THE PRINCETON YEARS

June 1986 to
December 1990

PRINCETON... AND TRENTON

Miller Chapel at Princeton Theological Seminary
(or "Prison Cemetery" as we sometimes joked!)

Summer Hebrew to Get Things Up and Running Early

Honestly though, I wasn't at all sure I agreed with God on this! The wonderful going-away parties only made my departure all the sadder – even somewhat bitter for me. Thus the 2½ days I was on the road from Mobile to Princeton were filled with a bit of frustration, maybe even a bit of anger, with God for having pulled me out of Mobile.

The "Voice"

As I arrived in Princeton on a Sunday afternoon, checked myself into the Summer School office, got my room assignment, and was unloading my luggage – a very exhausted and unhappy puppy I was – the "Voice" spoke to my spirit: "Get back into your car, I want to show you something."

"Are you kidding? I'm tired. I just want to get out and walk around a bit – look over the Princeton campus." But get back into my car I did – and headed south along US Route 1 until I came to nearby Trenton – and soon found myself in the heart of the Trenton blight. But oddly enough, as I drove along the unfamiliar streets, a deep sense of peace came over me, peace that I had not known since I began contemplating my departure from Mobile.

I then turned back to Princeton, got that much needed walk, and put the Trenton incident out of my mind.

The next day summer Hebrew started off with a bang – and, as a marathon effort, got more and more painful as the days advanced. Within a week, all the students were complaining about getting only 4 or 5 hours of sleep a night because of the workload.

The call to Trenton

That's when I decided to head over to the placement office to see if there was not some kind of local "hands-on ministry" I could get involved in so that I did not dry my spirit to a crisp while I was studying Hebrew. I was shown a portfolio of such internships, and discovered one offered by the First Presbyterian Church of Trenton, which listed a whole line of inner-city activities it hosted, and $5200 annual stipend to boot! I asked the Director of the office if what I saw was correct. He himself was surprised to see that particular internship still listed – as it was one of the most popular around and always one of the first to be picked. Then he remembered that the young man that was supposed to have the internship had decided shortly after spring semester ended that he would not be returning in the fall. Thus the listing was still there, as I saw things, just waiting for me.

I called the pastor, John Nelson, and he agreed to interview me on campus, as he was coming up that way the next day. And, of course, I got the job.

But it was not until the next Sunday, as I followed John's directions into Trenton that I realized: I was right back in the same area where the Voice had guided me to on that first day in New Jersey. In fact I had driven just behind the church at one point in my earlier wanderings. Eerie! But not unprecedented as things seemed to go between God and me!

By the way: I continued my summer Hebrew despite being in Trenton every afternoon working with various urban ministries and Sunday mornings assisting in worship – and found that it greatly improved my effectiveness with the Hebrew. I ended up with A's for both summer sessions – much to the amazement of my fellow students who couldn't figure out why someone would take on ministerial duties in the face of such academic pressure. But the Lord has a way of respecting our tithes, time as well as money!

Scoti

Interestingly, the person that taught me the most during my Princeton years was not even at the seminary – but was affiliated with the Center for Theological Inquiry (CTI), right across the street from the seminary.

I met "Scoti" (pronounced "Scotty") in Trenton, the very first Sunday in June that I came to the church as the new intern, and sat in the many-generations-old Chambers pew where he and his family always sat. I seemed to have somehow parlayed that error into an invitation for lunch with Scoti and his wife Mary and their one-year-old daughter Hannah. I joined them for an elaborate Sunday meal back at their home in Princeton – that Sunday, and then every Sunday thereafter for the next couple of years!

Scoti was the picture of scholarship, with a full beard, a studied look, and a careful intensity in his words. He had been a pastor for 18 years – yet was also ever the scholar, having spent many years in Europe (Germany, France, Switzerland) studying languages and earning a Th.D. degree in Reformation studies from the University of Lausanne. His doctorate on the history of worship in the Reformed Church was eventually published as a major text used in a number of seminaries in this country and in Europe. Now he was in Princeton, having given up the pastorate, to pursue research on the history of the Christian sermon – from the ancient "Fathers" down to the present (eventually published in 7 volumes by Eerdmans, under his actual name, Hughes Oliphant Old!).

My Sunday visits with him – plus my many additional visits with him during the week – were my real tutorial in the traditions of the Presbyterian (that is "Reformed") church. We both shared a similar interest in language, history and culture – and my insights into the general social history of Western civilization and his knowledge of the history of the church blended to make for some great discussions. I can't even begin to describe what he taught me about the long history of the church.

But there was something more than just the intellect that joined us. We shared a deep sense of joined "fortunes." We both were "uprooted" people looking to God to discover what the next turn in our lives would be. How many hours we spent together reflecting on the meaning of the respective journeys that brought us to this point in time. Scoti's position in Princeton was temporary – as the study-grant he lived under was only for a couple of years. And I was just as uncertain as to what the future held for me. We were both certain that the last thing I should ever do was parish ministry! But that left me few practical alternatives.

But how interesting that in time his temporary status at the CTI was converted into a permanent research/writing life in nearby Trenton, supported by the very wise investment decisions of his MBA wife that allowed them to be totally financially self-supporting – and that I ended up finally in parish ministry. God has His own unexpected ways of opening the doors to our future!

Scoti, his wife Mary, and their daughter Hannah

Scoti at the entrance to the cafeteria talking to a seminary official

Off to El Salvador again

That first summer in Princeton ended and I headed back to Mobile for a month's vacation – to a wonderful reception from my many, many friends in Mobile. I got back into the swing of things as if I had never left. I had some smoothing over of troubles to perform between the Presbyterians and the Charismatics on the ongoing Yuppie ministry. Also, Emmett had moved to much larger quarters – which needed lots of work to make it "comfortable." And as I was going to be returning to El Salvador for a week, I found myself busy gathering a fair-sized team of ministers to accompany me there (including my pastor in Trenton, John). Busy, busy, busy.

But oddly, things just refused to work out. One by one participants in the trip to El Salvador had to cancel for one reason or another. Also I had lined up building materials from a lumber company and the men necessary to start assembling separate counseling rooms for Emmett, and had just enough time to get the project underway before leaving for El Salvador – when I found out that the lumber company had held up the shipment because of a $.05 increase in the board foot rate that they had quoted me for some of the lumber. They wanted my approval before shipping – and could not locate me, so rescheduled shipment for early next week – which just happened to be too late. For something less than an $8 differential, we had to call the whole thing off. I was fit to be tied.

Then when two more pastors canceled out on the trip, leaving just John and me scheduled for the trip to El Salvador, I felt as if the heavens themselves were lined up against me. That evening a number of my charismatic friends gathered around me to pray that the Lord might show me what was going on.

Again: the "Voice"

The next morning, as I was having breakfast at a local Waffle House, on my way down to the shore for a couple of days with Betsey before leaving for El Salvador, the "Voice" spoke: "no more projects." It was a most clear/distinct thought. I knew that this was in answer to the prayer the evening before. There was nothing for me to do but simply yield before it all. I did. And I felt a great peace come over me.

Then the morning that I was to leave for El Salvador I was awakened by the "Voice" again. "Call John and make sure he brings along a guitar pick." That was a strange thought. I tried to ignore it and go back to sleep. But the Voice was insistent about that call. Then I thought how strange anyway: John would have had to have left for Newark airport by now. But the Voice persisted. So, sheepishly I called – not sure what I was going to say that would make sense to John's wife. But instead I got a sleepy John to answer. "Ohmygosh! I'll never make the plane. See you later. I'll get a message to you in New Orleans [where I was scheduled to meet him] about whatever flight arrangements I can make at this point."

But as far as I was concerned, it was all in God's hands now. I was tired of worrying about this and that. If I went on to El Salvador by myself, that was perfectly fine.

God as travel director

I got to the New Orleans airport and was handed a telegram – the bottom of which the check-in clerk carefully tore off, saying that it was against FAA regulations to transmit! I was curious. But what I did get from the telegram was that John was catching a flight arriving 3 hours after the departure of my TACA flight to El Salvador. He would get to El Salvador somehow and meet me at the hotel in San Salvador as soon as he could.

But curiously, the TACA flight was very late getting started. Indeed, as it turned out, it was exactly three hours late! When John's plane pulled in, immediately across the same concourse, everyone but me was on the TACA plane. I met John, we dashed the 20 yards to the TACA gate, and looked out to see his bags being loaded on the plane. They shut the door behind us – and off we went.

I asked John what was on the lower half of the telegram. He roared! He had written that I should pray that the TACA flight should be delayed three hours so that he could still make the connection! Funny thing – John said that something (the "Voice"?) had told him that he would make the TACA flight with me anyway.

With those thoughts we both settled back knowing that God had put the two of us together on that plane to El Salvador and would have His hand on us for the rest of the time together. We were both now working according to His plans, not ours!

Indeed, it was a marvelous, event-filled week, unplanned but full of wonderful things. We visited an orphanage, a medical center for the poor, a refugee camp (actually a very nicely developing village) being constructed by Texas lads from a huge church in Dallas, and the seminary where José was the director (even took communion with them, much to their shock!) We spent a lot of time with José's family and friends relaxing at the beach, or back in the hills, where in visiting his country home (whose street-side walls were pock-marked with bullet holes) we found to be occupied by government troops, much to our surprise when we burst in upon them!

John's wife Terese met us in New Orleans (as did Betsey) – relieved to see her husband safely back from El Salvador.⁵ We spent a short time together there, Betsey and I returned to Mobile – and, once again, it was time to say goodbye to Betsey as I headed north to New Jersey, to start the regular fall term. I went more willingly this time.

⁵Terese was so very Italian. She warned me ahead of time that if I did not come back with John alive and well, I was not to come back at all! She was kidding ... or maybe not!

Here is John entertaining some village kids in El Salvador! He had a great time.

Playing at their home in San Salvador / enjoying the Pacific Shore

But a reminder of the "other" El Salvador" came to us in a visit to their old home in the countryside which had been shot up badly ... and presently served as a military barracks

We also visited a girl's orphanage run by Cubie Ward ... whom I later invited to Princeton campus. But sadly, few seminarians bothered to come out to hear him speak of life in El Salvador

In New Orleans with a happy Terese ... upon John's "safe return" from El Salvador!

Brown Hall ... where I lived for my first two years at Princeton

Brown Hall ... from the perspective most familiar to me

Meanwhile, I adjusted to life living in a university dorm room (Brown Hall) … quite a switch for someone who had previously owned a number of his own houses! But it was okay.

