DEATH IN THE COLISEUM

 4232

Pt. 1

Atticus and Valentina lived in a large flat just outside of Rome; a few decades after the Christ was crucified and his disciples claimed He had risen from the dead. They had two children. Antonio was thirteen and Cecilia was nine.

Atticus was a stone mason and had recently been employed to help construct a vast amphitheater known as the Coliseum. He took jobs as they came along, and had prospered as the result of little or no advertising; except word of mouth. People told people about the quality of his work. Valentina was a stay at home mother.

Both Atticus and Valentina had been brought up in a culture which believed in many gods and goddesses, and in the manner which they impacted the daily lives of mortals. Every Roman household had a shrine, and prayer was the order of the day.

Whomever occupied the Roman throne was referred to as Caesar, and he was venerated as a God-like man. One’s allegiance to Caesar was analogous to one’s allegiance to the nation. Lately, the veneration of what Caesar claimed was a dead Christ had been problematic, and was thought of as sacrilege and treason.

The Apostles Paul and Peter had only just been executed in the previous five years, though Luke was still sharing the Gospel message in Greece, and had also had a profound effect on the people of Italy and the surrounding countries. Atticus had once been invited to hear Dr. Luke preach in one of the local churches that met in the catacombs. And though he realized his participation there was tantamount to treason, he felt compelled to investigate this so-called “gospel.”

As a pastor and theologian named John Wesley recounted in the past two centuries, when Atticus heard the Word of God, he “found his heart strangely warmed,” and, as a result, he prostrated himself before Dr. Luke, and acknowledged Christ as Lord, Savior and Messiah of his life.

Pt. 2

From that day forward, Atticus attended the church in the catacombs, and urged his wife to join him. And while Valentina was reticent to do so, and often reminded Atticus that the worship of what Christians claimed was the “one and only true God” bore a heavy penalty, she eventually relented, and on such and such a day, the entire family attended church together.

And as you might expect, after attending several worship services, and hearing the Word of God taught by Dr. Luke, and several other learned Gentile converts, Valentina followed Atticus’ example, and submitted herself to the Lordship of the God-man, Jesus Christ. Their children, Antonio and Cecilia, eventually followed their lead, and when they had an “open door,” the family members shared the Gospel message with their friends, and relatives. Of course, by now, Atticus had long since dragged his personal stone shrine to the polytheistic deities, which he had so often worshipped, into a nearby field, and had pounded it to dust with a sledge hammer. (Strange, he thought, how free he felt once he had disposed of this spiritual relic of the past).

However, as you might imagine and know to be true, Caesar was having none of these treasonous shenanigans, and he issued orders to his commissioned cohorts that believers in the Christ, and for that matter, believers in any other god, except those to whom Roman allegiance was due, should be arrested.

And sadly, it was not long before one of Atticus’ so-called friends, and who happened to be his chief apprentice in the stone cutting trade, reported him to the authorities.

Two days later, Atticus, Valentina, Antonio and Cecilia were arrested. By this time Antonio was 18 and Cecilia was 14.

Pt. 3

Father, mother, son and daughter were marched to the office, and ultimately the courtroom of the local magistrate, and tried in the space of an hour. The hapless family were denied an attorney, and sat together in a small barred enclosure, as the magistrate questioned Marcus, Atticus’ former apprentice and friend, concerning what he knew about the latter’s conversion experience and spiritual testimony. Ultimately, the judge cast his gaze towards Atticus and his family, and beginning with Valentina, asked each one of them two questions.

Are the facts your accuser has testified to true?

(and)

Are you, in fact, a believer in this Jewish imposter who claimed to be the Christ of God?

In turn, Valentina, Antonio and Cecelia, and finally Atticus acknowledged that Marcus had told the truth, and that they had invested their faith in the Christ. And Atticus took advantage of this open door to add,

“And your honor, some may refer to my Lord as an imposter, but we will all stand before Him one day, and give an account of the deeds we have done in our body, and whether we acknowledged Him as our Lord.”

As Atticus concluded his statement, the magistrate shouted,

“Enough! I find each and every one of you guilty of sedition and treason. I sentence you to death!”

Husband, wife, son and daughter were immediately led out of the courtroom, placed in a horse cart, and driven to a very familiar structure; the very amphitheater which Atticus had helped build several years before; that notorious edifice called the Coliseum.

Pt. 4

Now, father and son and mother and daughter were separated, and placed in holding cells with others of their gender and Christian persuasion. They had no allusions about what lay ahead of them. And since Roman so-called “justice” was swift, it would not be long before their fates would be sealed.

