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Caught in the Winds
Caught in the Winds
Caught in the Winds
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Caught in the Winds

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In this dark-comic novel, Morrie Schiller is a new student at an evangelical college in Milwaukee with philosophy as his major. Try though he may, he just doesn't fit into the Christian campus scene. The girl he loves sees him only as a ‘brother’, and he’s in the crossfire as radical fundamentalists rage against the school with extremist views. Add to mix, he's haunted by an obsession to become a Roman Catholic.

Enter (antagonist) Jack Joplin, a mysterious, larger-than-life stranger, who lures Morrie to embrace a spurious brand of philosophy, which promises to "transcend beyond religious conventions". Morrie takes the bait and his lack-luster love-life is catapulted into Faust-like adventures that go beyond his wildest dreams. He goes from a nobody to one who can allure the hearts of the most beautiful (and posh) girls on campus, even threatening the power of the school's authority and the entire religious establishment on campus.

This is not your ordinary "Christian novel" and you probably won't find it in most church libraries. Aimed at the reflective reader, it challenges the bedrock of conventional, evangelical religiosity. However, as a coming-of-age novel, Morrie also comes to a higher place of faith after passing through the fire of testing. Here you will find a backdrop of liturgical spirituality that should also appeal to Catholic readers. Morrie passes from a grossly underdeveloped sexuality (ladened with religious shame), through Jack's misogyny, to a place of authentic maturity.

Reviews:
Mr. Wenzel: I have read ... ‘Caught in the Winds’ with a great deal of interest. I must say that it is not like anything else that I have read, which is a compliment since I read many hours every day ... Philosophy, theology, mysticism and the quirks of evangelical subculture filter throughout its pages. (The Writers Edge, Wheaton, Ill)

Wenzel masterfully captures the struggle between love, faith, and modernity with a prose that is effective and discerning. Spare, tender and full of surprises, ‘Caught in the Winds’ makes for a perfect summer getaway.
(Best Damn Creative Writing Blog)

Dr. Arthur F. Holmes, (philosophy) Professor Emeritus, Wheaton College (now deceased)
"Wenzel seems to have a writing gift: his sentence structure, his way with adjectives and sense of timing hold the reader’s interest. The characters come alive, and the overall plot hangs together and is neatly resolved. He takes on engaging philosophical issues." (2005)

L. D. Wenzel weaves an intriguing story that meanders through a variety of thought-provoking topics ... does an admirable job of character development and creates believable plots that make ‘Caught in the Winds’ an entertaining story. 5 stars (Foreword Review)

Morrie Schiller ... tries to come to terms with himself and his pursuits... A thoughtful read of Christianity and coming of age, ... a fine read and solidly recommended. 5 stars (Midwest Book Review)

LanguageEnglish
PublisherL. D. Wenzel
Release dateMay 31, 2011
ISBN9781458117830
Caught in the Winds
Author

L. D. Wenzel

I am an American author who lives in Norway. I write literary books dealing with relgious themes like crisis of faith, religious extremism, and coming of age.

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    Book preview

    Caught in the Winds - L. D. Wenzel

    CAUGHT IN THE WINDS

    by L. D. Wenzel

    What others are saying

    -DR. ARTHUR F. HOLMES

    Philosophy professor, emeritus, Wheaton College

    I have read Wenzel’s novel Caught in the Winds...The characters come alive, and the overall plot hangs together and is neatly resolved. He takes on engaging philosophical issues... The author's many allusions to Sartre, Gabriel Marcel, and Kierkegaard are all appropriate. (1995)

    -THE WRITER'S EDGE, Wheaton, Illinois

    Mr. Wenzel, I have read your sample chapters from Caught in the Winds with a great deal of interest. I must say that it is not like anything else that I have read, which is a compliment, since I read many hours every day. . . the issues of philosophy, theology, mysticism and the quirks of evangelical subculture filter throughout its pages...

    -5 STARS from the FOREWORD CLARION REVIEW

    L. D. Wenzel weaves an intriguing story that meanders through a variety of thought-provoking topics... (he) does an admirable job of character development and creates believable plots that make Caught in the Winds an entertaining story.