Revisiting an Old Issue: The Authority of Scripture

One of the great issues that awaited me in seminary was this matter of Scripture and its authority in my life. It had been this issue which had been responsible more than any other thing for my decision 25 years earlier to drop my plans for the Presbyterian ministry – and even for my abandonment of the Christian faith itself.

In my survey course of the Old Testament, part of our first semester requirement, the issue awaited me – and every other seminarian. For some the issue was no big deal – for their stand in Christianity had little to do with whether Scripture was true or not. But for others, the "evangelicals," (like myself) this was a weighty issue. But I did not come unprepared this time to face this issue.

The Truth that lies beyond mere "fact"

Though my thoughts were not by any means well formulated on the matter, I had already developed a strange sense that "truth" was more than what meets the Western or modern eye. Perhaps it was in the strange encounters I had with God (the "Voice"), or in how things tended to work out on their own when we gave over in trust to higher things, or in how prayer could have such a powerful effect upon life's circumstances, or even in how Scripture brought simply to a situation like a prison visit could open up lives – but I knew that "truth" was more than just "facts."

The attempt of the Western mind to reduce all truth to "fact" easily robbed truth of its very essence, life of its very vitality. While our dry analytical thinking could indeed "tame" many of the elements of life, this thinking usually ended up with something that ultimately seemed highly counterfeit. It was like trying to describe in analytical terms the beauty of a great symphony, the breathtaking qualities of a sunset over the Gulf as a storm rolls in, or the thrill of finding deep intimacy in a human relationship. Any effort to bring such elements of life to "fact" would always end up making them meaningless.

And this same meaninglessness is what I thought I saw as the chief feature of the lives of many of us in the West. I certainly had been there. Somehow all that great mental control I had over life had not ever made for a very satisfying existence. And of course in the end it all failed me.

Truth, real truth, could be found only through poetry, artistry – most of that merely impressionistic in its handling of the basic truths we live by and for. But the ancients knew that. The East still does too. Truth is conveyed through story – even myth – if necessary. In such a form Truth does not lose its essence in the retelling.

Rethinking the Genesis story

Thus to me the story of creation in Genesis was/is not a treatise in physics and chemistry. The story is a hymn, a song or psalm of praise to God for the goodness of His creation. It is not to be handled as "fact." The six days of creation have little, if anything, to do with "days" as we literalists understand them. Their specific sequence may not even be "factually" important. Indeed, chapter two of Genesis, in repeating the story of creation, rearranges the sequence a bit.

Instead, the Truth found in those opening chapters of Scripture is there to highlight the contrast in the goodness of God and the sinfulness or failure of prideful man. God's intentions in creation were pure and holy. Earthman (the literal meaning of "Adam") had been given a privileged position in the scheme of God's creation – but failed to respect this honor by breaking trust with this holy Creator, who had asked only that Adam should celebrate the glory of it all in fellowship with Him (as one might enjoy a great meal with a friend). Instead, Adam misappropriated his privilege in his effort to obtain for himself independent status within creation, even moral-ethical knowledge which should make him his own judge over life – and thus make him "free" from God's dominion. The consequence of Adam's willfulness was that his life from then on was burdened by a grimness that comes from being so "self-aware" about the shortness of life and the hardships that accompany mortal existence. Adam found himself cut off from Paradise. The biblical "storyline" from that point on was how God then chose to try to bring Earthman back ("redeem" him) from this self-inflicted folly.

I knew many of the details of that story myself – personally.

What a powerful Truth is told in those few opening chapters of Scripture! Such profoundness about the "human condition," related simply through a handful of poetic words. It is an ancient myth that I would come back to often in my thoughts, in my sermons, in my teachings.

The place of Biblical text-criticism within My Christian faith

Certainly text-criticism seems to me to be interesting – in that it discloses some wonderful understandings of how such ancient Truths came to be transmitted through the generations – even across tribes, nations and cultures – as the "story" was told and retold by the ages. But to make more of text-criticism than that is to miss the whole point of the Truth that is contained in the medium of ancient biblical literature.

Thus I was not bothered by the revelations of doublets (where elements of the story seemed to have been simply repeated twice), borrowings from the literature of surrounding pagan peoples (the creation myth and the story of the great flood), the obvious hands of different editors (reflecting the fact that the story we have today was carried forward by more than one tribal group or school of ancient priestly scholars).

To me the Truth of God did not rise or fall on the existence of any of these intriguing features. I was aware that all of this ancient Truth came to us through numerous generations and many different political circles. I no longer expected some kind of single-minded document, as if the whole thing had floated down from the sky one sunny afternoon – to land in the laps of Jewish rabbinical scholars a century or two after their return from captivity in Babylon.

I was bothered, however, by the failure of some of our professors to show any significant amount of interest in the message itself – in the Truth that lay powerfully within these layers of literary tradition. We spent so much time inspecting the trees, that we never got around to learning how to cultivate an appreciation for the forest.

Nonetheless, I did not let any of this put me off greatly. In each of the two semesters of my second or "middler" year in seminary I took almost all Biblical studies (exegesis) courses, even taking on two extra Biblical courses each semester for extra credit, and auditing three more (even doing much of the required written work for these audited courses)!   I couldn't get enough of Biblical studies! Of course I had hell to pay my senior year, in that I had a large group of courses required for graduation still facing me. But I never regretted my middler year loaded up with Biblical studies.

Service as a seminary deacon

I was made a campus deacon the very first fall semester at Princeton. I was a lot older than the rest of the students – and having been a longtime professor I scored some "maturity points" among my fellow students that opened up this deacon spot. The deacons were supposed to be a source of dorm leadership, helping fellow students with personal problems. I took this task seriously, and found that I spent a great deal of my time counseling fellow students operating under various types of academic or personal stress. I also used that time to help walk some of my fellow students through their reactions to biblical text-criticism. I was really busy during my first or "junior" year in this regard. My dorm room door was always open.

Me (with the Texas hat) with some of my student friends about to head off to the Poconos for a weekend of skiing.

Halloween: me being blessed by the Father, Son and Holy Ghost

Me dressed up as a 3rd century Christian missionary to the Visigoths

Christmas: with Knox (lives in the room across the hall from me) bringing in a Christmas tree

With fellow seminarians doing some tree decoration!

Life Beyond the World of Academics: The "Celebration" program

I guess I thought that the message of "no more projects!" I had just received when I was back in Mobile was not intended to apply to Princeton/Trenton. Anyway I had always been such a "projects" person that it was not long before I was pushing a number of "good ideas" to get things moving both on campus and in Trenton.

I had the bright idea of creating a Sunday evening "Celebration" service at John's "First Pres" (First Presbyterian Church), and inviting my fellow seminarians to join in. I lined up music (a number of guitars), got a handful of pastors to agree to participate (John, Scoti, and a couple of others) – plus their wives – and began to line up special speakers or programs to focus the evening around. I pamphleted the Princeton campus, passersby in Trenton (mostly state government workers) on their way to lunch near the church, and the windshields of cars parked at a large shopping mall halfway between Trenton and Princeton.

But no one came – except the pastors and their wives. We all had a good time, singing and just visiting. But it was disappointing. I repeated the advertisement process several times – all with the same results (I did get one seminarian to come once – though I finally sensed that her interests seemed to be more in me than in the program).

A visiting missionary

Once I had a missionary, who ran the medical clinic John and I had visited, come through from El Salvador. I was positive that this would draw out people to our Sunday evening "Celebration." But to my great dismay, still no one came out to the program. I brought this same missionary to the campus to talk about the needs of war-torn El Salvador – thinking that at least this would draw out a number of students. But only a handful turned up. I was embarrassed – and again feeling very frustrated.

Just letting things go

Finally I began to realize that indeed the "no more projects" directive also extended to Princeton! So, once again, I backed down and just decided to go with the flow. The Sunday night thing continued on for quite a while, but basically just as an informal fellowship – and with the same 8 or 10 individuals, basically pastors and their wives. But actually it worked quite fine – as long as it was appreciated for being what it indeed was!

In fact, John, Scoti and I extended the fellowship "thing" among ourselves to informal weekly afternoon get-togethers over a pitcher of beer – just to talk about whatever. There were times I forgot that I was a student in Princeton, I was spending so much time in Trenton. But actually, this helped immensely for me to keep things in perspective.

Trenton State Prison and Triumphant Life Church

I also had developed a Wednesday afternoon and evening routine that I kept up until early the following year, when I could only keep up the Wednesday evening portion of it. I volunteered to serve with the chaplaincy program at the Trenton State Prison, working each Wednesday afternoon in "lockup," the punishment cells for inmates who got themselves in trouble over something or other.⁶ Then I would join Trenton friends, Michael and Carol, for dinner in Trenton before accompanying them to their Wednesday evening worship/Bible study at their church.

I met the family, actually the wife, Carol, through John – for she was the one directing the clothing program housed in one of First Pres's multiple offices on Hanover Street (the street running behind the church). She and her husband, Michael, were charismatics – and I felt quite at home with them. But Carol proved to be less tolerant of my Presbyterian ways than Emmett had been – always trying to convert me to the true "charismatic" faith. Nonetheless, I enjoyed their company a lot and became a Wednesday evening fixture at Triumphant Life church in Trenton, often even joining the men on Saturday mornings for their prayer/Bible study fellowship.

⁶Almost all of the guys I found myself visiting were Black Muslims. All I really did was listen to them and pray with them, for I figured there was no point in doing any kind of Christian ministry in the process. But wouldn't you know that I got a lot of Christmas cards from them that December, a real surprise to me. You never know what your impact can be when you just "show up" for others.

Me, my sister Gina, and Michael (left) and Carol (right)

Cultivating a spiritual life on campus

Back on campus, Knox, the fellow who lived across the hall from me in Brown Hall, and I decided that it would be nice to gather with some of our fellow seminarians in the dorm once a week to sing, share scripture and pray. But surprisingly we found only a handful of seminarians willing to give time to such an enterprise – and only a half hour at that, from 10:00 to 10:30 p.m. on Tuesday nights.