Several hours passed during which time Atticus had an opportunity to talk with several other prisoners. One, in particular, a man named Aurelius, was a non-believer who had been condemned to death for the murder of his neighbor. The two had argued about the repayment of a loan, and the argument had gotten out of hand. Aurelius had plunged his dagger into the man.

Not one to miss every opportunity, even at this late hour, Atticus shared the Gospel with Aurelius, and the murderer acknowledged Christ as Lord; with the full assurance that he would be with Jesus in the space of hours.

Now, the afternoon approached, and thousands of Roman citizens began to stream through the arched doorways of the Coliseum. Finally, Caesar made his appearance and took his place high above the crowds. As their illustrious leader found his appointed seat, the crowd stood and applauded and shouted his praises. Now, with the wave of his hand, the audience members sat down and prepared for the brutal contests and sacrilege which would play out before them.

The first act, as it were, included gladiators engaged in hand to hand combat with one another, and with beasts such as lions and tigers. Some members of the crowd, both men and women, swooned at the carnage, and had to be taken out of the amphitheater. Others cast their eyes downward. Still others turned their heads, and gagged.

Pt. 5

It was a custom to offer a commutation to Roman believers who would deny their faith, and it was in recognition of this custom that Atticus’ and Antonio’s and Valentina’s and Cecilia’s jailers provided them a final opportunity to relent, and to renounce their faith; prior to being transported to the arena.

Naturally, Antonio and Cecilia considered the unlived decades that stretched out before them, and the years they would be denied. And naturally, Atticus and Valentina trembled with the recognition that they were not only minutes away from the most hideous death a human being could experience, but the realization that their children were on the very threshold of the same grisly, painful fate.

The respective jailers spoke.

“Will you deny the man you call the Christ?”

(and)

“Will you acknowledge Caesar as your Lord?”

The family members, each in turn, shook their heads, and, along with the other condemned prisoners, were ushered to elevators which transported them to the ground floor of the Coliseum.

As Atticus and Antonio stepped off the elevator, they saw Valentina and Cecilia step out of another one. With this, the family members rushed towards one another, and huddled together in the center of the Coliseum.

Atticus could not help but take it all in. What still remained of the carnage of the earlier brutal contests, the colorful clothing among the thousands of spectators who filled the grandstands, Caesar and his entourage. “Odd,” he thought. “I helped build this massive amphitheater, and now my family and I are about to die here.”

Afterward

Now, two larger elevators opened on the north and south ends of the arena. And now, two men who stood on top of each elevator pulled up a heavy gate, and allowed several hungry lions to exit their enclosure; lions which had been purposely starved for just such a momentous day as this.

Now, the ravenous beasts rushed towards the dozens of innocent,  and not so innocent human beings, before them, thieves, and murderers, as well as Roman citizens who had invested their faith in the risen Lord.

With this, Atticus, Valentina, Antonio and Cecilia joined hands, and knelt together in the dust of the Coliseum. And now, Atticus spoke the last words he would ever speak on this side of glory. 

 

“Remember, my dear family. God will give us grace to endure our last few moments on this side of glory. This is not our home. Heaven is our true Home. We will soon see Jesus.”

And as the ravenous beasts approached their prey, first one, and then another, and then another believer began to sing a well known song about the beauty of heaven, and the outstretched arms of their blessed Savior.

by Bill McDonald, PhD

 

A MR. ROGERS STORY

 4231

A MR. ROGERS STORY

By Allison Carter, USA Today

Fred Rogers’ mother told him, “Whenever you are scared. Always look for the helpers. They’ll be there. No matter how bad things are, there are always people willing to help.”

Anthony Breznican, a senior writer at Entertainment Weekly once experienced a lifetime encounter with Fred Rogers that will restore your faith in humanity. Breznican, like Rogers, hails from Pittsburgh. And like most of us, he grew up watching Mr. Rogers. And then he outgrew him. Until he needed his kindness again, when he was in college.

“As I got older, I lost touch with the show, (which ran until 2001). But one day in college, I rediscovered it. I was having a hard time. The future seemed dark. I was struggling. Lonely. Dealing with a lot of broken pieces, and not adjusting well. I went to Pitt and devoted everything I had to a school paper; hoping it would propel me into some kind of worthwhile future.

It was easy to feel hopeless. During one season of my life it was especially bad. Walking out of my dorm, I heard familiar music.

‘Won’t you be my neighbor?’