    -5 STARS from the MIDWEST BOOK REVIEW

    Knowing where you are spiritually is a truly wonderful feeling. Caught in the Winds follows Morrie Schiller as he tries to come to terms with himself and his pursuits. ... A thoughtful read of Christianity and coming of age, Caught in the Winds is a fine read and solidly recommended.

    The full text of these reviews, along with the proper links can be found on the author’s web site at www.ldwenzel.com

    _____________________

    Caught in the Winds

    A new student at an evangelical college

    comes of age by encountering

    his deepest aspirations

    by L. D. Wenzel

    Copyright © 2010 by L. D. Wenzel

    Smashwords Edition

    All rights reserved. This ebook may not be reproduced in whole or in part or transmitted in any form or by any means—mechanical or electronic—without written permission from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review. It is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it then please return to Smashwords and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

    This book is also available in print at most online retailers

    Cover: original painting by L. D. Wenzel

    All the characters in this novel are fictitious and do not exist. Any similarities to any person,living or dead, were not intended.

    Author’s website: www.ldwenzel.com

    ________________

    Book One

    Simon, Simon, behold, Satan has desired to

    have you, that he may sift you as wheat.

    But I have prayed for you, that your faith fail not.

    And when you are converted, strengthen your brethren.

    Luke 22: 31-32

    Chapter 1

    ________________

    Crusader handed me my travel bag as I stepped onto the Greyhound bus. Here, you might need this.

    Without replying, I took the bag and began looking for an empty seat. The untimely events that had cut short my college career were still reeling in my mind.

    Morrie, come back here, he ordered. Had I offended him by not saying ‘goodbye’? I jumped back down onto the pavement. Crusader, ten years my senior, placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. The wise expression on his face was always disarming.

    Don’t be so glum. You’ve become a man these past few months, and I have the utmost confidence that you’ll handle this next crisis as well.

    But you don’t know my father, I said. We were talking about my going home to face my folks now that the president himself had expelled me from Bethlehem College. Two hours earlier, I had been sitting in his office as he ranted about my scandalizing this respected Christian institution.

    Crusader continued, Take courage, old buddy. In the days to come, the value of these experiences will prove their worth. Then you’ll understand.

    I sighed. "I’m not the same person who came here last fall, but please understand that, yesterday, the idea of me getting kicked out of college was the farthest thing from my parents’ minds. I was in the room when the president called home. Dad refused to speak to me, which means he was furious."

    For once even Crusader had nothing to say. His sad eyes confirmed that tough times awaited me. It was I who took up a more positive note. By the way, thanks again for vouching for me down at the police station. I thought they were going to throw me in jail! What did you say that changed the captain’s mind so quickly?

    Let’s leave that between the captain and me, he said, smiling. As far as your parents are concerned, you’ve overcome thornier plights in recent days. Now climb on board and find a seat. I’ll be right here in Milwaukee for most of the summer, so keep in touch. Crusader, who was taller than I, put his arms around me, and I rested the side of my head against his chest. Your integrity has impressed me deeply, Morrie.

    Goodbye, Crusader, and God bless. My strength would have failed without you.

    The bus was over half full as I climbed aboard. I wanted to sit alone, but all the window seats appeared to be taken. Then, toward the back, I spotted two vacant places and nimbly skirted past those passengers who were still standing. I threw my luggage onto the aisle seat, took the place beside the window, and slouched down. I was now totally unavailable.

    Inside the depot, the bus motor revved and filled the garage with diesel fumes. Then our silver coach shifted into gear, rolled outside onto Michigan Avenue, and crossed Sixth Street. Within five hours, I would be in my hometown of St. Paul, Minnesota.

    Through the tinted windows, I blankly watched the office buildings pass by as our bus chugged up the circular ramp leading to the freeway. On Interstate I-94, we drove by County Stadium and the familiar green exit sign that pointed to the fair grounds. Then, off to my right, came glimpses of a barely visible Bethlehem College as its ivy-covered buildings flashed through the elms. The bell tower peaked over the treetops. While I could not hear the chimes, a glimpse at my watch revealed that it was chapel time, and I knew that the endearing toll was calling young men and women to prayer. I was lost in an unfettered reverie and closed my eyes to relive the events of my last nine months at that school.