This seemed to me to be such an important part of the life of anyone contemplating Christian ministry – that I always remained amazed at how few of my fellow seminarians were willing to give so little time to something that ought to have been at the heart of all Christian life. Also, daily chapel on campus was attended very poorly, Sunday evening worship on campus brought a turnout of seldom even ten of the 900 students, and early Wednesday morning prayers brought out even fewer – mostly the Koreans among us. Everyone was so concerned about homework and grades that they seldom came out of their shells, except at meals, to breathe the air – or exercise their spirits. Friday nights were the only nights "out," and even then, often rather timidly. Forget Saturday nights: everyone was getting ready for Sunday duties at the churches where they served in internships.

How then was it that I was able to do all these things, things that younger and supposedly more energetic individuals, ones presumably headed for Christian ministry, were just not willing to take on?

My personal computer (which I put to great use at Princeton!) certainly eased the task of writing papers. Certainly also, all those earlier years as a professor, gathering research material for my courses in the library and preparing various writings, made my academic work almost routine. I also knew how to read efficiently for information. I also had a knack for languages, so Hebrew and Greek came to me a lot easier than it did for most of the students.

Consequently, I probably spent half the time studying that my fellow students did – allowing me to fill the rest of the time with ongoing worship, personal devotionals, and various outreach projects.

So maybe it was not very fair of me being "disappointed" with my classmates because they didn't just "naturally" go at things the way I did. They had not yet accumulated the years of experience that I had, experience that I drew on extensively to help push myself through the seminary experience.

National politics during this period

Something that amazed me was the level of disinterest I was feeling about a matter that used to occupy my thoughts front and center: American national politics.

It was the Reagan Era, and I generally liked the guy – quite a bit actually. But I now found myself reading no newspapers and watching no television. Not even the news. Consequently, that realm of life simply fell out of focus for me.

I was, however, quite aware at one point that something spectacular was going on in DC, something about an Iran-Contra scandal that was circling around the Reagan presidency. Indeed, I found my fellow students (who supposedly had no time for anything else other than their studies) glued to the TV in the small meeting room on the first floor (down the hall just a couple dorm rooms from me). My fellow seminarians hooted and hollered, jeered and clapped, and I simply walked on by.

Maybe it was because of my disgust with how the Watergate Scandal had become soap opera a dozen years earlier, and I found myself disliking this kind of media-hyped spectator politics intensely.

I don't really know why. I just was not interested. I had other things to occupy my thoughts.

And things would stay pretty much that way for a number of years.

Here is Lt. Col. Ollie North, called in to testify before Congress … in the hopes of the Democratic Party to find grounds to impeach the President. Massachusetts Senators Ted Kennedy and John Kerry (self-appointed as America's moral voice) were leading the attack.

But somehow all this political showmanship failed to interest me ... the way it did so many of my fellow seminarians. I had better things to tend to.

Crisis at the "Crisis Ministry"

When John and I returned from El Salvador in September of that first summer in New Jersey (1986) and made our respective ways back to Princeton/Trenton, one of the first things that greeted us was a major crisis in what was then called the "Crisis Ministry." This was an enterprise involving two wealthy Princeton churches (Presbyterian and Episcopalian) in partnership with John's Presbyterian church in Trenton. The Crisis Ministry itself was located in one of the buildings owned by First Pres on Hanover Street – along with other storefront ministries, such as the clothing ministry I worked closely with.

The Crisis Ministry was supposed to be an outreach ministry to the many homeless (mostly Black males) in the neighborhood. When I arrived to begin my internship and thus first checked it out, what I saw was polite Princeton women in the back office trying to provide social services for these homeless – particularly in lining up for them both jobs and apartments.

There was nothing particularly "Christian" about the program, just a typical welfare program. The Director was a "street-smart" (though recently Princeton seminary- trained) Black who was serving as Associate Pastor at the prestigious Nassau Presbyterian Church in Princeton. And the rest of the (all-White) staff came from that same church (which in fact was actually located with Princeton University behind and alongside it!), and the equally prestigious Trinity Episcopal Church of Princeton. First Pres of Trenton's humbler role in the triad was strictly to make the space available for the program.

I didn't much care for the rather rowdy "street" behavior that went on in the unsupervised front portion of the ministry where the guys hung out. It was in such stark contrast to Emmett's operation in Mobile, that was just as open to anyone, but had a distinctly serene quality to the whole thing. Consequently, I had avoided the Crisis Ministry. It seemed to have no need of or desire for my spiritual assistance anyway.

Now on our return to Princeton, the three churches gathered to discuss the fact that the Trenton police wanted the churches to shut the ministry down – or they were going to do so themselves, for the place had become a well-known drug distribution center (with the Associate Pastor/Director apparently at the heart of the operation).

I was in attendance at the meeting, rather amazed that the meeting was neither opened nor closed in prayer, nor was prayer mentioned when they proposed to get together in a couple of days to come to a final decision about the matter. At one point I spoke briefly about my own experience in Mobile with street ministry – and the importance of maintaining a Christian atmosphere in the ministry, especially given the climate in which they were trying to operate. My comments drew no response – only a contemptuous stare from the Nassau Presbyterian pastor who was presiding over the meeting.

In any case the decision shortly came to a shutting down of the operation. Period. That was the end of the Crisis Ministry.

Humble beginnings of a new street ministry

However I couldn't help but continue to be concerned about the large number of homeless males still hanging out on the streets around the church. As September turned into October and the weather became increasingly chilly, I began to think about them and what they were going to do as winter came upon them. There was a large Rescue Mission not too far away – but it opened up late in the evenings and turned the men back out on the streets early in the mornings.

Something inside of me (the "Voice"?) thought of the idea of opening up Fellowship Hall in the basement of First Pres and having coffee, snacks and Bible study as many mornings of the week as we could make arrangements to have someone there to oversee the process.   I suggested the idea to my pastor friends, and most of them thought it was a good idea – except one of them who considered himself "streetwise" and laughed at the idea of Bible study, assuring me that these guys would be a blur rushing for the doors as soon as I opened a Bible.

Nonetheless, I agreed to give the idea a try on Monday and Tuesday mornings (with Scoti helping me get started), John on Wednesday mornings and two of the more evangelical women in the church on Thursdays. If the thing looked like it was going to work, I would also come in earlier on Sundays (again with Scoti's help) to open up then as well.

And so I put the word out on the streets about what we were proposing to do, and showed up with Scoti the first Monday morning – with no particular expectations as to what might happen. Only three guys showed up, but we had a good time – and opened up our Bibles to start a study of the Gospel of John. They seemed perfectly pleased to do that as well!   For a couple of weeks we didn't seem to have more than three or four to show up, but then our numbers started growing.

The program takes off

The sexton (janitor) who didn't have a lot to do in the church – and liked it that way – began to complain about the crumbs under the tables in Fellowship hall. So John suggested that we simply move the program into the kitchen. We did – and soon we were totally crowded in there with more than 20 showing up for what was now coffee, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and Bible study (the Nassau Presbyterian Church did support this effort – at least to the extent of paying for the coffee and sandwich makings, because the pastor of that church and John were good buddies, playing music together often).

We extended the days to include Sundays – and a number of the fellows began to stay for Sunday School and then church – often falling asleep on the back pews under the influence of the food, warmth and soft pew cushions. I knew that some of the church members were scandalized by their behavior (or just mere presence), and that trouble was brewing. But John promised to take care of that part of the program.

Christmas vacation (1986) arrived and I returned to Mobile, to Bill's house and Betsey's company (and also Debby's who ironically had become a friend of Betsey's since I went off to seminary). Our relationships had become quite platonic by then – though still quite intimate. This was also a nice departure from the deadness of seminary life – for I hadn't had a single date in the 6 months I had been up in Princeton.

I renamed the ministry The Hanover Street Ministry … and for the next four-plus years had my own little (actually not so little) congregation to work with ... at the same time studying full-time (plus even some extra courses squeezed in!) at the seminary.

The Hanover Street Ministry grows

I got another seminarian to cover on Friday mornings – until he graduated mid-year. Then just as I began to ponder how we might fill that slot, another seminarian, Tom (who became a very close friend), stepped forward out of nowhere to take the Friday spot, and Saturdays as well. The ministry was now fully covered.

And it was growing. 50 to 60 guys were turning out, sometimes even close to a hundred, especially on Sunday mornings when they crowded in for Sunday "worship," especially when a Black church in the area offered to do some preaching, and rather substantial breakfasting for those who showed up! Who said it couldn't be done? And done "decently and in order"?

As I reflected on it all – how strange it all seemed. I had tried so hard to get so many good Christian programs going, in Mobile, at Princeton, in Trenton at the church. None of them worked exactly as I had planned; some of them didn't work at all. Now on the other hand, the simple, quite spontaneous decision to open up the church to some of Trenton's homeless had moved forward on its own, actually quite effortlessly.

Trusting God

Why was it so hard for me to understand this?   How long was it going to take for me to get over being a Yuppie "micromanager" of life? When was I going to fully trust God "to build the house"? Those were questions that I long struggled with (and still do). I'll have more to say about that later.

Alvin, and Black militancy

I decided to take up residency that next summer (1987) in an apartment located directly above the street ministry. This would allow me to go full-time at the ministry that summer, offering Bible study and a small meal not only in the mornings but also in the evenings.

It was quite a move. Not only did the apartment require a lot of work to get back into some kind of decent shape, life in that neighborhood was noisy, and somewhat dangerous. And I was very much alone in making that move. Indeed, John never once dropped in even to see how things were going for me.

Then in July, John hired a recent seminary grad, Alvin, to add to the ministry. He was Black, and one with a very visible affirmation of his Blackness, complete with dreadlocks and a street manner – a manner that none of my street guys themselves ever saw the need to take on. John had hired him presumably to take up full-time management of the Hanover Street Ministry when I returned to my studies in the fall.

And Alvin (unlike me) was paid to do so. The mental health center in Trenton was so impressed with our church's contacts with the street population that they gave halftime funding to the church for the position. That's how we were able to hire Alvin.

At first Alvin and I hit it off. But gradually I came to realize that Alvin's Princeton-seminary "Christianity" was for him merely a veneer which he used to gain credentials for purposes such as the one at the Hanover Street Ministry. He would espouse any theology, even Islam, if it played into his Black nationalism – his real religion.

And he was amazingly like the "street-wise" associate pastor that the Nassau Presbyterian Church had previously taken on for such street ministry, and who turned that ministry into something quite else – in fact, a grand disaster. I couldn't believe that John did not see this.

Nonetheless, I found things for Alvin to do to justify his paid status. But I just did not see him really "connect" with my street guys. He sort of operated in his own world.