The TV was playing in the common room. Mr. Rogers was asking me what I do with the mad I feel. I had lots of ‘mad’ stored up. Still do. It feels so silly to say, but I stood mesmerized. His program felt like a cool hand on my head. I left feeling better.”

Then, days later something amazing happened. Breznican went to step into an elevator. The doors opened, and he found himself looking into the face of Mr. Rogers. Breznican kept it together at first. The two just nodded at each other. But when Mr. Rogers began to walk away, he couldn’t miss the opportunity to say something.

“The doors open. He lets me go out first. I step out, but turn around.

‘Mr. Rogers, I don’t mean to bother you. But I just want to say, Thanks.’

He smiles, but this probably happens to him every ten feet all day long.

‘Did you grow up as one of my neighbors?’

I felt like crying.

‘Yeah. I did.’

With this, Mr. Rogers opened his arms, lifting his satchel, for a hug.

‘It’s good to see you again, neighbor.’

I got to hug Mr. Rogers! This is about the time we both began crying.”

But this story is about to get even better.

“We chatted a few minutes. Then Mr. Rogers started to walk away. After he had taken a couple of steps, I said in a kind of rambling rush that I’d stumbled on the show recently when I really needed it. So, I said, ‘Thanks’ for that. Mr. Rogers paused, and motioned towards the window, and sat down on the ledge.

This is what set Mr. Rogers apart. No one else would have done this. He says,

“Do you want to tell me what is upsetting you?”

So, I sat down. I told him my grandfather had just died. He was one of the good things I had. I felt lost. Brokenhearted. I like to think I didn’t go on and on, but pretty soon he was talking to me about his granddad, and a boat the old man had given to him as a kid.

Mr. Rogers asked how long ago my Pap had died. It had been a couple of months. His grandfather was obviously gone for decades. He still wished the old man was here, and wished he still had the boat.

‘You never really stop missing the people you love,’ Mr. Rogers said.

That boat had been a gift from his grandfather for something. Maybe good grades; something important. Rogers didn’t have the boat anymore, but he had given him his ethic for work.

‘Things, really important things that people leave with us are with us always.’

By this time, I’m sure my eyes looked like stewed tomatoes. Finally, I said, ‘thank you,’ and I apologized if I had made him late for an appointment.

‘Sometimes you’re right where you need to be,’ he said.

Mr. Rogers was there for me. So, here’s my story on the 50^th anniversary of his program for anyone who needs him now. I never saw him again. But that quote about people who are there for you when you’re scared? That’s authentic. That’s who he was. For real.”

Mr. Rogers died in 2003. When Breznican heard the news, he sat down at his computer, and cried. Not over the loss of a celebrity, but a neighbor.

Thank you for being one of those helpers, Mr. Rogers. We hope that somewhere, you’re in a boat with your grandpa again.

 

 

ADOLF HITLER: RENOWNED ARTIST

 4230

Pt. 1

Recently, I attended a lecture by a survivor of the Holocaust who, as a child, experienced the most horrific of circumstances. My uncle also experienced the monstrosity visited upon the Jewish race, firsthand, as near the end of WWII his Army unit marched into one of Germany’s concentration camps. Having witnessed the most unspeakable horrors, he never spoke about what he saw there.

Of course, one man was, ultimately, responsible for the advent of the Second World War, the deaths of countless soldiers, sailors and marines, untold civilians, and the murder of six million Jews.

Adolf Hitler

However, before issuing the executive order which led to the deaths of millions of innocent men, women and children, almost single-handedly attempting to destroy the Western world as we know it, Adolf Hitler was an “up and coming,” (albeit unsuccessful) artist.

Subsequent to his service in the German Army during WWI, “the little corporal” completed numerous murals which had as their subject buildings, monuments, and landscapes. And while some amateur and professional art critics have, well, criticized his artistic ability, from my perspective some of his paintings were quite good.

Between the two World Wars, and before the artist wannabe gave a moment’s thought to ruling one of the major nations of the world, and subjecting others to his domination, Adolph Hitler had dreamed a different dream.

Pt. 2

And to his credit, the non-descript little man was not only a dreamer, but a doer; since he not only managed to transfer his colorful visions to canvas, but he made application for acceptance to The Academy of Fine Arts in Vienna.

Twice

However, Adolf was turned down as many times as he applied. And his potential approval, and his ultimate rejection had been left to the whims of one man; a faculty member and advisor at this prestigious academy.