    The year was 1994, just before the outbreak of e-mail. There was no Facebook or Twitter back then, and cell phones were unheard of. Computers, however, were now common, and I was the proud owner of a new laptop. Looking back, it seems that everything was less complicated then, like a kind of dusk, those fleeting moments between day and night. On time’s horizon, lay the dawn of a new millennium. It was the twilight of the gods.

    This particular day in September was my first day of school at Bethlehem College. I had just transferred there as a third-year student from Twin Cities Junior College. My father helped me carry boxes of books and things into my room. The midday sun was hot; the air was sticky, and the sweat spots on his shirt clung to his burly chest.

    Mom did the unpacking. Morrie, I’ve placed your socks and underwear in the top drawer. She flung back the long strands of graying hair that fell over her glasses. The humidity was unbearable. Look over here. I put a cardboard box in the bottom of your wardrobe for dirty laundry.

    She, like many mothers on this day, was ritually releasing her son into the adult world. After the car was unpacked, Dad changed his shirt and paced about my new world, restlessly looking down the hallways to check out the other parents. He had never been to college himself, and for him this was an important day. Together with my sixteen-year-old sister Mary, my parents had driven me all the way down from St. Paul.

    Bethlehem College is located on Milwaukee’s far West side and borders smack against the village of Wauwatosa. According to the student handbook, German immigrants led by Gregorius Richter founded the school in 1865. They were descendants of the legendary Wilhelm Lutz and the Pomeranian Brethren who were Anabaptists from the sixteenth century. Brethren history included brutal persecutions in Old Country by Lutheran magistrates who in the seventeenth century strapped Wilhelm and others, both men and women, into dunking chairs for their third baptism,—in other words, drowning them in the Oder River. As a group, they almost became extinct had not one pious Lutheran, Count von Mecklenburg, hid them on his estate on the Baltic Sea. Here a remnant survived for a few generations, and in the eighteenth century, the Pomeranian Brethren were among the first Germans to immigrate to America.

    Bethlehem College is an Evangelical Christian college. One’s first impression is usually favorable and for good reasons. On opening day, everyone from the students to the women who serve lunch at the cafeteria greeted us with friendly smiles. Even a gardener, an elderly man with snowy white hair, came up to me with a welcoming smile and asked me if I needed any help.

    Guess what! exclaimed my sister Mary while basking in all the congeniality. I walked right into this empty classroom only to find five students holding a Bible study. They had invited my sister, who was bright, ever cheerful, and easy to accept, to join them even after learning she was only a visitor. Mary, who still had two more years of high school, decided at that moment that she too would one day enroll at Bethlehem College.

    Bethlehem’s high academic standards separated this liberal arts college from many other Christian institutions. The school had been an obscure Baptist school for its first hundred years. In the last decade, however, especially under the leadership of Dr. Frederick Lentzner, its reputation for higher learning had swelled, and today students from around the world and from every denomination were attending.

    Earlier that morning, President Lentzner had addressed the new students and our families at a special meeting: Parents and students, out of the hundreds of young people who yearly apply for admission, only the smartest are accepted. Thank God for the great privilege of studying in a Christian environment with some of the most brilliant minds in the country today.

    Dad listened attentively, believing that he was playing an important role in that greatness. His ambition was that I study theology at this reputable school. But I wasn’t so sure. If their standards were so high, why had they accepted my application? Previous report cards could prove that my grades were only slightly better than average.

    Grades aren’t everything, Dad had said with a grunt.

    When a Bethlehem recruiter came to the Twin Cities to interview that year’s applicants, my father also had a few words with him. Dad is a master salesman, and he even owns a third of a car dealership. Perhaps it was his skills that had helped get me enrolled. He had already made several donations to the school.

    My dream had been to study journalism at the University of Minnesota. Ever since the sixth grade, school publications had been my passion, and I had just finished a stint as a summer youth reporter for the St. Paul Sentinel. However, Dad did not seem to care about my interests, nor would he hear of any other school. Because I was sure my merely average grades would disqualify me, I had agreed to attend Bethlehem if accepted.

    Unfortunately, this strategy didn’t work, and, upon reading my acceptance letter, I was devastated. Bethlehem College did not even have a journalism department.

    Congratulations, son. Dad was overjoyed but not surprised.

    I refuse to study theology, I said.

