A Book of American Martyrs(30)

In this class my grade would be B-at the end of the term. I did not want to think that this was the lowest grade in the class of twelve students for it would make me envy and hate my classmates, and (kindly, white-haired) Reverend Lundquist (who spent much of the class hour reminiscing to us of his early days as a minister in the Methodist church, in Barnstead, Oklahoma), and this was upsetting to me as a Christian.

The old man will never recommend you for a pastorship. Even if you earn your degree. You may as well give up, right now.

Save on tuition, fool. Save on gas.

Luth-er!

In “The Minister’s Bible,” in reading Genesis, our instructor Reverend Dilts told us that the story of the Garden of Eden had taken place approximately ten thousand years ago; but one of the younger students questioned whether it was a greater time than that, like fifty thousand years—(so he seemed to have been told by some revered authority). Also, there were claims by “atheistic scientists” that human beings had not been created by God but were descended from apes and monkeys. Reverend Dilts told us heatedly that these were ridiculous ideas with no basis in Scripture.

In my notebook I took down these facts—10,000 yrs./50,000 yrs. Carefully I underlined 10,000 yrs. for this was Reverend Dilts’s figure, that would likely be on our final exam.

It seemed to be upsetting to others in the class, as to Reverend Dilts, that many Americans were coming to believe atheistic and socialist ideas as a result of public school teaching and science courses in the schools, more upsetting yet “sex education,” but I was too tired or distracted to feel strongly about these issues, and often woke startled from a light doze, embarrassed to think that Reverend Dilts might have noticed. (I am sure that Reverend Dilts did notice!) At such times I felt shame, and anxiety, that I was wasting my earnings on tuition at the school, and that Edna Mae would be crushed if I did not graduate with a diploma. My teeth chattered with a strange sort of cold, as if I was frightened, and once Reverend Dilts turned to me, with a quizzical look as if I had spoken aloud—“Luke? Excuse me—Luther? What do you think?”

What did I think? I had not been following the discussion closely. It was a week when we were fearful of Edna Mae being pregnant—again—and a week when both the children had infected ears—and a week when a customer had complained to our employer that some stairway carpentry work done by another man and myself was not what he had asked for, that might have to be torn out and done again. All that I could think was that the discussion in class had to do with atheism in the public schools, and a ban on prayer that was the fault of the Supreme Court (?) in Washington, D.C., that was the result of socialist influence on the judges (?). It came to me to say, “It is the will of Satan.”

These words leapt to my lips. I could not think of another syllable more.

Reverend Dilts spoke slowly: “‘The will of Satan.’ Yes. I think you are right, Luther. Just in my lifetime, since the presidency of Franklin Delano Roosevelt, the legion of Satan is gathering strength in the United States.”

A shiver ran through the class. It was possible, for I was light-headed from fatigue, to imagine the shadowy face of Satan at one of the windows of the classroom, grinning at the back of Reverend Dilts’s head, without the elderly man taking note.

One of the younger, bright students in the class, whom I had come to hate for his brightness, and the obvious favoritism Reverend Dilts felt for him, asked, “Will we go to war one day, Reverend?”—and Reverend Dilts said, with satisfaction, “We are already at war with the atheist-enemy, son. It has only just begun and we will bury them.”

War? What did they mean? I would have thought they meant war like in Vietnam, or in Korea . . . It would be some time before I realized that they meant a war within the United States, Christians against atheists for the soul of America.


BUT I SAY UNTO YOU, That whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart.

It is painful to confess that I did not remain faithful to my dear wife for more than three years; and that my betrayal of my marriage and my family came at a shameful time, when I was a student at the Toledo School of Ministry and (you would have thought) I had dedicated to myself to Jesus with all the more fervor, to prepare to serve Him for the remainder of my life.

Even before that time, I will confess that I lusted after women in my heart. In all places, even in church. Even with Edna Mae and my children beside me and a warm child’s hand clasped in mine.

Sometimes the women were strangers to me glimpsed in a store, on the street. Sometimes they were acquaintances, even wives of homeowners for whom I was working.

Sometimes they were not women but girls. Driving along Front Street at Second Avenue, at the high school . . . Suddenly there was Felice Sipper at the curb waiting for the light, toeing the sidewalk in her way that drew my eye to her, helpless. She did not seem aware of me as I stared at her through the windshield of my car hazy with oak tree pollen.

Of course, it was not Felice. I was twenty-eight years old, it would not ever be Felice Sipper again.

Those days in early spring (1987) when the air began to warm at midday and a terrible restlessness overcame me and I could not bear to remain in the overheated ministry school any longer but dared to cut my afternoon class—this term, the afternoon course was “Pastoring.” It was a short drive to the old, inner city of Toledo along the Maumee River where there were many taverns within a few blocks, and in none of these were likely to be individuals who knew me, or had ever heard of Luther Dunphy, or the St. Paul Missionary Church of Jesus. What happiness I felt in stepping inside one of these!—the relief and satisfaction of one who has come to the right place at last, that has been awaiting him.