My first day of college was unforgettable. My grades in high school were so bad that I had to find a liberal arts college that would take me and not break my parents’ bank account. I wanted to have some distance between me and home, so I found Judson College in Elgin, Illinois, just northwest of Chicago.
Often confused with the all-female college by the same name in Alabama, Judson was named after Adoniram Judson, the first protestant missionary to Burma in 1813. It became Judson University in August, 2007. Originally Judson was affiliated with the American Baptist Association, the northern counterpart to the Southern Baptists. The preaching of the American Baptists was more mainline and less hellfire and brimstone. Like most other colleges that have religious foundations, Judson has evolved as an independent academic institution.
In the fall of 1965 my parents and I arrived at the Judson campus, having driven from Florida over a two day period. We climbed out of the car wearing matching red and white plaid shirts. How geeky was that? Immediately a big black man strode up to me, smiling, holding out his hand and saying, “Hi, I’m your big brother!” I fell back with the reply, “No, you’re not!”
After a confusing few minutes of sorting things out, I learned that upperclassmen were assigned to freshman, in order to help them acclimate to their new surroundings. The only other black person that I had been in the same room with was Joe, the cook at my mother’s restaurant, whom she often referred to as a “good n******.” My “big brother” said that he had sent me a letter, with photo, but I hadn’t received it. I wonder now what I would have done if I had gotten it before we left on our trip.
I didn’t like the way my mother talked of blacks, but at the time I did not consider her racist. I am now not only convinced that she was, but that it had rubbed off on me. I finally accepted my new friend, but I avoided most opportunities to have any contact with him. He had even offered to drive me around town and show me the area, but I was afraid we would end up in the black section; so my fear drove him away. He finally gave up on me.
I look forward to the day when I can ask his forgiveness and embrace him as a true brother
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Bits and Pieces
It’s interesting how certain conversations, even brief ones, stick in your mind after many years. As Youth for Christ president (in the school club) I was busy keeping things organized, giving devotionals and working with new converts. One young fellow started out as an eager believer, but his parents --- particularly his dad --- weren’t so sure about what he had gotten into. When he suddenly stopped coming to the club meetings, I gave him a call at home.
He said that his dad had explained to him how the Bible didn’t make any sense and that he was foolish for coming to the club meetings. I replied that his salvation experience was a very serious matter, that he should continue in his new belief, even though he was forbidden from being with us. He then quoted a passage from the Bible (also suggested by his dad) --- Matthew 5:20 Except your righteousness shall exceed the righteousness of the scribes and the Pharisees, ye shall in no case enter into the kingdom of heaven. (KJV)
He explained that since he wasn’t planning on entering another life in a box (case), then he didn’t have to worry about the warning. I said that he was misinterpreting the scripture and that his salvation was eternal, unless he really hadn’t accepted Christ in the first place. Little did I know at the time that we were both stupid in our understanding of what God was saying.
One time David B. and I pretended we were sick in order to skip school. Our real purpose, however, was to go down to the Youth for Christ center and help Joe N. work on the Christian Victor’s float for the upcoming parade. The YFC director, Gus, came out and mildly admonished us for cutting school. We had justified our action by the fact that we were doing the Lord’s work, and that presenting the gospel in a visual format was more important than school. Joe didn’t seem to care either way; he was just glad to get the help.
On another occasion I was at David’s house, hanging out with him and his little brother (I can’t remember his name). The brother challenged me regarding the fact that if I really believed that all who rejected Christ were going to spend eternity in Hell, then I should be on my hands and knees, begging them to repent. I mumbled something about how that wouldn’t bring them any closer to accepting, but in my heart I considered it too embarrassing to see myself employing such dramatics.
This same boy would convict me again weeks after the auto accident that put him and his brother in the hospital. Immediately following the event, I went home, devastated, because the accident had been my fault; I had acted irresponsibly and had almost cost someone their life. I went to the hospital the next day to check on everybody. David’s brother had already been released. David was in good spirits, joking that a broken collar bone would keep him out of the army, and it did (this was during Viet Nam). The young girl was also in good spirits and seemed to hang onto her recent salvation experience, in spite of the fact that it seemed that God had not protected her from injury on the very night of her decision.
However, for days I couldn’t eat or sleep. I moped around the house. Finally, one day, I just let it all out; the tear dam burst, and I lay sobbing in my mother’s arms. I needed to get away. The Christian Victors had planned an overnight fishing/witnessing trip on the coast and, after much compelling from Joe, I went along. The night was pleasant. We sang gospel songs around a campfire. And I slept --- like a rock. I was told the next day that no one in the group had ever heard another human being snore so loudly.
As embarrassing as that was, what came next was worse. David’s brother had been released from the hospital the day following the accident, was already recovering well, and had come along with us to the beach. I had begun to feel like a burden was lifting from my chest, when he walked right up to me and said, “How can you be here, laughing and enjoying yourself, when my brother is lying in the hospital?”
