probes and hors d'oeuvres

I've mentioned it before, but I attended seminary for a single year after I graduated from Grand Valley. Living in Holland, you might think I would have headed straight for Western Theological Seminary, but no . . . I pointed the nose of my little blue cavalier toward Kentucky and didn't quit driving until I pulled into one of the parking lots at Asbury Theological Seminary just outside of Lexington.

Now, I was down there for just a single year, but a great many things happened in that year that will stick with me forever. Like the devotional one of my fellow students gave before our Missions and Evangelism class.

Ok, to set this up, you need to understand that I sometimes had . . . different . . . ideas of what was funny than about 99% of the rest of the seminary. This made for many interesting and heated discussions in which they all took turns trying to lead me to Jesus. Which was kind of funny because I already knew Jesus. But when I laughed about it, and told them that, they would just say, "No, Dan . . . his name's pronounced like 'hey zeus'. Jesus Rodriguez. He's in his third year and he's from Argentina. He's very nice, but that's not who we're talking about. You need to get to know Jesus."

And then I would try to tell them again that I already knew Jesus and that I also knew Jesus Rodriguez and that I wasn't confusing the two of them, but they just shook their heads and opened their Bibles and started to pray and read. Sometimes someone would try to sneak up behind me and annoint me with oil.

Now, I don't want to paint the wrong picture of myself. I wasn't obscene or coarse or vulgar. I went to church just like all of them, prayed just like all of them and loved God just like all of them. However, my failing was that I found humor in things that they didn't think Christians should laugh at.

For instance, I was in a philosophy class and the professor was making some big sweeping point about faith (though, I'll confess, I can never remember his exact point--once you hear his illustration, I think you'll understand why). Anyway, while I can't remember his point, I'll never forget his lecture on this particular day when he said, "There could be, let's say, mountains on Uranus." (Yes, he said it just like you've always heard it said and I, being the consummate adult, snorted and started to giggle in the back row. A few angry glances were thrown in my direction, and I shrugged and tried to pull myself together and focus).

Unfortunately, the Professor was only getting started. "Alright, let's say there are mountains all over Uranus. Everywhere. Jutting up in all directions. Sharp, pointy mountains jutting up all over the surface of Uranus. Now, we could look at these mountains on Uranus" (why, why does he keep saying "Uranus"? Does he see how I'm giggling? Is he trying to push me over the edge? Why couldn't he have just picked mars?) "Now we could look at these mountains on Uranus through a telescope." He looked at all of us, chalk in one hand and a large pointer in the other. "A microscope focused solidly on Uranus. Or . . . " he started to walk around the room and I was nervous. He was building to something and I was just barely holding myself together.

"Or," he continued. "We could send probes."

Oh no. Don't say it.

"We could send probes to Uranus."

Well, I'm sorry, but come on . . . "probes" in the same sentence as "Uranus"? Needless to say, I exploded in a childish display. And my goodness, if 100 different sets of eyes didn't turn around to look at me in the back of the class. I'm not joking. Nearly the entire class stared at me in shock. Some shook their heads and a couple started praying.

Anyway, that was the beginning of the campus-wide belief that I needed to meet Jesus (again, not Jesus Rodriguez on the second floor, but Jesus . . . the real one.)

It was frustrating and confusing. At Grand Valley, I had always been the conservative guy--the steadfast Christian who everybody thought was ridiculous. Then I head off to seminary and suddenly, without changing, I'm the resident pagan--the unbeliever. At least in the eyes of the prudes.

Well, after the "probes to Uranus" fiasco, it took me a while to convince my friends and other people there that I wasn't a mission project, but eventually, they quit trying to save me and went back to planning short term mission trips to Chicago and other places of despair.

Things were going quite well and I was actually starting to enjoy myself. Seminary wasn't so bad when people finally accepted that you were a Christian and didn't need to be converted. Anyway, I was starting to live it up when my friend Rick and I walked into our Missions and Evangelism class one day and found our normal seats in the back taken.

We looked around and in that whole auditorium, the only open seats were in the center, four rows back from the stage. (Looking back, this is always proof to me that God has a sense of humor. See, He knew what was coming today and He wanted to make sure Rick and I were in the front.)

Well, we settled into those uncomfortable seats and the Professor walked in and called the class to order. Then, as was his usual manner, he asked if any of the class members wanted to lead the class in a short devotional. (This was always offered and anybody who took him up on this offer received an extra 5 points toward their final grade. I always did all my work well and figured I didn't need that extra 5 points.)

As we were all looking around, I saw one guy raise his hand and say he wanted to do the devotional. He walked up to the front and stood behind the podium. He looked very pastorish. He was tall and didn't need a box to stand on (like I would if I was to try to do devotionals) and his voice didn't break when he talked (another problem I struggle with).

