Returning from internship and reuniting with classmates for senior year at seminary was a time for telling tales of our experiences. I don’t know how much they were embellished, or whether I even heard them accurately, but here are some I remember:
One student hated dogs, and dogs reciprocated. Worship was over and people were milling around and talking, and the intern, fully vested in his robes, started down the aisle for the front door when a bulldog appeared. The intern turned and ran back up the aisle as best he could with those vestments, and jumped over a railing at the front of the sanctuary. The dog went through the railing and managed to bite him on the leg before he could be rescued – didn’t break the skin and everyone was laughing.
It was a hot summer’s day and no a/c in the old building, so the intern stripped to his boxers before putting on his vestments and, you guessed it, their elastic wasn’t up to the task and the boxers fell down around his ankles right there in front of God and everybody.
Startled by the shots of an honor guard, one intern lost his footing and slipped part-way into an open grave.
Factual or not, stories like this give me new perspective when I take myself too seriously. I’m on a journey now over the meaning of an honest “God-concept” in today’s scientific world where old world-views and scriptural factuality are questioned. But sometimes I think that God has to have a sense of humor and when I ponder spiritual things I need reminding that my vision is human and limited, and I hope I can laugh together with “the source of my being” when things get hilarious.
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