    But their theology faculty is among the best, he insisted. At any rate, I hold you to your word about enrolling.

    Finally, we compromised, and he accepted my decision to major in philosophy if I promised to consider a theology program after graduation. So here I was at Bethlehem College, partly against my will, but still looking forward to studying at an excellent school.

    Things looked better when I looked at the magazine rack in my dorm’s lobby. Look at all the student publications here, I thought. Of special interest were several back issues of The Forum, a very attractive tabloid published by the student council. Very soon, I would be contacting the journalism staff. With a degree in philosophy from Bethlehem College and with the experience that a college newspaper could give, a fine university with a master’s program in journalism would surely enroll me.

    After my family had left for home, the registration process continued, and I got in line to sign up for my classes. Out from the registrar’s air-conditioned office, a threadlike file of new students wound its way down a wooden staircase and ended on the sidewalk outside the red-bricked administration building. It was here on the lawn, beside a hedge of rosebushes, that my story at Bethlehem College really began.

    I and hundreds of other new students waited in a line that moved ever so slowly. Late summer humidity, hot and muggy, always makes my thick, curly hair very unmanageable. In vain, I slicked it back with my hand. Was everyone as uneasy as I was? No matter which way I turned, as a new student, I knew every move I made would make a first impression, perhaps a lasting one, on those who saw me.

    I shifted from one heel to the other and wished that the line would move faster. Then I saw her. Over by the rose bushes, five or six students ahead, stood an attractive young woman. She wore a loose summer dress, and her long blonde hair, which flowed down the back of her bare shoulders, entranced me. Whenever she turned, I strained to catch glimpses of her face, which was as flawless as a polished statue of a Grecian goddess.

    My casual awareness became a discreet stare as the line moved forward and moved us along into the administration building. I tried to look away, but my focus always drifted back to her. As we edged our way up the staircase, her milky complexion and high cheekbones created an image worthy of veneration. I, from below, watched her ascend, step-by-step, to an ever higher pedestal. The sublime symmetry of her curves enraptured me; it was as if all my aspirations had appeared in physical form to generate within me a knot-like longing that held me spellbound.

    I dared not reveal my frenzied state to those around me. Behind a feigned wall of indifference, I inched my way forward so that, as we turned the corner in the hallway, I was standing right behind her. I now viewed her at close hand and could smell the fresh scent of shampoo in her hair.

    What was special about this girl? Yes, she was pretty, but Bethlehem College had many beautiful women. Why her? Had the mere sight of her sparked off in me some new kind of consciousness, an inner dawning that allowed me—and only me—to appreciate this unpretentious, womanly being? With growing interest, I noted her every subtle move. Though she tried to project an air of sophistication, slight fidgets betrayed her unease. Never mind, I could look beyond it all, for my eyes saw something else, something wonderful.

    We were just outside the registrar’s office, and although I had been watching her for nearly an hour, she had yet to notice me. Who was I to her? Twice she had looked right at me. Surely, she had seen me, but to her I was part of the landscape, a one among many and nobody in particular. Nor did I do myself any favors since I only dared to look at her when she had turned the other way. Whenever she did look in my direction, I lowered my head and pretended to read my registration papers.

    Once I was inside the registrar’s office, a young man came over and looked at my papers. He then pointed to the booth where philosophy students signed up for classes. The girl, whose name I did not yet know, had taken off in another direction, and I almost lost sight of her as she reported to another table on the far side of the crowded room. In all haste, I signed up for this class and that, following her every move out of the corner of my eye, worried that our ways would part and I might never see her again.

    Luckily, I had finished registering first and reestablished my position behind her as we stood in line to pay our registration fees. Would she acknowledge me now? While removing her checkbook from her purse, she turned her eyes upward and looked right at me, blankly, without a hint of recognition, and then turned toward the cashier to pay her fees. She had registered everything but me!

    She was about to go, and I prodded myself to ask her where the bookstore was. Even a casual question could be an identifying moment the next time we passed in some crowded hallway between classes. She had already packed her papers away, and she was so out of reach. She was walking away, and all I could do was chide myself for a spineless performance.

    Our impasse ended, dramatically, for just as she was about to make her exit, the girl stepped on my foot. Startled, she jerked backwards and spilled all her registration papers across the floor.