I was speechless. Others tried to defend me, but I really felt that he was right. Why wasn’t I at the hospital, caring for my friends? I had single-handedly made the whole traumatic event all about me. I’d like to say that I rushed back and did what was right, but I didn’t. First off, I couldn’t drive, having lost my license for a time. Also, I let my well-meaning defenders talk me into to continuing my own recovery. Perhaps they were right, but I believe that the whole ordeal began to shape me a little on the inside.
One final thought from high school. I began preaching more; I even made a tape for my grandmother. I fancied myself an upcoming Billy Graham. I was asked to preach in a number of churches, and I was supported by my home church, Edgewood Baptist. They even issued me a license to preach. Back then, such a document was official and authorized you to do whatever ministers do. You could marry people (I did one, but it later failed.), bury people and visit the Intensive Care ward at the hospital.
My mother loved it. She told everybody that I was a reverend --- even addressed her letters to me at college as Rev. Steve Johnson. And so I went off to Chicago, Illinois, armed with my credentials and a determination to change the world for Jesus.
He said that his dad had explained to him how the Bible didn’t make any sense and that he was foolish for coming to the club meetings. I replied that his salvation experience was a very serious matter, that he should continue in his new belief, even though he was forbidden from being with us. He then quoted a passage from the Bible (also suggested by his dad) --- Matthew 5:20 Except your righteousness shall exceed the righteousness of the scribes and the Pharisees, ye shall in no case enter into the kingdom of heaven. (KJV)
He explained that since he wasn’t planning on entering another life in a box (case), then he didn’t have to worry about the warning. I said that he was misinterpreting the scripture and that his salvation was eternal, unless he really hadn’t accepted Christ in the first place. Little did I know at the time that we were both stupid in our understanding of what God was saying.
One time David B. and I pretended we were sick in order to skip school. Our real purpose, however, was to go down to the Youth for Christ center and help Joe N. work on the Christian Victor’s float for the upcoming parade. The YFC director, Gus, came out and mildly admonished us for cutting school. We had justified our action by the fact that we were doing the Lord’s work, and that presenting the gospel in a visual format was more important than school. Joe didn’t seem to care either way; he was just glad to get the help.
On another occasion I was at David’s house, hanging out with him and his little brother (I can’t remember his name). The brother challenged me regarding the fact that if I really believed that all who rejected Christ were going to spend eternity in Hell, then I should be on my hands and knees, begging them to repent. I mumbled something about how that wouldn’t bring them any closer to accepting, but in my heart I considered it too embarrassing to see myself employing such dramatics.
This same boy would convict me again weeks after the auto accident that put him and his brother in the hospital. Immediately following the event, I went home, devastated, because the accident had been my fault; I had acted irresponsibly and had almost cost someone their life. I went to the hospital the next day to check on everybody. David’s brother had already been released. David was in good spirits, joking that a broken collar bone would keep him out of the army, and it did (this was during Viet Nam). The young girl was also in good spirits and seemed to hang onto her recent salvation experience, in spite of the fact that it seemed that God had not protected her from injury on the very night of her decision.
However, for days I couldn’t eat or sleep. I moped around the house. Finally, one day, I just let it all out; the tear dam burst, and I lay sobbing in my mother’s arms. I needed to get away. The Christian Victors had planned an overnight fishing/witnessing trip on the coast and, after much compelling from Joe, I went along. The night was pleasant. We sang gospel songs around a campfire. And I slept --- like a rock. I was told the next day that no one in the group had ever heard another human being snore so loudly.
As embarrassing as that was, what came next was worse. David’s brother had been released from the hospital the day following the accident, was already recovering well, and had come along with us to the beach. I had begun to feel like a burden was lifting from my chest, when he walked right up to me and said, “How can you be here, laughing and enjoying yourself, when my brother is lying in the hospital?”
I was speechless. Others tried to defend me, but I really felt that he was right. Why wasn’t I at the hospital, caring for my friends? I had single-handedly made the whole traumatic event all about me. I’d like to say that I rushed back and did what was right, but I didn’t. First off, I couldn’t drive, having lost my license for a time. Also, I let my well-meaning defenders talk me into to continuing my own recovery. Perhaps they were right, but I believe that the whole ordeal began to shape me a little on the inside.
One final thought from high school. I began preaching more; I even made a tape for my grandmother. I fancied myself an upcoming Billy Graham. I was asked to preach in a number of churches, and I was supported by my home church, Edgewood Baptist. They even issued me a license to preach. Back then, such a document was official and authorized you to do whatever ministers do. You could marry people (I did one, but it later failed.), bury people and visit the Intensive Care ward at the hospital.
My mother loved it. She told everybody that I was a reverend --- even addressed her letters to me at college as Rev. Steve Johnson. And so I went off to Chicago, Illinois, armed with my credentials and a determination to change the world for Jesus.
Saturday, October 6, 2007
The Crash
I had begun driving early in high school --- actually got my learner's permit at age 14. I didn't have to drive to school; it was only a block away. So I used my car to run errands for my mother (she owned and operated two restaurants) and haul my friends around.
