean that man could start singing a song in January and tease those lyrics out at least until Independence Day.

 

I often credit George with ruining my life. There I was, a bare 16 years old and what does George expose me to? Dietrich Bonhoeffer, A.W. Tozer, Andrew Murray, Watchman Nee, Oswald Chambers - talk about an irresponsible older brother in Christ! When I read Bonhoeffer's words, "When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die," I believed them. When I read Nee and Murray on the indwelling Christ, I believed them - Galatians 2:20 became etched in my mind. When Tozer wrote about a passionate pursuit of God that would not take "no" for an answer, that became my ideal. And when Chambers cast the vision of "my utmost for his highest" I wanted to climb that mountain.

 

George talked about Jesus - whether we were working on a crew tearing down a house, or eating a meal, or walking across campus, the man was, and is, all about Jesus. He talked about Jesus, sang about Jesus, and wasn't afraid to ask hard questions or to be asked hard questions. He prayed the way I eat ice cream and pizza, with pure enjoyment. And George was always praying and looking for revival.

 

Once when George had been injured on the work crew and was confined to his dorm room he said to me, "Now tonight at dinner, during prayer time, they are going to pray for me. Ask them not to pray for me but to pray for revival." And that's just what I did. When the folks at the head table said that we should pray for George, this 16-year-old spoke up and said, "Brother Will has asked that instead of praying for him that we please pray for revival." It never dawned on me that offense might be taken at that request, maybe it was and maybe it wasn't, I was just passing on my friend's request.

 

Since 1967 George has traveled the United States and Europe sharing the Good News of Jesus Christ. Maybe this wouldn't have happened had he not been expelled from Bible College; and come to think of it, I guess just like I can thank him for getting me expelled that he can thank me for getting him expelled, but I'm getting ahead of myself again.

 

The last time I saw George was around 1977 in Gainesville, FL. I was in Gainesville for the day on business and I called his parents' home just in case he was back in the States and low and behold he was not only in the States but he was right there in their home. At that point it had been 10 years since we'd seen each other. I've never stopped praying for George or for Debbie or for Art - after all, the man ruined my life, the least I can do is to pray for him and his family.

 

[NOTE: It’s been 60 years now and I still pray for Debbie and Art Will and their families. I think George went to be with Jesus about 10 years ago since I haven’t heard from him since then.]

 

My Early Story (7)

 

Bible College

 

In September of 1966 I traveled south to enter seminary. It was the seminary that both Walter Veasel and Donald Wilkes attended. I really had no business heading down there, and I can't believe my parents let me go - but it's likely that they didn't know what to make of my conversion and the fact is that even if I was a bit crazy about Jesus that it sure beat the alternative - for you see in the summer of 1965 I had run away from home in Maryland to New York City.

 

When I went to register the registrar told me that I couldn't take seminary classes because I hadn't graduated from high school (this was really more like a Bible College, but it called itself a seminary at the time; I think it has since dropped the word seminary and now uses Bible College). I told the registrar that if they'd let me in that I'd have my GED before I graduated from seminary. Guess what? Yep. They let me in.

 

Life was pretty austere at school, but I didn't mind, meals were simple, the dorm Spartan. As one upperclassman told a newcomer, as a fly buzzed around our dinner table, “There is your protein for tonight, you’d better catch it.”  Most afternoons after class I worked on a crew that the school contracted out in order to pay my tuition. We did demolition work and cleared land; those are the two jobs I remember. My hands got so blistered at one point that I couldn't depress the top of my shaving cream dispenser. We worked half-days on Saturdays too, and after our return to campus and lunch I took long naps on Saturdays to recover from the week.

 

Like I said, I didn't mind. I enjoyed classes, took them seriously, in fact I took the entire experience seriously.

 

The school was coed, but you couldn't talk to members of the opposite sex. I guess since most of the girls were older than me it wasn't an issue. In daily chapel, church on Sundays, and in classes the guys sat on one side of the room and the gals sat on the other.

 

I was reassigned from the work crew to helping an older man do repairs around the campus, including in the girls’ dormitory. I guess because he was old and I was young they figured we were safe, or maybe just safer.

 

I had two roommates, one of which left after a few weeks - the environment was a bit much for him, which I can understand. That left brother Joe and me. Our dorm room was adjacent to the restroom. One evening for dinner we had fish, something like salmon cakes as I recall. Late that night I heard terrible noise coming through the partition from the restroom - I mean terrible, moaning and groaning and the like.

 

"Brother Joe," I said, "do you hear that?"

 

"Yes, I do, brother Withers, perhaps we should see what's going on?"

 

I should mention that the restroom had a line of commodes which were not separated by partitions, much like the military - I mean, why spend money on something like partitions? You just have to clean them and otherwise maintain them; and people are going to do what they have to do, partitions or no partitions. So with this salient fact in mind...

 

Brother Joe and I opened the restroom door to behold a line of young men on the floor, moaning and groaning and holding onto commodes like a good prayer warrior holds onto an altar - except this was no prayer meeting, this was an assembly of those who got sick on fish from dinner. It was not a pretty sight, and yet it was not without its humor. Why some of us got sick and others didn't we'll never know. I can't put it down to righteous living because I know myself too well.

 

Now I guess brother Joe and I could have found some oil and anointed and prayed for the other brothers, but the thought never occurred to us. I suppose we could have remained with them to console, or even perhaps sing songs of praise; but again our thoughts were not how we might lighten the loads of our dear brethren. No, I have to admit that our thoughts were selfish in the extreme, though not without thanksgiving and resolution - we were thankful we weren't sick and we were resolved to do the best we could to get a good night's sleep in the midst of the moaning and the groaning.