Steve's Letter: Now Go and Tell Someone!

Last month I told you about my lousy job-thinking God commissioned me to keep people from sinning. It was a lousy job because I wasn't very successful at it and people, no matter what I said or did, kept on sinning. Then I realized that the teacher wasn't doing that great either.

Now let me tell you something else. I not only had a lousy job, I had (and still have) a job I really ought not to be doing. If I were God choosing someone to do what I do, I wouldn't even be on the list of prospects.

I've just returned from a week of teaching at Westminster Seminary in Philadelphia. In Presbyterian and Reformed circles, Westminster is a very old and quite prestigious graduate school of theology.

Why did they invite you?

Very funny.

But in answer to your question, I don't have the foggiest idea. Maybe it's my good looks, my thoughtful scholarship or my incredible teaching gifts. Then, again, it was probably because they couldn't find anybody else...

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Steve's Letter: You can't teach a frog to fly!

I've had a lousy job for most of my life!

As you know, I'm a preacher/pastor and my job description is to keep people from doing what they obviously want to do. I've often felt like an overwhelmed police officer at a rock concert charged with keeping the concert goers from using drugs.

With a job description like mine, you hardly ever get invited to parties, people are not very honest, and sometimes you feel like a wet shaggy dog shaking himself at a wedding. I tell them that I'm trying to help and that God anointed me to reach out to them, but they simply don't care.

Preachers are supposed to keep people from sinning.

I haven't been very successful so far.

There are times when I feel like I'm standing by a cliff where people come to dance. "Be careful," I tell them. "It's a long way down and the stop will be quite unpleasant." They look at me. They sometimes even thank me.

Then they jump...

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Steve's Letter: "I'm working on a Festschrift!"

Do you know what I'm doing? (Well, what I was doing before I stopped to write to you...)

I'm working on a Festschrift...and you don't even know what that is.

You're fortunate to know a scholar like me because I'm going to teach you some things you need to know. After this lecture, you'll be able to impress your friends and win at Scrabble.

You'll owe me!

Listen up! You'll be tested on this later.

A Festschrift is an academic book written by scholars, honoring a respected scholar during his or her lifetime. It's from a German word meaning a "celebratory publication." Just so you know, the plural is Festschriften.

Okay, okay. I admit it. I didn't have the foggiest idea what a Festschrift was either until I was asked to contribute to one. I managed to smile and say, "Of course, I'll do it and would be honored." Then I went back to my office and looked up the word to find out what I had just said I would do. (Now, if I can just find out how to pronounce it, I can then keep from looking like a total fool.)

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Steve's Letter: You Talk Too Much!

Arthur Rubinstein, one of the greatest pianists of the 20th century, went to his physician with a minor throat irritation. Rubinstein had a tendency to magnify minor physical problems into major ones and, in this case, he was sure he had throat cancer or worse.

As the doctor examined him, Rubinstein kept talking.

"I know this is serious," he said, "and I want you to know that I can handle bad news."

The doctor continued his examination in silence.

"I've lived a full life," Rubinstein continued talking, "and can face death with no regrets. So whatever you find, I can take it. Don't soften it; just tell me the truth."

The doctor put down his stethoscope and said, "Your problem isn't that you have cancer. Your problem is that you talk too much!"

Last month, I told you about speaking for this year's graduation at Reformed Theological Seminary where I've taught for the last 15 years. This month, I'm glad to report that I did it and didn't make a fool of myself.

But the best part was that I didn't talk too much.

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