Then when I went off to Mobile at the end of the summer, I returned to Trenton to the news that Alvin had taken it upon himself to bring in an A.A. meeting at the ministry on Sunday nights – not only pushing our Sunday evening Bible fellowship back a half an hour but bringing confusion to my street guys, who didn't work by the clock. Consequently, participation at Sunday evening Bible study dwindled.

Also, Alvin did not want to continue to work with the rest of the team, teaching through the same book of the Bible. Instead he went to Revelation – and began to teach a message of judgment of God against the Whites, who were collectively the Antichrist.

A number of the guys came to me complaining that he was not teaching the Bible but instead a form of Black racism. Further, he was building up a small personal cult of "deacons" – guys who received special favors, including full meals while the others merely ate sandwiches, for becoming part of his special group. I spoke to Alvin about it, then to John – but to little avail. John did however make him cut out the special privileges program. But otherwise he let Alvin go his own way with his version of Black theology.

When I complained to John about what Alvin's "theology" was doing to the spirit of the ministry, he said he did not agree with Alvin's theology – but nonetheless, saw him as a useful "antithesis" to me, to keep us both on our toes.

But actually, Alvin did not keep me on my toes. I simply did the best I could to just work around him – which was at times difficult, since he was capable of stirring things up with some new piece of racist behavior.

I could never figure out John's fascination for Alvin. All I could see in Alvin was lots of trouble. The rest of the people working at the Hanover Street ministry felt the same way.

And yes, even John finally got tired of Alvin and his behavior. I'm not sure what exactly was the event that precipitated John's firing of Alvin. But away he went. We all breathed a sigh of relief.

Meanwhile, I continued my volunteer work at the ministry (indeed for another 2½ years), working closely with these street guys. They were my friends, who taught me (like my German friends once had) about how other people could make a go of life their own unique way, despite all the obstacles placed in front of them. Consequently, I always valued the relationship I had with these guys deeply.

Women!

Funny how my relations with the opposite sex swung from feast to famine as I moved back and forth from Mobile to Princeton. It was either too much or nothing.

Further, as I reflected on the matter, it still seemed very perplexing to me why, after all this time, I couldn't seem to make up my mind about Betsey? Why couldn't I just get focused on her? I knew that I wanted to get married – and have children! And Betsey was most anxious for this too.

Finally, I decided to ask God for a "sign." Now I was in the habit of doing this often, especially when I got to a point where I was faced with a decision that I didn't know how to make – and I must say, it usually worked out quite well as a procedure. So I proposed this to God: if Betsey is the one I am to marry, then show me by having her call me, by Valentine's Day (1987), to tell me that she will be coming out to visit me sometime in the spring (she had loosely mentioned the possibility of this at Christmas when I was back in Mobile).

But the next morning I awoke to the thought: no way! This was not the way I wanted the issue resolved. "I'm calling the deal off, God."

Yet wouldn't you know, the day before Valentine's Day Betsey called me to tell me that she was going to be flying up to Princeton to visit me in March! What was this? God's sense of humor in action?

In any case, Betsey and I had a great visit during her week in Princeton (early spring 1987), touring the countryside, Philadelphia, showing her the Ministry, introducing her to my friends on campus, to John and Scoti, etc. But, I still could make little of my true feelings for her.

As far as my relations with women on campus – there were none, other than very casual friendships. Seminary was famous for being a fishbowl environment, and the men and women seemed too busy or too guarded to get involved with each other.

Seminary feminism

Then there was this thing called "feminism." I, of course, had encountered this phenomenon at the university back in the 1970s – when women faculty began to complain that they were not getting the appointments that they thought they were entitled to. We went through a period of self-study and soul searching – and finally agreed that some adjustments needed to be made. But it never became a really "revolutionary" issue. Things just shifted and took a new course. Most everyone agreed, anyway, that it only made good sense to be fully equitable.

But the feminism I encountered in seminary was of an entirely different nature. It was militant and vigilant – looking for any opportunity to make a show of force. "Inclusiveness" in language was the front line of the battle: "man" was no longer acceptable as a generic term (as in the "Rights of Man"), and was to be eliminated from our language in every respect. Indeed, the only document I had to sign as a condition of entry into the seminary was the agreement that I would follow "inclusiveness" in my written work and in all conversation at the seminary.

But "inclusiveness" went further than that. The use of male language in reference to God was also taboo. Male pronouns were out. So was the word "Father." It got ridiculous. A sentence concerning God might end up sounding like: "So God said to Godself that God was going to redeem God's people." And if you did have to use male terms, they had to be offset in equivalent fashion with female terminology.

My parents, visiting campus and attending an Easter vigil service with me, were stunned as they sat through a seminarian's lengthy ode to the Mother of Heaven, whose breasts nourished the universe with her milk, etc., etc., etc. I told them not to worry about it – one got used to it after a while.

But even then, I found the idea of such wild speculation about the nature of God to somehow be touching on idolatry. We had created a Female Golden Calf for the feminists (and the rest of us) to worship – and somehow that did not sit well with me. But I knew to keep my mouth shut.

I was introduced to this militant dynamic early on at the seminary, when in one of my classes my first semester there I spoke up about how the story of Adam and Eve and Cain and Able reminded me of the historic transition of the hunter-gatherer paleolithic man (Adam and Eve) to the farming and herding neolithic man (Cain and Abel).

My statement was met by shrieks and shouts of outrage by some of the women in class: how dare I use the forbidden word "man."

Wow! I was so, so sorry for having thrown the class into a major uproar with my use of such highly taboo language.   I promised that I would never ever commit such a transgression again. So, could the class please calm down and get back on track?

A shameful incident

Another such event on campus comes to my mind about the time when a young pastor from Thailand – who was at Princeton working on a theology degree at the seminary and who obviously did not understand the subtleties of feminist politics there – once led 10:00 chapel worship, and made the outrageous mistake of several times using male terminology in reference to God. The feminists exploded.

By noon that same day, they had already organized a massive effort to collect signatures for a petition of complaint at the cafeteria door, denouncing the chapel personnel for having allowed this to have occurred (were they supposed to have pulled him from the pulpit after the second use of "Him" or "Father"?). Shamefully, I signed the petition – as did most everyone else. Not to do so would have merely drawn attention to oneself as being inadequately enlightened. Besides, I was hungry and wanted to get to lunch. Shame on me!

Cultivating a sexual gap

I mention all of this for two reasons. First is the effect it had on male-female friendships within the student body. When we "juniors" first started out – we clung together for mutual support as we encountered the extreme intellectual rigors of Princeton seminary. We were close – men and women alike – struggling to get through the ordeal.

But by the second or middler year you could see a change in the old relationships. The feminist rhetoric was beginning to have its effect. Men were "oppressors" who had too long kept women down. Only now were the stories of men's sexual abuse of women coming out so that we could see more clearly how bad the male specie was. On and on the testimonies ran, until almost every man on campus felt as if he were part of some kind of scumbag tyranny, and every woman a "victim" of men. Needless to say, a good number of our female friends began to lose their original warmth toward their male colleagues.

Some even proudly announced that they were most glad to have discovered that they were actually lesbian. They detested men, and discovered that they had fondness only for members of their own sex.

That was hardly a surprise, given the intensity of the brain-washing going on at the seminary.

Now this by no means included all the women on campus. In fact, some of the women reacted rather strongly against this feminism, and – unlike the men – could actually speak out publicly against this feminist sexism. At the same time, some of the men became ardent feminists!

In short, feminism succeeded in lining us up into hostile ideological groupings, with the feminists distinctly dominating the dynamic.

Women ... and the militant feminism on campus!

Another "political" issue that hit close to home in those days concerned the militant feminism that was very strong at the seminary. With all the constant repetition concerning "male oppression," we men could feel the strong fellowship that existed widely in our first year (guys and gals) at Princeton now dissolving … replaced by a chill settling in between the men and many of the women.

There really was nothing we men could do about it. Just to complain was to demonstrate "male insensitivity." So we just shut up … and simply avoided the feminists. In fact we frequently escaped to an attic room accessed through a trapdoor in the ceiling of the top floor of one of the dorms. There we did "male stuff": poker, beer and cigars!

Cynthia

The second reason I mention this is because of the effect it came to have on a relationship that did finally develop for me with a woman while I was living in Princeton.

I met Cynthia at a weekend retreat (Palm Sunday 1987) in the Pennsylvania mountains – which I had slipped away to in order to get off campus for a while. Cynthia was an Episcopal priest serving as assistant rector at a church in Ohio. She had been living in Manhattan prior to that – and (a few weeks after we had met) in coming back to New York to visit friends, she stopped in to visit me in Princeton for a couple of days.

I found her attractive – though strangely a little hard around the edges. Gradually it became apparent why.

When spring term ended, and I had a few weeks' vacation at the end of May and early June before my 1987 summer plans went into effect, I decided to head back to Mobile for a brief vacation. I also decided to make a wide swing to Alabama via Ohio, to visit Cynthia. With that, a new relationship was on! Then also, a couple of weeks after my arrival in Mobile Cynthia decided to fly down to meet me in nearby New Orleans and spend some time with me in Mobile, before driving back with me north again via Ohio on my return to Princeton.

This was the summer I was spending in inner-city Trenton, living over the Hanover Street Ministry amidst the neighborhood's drugs, alcohol and prostitution, and was glad for any break from the intensity of the situation. I was always glad to see Cynthia – and got together with her several times over the summer.

But the bloom was wearing off the relationship. She was constantly agitated over some slight or other concerning her status as a priest that she experienced from the male clergy (and some of the women parishioners) around her – even frequently calling me long distance to talk at length about her frustration and bitterness. I listened – but offered no advice, only encouragement to go the course, for God would see her through all this. But we really did not connect well on this most essential issue in her life. It was so all-absorbing to her. She had great difficulty in seeing anything else about her work – or at least if she did, she never shared it with me.

After a while – by the end of the summer – it was apparent that we just were not on the same wavelength. The relationship came to an end one evening in early autumn in one of those long-distance phone calls she made to me about this same problem. We didn't argue or anything. It was just apparent that all of this had drained out whatever was good in the relationship – and that, in the end, there was nothing left between us. We never got in touch again.

I often have wondered if it was the power of the feminist program that made her so tormented a person, or if her feminism was merely a way of playing out some deeper aspects of her personality. But seeing how feminism made such harsh changes among female friends on campus, I suspect that it was the former.