    Oh, no, she gasped and caught her balance by grabbing my—now blessed—arm. My papers, I mean, your foot, I’m terribly sorry...

    With these ungraceful moves, her composure had evaporated. As if some unseen power had torn up the script, I entered her life’s drama, pell-mell.

    Here, let me help you gather your things, I said. While others stood by and stared, I had become the protagonist in a plot turning in my favor. To my delight, the girl was just as concerned with me as with her papers.

    I’m so sorry, she said with horror at the mess of papers strewn about. Are you all right?

    I’m quite fine, thank you, I replied. To everyone’s amusement, I squatted down and gathered up her things while she shuffled them around into a semblance of order.

    I feel so stupid, she sniffed with tear-filled eyes. Everyone’s looking at me.

    I arose and offered comfort with my warmest smile. Of course, they’re watching, but who’s paying any attention? Why should they care? Let me help you straighten everything up.

    My comforting words had bypassed her, completely, as she wiped away the tear-washed mascara from beneath her lovely eyes. "Yes, they are paying attention. If only I could disappear."

    Here, let me put these papers back into your folder. I tidied up her things until everything looked presentable. For heaven’s sake you look great. Believe me, you do.

    Do you honestly mean that?

    Verily, verily I say unto thee...you look fantastic.

    At that nicely timed line, her clouds of despair dissipated, and she beamed a radiant smile. C’mon, stop teasing, and thanks a lot for helping. It was sweet of you. What… —her penetrating stare made me teeter— is your name?

    My name? Morrie. Morrie Schiller.

    This girl became prettier with every passing moment, especially since she was now focusing on me, paying no mind to those who might be watching. Her sunshine eyes, still moist with tears, now glistened like a blue rainbow. In my momentary infatuation, I forgot to pay my registration fees.

    Morrie? What kind of name is that?

    I laughed. "You’re not the first to ask me that. Actually, it’s a long story. You see, my father named me after Morowitz Roth, who is a converted Jew. But everyone called him Morrie. He owns the car dealership where my dad works. Well, actually, they’re partners since Dad owns a third. Anyway, although Dad was still an atheist about the time I was born, he liked Morowitz so much that he named me after him.

    She smiled again. That’s funny. Is your real name Morowitz then? Thank God, no. Actually, my legal name is Morris, since Mom didn’t think Morrie was a proper name. But nobody calls me that—except my mother when she’s mad.

    She smiled again. That’s funny. Is your father still an atheist?

    Oh, no. When I was nine years old, Mr. Roth took our whole family to a Billy Graham Crusade at Metropolitan Stadium. Upon hearing Dr. Graham’s message, my father repented and became a Christian that very night. You should have seen him. He wept so hard that two ushers had to hold him up at the receiving platform.

    Were you saved that night, too?

    "Well, my sister and I were only kids back then, and though we went forward, it was more in the flow of things. My mother, who was a devout Catholic, had already been taking Mary and me to church every Sunday and had told us all about God. You could say that she followed my father, mainly after seeing the way Dr. Graham’s sermon affected him. Our whole family sort of became Christians that night, if you know what I mean."

    By now, the girl and I had left the registrar’s office and were walking alone down the hallway. Say, I said, you haven’t told me your name yet.

    Oh, I’m Tracy Johnson. Morrie Schiller... I’ve heard that name before. Morrie, Morrie...

    Does knowing that I’m from St. Paul, Minnesota help?

    Morrie Schiller. St. Paul. I know about you. Have you ever heard of Eileen McFirmich?

    Eileen? Why, yes, she goes to our church.

    Yes, your church. What’s the name? Doesn’t it start with a ‘B’?

    Bourgeous Road Baptist Church.

    Her beautiful face lit up as I entered a step higher in her consciousness. Yes, I remember now. That’s incredible.

    The pleasure of this delightful conversation stimulated my affections. Mr. Roth brought us there, after Dad got saved. Everyone in my family is a member there now. How would you know about my church?

    Tracy suddenly stopped in silence. Her mouth opened in awe; her eyes widened like oval sapphires. She gasped and drew me deeper into her life. You’re the guy that Eileen wrote would be here at Bethlehem College. I’m supposed to look you up if I need a friend. I’d forgotten all about it. I’ve known about you for some time, and here you are in the flesh. That’s incredible.