Now, I'm going to record here his exact devotional. I don't even believe it needs to be commented on. As I remember it, it started like this:

"I want everybody to close their eyes. Close them. All of you . . . close them and I want you to sit there and picture something. Picture a feast. The most marvelous feast you've ever seen. You walk up to a table--a table that stretches as far as your eyes can see. The tables covered with a white table cloth. Music is playing in the background. A slight breeze blows in from the East and you hear birds and the sound of the ocean. It's a beautiful place.

"Now, look at the table--keep your eyes closed--look at the table in your mind. It's covered with food. All sorts of food. All of your favorite foods. There are shrimp and cocktail sauce. There are plates and plates of cheese and meats and vegetables and everything you love. There are bowls of wieners. [what? Now, it's just me, but I've always preferred to use the words "hot dogs" or little sausages or even little smokey links. Wieners has never been one of my favorite words for any type of food product. I tried to refocus, but it wasn't to be.]

"Yes," the student continued from the front of the room. "Yes, there are wieners everywhere." [Oh, Lord please help me. I'm your child and I don't want to laugh, but if he says wieners again in class, I'm going to start giggling and I'm in the front row and the room is full of people who will not think this is in good taste at all. So, please Lord, hear my prayer and let him not sayeth wieners even one more time. Amen]

"Weiners, weiners everywhere." (He said it in a sing songy voice that made it even harder not to laugh). "Your hands"--(no, please don't say it, don't say it . . . talk about the cheese. There's cheese on the table, right? For the love of Pete, talk about the cheese!)--"Your hands are full of little wieners. In fact, you're holding so many wieners in your hands that you don't know what to do with them." (At this point, I was in extreme distress. My eyes were squenched shut so tight that tears were streaming down my face. My lips were curled into my mouth and I was biting down on them as hard as I could to keep from laughing, but I was snorting like an pig through my nose. Rick, sitting next to me, his knees pulled up to his chest with his arms wrapped around them, rocking back and forth and shaking and making long, horrible screeching sounds all the while saying--to me or to himself or to God (I don't know which)--saying "wieners! Wiener's! He's saying wieners in class!" I didn't think this could get any more awkward. But it did).

"You've got so many wieners in your hands that finally, as a last resort, you start piling them into your mouth."

I am not joking about this. This happened. A full-grown seminary student stood up in front of 150 fellow students and gave this long, drawn-out talk about little wieners without cracking a smile. 148 other people in the room all nodded their heads up and down and back and forth as if he were conveying deep, Biblical truths. I think I heard someone say "amen." I just sat there and squirmed. I was about 1 second away from spitting and snorting and hacking up all kinds of bodily fluids in the middle of a very serious devotional about little wieners and I was in the front row, only 10 feet away from the speaker. It was horrible.

But God must have been having fun, because the kid up front kept talking. "So you're crunching up those little wieners in your mouth and you're dropping little wieners out of your hands and finally, when you're done, you're completely satisfied and picking"--(yes, my friends, he really said this)--"you're completely satisfied and you're belly's full and you're picking little wiener morsels out of your teeth."

I think spit flew all the way from my mouth up to the podium.

I tried to stand up and I tried to get out, but I as I tripped and staggered over people on my way to the aisle and sweet, blessed freedom, I kept snorting and chuckling. My mouth hung open like I'd had a stroke and drool dribbled out like I was simple. I almost choked on my tongue. I had a headache. I was crying. My ears were red, my face was red, and I kept making that deep, inhaling "haaaaw, haaaaw, haaaaaw" sound that people make when they've tried to keep from laughing way too long.

My fellow students watched me stagger out of that room and I'm not kidding, but all of them looked at me with sadness in their eyes. They were disgusted that I was laughing. They were shocked that I found a devotional funny. They were upset that I distracted Wiener Boy so much that he was unable to finish his Wiener Talk.

But then, this was a Missions and Evangelism class and, as a result, in seconds, they're were back to making plans to lead me to the Lord.

I just took a long walk around that beautiful campus. I looked at the bright blue sky and the cotton-white clouds. I drank in the stark contrasts of the white steeples against the cobalt sky. I thought about Jesus. I could see him sitting on the steps outside of his dorm, playing a hand-held Yahtzee game. And I thought about God and his sense of humor--putting me in the front row for the Wiener Devotional.

I walked a little further, pausing as I crossed a wooden bridge over a little creek. I nudged a stone with my foot and watched it tumble into the water. Ripples spread out, reaching toward the shore and I giggled. Probes to Uranus and Wiener morsels in your teeth . . . .

I laughed to myself all the way back to my dorm. I said "hey" to Jesus on my way in. He just nodded and smiled and went back to his Yahtzee game.