Here we are in Martelle's living room in Mobile the summer of 1987

KATHLEEN

Where was God's hand in all this?

Meanwhile, the "woman issue" was adding considerably to the confusion that I felt had overtaken my life at this point. I so much wanted to get on with my life – especially in the area of a partner in my life's work. And I wanted children – badly (quite a shift from my view on the subject when I was the perfect Yuppie!).

But as with all my "projects," so also my endeavors with the opposite sex always seemed to end up so confused and unsatisfying. I had considered several times that God simply did not want me to remarry. Certainly there was Biblical warrant for a divorced person not to marry again. But if God really wanted me to remain celibate for the rest of my life, why had His Spirit (and I was certain that this was the source) put such a strong desire in my heart to have children?

But admittedly all my efforts to engineer a solution were ending with the same result: failure. Finally, one night I prayed long over this matter – and came to a resolution that if celibacy was what God wanted, then so be it.

A very short time after that great decision, I met Kathleen!

The invitation

My Trenton friend Michael was an officer in the Trenton Full Gospel Businessmen's Fellowship, a charismatic organization that met one Saturday morning a month in a restaurant to worship and share testimonies. I had attended some of the meetings of this organization back in Mobile, through Emmett's invitation, but it was not until Michael invited me that summer of 1987 to a Full Gospel Businessmen's breakfast – with my street guys accompanying me – that I got involved in the Trenton chapter.

It seems that they had had a "prophecy" that revival was about to break out in Trenton, particularly among the city's homeless. Michael announced that he had a friend (me) working with just those same people – and wouldn't it be great if his friend could come out to the monthly meetings – bringing some of his people with him. They agreed. The invitation seemed very much in keeping with the prophecy.

When Michael proposed the idea to me, I knew that the guys would jump at the chance to be bussed out to a nice restaurant and have a great meal. So it was all set up.

The hand of God moves

When the event came to pass in mid-July, I had my hands full keeping an eye on the guys, with all the liquor laid out behind an unattended open bar right there in the meeting room, and with all kinds of potential mischief awaiting them out in the parking lot (hub caps were a source of funding sometimes!) as they moved in and out for smokes.

It was on our second visit (in mid-August) that Michael pointed Kathleen out to me as she whisked by on her way to a seat at the table with her mother and some women friends (yes, there were always a number of women in attendance at this "Businessmen's" gathering). He told me that she was someone he thought I should meet.

No argument there! She was absolutely gorgeous! I don't know how I missed her on the previous visit – except that there were hundreds of people in attendance, and, as I said, I had my hands full the whole time.

As the morning progressed, and as I watched from across the huge room the gentleness and grace by which she worshiped God, I grew intrigued – even entranced. I finally decided to put my name and address on a small paper, with the intention of speaking to her and giving her this information before I had to get back to the Ministry. But just as I was finishing the task, I saw her look my way, cross the room – and then come and sit down next to me!

We struck up a brief conversation – brief because I had to get back to my guys to see what they were doing. But before doing so, I invited her to come down to the ministry of an evening and join us in Bible study. Then we were gone.

She didn't come to the ministry – and then a week later it was time (late-August) for me to head back to Mobile for vacation before starting up the fall term. But before I had left, Michael told me something very important. Kathleen had, a month or so back, submitted a prayer card, and he had been the one assigned to pray for her request. It was for a Christian man to come into her life! He told me that as he had been praying over that card, I kept coming into his mind. That's why he thought it was so important for me to meet her. I told him about her coming and sitting down next to me. We both thought something was up.

I didn't see her again for a long while.

How nice! A number of my Mobile friends held a welcome-home party for me in September

And I got to do some sailing on my friend Bill's boat!

Praise the Lord for air conditioning!

When I got back to New Jersey in late September (1987) Michael greeted me with the news that he had spoken to Kathleen at the September meeting about "us." He said that she assured him that she had intended nothing by sitting down next to me at the meeting! It was just that there were no other seats available in the room except those around me and that she had moved there because where she was previously sitting, she was catching a chill from an air conditioning vent directly overhead! Michael ribbed me a bit about all our speculations. But my thoughts ran more along the line: praise the Lord for air conditioning!

Now as I came out to the meeting in October (again, with two huge van loads of my guys) my thoughts returned to my visit in August. I knew that despite the putdown, something was up. Would Kathleen be there? What would happen?

All in God's time (Kairos)

We were late getting there, and I was among the last to arrive. Kathleen was there – but at a fully occupied table. However when she spotted me, she got up and came up to me to tell me that she was sorry that there was no space at her table, but that we could maybe sit down together afterwards and talk! And so we did.

Conversation with her was so easy. We talked a while – and then I asked her about why she hadn't come down to the Ministry. She told me that girls do not go into the Trenton inner-city at night alone [of course not, stupid! I don't know why that had never occurred to me!]

Before we said our goodbyes we had agreed that I would indeed pick her up early the next morning (Sunday), bring her down to the Ministry, we would attend church, and then spend some time together in the afternoon before she headed off to a job she had at the McCarter Theatre in Princeton.

It was like we both knew that it was our jobs simply to get to know each other! Something really was up – and we both sensed it.

Well, the rest is history! We hit it off – putting it mildly! I had never been so captivated by a woman in all my life. And she seemed so comfortable with me!

I found out that Kathleen was of almost pure Irish descent, was the middle child among seven (!) siblings, was living in Princeton, and was a teacher at the Princeton Montessori school. I soon met the rest of her family, who lived just outside of Princeton. She was raised Catholic – but, with her mother, had become an Evangelical/charismatic, worshiping at the Faith Fellowship (megachurch) in Edison. Kathleen loved children – and at age 27 (soon to be 28) was wanting to start her own family. And I was all for that too!

Giving it all over to God

But there was one major glitch in our program. Her mother, discovering that I was 46, was horrified! After about two weeks of wonderful chemistry – in which it seemed like this relationship was lining itself up to head off into the sunset, I began to notice a pulling back on Kathleen's part. I didn't understand what was happening – and made no mention of my concern to her. But something was wrong.

I decided at this point simply to leave matters in God's hands. I had, from the very first, considered this relationship to be a matter of God's doing. So I (correctly) took the attitude that if God wanted this relationship to work out, then He – not me – was going to have to fix whatever was wrong!

And so it was, partway through a Saturday evening date [which I was ready to assume would be our last], that Kathleen finally told me what was up. She mentioned the age factor – for which I obviously had no reply. I couldn't change anything about that. Clearly the decision on this matter was up to her. Yet even as she spoke, we knew that she had made up her mind. She was simply going to have to face down whatever criticism awaited her from others about our age difference.

And having resolved that matter – the relationship really did move off into the sunset!

Kathleen taught little ones at the Princeton Montessori School! She also worked at the McCarter Theater in Princeton. She had grown up in the area and still had family living close by. She was a Jersey girl!

But most important of all, she loved (and trusted) the Lord deeply.

Closing down a longstanding relationship.

But even as we dated, there remained one last piece of unfinished business in my life. Betsey had invited me to join her and her extended family who were gathering in Virginia that Thanksgiving. By the time the end of November had rolled around, my relationship with Kathleen was well on track – and I knew that I would be going to Virginia only as a friend and no longer as a potential "significant other" for Betsey.

Betsey and I walked and talked a lot that weekend. We had been on the same road together for a long time, through good times and bad. I told her about Kathleen; she told me about her still uncertain social life. I truly felt a deep affection for her, especially as I knew that this chapter in my life – our lives – was about to come to a close. Indeed, as I said goodbye to her it was with a profound sadness – and yet profound determination to get on with things.

Israel

For reasons I can't explain, I was chosen, along with three other Princeton seminarians, to be part of a large group of American seminary students, also selected from a number of other seminaries, given the privilege of visiting Israel for a couple of weeks, for free. The trip was scheduled to take place over the Christmas vacation season.

But it almost got canceled at the last moment, because of a massive uprising of Palestinians against Israeli authority – the outbreak of what was termed the Intifada. But the trip went ahead as scheduled. However most all other tours were canceled. Thus we would have Israel almost to ourselves, during one of its normally most busy tourist seasons!

But things were a bit tricky nonetheless. We spent a half-day at the Jordanian-Israeli border (we had actually arrived in the region via Jordan), tightly checked for security. And later, when we made our way to Bethlehem for Christmas Eve services at the Church of the Nativity, our bus convoy was carefully checked and guarded by Israeli soldiers. And soldiers were placed all around the square in front of the church (including on the roofs of surrounding buildings), in order to fend off any Palestinian mischief.

But otherwise, it was a most blissful visit. We went from one Biblical site to another, in Nazareth, along the Sea of Galilee, in and around Jerusalem, the Garden of Gethsemane, the heights of Bethany overlooking Jerusalem, the road to Jericho, and even the Dead Sea – although I did not go on the Dead Sea trip, instead undertaking a return trip on my own to Bethlehem.

It was in Bethlehem that I was asked by a local Christian merchant why it was that American Christians were so against the Palestinians, when so many of the Palestinians were fellow Christians, whose ancestors had been Christians living in that part of the world since Christianity's origins, and now they were leaving their homeland in large numbers because their situation had become so untenable.

I myself had no answer to that question. And it was a matter that truly saddened me. American Christians were so enthusiastic about the Israelis taking full control of the area, not understanding how that Israeli takeover decided the large Christian population of the region to call it quits and leave the area, in essence, turning out the lights of the Christian Gospel in Christianity's birthplace itself. The Jews of Israel had no interest in Christianity.

Some Jews were moving into such highly Christian towns as Bethlehem and Nazareth. But mostly it was Muslims, displaced elsewhere in the old Palestinian territory, that were taking over the abandoned homes and shops of the departing Christians.⁷

Anyway, the height of the whole visit was the Christmas Eve service at the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem. What was remarkable (besides all the security!) was that a very small number of people, which included our seminary group, had the church to ourselves. It was a very traditional service, taking me back to Crusader times, like worshiping in Paris's Notre Dame Cathedral. It was always both thrilling and humbling to me to know that I was standing where countless generations before me had stood, experiencing pretty much the same sights and sounds that I was now experiencing! For an American, for whom "history" typically meant a century or two back in time, this was a plunge far deeper into history.

And it considerably deepened my appreciation of my Christian faith.

⁷And I would find out years later that the Christian character of such Palestinian towns as Bethlehem and Nazareth was completely erased, as the Christian population had abandoned their homelands, almost totally so.