It is ironic that as the unrelenting, demonic dictator of the Third Reich the great architecture and pastoral villages he painted were, ultimately, destroyed by his actions.

Among Adolph’s artworks are some paintings which provide an almost prophetic look into the as yet to be fulfilled future of the most evil and dictatorial individual in the history of the world. For among the colorful landscapes are also images of WWI tanks; littering a barren landscape, and smoke rising from their turrets.

I have often reflected on that momentous decision which denied Adolf Hitler the opportunity to undertake a course of action which might have, literally, changed the course of human history, and whomever was responsible for that singular decision.

I have wondered whether the man who denied the future dictator, and warlord the opportunity to fulfill his artistic dream, having experienced the abject awfulness which the little despot visited on this planet, regretted having rejected his prospective student. A man who unknowingly, unwittingly exercised more power than Hitler ever realized in his lifetime; who with one stroke of a pen, a few words on a rejection letter, doomed millions of hapless victims to certain death.

Adolf Hitler. Renowned artist.

The saddest words in any language.

…What might have been

by Bill McDonald, PhD

A GOOD SERGEANT & A LITTLE MONK

 4229

*The following story is based on limited information, but is, given the absence of complete details, generally factual in nature. Some incidentals in the story line are included to provide dramatic effect. The characters in the story, except for Sergeant Otis Vaughn, have been assigned fictional names, since the actual names of these characters are unknown.

During the early 60’s, Le Duc Nguyen, a nine year old apprentice monk was walking through a thicket of bamboo on his way to fetch a bucket of water from a nearby stream. It was mid-morning and the air had begun to heat up a bit, and now and then he felt a vine or small branch brush against his sandaled feet.

However, what he felt next was anything but a vine or branch. For suddenly, he sensed a piercing wound to his right ankle. Looking down Le found himself looking at the largest snake he had ever seen in the short decade he had lived in this Vietnamese hamlet. His parents had often warned him about the multitude of poison snakes which inhabited their little corner of the world.

Le immediately recognized it. He had been bitten by a Chinese Cobra, one of the most venomous snakes on the planet. The little monk watched as the Cobra slithered away into the bamboo thicket, dropped his bucket, and immediately turned, and retraced his steps back to the Buddhist monastery. The compound was about two hundred yards distant, and by the time he arrived there, he was struggling to catch his breath.

Phen Doc Toe, one of the older monks, saw Le limp up to the compound, and knew something was very wrong. He had sent the boy for water, but he noticed there was no bucket in his hands now, and that Le’s cheeks were red, and that one of his ankles was badly swollen.

Phen asked Le an almost rhetorical question.

“What has happened to you, Le?”

Le struggled to speak.

“I was walking through the bamboo thicket near the river, and I was bitten by a Cobra.”

Pt. 2

Phen Doc was absolutely mortified. He knew that such a bite was almost certain death. He was also all too aware that the monastery was poorly equipped to treat anything, but the most minor of maladies and injuries.

Phen grabbed the boy up in his arms, and rushed him to the small Buddhist temple. As he walked into the sanctuary, he noticed that the chief priest and a few of his fellow monks were chanting their morning prayers.

As Phen barged through the door, six or eight priests turned from their prayers; with a momentary look of consternation on their faces. However, their consternation quickly disappeared in favor of shock and empathy.

The priest who held the suffering little apprentice shouted.

“Le went to get water and stepped on a Cobra. He is certain to die.”

The priests attending the altar turned from their prayers, and ran to the duo. Do Van Tien, the chief priest, took Le from Phen’s arms, and set him down on a bamboo mat. By now, Le’s breathing was shallow, and his neck and face were red and swollen.

The chief priest laid hands on the boy, and began praying. There was simply nothing else to be done. The priest’s subordinates hovered around the little boy, and did much the same thing.

Hundreds of South Vietnamese men, women and children were bitten by the thirty-seven varieties of venomous snakes which frequented the area on a yearly basis. And since much of the countryside lacked proper medical facilities, the snake bites were almost always fatal.

Pt. 3

Sergeant Otis Vaughn was a member of an Army surveying team in South Vietnam during the Vietnam War. He and his team members were tasked with the preliminary work which went into laying in roads for the American forces to travel from one hamlet to another.

As they were “going about their business” one day, and had pulled their jeeps off the road for a smoke or water break, as the case may be, the young sergeant heard voices on a nearby hillside. While the survey team’s primary mission was surveying, they were equipped with M-16 rifles, and knew how to use them. They were, after all, soldiers first, and surveyors second. He knew the entirety of South Vietnam was rife with Viet Cong, and North Vietnamese regulars, and that they would just as soon shoot your head off, as look at you.