    I blushed. Eileen said that about me?

    Yes, she said you’re a very nice guy, and trustworthy too.

    Eileen said that I could be trusted? Are you sure she didn’t mean my sister Mary? Where did you meet her anyway?

    At a place called Camp Zion in northern Minnesota, two summers ago. We’ve been writing ever since. She told me about you, Morrie. How could I forget a name like that?

    Well, since she wrote that about me,— I smiled sheepishly— how are your friendships going?

    What do you mean?

    I shyly put my hands in my pockets. Eileen said you should look me up if you needed a friend. Put it this way, now that you’ve made contact with me, does that mean you still need a friend?

    She turned her face to hide the fresh wash of tears. Oh, Morrie, she said, I’m so unhappy. Everyone belongs here, except me.

    Tracy, you’re now a part of this school too. Suddenly, I was force to take action. "It says so right there on those papers you’re holding. Look, you’re a bona fide Bethlehemite."

    Yes, technically I am, but you don’t understand. Deep inside I know I don’t belong here. I hate this place and want to quit right now.

    You’re a little homesick, that’s all. In a couple of days, you’ll adjust and become as happy as anyone else.

    Tracy scoffed, Homesick, what do you know about my home? It won’t happen as you say. I have felt this way before, and it never gets any better. Yes, I am very lonely, but you can’t know what it’s like.

    Tracy’s honesty had caught me off guard. In truth, I knew exactly what she meant. Seeing her was like looking into a mirror: her wounds reflected mine. Had we been all this time living parallel lives, groping with the same sense of estrangement? Our first encounter in the registrar’s office was beyond description. Like two streams, two lives had unexpectedly met and now flowed in the same direction.

    We strolled around our new home and visited the oldest building on campus, die Kaffeemühle, which was still known by its German name because it looked like an old coffee grinder. According to a plaque, it was originally the library, but it was now known as the Visual Arts Center with studios for painters and photographers.

    On the network of sidewalks that connected the manicured campus, we visited the present library, the science buildings, and the newly built multiplex Christian Communication Center. We were oblivious to the hundreds of people who passed us by. Nothing else mattered as we grew more intimate and spontaneously shared the secrets of our hearts. Our lives had been thrust together in all their natural but passionate dimensions, as in a prologue to an epic poem.

    Tracy wanted to show me her dorm, so we retraced our way back across the campus. Though life had suddenly become wonderful, I could not help but feel the presence of something contentious. All these buildings with their classical design emanated an aura of prudence that clashed and tangled with the forces of spontaneity that had enlarged our lives. They spoke of order and restraint. Adorned with Grecian pillars, they loomed over us, distorted and threatening and seeming to say, Flee from passion and desire; be wary; heed your head and not your heart.

    Maybe I should have listened to Common Sense and fled the arena to become a spectator. Observe but don’t participate. Such had been my credo. However, this time I couldn’t resist. My yearning to be hers was too great. Was falling in love for me? Yes. Whatever Tracy was thinking, I wanted her more than anything else, and I offered myself without a stitch of resistance. That my intentions were in harmony with hers, I could only pray.

    In the middle of the campus, facing Tracy’s dorm, was a round, European-style courtyard tiled with cobblestone. We entered and encountered a huge, three-tiered fountain in simple classical style. At midpoint, a marble-like sculpture spouted water upward with the overflow cascading from tier to tier down to the circular pool below. Uppermost stood a virtuous-looking, yet unreachable figure of a woman perched on a pedestal. She was Sophia, an imposing bronze statue donned with a Grecian gown. At the opening ceremony, President Lentzner had told us with pride that she was "a configuration of Wisdom from the Hebrew book of Proverbs—even though the statue resembled a Grecian goddess— and thus the official emblem of the school."

    Designed by a forgotten Venetian architect in 1901, Sophia was the campus landmark and known architecturally throughout the city. At the base of the pool the inscription read, WISDOM HATH BUILT HER HOUSE, SHE HATH HEWN OUT HER SEVEN PILLARS. Thus, said President Lentzner, Bethlehem College has seven main faculties of study.