At Peter's house in Capernaum

In the Galilean countryside

The Garden of Gethsemane

Jerusalem as seen from Bethany across the Kidron Valley

A scholarship to do political-cultural research in South Africa (summer of 1988)

In the new year I was once again scholarshipped … this time to a fully-covered two month sojourn in South Africa … to complete the research on my senior thesis. I had written my (250-page) master’s thesis at Georgetown 20 years earlier (1965) about why the Black nationalist revolution was not going to take place in South Africa for the foreseeable future … for a variety of political reasons … reasons escaping most political observers who believed unquestioningly that revolution in South Africa was just around the corner.

I had received quite a negative reaction from some at Georgetown as if I were defending "Fascism." I actually was defending nothing … only just explaining the political dynamics of the time as I saw them. As it turned out, I proved right. Nothing happened over the next generation.

But now, 20 years later, I sensed that something was shifting in South Africa … something that all the hysterical "social justice" types (screaming for bloody revolution in order to secure justice in South Africa) were missing. So … I was super-excited to learn that I would be going to South Africa for two months to look into the matter.

And part of my support even included a young South African diplomat, Sommie, posted to New York City. He would get me set up on my arrival in early July.

Kathleen and I at a South African consular party in New York City with Sommie (far left).

Kathleen and I announce our engagement

At the beginning of April of the next year (1988) Kathleen invited her parents and me over for dinner in her new condo unit which she had just purchased – right outside of Princeton in one of those "instant cities" that were popping up everywhere in the area. But her parents knew that this was no ordinary dinner invitation. In fact, we wondered how long one of Kathleen's sisters, the very curious Colleen, could hold off from calling that evening to see "how things are going."

Indeed, we got to the point very quickly with her parents. That evening would make it official. Kathleen and I had decided to get married – though the date (June or September) had not yet been decided. We preferred June. But I had a two-month trip to South Africa already scheduled for the summer (July and August) and it seemed crazy for us to get married – and then for me to disappear for two months.

Anyway, her parents were very pleased for us (and yes, Colleen did call soon to see if everyone's suspicions were right!).

We soon decided on the September date and I got us on the Princeton Chapel calendar. Then we looked at the matter of having Kathleen meet my family – and, for that matter, my friends in Mobile. We decided to take a couple of weeks in June after school was out to head West to St. Louis to meet my parents, and then South to Alabama to meet all my friends in Mobile, before returning to New Jersey.

Crisis

Then it happened! I should have guessed it might. I was so totally and passionately in love with Kathleen that I simply let my good senses leave me. But in early June Kathleen sensed – and then it was confirmed – that she was pregnant. My happy world shattered.

We faced up to the music the best we could. Her Mom was actually a great help – greeting the news of Kathleen's pregnancy with jubilation rather than condemnation. As she put it: Look at the bright side of it all. The one thing we both wanted most, children, was now indeed confirmed. Kathleen's pregnancy should be celebrated, not mourned. Also, we might as well go for that June wedding date after all. She was sure that everything could be assembled quickly and with no hitch before the end of the month.

John was rather unperturbed by the news – in fact heartened because he had a scheduling conflict with our September date and wasn't going to be able to officiate at our wedding – but was very available for our June 25th date to marry us. And moreover – he would be glad to perform the ceremony in the venerable old First Presbyterian Church rather than at the Seminary Chapel. Actually it made more sense – and had more meaning to me anyway that we should get married in the church that I had been serving (and had changed my ministerial candidacy to) since I came to New Jersey.

Scoti was stunned by the news. We both knew what a cloud this would throw over my "moral credentials." But as I saw it, because of my divorce, I already had little claim to any such moral credentials anyway – though goodness knows, I didn't need to be making that situation any worse. Whatever. Anyway, Scoti rallied – and stood ready to serve me as Best Man for the wedding (her sister Colleen to be Kathleen's Matron of Honor).

My friend Tom (close comrade-in-arms at the Hanover Street Ministry!), who was about to graduate from seminary and had a pastoring job waiting for him in nearby Philadelphia (where he was from) was more than willing to assist John in the wedding service. So – everything was set.

Into the home stretch

Things moved so quickly in that first week, that everyone encouraged us to go on ahead with our plans to visit St. Louis and Mobile, arriving back only a few days before the wedding. Indeed, everyone really had jumped into the fray to help out, and they all had things well in hand. Thankfully the wedding dress that Kathleen had ordered from London had already come in, so even that vexing detail had worked out astonishingly well. So – we decided to take off.

We drove out to St. Louis where Kathleen met my parents and spent a number of days seeing the sights, eating and just relaxing. Nothing was ever said about our situation, but instead we just had a good time together. We then bid my parents goodbye, knowing that we would be seeing them in a couple of weeks back in Trenton, and headed on to Mobile.

Everyone was excited to meet Kathleen, wondering who it was that finally got me settled down. Martelle had a big reception for us. And Betsey invited us down to her parents' place on the Gulf. It was amazing how smoothly things worked out. Even in this crazy skifoffel, God stayed there right alongside us.

And we arrived back at Trenton in late June, had a great rehearsal, rehearsal dinner, a Saturday afternoon wedding, and an outdoor picnic afterwards at her parents' home, attended by family and friends from all over. It was done, we were now husband and wife. And the next day, Sunday, Kathleen became a member of the First Presbyterian Church of Trenton!

St. Louis … at the Gateway Arch along the Mississippi River

Rehearsal ... and rehearsal dinner afterwards

Kathleen's mom and dad

My mom and dad ... with pastor John and his wife Terese

Kathleen with Scoti and Mary

Kathleen with my sister, Gina, and Kathleen's mom

Tom and Debbie (Tom was a valuable coworker at the street ministry)

Kathleen's siblings (and dates), Brian, Colleen (middle), and John

The wedding the next day (even some of my street guys showed up!)

Colleen and Scoti

My parents greeting us

Kathleen's family

My family

Eat your heart out Elizabeth Taylor. It's been a long time since you looked this good!

Then we head off to a reception-picnic at her parents' house

SOUTH AFRICA

The South African arrangement

One problem remained: my trip to South Africa coming up in a little over a week's time. People began to protest that I couldn't go off leaving a week-old bride behind like that. Well, travel to South Africa cost money – lots of money! Actually on my part, I had received a grant from the seminary that paid for my ticket, and a seminary official had arranged all my stays for the two months I was to be gone. So I was completely taken care of!

But it seems that once the idea of Kathleen joining me in South Africa got put forward, people showed great interest in helping us out financially. We had originally asked for no wedding gifts, as we already had two households of furniture and gadgets as it was – and proposed instead that people make donations to the Hanover Street Ministry (which they did, generously). But once the idea was formed of actually seeing what we could put together to get Kathleen down to South Africa, gifts designated for the trip started pouring in.

And in the end, wouldn't you know it, we had exactly the amount ($1400) needed for her air tickets. As for the rest, Kathleen would simply become included in my own arrangements in South Africa.

But the miracles did not stop there. Getting a visa to South Africa was a lengthy and precarious process. We had friends still in Nairobi not able to advance further toward South Africa because their visas were still held up – and they had been working on this for months. But I had become friends with a consular official, Sommie, working in the South African consulate in New York City. In fact, I was going to be staying with his parents for a short time while I was in Pretoria, and he would be meeting me there! He assured me that Kathleen (whom he also knew at this point) would get her visa in record time!

Still, she didn't even have a passport yet, much less a visa. But even that – even down to getting a parking space on a very crowded street right in front of the office where she had to pick up her passport papers – seemed to get expedited by a mysterious hand. Thus by the time I was put on the plane for South Africa (actually Amsterdam, as the first leg of the journey), she had her passport, it was being hand processed for a visa, she had her air tickets, and would be joining me in Johannesburg in early August (which was the earliest we figured everything would be completely ready) to accompany me during my last month in South Africa.

Bernard

It was the Sunday before I was due to leave for South Africa, and I was telling my street guys that regretfully the ministry would be shutting down for the next two months during my absence. I didn't want to do this, but I could not come up with an alternative procedure, try as I might.

And literally, just as I was explaining this to my guys, in walked Bernard, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. But there was no way that would happen. He was one of my street-guy regulars from some time back, but now dressed up in a suit and looking very different from the person I once knew. It was a wonderful sight to see.

I really did not have much success in getting my guys moved off the streets, and had come to live with the fact that I was there simply to bring Christ to them as they presently found themselves, in whatever condition that might be. But here now before me in the form of Bernard was clearly something quite different.

He told us that he was getting ready for church, showering and shaving, when the "Voice" told him to pay a visit to the Hanover Street Ministry. Sure, why not? It had been some time and a very different world ago. But the ministry was a big part of the reason for that new world.⁸ But the Voice repeated itself: "go visit the Hanover Street Ministry." Okay, okay, I'll swing by sometime soon. A third time the Voice hit him: "go visit the Hanover Street Ministry!"

At this point Bernard figured that the Voice wanted him to do it immediately, even before he headed to church. But why was the Voice so insistent on this?

As Bernard explained to all of us gathered at the ministry this most peculiar set of circumstances, I knew immediately what the Voice was up to. So I asked: "Bernard, would you be willing to take over the directing of the Hanover Street Ministry during my absence in South Africa?" Bernard laughed! So that was what this was all about! Obviously he would do so, for clearly God was behind this strange development.

And so the ministry continued during my absence. When I came back two months later, I arrived to see the place filled with my guys. Bernard had done quite well. He informed me however that it didn't start out that way. At first the guys (whom he knew quite well) refused to take him seriously. He was, after all, just one of them! But Bernard stayed the course, and little by little the guys started returning, realizing that Bernard was the real thing. And he (and the church he was attending) would continue to be a big help to me in my remaining time at the ministry.

Praise God for such miracles!

⁸Bernard later told me that it was one Sunday night at the ministry when the Lord hit him hard. "Don't you remember that night?" he asked me. "I was jumping around and screaming." Actually I didn't, probably because wild behavior was not very uncommon at the ministry. Anyway, that was the last night at the ministry for him. He immediately moved on to clean up his life: job, apartment, church, all part of a new existence he was able to undertake. He said that it was a complete miracle, way beyond a person's natural ability to come off the streets. I certainly had to agree with that!