Otis yelled to the six privates who accompanied him.

“Get down!”

Everyone hit the dirt, and lay there pondering their next move.

It was then that Sergeant Vaughn realized what the sound was that permeated the jungle foliage surrounding them.

Prayers

As someone who knew him, I can tell you no one ever accused Otis of what might be referred to as a “depleted sense of curiosity.” He was going to find discover what the commotion was all about.

“Okay men, false alarm. Get up. Stay here, and keep your eyes open. I’m going to climb that hill, and have a little peek.”

With this, Sergeant Vaughn walked to the base of the hill, about fifty yards distant, and trudged up the five hundred feet which separated him from his quest.

Pt. 4

As the winded military man arrived at the summit of the hill, he lay on his stomach, and peered into the Buddhist compound. The voices were louder now, and they were obviously coming from a small bamboo temple a couple hundred feet away.

And while the young sergeant’s courage had waned a bit, and he felt a sense of dread rising in his chest, he stood, and began to walk slowly towards the temple. Of course, Otis still cradled his M-16 in his arms, and was wary of any sound or movement from the small huts on his left and right.

Now, Sergeant Vaughn strode through the door of the little sanctuary, and witnessed several Buddhist priests surrounding what appeared to be a prostrate boy. At this juncture, the priests stopped their chanting, and greeted the foreigner with wary eyes.

Otis did his best to put the priests at ease. He smiled the friendliest smile he knew how to conjure up, and raised his arms in somewhat of a quasi-surrender.

Now, looking down at the man whom he surmised was in charge of this motley crew, and speaking slowly, he asked,

“I heard your voices. Can I help you?”

The American looked innocent enough to the chief priest, and it just so happened that Do Van Tien knew some rudimentary English. He responded,

“The boy. He been bitten by, by Cobra. He dying.”

Pt. 5

The good sergeant’s mind raced, and he thought,

“Well, not if I have anything to do with it. Not on my watch.”

And he said much the same thing to the chief priest.

Indicating he was a whole lot more than words, and intended to take action, Sergeant Vaughn nearly shouted at Do Van Tien.

“Trust me. Let me have the boy. I’ll take him to an Army field hospital.”

By now, Le was drifting in and out of consciousness, and the chief priest realized that there was absolutely nothing to lose. He slowly nodded his head, and the would-be savior stooped down, picked up the little monk, and gently placed him over his left shoulder.

“There now. It’s going to be okay.”

And all the while he must have been thinking,

“At least, I hope it’s going to be okay.”

Now, retracing his steps, Le’s rescuer hurried down the hill to where his six team members and two jeeps were waiting. Sergeant Vaughn laid the almost comatose little monk in the back of the nearest vehicle, and informed his crew that their mission had been temporarily suspended.

“The boy has been bitten by a Cobra. There’s a field hospital a few miles from here. Let’s go!”

Pt. 6

I will allow my niece to finish this wonderful story for you.

“After my dad carried the little monk down the mountain, and managed to get him to a field hospital, the Army doctors administered an antidote for the Cobra bite, and the young man began showing signs that the chief priest’ prognosis was a little hasty.

 “After he told me this story, I exclaimed,

‘Dad, you saved that boy’s life!’”

Suddenly, my dad’s eyes misted up a little, and he replied,

“No. No, I just got into a jeep with him and took him to a hospital.”

“My dad could have chosen not to help. He could have made a decision to do his military duty, and continue the mundane task of surveying a forlorn little jungle road in Vietnam. But he got involved. My father carried a 50 pound little boy, plus his own gear down a jungled mountain, and drove him to a field hospital.

But, instead of doing his good deed, and leaving the little guy, he remained by his side. He knew the boy didn’t know English, and that he would be scared when he woke up, and would need someone to look after him.

“You would have to know my dad. His mission was simply not over ‘til it was over. Daddy sat next to that little monk ‘til he recovered, and then drove him back home.”

I am happy to tell you that the little monk made a full recovery. I am equally happy to inform you that Sergeant Otis Vaughn was my brother in law, and that finished his tour in Vietnam, and returned home to the United States where he went on to live out the remainder of his life.

Otis impacted hundreds of family, friends and co-workers with a sense of humor and empathetic spirit as big as all outdoors. He was a man’s man, and one of those characters who when they are gone, it is as if they should have always been with us. The vacuum he left behind can almost be touched.