I distinctly remember driving five different cars during high school and college, but my favorite was a '56 Ford sedan. I don't remember the models of any of my cars and have carried that stupidity through to my current life --- although I think I'm now driving a Ford Ranger XLT pickup.
Florida was famous for sudden thunderstorms with a significant downpour. I had taken it upon myself to transport other kids my age to and from the Youth For Christ Saturday night rallies, as well as to other Christian functions. David B. was my regular co-pilot. One Saturday night following a rally, I was in the process of taking a bunch home. David was in the front seat with me. There was a cute, young girl between us (she had just “gone forward and accepted Christ” at that evening's program). In the back seat were David's younger brother and the son of one of my Mom's waitresses.
I will already confess at this point that my car had faulty windshield wipers. Actually, they didn't work at all. I was pretty irresponsible, and my mother didn't get around to fixing them (my Dad was overseas --- again). We were driving in downtown Orlando after dark. It began to rain hard. I recall turning left at a traffic light, having seen no other traffic. Suddenly, out of nowhere, my car was slammed on the passenger side by a city bus. The bus seemed to continue hitting us, maybe two or three times, until the car was lodged against a telephone pole.
I will also confess that we weren't wearing seat belts, even though two were installed in the front seat. Seat belts were just starting to be installed in cars then; they weren't required by law, and nobody was using them. Still, it was noted in the police report that we had been sitting on them.
The car was resting against the telephone pole at the rear passenger door on the driver's side, and the bus had backed up a few feet. I was able to get out of the driver's side and began quickly assessing the situation. David's passenger window was shattered, and there was blood on his face. The girl next to him was crying, and her foot seemed to be jammed into the floorboard. David's brother was upside down in the back seat, and the boy next to him was relatively unharmed.
The rain had stopped, but the engine started smoking. Fearing that the car would catch fire, I frantically tried to get my passengers out. Both passenger-side doors were jammed, the left rear door was against the pole, and the girl couldn't move to get out of the driver's door. I recall getting very frustrated that a crowd that had gathered would not give assistance. They kept telling me to wait for the ambulance. I was frantically pulling on David's door, but to no avail.
All were transported to the hospital. I was also told to go in order to be checked out. I don't even remember who drove me. Three were admitted. David, with a broken collar bone, our female passenger, with a broken foot, and David's little brother, with a busted knee-cap. The other boy was released with minor scratches, and I was released after a lot of window glass was removed from my hands.
Life was a blur for several weeks.
I distinctly remember driving five different cars during high school and college, but my favorite was a '56 Ford sedan. I don't remember the models of any of my cars and have carried that stupidity through to my current life --- although I think I'm now driving a Ford Ranger XLT pickup.
Florida was famous for sudden thunderstorms with a significant downpour. I had taken it upon myself to transport other kids my age to and from the Youth For Christ Saturday night rallies, as well as to other Christian functions. David B. was my regular co-pilot. One Saturday night following a rally, I was in the process of taking a bunch home. David was in the front seat with me. There was a cute, young girl between us (she had just “gone forward and accepted Christ” at that evening's program). In the back seat were David's younger brother and the son of one of my Mom's waitresses.
I will already confess at this point that my car had faulty windshield wipers. Actually, they didn't work at all. I was pretty irresponsible, and my mother didn't get around to fixing them (my Dad was overseas --- again). We were driving in downtown Orlando after dark. It began to rain hard. I recall turning left at a traffic light, having seen no other traffic. Suddenly, out of nowhere, my car was slammed on the passenger side by a city bus. The bus seemed to continue hitting us, maybe two or three times, until the car was lodged against a telephone pole.
I will also confess that we weren't wearing seat belts, even though two were installed in the front seat. Seat belts were just starting to be installed in cars then; they weren't required by law, and nobody was using them. Still, it was noted in the police report that we had been sitting on them.
The car was resting against the telephone pole at the rear passenger door on the driver's side, and the bus had backed up a few feet. I was able to get out of the driver's side and began quickly assessing the situation. David's passenger window was shattered, and there was blood on his face. The girl next to him was crying, and her foot seemed to be jammed into the floorboard. David's brother was upside down in the back seat, and the boy next to him was relatively unharmed.
The rain had stopped, but the engine started smoking. Fearing that the car would catch fire, I frantically tried to get my passengers out. Both passenger-side doors were jammed, the left rear door was against the pole, and the girl couldn't move to get out of the driver's door. I recall getting very frustrated that a crowd that had gathered would not give assistance. They kept telling me to wait for the ambulance. I was frantically pulling on David's door, but to no avail.
All were transported to the hospital. I was also told to go in order to be checked out. I don't even remember who drove me. Three were admitted. David, with a broken collar bone, our female passenger, with a broken foot, and David's little brother, with a busted knee-cap. The other boy was released with minor scratches, and I was released after a lot of window glass was removed from my hands.
Life was a blur for several weeks.
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