    Beneath Wisdom, my first venture with Tracy ended. We both had dorm council meetings during which new students were to meet their RA’s. Each floor would then have a grill party. Tracy looked at her watch and waited for my parting words. The spontaneity that had been ours had now dissipated and yet had left a lingering question: Where do we go from here?

    What I wanted to say was locked up inside me. I looked up at Sophia in the fountain. Her astute gaze scanned beyond the courtyard and across the campus. Surely, Wisdom could give me a voice for my true feelings. However, what came out was pathetic.

    Well, so long, I said hoping that I didn’t sound inept. It was nice meeting you. Let’s get together again soon.

    We walked to the other side of the courtyard, which faced the front entrance to Centennial Hall, the dorm where Tracy lived. With a faint voice she replied, I hope you’re not like those guys who say they care and really don’t.

    What makes you think that? My heart was pounding. Fear tightened across my chest. I wanted those words to mean one thing: Morrie, please come into my life.

    The hopeful look in my eyes caused Tracy to hurry up the steps. She turned the door latch with a worried look. Morrie, I’m not sure, but I think I want to see you again.

    She disappeared behind the vault-like doors and left me standing alone with the faint sound of splashing coming from the courtyard fountain.

    The way back to my dorm passed the fountain with the Grecian figurine. This was my third encounter with Sophia, the first being in the back seat of the family car with my sister Mary, when we first arrived on campus. We had seen many pictures of her before, and, like many first time visitors, Mary wanted to see the famous emblem of the college.

    There’s Sophia! she cried as we drove past the courtyard. Dad, stop the car. I want to take a picture.

    But Dad’s mind was elsewhere. There’ll be plenty of time for that later, he said. Let’s find Morrie’s dorm first.

    Mary knew enough not to argue with her father when he was under stress. At that moment, I heard a woman’s voice whisper my name, Morrie.

    Abruptly, I swung my head around and peered out the back window of the car. I swear, Sophia was looking at me! Then our car swung around the corner, and she disappeared behind a building.

    Chapter 2

    ________________

    Frank Blachford is my friend, and the most irritating one I have ever had. Born on a small farm in Kentucky, he has the genuineness of Huckleberry Finn, but the intrepid ethics of Aunt Polly. With a long, lanky body and sandy hair, his full tooth smile stretched from ear to ear. He was the only Bethlehem student I knew who wasn’t afraid to color his speech with country jargon. But don’t let his yokel ways fool you, for he was as smart as they come, and he earned straight A’s in all his classes. Some snickered at his speech and called him a wacko, but it was Frank who was laughing at them. When it comes to speaking his mind with moral sureness, Frank is unyielding and fearless. Theologically he was ultra-conservative. We had met the first week on the way to morning chapel, and, since then, we had often walked together on our daily treks across the campus. Even though we were very different, there was a strange attraction between us.

    As usual, Frank did most of the talking. I’ve heard the tongue-waggin’, but now I know the truth. Babylon the Great is eatin’ away the very foundations of Bethlehem College.

    What are you talking about? I asked. Frank’s certainty often seemed more like stubbornness.

    Liberal theology, of course, that Whore of Iniquity.

    Must you be so colorful? I said just as the bell tower chimes started to ring. From all corners of the campus, hundreds of students were streaming toward the chapel building. Does being conservative forbid one from being open-minded? Besides, in my opinion, this school has more than its share of staunch conservatives.

    Hardly, though there are a few exceptions. My New Testament professor, Dr. Undheim, is awesome. He knows everything about the Bible.

    Need I say more? I quickened my pace.

    Frank quickened his. "But the rest of them, well, I question their stand on the Word of God. Just last hour, Dr. McGee—I call him Fibber McGee—said that Matthew, Mark, and Luke weren’t inspired by God at all, but came from some lost manuscript called Q. Will you please slow down? I’m tryin’ to say somethin’ important."

    I stopped and looked straight at him. Frank, I heard the same lecture yesterday. That’s not what he said.

    "Well, of course the Fibber would deny it, but that’s what he meant. Where in the Bible is Q mentioned? When my granddad went to this school, the Bible was still taught as infallible and inerrant."

    Things still look the same to me. Listen, if we don’t get moving, we’re going to be late for chapel, I said and started to walk swiftly. Let’s cut across Sophia’s courtyard. It’s shorter that way.