We were all born to fulfill a task bigger than ourselves. Sergeant Otis Vaughn was no exception. An old Vietnamese monk lives and moves and breathes today because a good man momentarily set aside his military duties, and took time to express love, and compassion towards a hurting little boy in a hamlet far off the beaten trail.

 by Bill McDonald, PhD

 

 

 

THE BEST OF TIMES

 4228

This morning I was thinking about a very special moment in my life, the day that I received Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior.

It was early June of 1967, and I had graduated from high school just two weeks earlier. One of my friends invited me to attend a summer revival on the campus of Southeastern Bible College in central Florida.

 And although I attended the local Methodist church regularly, was a member of the youth group, and had been involved in three youth camps over the years, I had never had a profoundly religious experience during the course of my first 18 years.

At the time, this Assemblies of God college looked more like a World War II military installation, than a center of academic learning. It was definitely a "bare bones" environment with what looked like barracks for dormitories.

That first night of the revival Gene and I sat through a few songs, and a sermon, and as John Wesley described it, I "felt my heart strangely warmed." As the Assemblies of God National Sunday School Superintendent, Rev. William Kirschke, gave the altar call, I found myself getting up out of my seat, and walking towards the front of this hanger style chapel.

As I kneeled to pray, an elderly man knelt beside me, and led me in what I later learned was "the Sinner's Prayer." When I arose from my kneeling position, the slightly built seventy something minister introduced himself. He was a Dutch missionary named Jerry Triemstra. He had, at one time, been assigned to a South American country.

As you might well imagine, I refer to these two men in the previous two paragraphs as my spiritual fathers. And while I never saw either of them again, I will always be grateful to them, and look forward to seeing them again in heaven.

It was the best of times. 

 by William McDonald, PhD

THE WORST OF TIMES

 4227

Pt. 1

I attended a local community college the fall after my high school graduation, and the following fall I transferred to Southeastern Bible College; the site of my salvation experience. Ultimately, I entered the U.S. Air Force, and returned to what was now Southeastern College a decade later; graduating with an undergrad degree.

Little could I have known at the time that I would go on to complete several additional academic pursuits, and would, ultimately, have the opportunity to serve at my alma mater.

Just short of forty years after I initially enrolled in my bachelor's program, I was offered, well, I'm slightly ahead of myself. Five years after the turn of this century, it so happened that my adult Sunday School teacher, Dr. Sam Bennett, the Dean of Education at the university, called me.

"Bill, this is Sam. I have an adjunct faculty position open teaching Educational Psychology. Your academic and vocational background would be just perfect for this job. Are you interested?"

You could have knocked me over with a feather. I never expected to have the opportunity to teach at my beloved school. 

I responded,

"Gee, I don't know, Sam."

(and)

"I've never done anything like that before."

Dr. Bennett encouraged me...

"You can think and pray about it, and let me know. I think you'll find it will fit you like a glove."

A few days later I called him back.

"Hi, Sam. I have considered your offer, and I look forward to making a difference in the lives of the students God has set in my pathway. Thank you for your kind offer."

Pt. 2

Three weeks later, I walked into my classroom, and for the first time stood on the other side of the lectern, rather than filling up a desk, as I had done countless times before. 

And thus began three and a half years in which I had the privilege of teaching three units of the same course on a weekly basis. Whereas, I had earned my teaching certificate, and prepared to serve in the public classroom, (something which never happened), God afforded me the inestimable opportunity to teach in a university environment.

I like to think I made a difference in untold hundreds of young lives there. Yes, I'm sure of it.

However...

Something occurred during my second year in this position which tore a king-sized hole in the proverbial fabric of my spirit. 

It was customary for every student of every professor in every class to fill out an anonymous survey at the end of each semester in which they responded to various questions about the course, and the faculty member. A few days later each professor received the results of these surveys; minus the names of the students who had completed them.

The adjunct faculty were not expected to receive quite the overall scores of the tenured faculty. We always fell a bit short on the point spread. Many of us part-timers worked fulltime jobs elsewhere. We didn't have as much time to dedicate to preparation, and in some cases, we were teaching out of our field.

However...

When I opened the envelope which contained my student surveys for the fall semester of 2007, and pored over them, one survey, in particular, cut my like a sword.

Whereas, the vast majority of the surveys contained passable numbers and remarks, this one, this one...

Well, in addition to the lowest numbers on a 1-10 scale I had received to date, there was a caustic remark.

"Your class is a joke!!!"

As you might imagine, I wasn't laughing.

The joke was on me.