The guy in the gray suit on the left is Bernard.   And this is some of the men of his church ... who were big supporters of the Hanover Street Ministry

A sense of something about to break forth in South Africa

Anyway, it had been over 20 years since I had written my Georgetown master's thesis on South Africa. And my prediction that things would change little politically over the next generation had held true. Now I had a sense that things were beginning to shift dramatically – but for reasons other than the great armed uprising that the Liberal world had long been waiting for (and encouraging).

True, in the mid-1980s a lot of violence had hit South Africa. But I knew that this was as a result of new developments, not as the cause of them. Under President Botha, the government had been moving gradually but perceptibly toward a loosening of the apartheid restrictions imposed by his political predecessors. By the mid-1980s an atmosphere of change was evident everywhere – and translated itself easily into a sense of political opportunity among the Blacks ("revolution of rising expectations" we called it). It was this heady mood that caused the sudden outbreak of violence.

Botha responded (as I expected he would) with a clamping down on this behavior through a number of "emergency" laws. The Liberal West greeted his efforts to keep South Africa from blowing apart with cries of outrage – and by imposing a deep boycott on South Africa. To me the boycott appeared hypocritical – for it came actually as things were improving, not when things were their darkest. But I have never been a fond admirer of Liberal virtue.

But what intrigued me was that the reforms continued (though admittedly very guardedly). Now this was indeed something of note! This was a very strong departure from typical Afrikaner (Dutch-speaking White) behavior. Something big was going on in South Africa, though not as the West would understand it. And I proposed to find out what it was – as a senior thesis I was going to undertake at the seminary. And it was this proposal that had drawn the funding to allow me to spend two months in South Africa studying the situation. My old talents as a political risk analyst were being brought back into action!

Checking out my intuitions

Actually, my first couple of weeks in South Africa were very informal. I spent the time just relaxing in and around Pretoria and at a Zulu mission station (KwaSizabantu) in Natal. But this time was very important – for it gave me a chance 1) to see the thoughts and ways of the "new" Afrikaners and 2) to catch my first glimpse at how the White church was involved in promoting new attitudes of racial openness.

Not surprisingly, when the West thought of the "church" in South Africa, it thought of only one institution: the militant church of Nobel prizewinner Desmond Tutu and of Allan Boesak, enshrined in the South African Council of Churches (SACC). This was indeed a heroic institution. But I had my suspicions that it had greater influence within the West than within South Africa itself. True, this made it a very present "in-your-face" voice within South Africa. But I knew that this only served to steel Afrikaner hard-lining rather than soften it, much less break it down.

I found this institution to be of interest to me – but not nearly as interesting as the White church (the Dutch Reformed Church and the Anglo Protestant churches) that was actually beginning to address Afrikaner (and Anglo) racial attitudes. This White church had great influence within the South African political and economic scheme of things. But it was also the institution the West loved to ignore and even despise. Yet I knew that it, and it alone, had the power to bring the country around to a "new thing." And I had a sense that it was doing just that. This is what I wanted to study.

I explored White and Black districts – intrigued at the Afrikaner effort to restrict the flow of rural Blacks into the "White" cities, where typically Blacks headed to the districts such as Soweto and Alexandra. The effort had proven futile and hypocritical. It was futile in that there was as little likelihood of stopping such movement, just as there had been against the Angles and Saxons migrating into Celtic Britain – or as there was presently against the Central and South American Hispanics moving in mass numbers into Anglo California (and elsewhere in America)! It was hypocritical in that the White districts were quite ready to utilize the cheap labor produced by these migrants – which only acted as a greater magnet to the migration! And as with all hypocrisy, it produced enormous human cruelty.

Observing the shift

Nonetheless, the scene was shifting. Downtown Johannesburg was a scene not of apartheid (separateness) but of mixture. Shopping was robust and multiracial. The lunch counters and fast food restaurants where I ate when in town were fully integrated – with all races eating side by side quite unselfconsciously. This was not the image of South Africa that the West loved to hold of the country. In fact the contrast between the popular Western image and the reality of South Africa was shocking.

I spent two more weeks in the Pretoria-Johannesburg area interviewing – and awaiting Kathleen's arrival.

Very interestingly, I was greeted at the SACC offices with a mixture of politeness and suspicion. I had not arrived in South Africa as a participant in one of the many "study teams" that the West (to the huge annoyance of the South African government) sent to South Africa to get the "true story." Thus people at the SACC offices were not sure how to react to me. They did treat me to a presentation of the "true story" of South Africa. But sadly, I got little but well-rehearsed political cant from the SACC. But that in itself was revealing to me. I sensed that the SACC had played little, if any, role in producing these major developments currently unfolding in South Africa. Instead, it seemed content to conduct on-going warfare with the past.

The power of repentance

What was more revealing to me were the interviews I had with the leader of the Dutch Reformed Church and the personal secretary of President Botha. I knew that the DRC had officially "repented" of its previous support of apartheid. I knew that this had come at a great emotional cost to these very pious Afrikaners, involving virtually a crisis of identity. And I knew that one did not do such things unless there were very serious reasons for doing so.

In interviewing both men I listened to a story of true spiritual repentance (the sign of a distinct movement of God in their lives) – the kind of spiritual repentance I knew of from my own crazy personal life. I knew that this spiritual repentance was capable of moving mountains – the kinds of mountains I was seeing moved in South Africa. But sadly, I also knew that the secular West (even the Western church) seemed to find no way to appreciate – much less support – such spiritual development.

These men were dedicated to seeing real change – true integration – come to South Africa. They had a huge political task ahead of them: keeping the country from exploding while they moved it in the direction they now knew it had to go. They had political tempers to deal with everywhere that were poised ready even for a blood bath if necessary. They had to avoid letting power slip into such hands – or South Africa would end up a bloody tribally-torn country like so many others on the continent. I told them I would pray for their success. I meant it.

Here I am with Sommie and some pastor friends upon my arrival to Pretoria (near Johannesburg in the Transvaal Province)

Here I am with Sommie's family in Pretoria (his mom, his sister and his 4 kids) ...

At the Voortrekker Monument

... and then again at his parents' home in Pretoria

One of my favorite sites was Kwasizabantu Mission among the Zulu. I would visit it on my own for several days … then return again when Kathleen was with me.

Kathleen joins me in South Africa

Kathleen's arrival began our "honeymoon" phase. To contribute to this phase of our new marriage, my sister had arranged a week at a timeshare resort along the South African coast. But as it turned out, we were so busy touring that we gave the week to an elderly South African couple.

But the blessings continued nonetheless. For instance, we ourselves were given air tickets by our friend Sommie, so as to be able to make a grand tour of the country, from Johannesburg to Durban to Cape Town and back.

Another lesson about God's hand

Kathleen and I stayed with an Indian family in Durban – a young pastor with a very large church and an even bigger evangelical "crusade" going on. We got to participate in the latter on its very opening night. He had pitched a huge tent on a field in the middle of a very Hindu community, and I wondered just how successful he might be in trying to reach these very dedicated Hindus.

The evening came – and the people came! The tent got filled up (there must have been at least a thousand people packed in there)! The band played praise music quite familiar to me, and the pastor spoke – though only for what seemed like a very few minutes, before he announced an altar call. I was surprised. He hadn't "worked the crowd" with a fiery message. I sat – only for a moment – wondering if anyone would come forward. Then I watched in amazement as the whole crowd pressed forward for prayers (as if there was any room forward anyway). I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Hindus (and Muslims) were well known for their stiff resistance to the gospel message. And yet I was watching masses of Hindus (and probably also some Muslims) respond to the call!

Kathleen and I had dinner with the ministry team afterwards – and I had to ask the question: how did all of that happen? The pastor smiled, and pointed to one of his associates – the latter who explained that this was his first meal in two weeks. He and a team of 200 others had been fasting and praying during that time for the success of this crusade. That – not any fiery "working of the crowd" – was what they understood produced what I saw earlier that evening.

I felt sheepish for having asked such a foolish question, and for having to be reminded that God, not man, brings souls to Christ! That was a lesson I will never forget!

Completing the picture of the "new" South Africa

I then took Kathleen to the KwaSizabantu Mission – in time to attend a multiracial pastors' conference taking place there. Hundreds of pastors had come from around the country to talk about a "new" South Africa, the work of the hand of God. I chose to sit among some of the Afrikaner pastors to get a closer feel for their reactions – and to be able to engage them in discussion about their feelings on the subject. They were in fact very affirmative, and quite hopeful that the miracle of a "reconciled" South Africa was at hand. As a lot of these pastors were from churches in very-White rural South Africa – I knew that indeed big things were going on in the country.

We flew on to Cape Town, stayed among Presbyterians, and again – had confirmed this sense of new things stirring. We visited the townships, met with a wide variety of movers and shakers of events at the Cape – and also remembered just to take in the wonderful natural beauty of the area.

At this point, I had a sense that I had a pretty complete picture of the dynamics of the country – enough to make a senior thesis presentation – and thus it was time to relax and just enjoy the last of our stay. We returned to Johannesburg, I did some final interviews, and then we returned home to the States, weary but transformed by the experience.

In the process, Kathleen and I had really become a team.

Then Kathleen arrived ... and things turned even more awesome!

Wow ... bottle-feeding a lion cub (cute little pet!)

Our hosts for me in Johannesburg ... and then for both of us after Kathleen's arrival

I return to Kwasizabantu with Kathleen.
We arrive just as a huge multi-ethnic pastor's conference gets underway.

Then off to Durban, the capital of the heavily ethnic-Indian Natal Province (Gandhi had practiced law here 21 years ... before heading off to India – to save it from the English!)

We stayed with one of those ethnic-Indian families ... a pastor and his wife. We arrived just in time to see him lead a huge tent revival ... with mostly Hindus attending. After preaching only briefly, he issued an altar call. I was shocked to see masses of Indians press forward.

Later that evening, as we were having dinner I asked him how such a short sermon could have such an impact. He informed me that it was not his sermon ... but that his team had been fasting and in prayer for two whole weeks before the event . That – not his sermon – was what had moved the crowd. Of course ... how could I not have seen such results coming from a higher source than our own manipulations! I would always remember this event.

We then moved on to Cape Town ... where we had a most lovely stay ... sort of our "honeymoon."

Our hosts in Cape Town / with those hosts and a Presbyterian pastor and his wife

On top of Cape Town's Table Mountain. That's actually a city down below!

Table Mountain from a safer perspective!