    Frank kept up and rambled on as my thoughts drifted over to a meeting I had just had with The Forum, the weekly student newspaper. The editors were interviewing candidates to fill the vacant post on the editorial board. A leading journalist from the Milwaukee Journal was there. She spoke on the responsibilities of the Christian journalist to report the news unhindered by religious bias. Beside her sat The Forum’s main editor, Tina Kaiser, an overweight senior with a bitter temperament. Already on the first day of school, I had heard other students muckraking her, calling her Tiny Tina behind her back and criticizing her for being an agitator. From the moment I saw her, I knew why. Just to look at her was provoking. My prospects as a Bethlehem journalist seemed dubious.

    Pay attention, Morrie, said Frank, interrupting my drifting thoughts. I’ve been wantin’ to talk to ya about your major.

    Yes? was my answer, but my mind was elsewhere. Frank jabbered on about the school’s backsliding, but I could not keep my mind off the editor’s meeting. I had shown interest in the position, and the scene of my initial interview with Tina Kaiser was fresh before me. She had treated me like some bumpkin from a Minnesota barnyard.

    "I was a summer youth reporter at the St. Paul Pioneer Press and have editing and layout experience from Twin City Jr. College," I said in my opening statement.

    She asked, "Have you ever worked with a real college newspaper before?"

    With the exception of the sport’s editor, Bart Boyer, the other staff members seemed generally hostile. They kept asking leading questions such as, How would you report on the narrow mindedness of President Lentzner’s administration?

    Morrie, persisted Frank. Are you listenin’?

    Yeah, sure, you asked me what my major was, but you know that. I’ve told you many times.

    He sighed. "I know you’re a philosophy major, Morrie. I’m tryin’ to get across that there are certain studies Christians should avoid."

    C’mon, Frank, I said. He was beginning to irk me. Don’t start with that again. You know about my father and how I ended up studying philosophy at Bethlehem.

    On campus, Frank was a pious gadfly. Almost everyone knew him at least by name since he publicly championed every conservative cause at school. Many students liked him, personally—his unvarnished friendliness was hard to resist—but few took him seriously.

    Frank, what are you doing here at Bethlehem? Wouldn’t you feel more at home at a Bible college like Red Grange Bible Institute in Illinois?

    That’s an excellent school, but Granddad went to this school back when it was still faithful to the Word of God. Someone must stand against the lies of Satan. The Lord has a special mission for me that could affect the destiny of this college.

    What kind of mission?

    Frank flashed his famous full-face grin. I don’ know yet. He hasn’t told me yet.

    I huffed in derision. Frank, I didn’t want to come to Bethlehem College, but now that I’m here, I going to make the best of it. Besides, Dr. McMurray’s classes are very interesting. He’s lecturing on how Plato has influenced Christian theology. For example -

    What hath Athens to do with Jerusalem? Frank quipped with his eyes rolling up toward the sky. Openin’ one’s mind to philosophical hogwash is dangerous. Look what happened to Nietzsche. He was even a pastor’s son. First, he started speculatin’ and then doubtin’ and lickety-split, he declared God to be dead and...

    Stop! I plugged my ears. Life’s a bit more complex than that, Frank. Let’s pretend you didn’t say that.

    Nietzsche went insane, didn’t’ he? Men like him undermine the Word of God, moral absolutes, and the Christian faith. I fear that you’ll start swallowin’ that stuff too.

    So this is why God has sent you to Bethlehem College, to be my personal prophet of doom?

    Frank stopped in his tracks and paused to think. "That’s not the reason. You’re kind of a side case, while I wait for the big assignment." He was altogether serious.

    I groaned as we crossed through the cobblestone courtyard and approached the fountain. "So I’m a prophetic warm-up before the big one. Frank, you are so naive. Not all philosophers are atheists. Some have been and are Christians."

    Yeah, liberals, but how can ya call that Christian?

    Frank... Not wanting him to peeve me any more, I changed the subject. The fountain was in full array with water spouting in all direction. I grabbed Frank by the arm and pointed to Sophia. Do you know who Gregorius Richter is?

    Of course I do. He was a Pomeranian and the founder of Bethlehem College. His arm flinched in fearful expectation.

    "Then you must have heard those legends

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