Pt. 3

I immediately walked from where ever I happened to be on campus at the time to Dr. Bennett's office. His secretary buzzed him, and he stepped out, and greeted me.

He could tell I was absolutely dejected, and demoralized. Looking down at the student surveys which I held in my hand, my friend spoke.

"Bill, let's walk over to the student activities building."

I honestly have no idea why he chose to walk me over to this building vs. inviting me into his office. Nonetheless, I found myself following one step behind him, as we made our way to the building which had, at one time, been the...

Southeastern Bible College Chapel

the very location where I had come to a saving knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ four decades earlier.

We walked through the doorway, climbed halfway up a set of bleachers which looked down on the practice basketball court. The vast building was empty except for the two of us.

Of course, the irony and poignancy of the moment was not lost on me. 

I handed the offending survey to my boss, and after he had time to read those five words which ripped me like a saber, I spoke.

"It's obvious I don't belong here. I think I should offer you my resignation."

It was the worst of times! 

Oh, did I mention that Dr. Bennett was the Florida Public School Teacher of the Year for the year prior to assuming his position as Dean of Education at Southeastern University? Well, he was. He was in a league of his own.

Now, he spoke.

"Bill, I can imagine how hurtful those words are to you. And, I know from experience how a hundred 'attaboys' are canceled out by one 'nastygram.'"

(and)

"Don't you dare let that one anonymous opinion make you quit! You have done a fine job here, and you have made a real difference in lives!"

Now, I looked out towards the front of the gymnasium, and my gaze fell on the exact spot on the waxed floor where I had once knelt, and accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior; so many years before.

And now, my friend and I stood up, I smiled, and nodded, and we made our way out the door.

Afterward

Every time I walked to my classroom, and back to my vehicle I passed a beautiful fountain, and bronze statue which had placed in the midst of it. 

Jesus Washing Peter's Feet

Now, as I walked past the statue, it occurred to me. 

This man whom Jesus bestowed so much love and care upon, as He washed his feet that day, denied he ever knew Him. One of the Twelve betrayed Him, and the rest of His disciples fled. This was truly the worst of times.

In spite of what Jesus knew was about to occur, He was all about serving those whom God had set in His pathway. He would not stop 'til he completed His mission, and shouted, "It is finished" from the stark wooden cross from which He hung.

I looked back at that old building in which I had encountered two contrasting experiences separated by almost half a century.

It has been the best of times. It had been the worst of times.

Now, I smiled, and determined to finish what I had begun in that old chapel so many years before.

by William McDonald, PhD

 

 

HELLO JESUS!!!

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Forty years ago, my wife, children, and I attended a small church in central Florida. 

Our little three year old daughter, Kristy, was very observant and "smart as a whip." And thus, what followed was as understandable, as much as it was humorous. But I am getting ahead of my story.

Bro. Paul Shoemaker, (at that time in the 20th century, we referred to fellow believers as "brother" and "sister"), was an eloquent and enthusiastic orator, and his messages were, (as I have inferred), interesting, informative and enlightening. 

Of course, he often referred to his, (and our), Savior Jesus Christ during the course of his sermons; a development that Kristy could not help but notice since it occurred so often.

One Sunday morning after we arrived a few minutes early for the 11am service, the pastor walked down the center aisle to greet us. Suddenly, Kristy smiled a smile that would light up the world, and exclaimed,

"Hello, Jesus!!!"

I can tell you, we all "got a kick" out of her momentary misnomer!

And with the passing of years I have often thought,

"No one would come any closer to the Original than Bro. Shoemaker."

(and)

"Perhaps it was as much for his attributes, as it was his tendency to use the name 'Jesus' that little Kristy misidentified him that day."

For you see, Paul, (an apt given name), was an exemplary man in every way. He was in love with His Lord. He was given to the study of His Word. He was a shining example of what it meant to be a Christian. He was the humblest person I ever met. We would all do well to emulate a man like him.

I have often thought that memorable little scenario was so personally and universally prophetic in nature since I think all believers will, one day, be afforded their own audience with the Savior. 

I, for one, look forward to spending a few moments with my Lord, and greeting Him with the words,

"Hello, Jesus!!!"

by Bill McDonald, PhD

PACKAGE FOR A NAKED MAN

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When I was working as a UPS driver in central Florida, I walked up to a home that happened to be on a lake, and as I rounded the wall of the carport which faced the road, and turned towards the front door which wasn't visible from the street, there was a naked man in the process of putting on his clothes. He had apparently been swimming, and thought's he'd change before going into the house. Surprised, he said, "Oh no. Please don't tell anyone you saw me like this!" I promised I wouldn't tell anyone. And I thought, "It's a good thing I wasn't a female UPS driver!" And, as for not telling anyone about it... I lied!