And the pastor and his wife showed us a bit of South Africa's 350-year-old Dutch history nearby

Back to Johannesburg

And what we saw was a lot more racial integration than we had been led to believe to be the case on the basis of the reporting by American newspapers back home. To be sure there were rich and very poor areas (but where in Africa was this not also the case?).

And there was plenty of political agitation impacting South Africa, everything from quite peaceful demonstrations to a violent attack on the Khotso House, headquarters of a very liberal Christian "liberation" organization (the South African Council of Churches or SCC) that played very big in the West – busily portraying South Africa to the rest of the world in the worst light possible (it brought them a lot of international political attention ... and funding).

Yet from all the political discussions and observations I was able to make personally I knew that there was distinctly some kind of racial reconciliation going on ... moved by some new Spirit.

This was ultimately what I would write about!

It was good to be back home … and see that Bernard had done an excellent job keeping things going in my absence.

December: The weather has turned colder. Not surprisingly, attendance is up!

Some of my "regulars" – even over the years.

Kathleen was pregnant. And it was good to see the guys
take a protective stance towards her in this crazy environment.

GRADUATION

My Last Year of Seminary

Kathleen and I returned to our new home in the condo unit just outside Princeton and got ourselves ready for my final year of seminary.

Actually, the year (September 1988 to May 1989) at school went fast. I had a number of required courses I had to take (ugh!)⁹ but was able to include some courses I really did want, such as the one on Dietrich Bonhoeffer and the one on John Calvin.

Allan Boesak

One incident stands out strongly in my memory of that last year: Allan Boesak's evening appearance at the Nassau Presbyterian Church in Princeton in October. He was out of the country when I was in South Africa (as was also Archbishop Tutu) so I hadn't had the opportunity to interview him. But I was very curious about what he saw in the numerous changes taking place in his country. So I was looking forward to this event.

Actually hundreds of people turned out and the church was packed. I recognized a lot of people from the seminary – most of them from among what I styled as the "peace and social justice" group.

Unfortunately, as the talk proceeded, I quickly recognized that we were simply going to be treated that evening to a repetition of the SACC "true story" – the unbearable pain of life in South Africa and the evil dimensions of those who governed the country – a litany which I (and I guess most everybody else there) knew by heart. But then I guess that that was what most people had come for. I was disappointed – for the talk provided no real insight into what SACC leadership was thinking about what was presently and most clearly unfolding within the country.

Then we went to a question and answer period – and as I was pondering whether or not to disturb the evening's peace and social justice ritual with a question about his views on some of the positive recent developments, a man stood up in the balcony to pose just that question. He announced himself as a minister who had returned from the country after a long stay there and had noticed a number of hopeful developments going on within the country – and would Rev. Boesak be willing to elaborate for the benefit of us all about those.

Whew! I was so glad that I was not the poor soul who posed that question, for Boesak lit into him as if this man were some kind of demented soul who had somehow gotten himself ensnared by the propaganda of the White racist government – for "obviously" he knew nothing about what was really going on in South Africa. There was "nothing" in the unfolding situation within South Africa – past, present or future – that pointed to hope. The only hope was for outside help in crushing the fascism that gripped the country.

The crowd went wild! They hooted, they hollered, they set up a rhythmic stamping of their feet in wild support, as if they were in a basketball gymnasium rather than in a church. This went on and on – with Boesak beaming, and with the people finally rising to their feet in wild approval. After several minutes of this, Kathleen and I quietly made our way up the aisle through the frenzy and out the door into a calmer and more refreshing evening.

I was reminded by this incident how it was that Hitler had so easily mesmerized the masses with his inflammatory (but otherwise rather banal) rhetoric. He gave the masses what they wanted to hear. And that became for him – and the German people – the definition of "Truth," which led both Germany and its leader to social and personal suicide – not to mention the destruction of millions of innocent Europeans in his death camps.

⁹Such as the course on Presbyterian Church "polity" (rules and regulations directing Presbyterian churches), rather pointless for me since I had already studied all that – and indeed had passed all my ordination exams qualifying me for the Presbyterian ministry.

Allan Boesak

Rachel (January 1989)

Christmas and New Year during my last year in seminary was a very special time. Not only did Kathleen celebrate her birthday in mid-December, but we were entering the ninth month of Kathleen's pregnancy. The baby was expected shortly after mid-January. We were excited.

On Sunday the fifteenth (Martin Luther King's birthday) at less than one minute before midnight a baby girl entered independent life and drew her first breath. As with all couples experiencing their first birth – we felt totally unprepared to meet such an awesome event. But it went very quickly – as if it were just going to happen anyway. This is just one of those events that's bigger than even its participants. It was a great lesson in trust

The next day, as I returned to the hospital following a few hours' sleep – I was very lightheaded, though not just from the lack of sleep. There was such a surreal aspect to finally becoming a father. Rachel (as we had a name ready for a girl) and Kathleen, as I saw them together, seemed to me to embody all of the wonderful qualities of a Madonna and Child painting: beauty, peace, vitality, hope. And I was at one with the universe!

People on campus and at church shared our excitement. I was so glad I heard not a single snide comment from anyone about the discrepancy in months from wedding to birth. This was something that I know weighed heavily upon us. But indeed, people were not only gracious but also truly nurturing of the new parents. It made everything so completely wonderful.

The New Year (1989) involved me finishing up my senior thesis "Reconciliation in South Africa" (250+ pages), our first child Rachel being born, me looking at various job prospects ... and ultimately getting ready for graduation in June.

Liberation Theology ("Jesus with a submachine gun!") strikes back

The last semester of my senior year I got seriously to work on my senior thesis – done under the direction of a young professor that I had worked closely with in Trenton in my first year there on a project to bring some of the city's poor children to Sunday School at the church. I think that was the only reason he agreed to supervise the thesis – for I knew that he was an ardent Liberation Theologian and he himself told me that he was quite certain that nothing short of armed uprising was ever going to change South Africa (not that he knew very much specifically about South Africa).

At first he was very laudatory of my work. I turned in my first 100 pages simply outlining the different racial groups, explaining their different political positions, and laying out the socio-economic situation under apartheid. He told me that it was very well written, and that it gave him the clearest picture he had ever had about the South African situation. But we never got together on the rest of my study: the role of the various political interest groups inside and outside of the country, the very special role of the church, the recent changes in the mood of the country, and my prognosis of something big about to break in the form of a truly multiracial regime in the country – all achieved by "reform" or "spiritual reconciliation" rather than violent revolution.

The title of the thesis "Reconciliation in South Africa" did not sit well with him – but that was nothing in comparison to how he greeted the rest of the thesis. As I turned it in (a total of over 250 pages – the size of many doctoral dissertations!) at the end of the term, we really had never discussed my ideas on where the rest of the thesis was headed. And as he departed for Nicaragua for a week just prior to the end of the term, I really got no playback at all from him on the thesis. But I really hadn't given it a thought, as I had many details to keep track of as I finished off my seminary experience.

But I wasn't prepared for the phone call from the Registrar on the Friday before Tuesday's graduation day – to inform me that she had, just that afternoon, finally received his grade report for my thesis (it was way overdue being turned in – in fact she had to chase him down to get it). But he had assigned an "F" to the project!

But she told me not to worry, she had already taken the initiative to rearrange my course categories in such a way that she had, on her own, reconstructed a senior concentration for me (Biblical studies instead of Christian ethics). Anyway I had so many extra course credits that this 6 hours of "F" would hardly be a ripple in the stream.

On Monday I picked up his written comments on the thesis. He was outraged by my conclusions – feeling that I was merely playing the part of propagandist for the tyrannical Afrikaner regime by taking such a weak position against the real needs of the country for liberation. The "F" was his way of making clear the size of his sense of outrage.

Things move ahead anyway

I think he was quite surprised to see me the next day at commencement exercises. He did not know I had all those extra credits. Ordinarily that "F" would have been sufficient to keep a student from graduating – as he well knew. Also, lacking the seminary's degree, this would have also prevented my ordination. That had been, after all, the purpose of the "F."

Ah, bubble-dwelling intellectuals, you've got to love them!

That next year after my graduation was a heady time for the world – for not only did South Africa turn upside down but so did all of the East European Communist world. Without a shot being fired from the "Free World," Communism collapsed. I could imagine the disappointment of some in the Pentagon who were not going to get a chance to destroy Communism themselves! It was, I imagined, much like the feelings of some of the Liberation Theologians who were not going to get a chance to destroy Apartheid in South Africa!

As I thought about it, though militants in the Pentagon and militants in the Peace-and-Social-Justice movement probably thought of themselves as total opposites, I realized that they had much in common.

What I learned from all this (including watching the scene in Eastern Europe) is that God is Redeemer not only of individuals, but also of nations and civilizations. All of the events of those days seemed to me to have not the hand of Man on them – but of God. Of that the South Africans seemed certain. And this is also what I think I heard coming from Gorbachev. I just don't why that is such a hard concept for some Americans, particularly some Christians in America, to understand!

Commencement

Anyway – graduation itself came on a bright day at the end of May 1989. My sister Gina and her husband Grady flew in from California and my parents from Arizona. Rachel was a special feature of the proceedings – a living symbol of the new things opening up before us. It was a warm time of coming together with some and also saying goodbye to others, people with whom I had spent many close moments. It was also a time of major transition, an event marking a key point along the way of my own personal spiritual pilgrimage.

SETTLING INTO FAMILY LIFE

Rachel with her first doll – Christmas 1989

Rachel with my mom and dad ... and with Kathleen's sister Arlene and her aunt Betty

Family – not profession – becomes my primary social value at this point

As a family, there were places to visit ... things to do that were simply great fun

For instance, there was my parents' 50th wedding anniversary held in Phoenix (Feb 1990)

... which brought family together
... and a drive to LA to visit an animal park and Disneyland!

And with Kathleen's family close by, get-togethers were frequent and fun

A gathering of the Quinn family (Kathleen's mom side of the family) and at Maureen and Nils's farm at the Jersey Shore

And there were simply lots of things for us to do on our own such as the Terhune farm and the Jersey Shore

Oh how I loved being a husband and father!

Dancing with Rachel at the wedding of Kathleen's brother John and Teresa – Sept. 1990.

Rachel was a quick learner,
walking by the time she was 9 months old

Go on to the next section: The Garfield Years

Miles H. Hodges

THE PRINCETON YEARS June 1986 to December 1990

THE PRINCETON YEARS

June 1986 to
December 1990