GOD'S DEFINITION OF LIFE

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I was watching a segment on one of the liberal television "news" networks today, and one of the anchors exclaimed,

"I was astounded when I heard what the Alabama Supreme Court dictated this past week. It seems that persons who work for cryogenic corporations, and destroy human embryos can be prosecuted since, according to the court, these embryos are human beings."

Well, as you can see, the first three words in the above paragraph immediately expresses the biased, premeditated opinion of the newscaster, (and her television network).

As a Christian counselor, I have been exposed to clients who have miscarried, and many others who have had abortions. And, of course, whereas the first of the two scenarios is the involuntary termination of pregnancy, and the second is the willful termination of pregnancy, the common denominator is that women on both sides of this situation have lost a child. And I have never counseled women in either situation who have not shed tears when speaking about their experience.

And to be sure, when speaking or writing about women who have voluntarily terminated their pregnancies, I never fail to say that I am in no condition to sit in the seat of judgement. There is one God, and I'm not Him. 

However, scripture is very clear about the existence of life at conception. In Jeremiah 1:5, we read,

"Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you. And before you were conceived, I sanctified you."

(and)

"Before I ever took my first breath, you planned every day of my life." (Psalm 139:12)

Whereas, I usually look for an appropriate or interesting way in which to finish a blog, in this case I can only challenge the faulty assumptions of those who willfully ignore scripture's definition of life.

by Bill McDonald, PhD

MUST JESUS BEAR THE CROSS ALONE?

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"Must Jesus bear the cross alone
And all the world go free?
No, there's a cross for every one,
And there's a cross for me."

In regard to the answer to the question presented by the title of this song, someone said, "YES! HE did bear the cross alone!" (John 3:16). No one else was capable of dying for mankind, and we could not bear it for Him. 

However, a corresponding opposite answer is "No, He must not bear the cross alone." For we are privileged to "fill up in our own bodies the unfinished sufferings of Christ." (Col. 1:24) We have been chosen to participate in His sufferings, though nothing about our participation is capable of saving us from the Father's judgement. Only Christ was capable of doing this. (1st John 4:10)

Thus, the answer to the question presented by the title of this song is, unlike the answer to most questions, plural; both yes and no.

by William McDonald, PhD

PRECIOUS MEMORY

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I love to recount and relate stories that were surely significant to me, lest there come a day I won’t be able to remember and share them anymore.

Back in the mid to late 80's when around 37 or so, I was on a business trip visiting one of the three parent companies for yet a 2nd time in Malmo, Sweden.

I'd heard about a wonderful English style restaurant within walking distance from my hotel called "Good Time Charlie's Emporium" and a wonderful pepper steak they would prepare at the table for you, so I dined there early one evening for perhaps the most unforgettable meal and encounter in my life!

Entering, I was shown past a booth with an attractive short blonde-haired mother and her young son of perhaps 8 years of age.

Ordering the pepper steak, shortly a lady came to the table with a large cart and began pan-searing a wonderful cut of beef and preparing the green pepper gravy sauce on an open flame with a bit of bourbon, at the end.

Watching this production in amazement, I soon sensed somebody by my side and it was the young Swedish boy watching every move of that wondrous meal being prepared.

As the lady finished the dish and presented it in front of me, the boy's eye's continued to yearningly follow every move in wonder, then sadly looked at me, nodded and left (going back to his mother towards the front of the restaurant).

I sat there a moment and having extra silverware and a small plate, plus more than enough of the dish, cut, spooned and placed around a third of it on the extra plate and walked up front to where the Boy sat with his mother.

When at their booth I introduced myself as being from America and said to the boy "This is for you"! (with his mother translating what I had said). The look on that boy's Face and the smile of appreciation and thanks from both he and his mother, was priceless.

I'd just finished my meal and again sensed someone to my side. It was the boy who simply held out a white paper bag of gummi bears to share and for I partook of a few, thanking him, for the unexpected generosity.

About to depart the restaurant, I asked the waitress if I could purchase one of the pint glasses adorned with the name of the restaurant in graphics and she returned shortly with one wrapped up in tissue paper, saying "This is for your memories.” Apparently they saw or were told about my having shared the meal.

To this very day, I wonder if he remembers.

Unknown author