After a few weeks I found a job delivering office supplies. The store was right across the street from my apartment, so I didn’t need a car. My daily routine would take me to the Steak and Eggs diner next to the office supply store for breakfast. I would tank up on eggs and coffee for the morning. Then I would begin my delivery route in my non-air-conditioned truck all over Houston in the steaming heat. If I got sleepy while driving in the heat, I would pull over to the side of the road and do 30 pushups to wake myself. I was trying to build my upper body strength and overall endurance. For lunch, I would stop at Monterey House for Mexican food. After completing my afternoon deliveries, I returned to my apartment for a shower followed by more coffee at Steak and Eggs. I would hike the two blocks to Berachah and be ready to go with tape reels at the ready for the Colonel’s preamble:
The word of God is alive and powerful, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of the soul and the spirit, and of the joints and the marrow, and is a critic of thoughts and intents of the heart. (Heb. 4:12)
All Scripture is God-breathed, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness; that the man of God might be mature, thoroughly furnished unto all good works. (2 Tim. 3:16-17)
Study to show thyself approved unto God, a workman that needeth not to be ashamed, rightly dividing the word of truth. (2 Tim. 2:15)
I would attend classes every weeknight and three times on Sunday. Each class would be different, often a different book of the Bible. There were Monday morning classes as well, titled “Women’s Bible Study,” but attended by anyone who was not working. Once I found employment, I was no longer able to attend the Monday morning studies, but I always got the tapes to review. I also made sure that I listened to taped studies from previous classes each morning before leaving for work and in the evening before going to bed. I spent every available minute listening to tapes. I was trying to cram years of the Colonel’s teaching into my head and heart as quickly as I could.
I had bought into the concept that I had been a screwed-up hippie and that nothing from my life before Christ was worth anything. My Jewish upbringing and my psychedelic explorations were equally worthless. They represented my “old nature” and I needed the “intake of Bible doctrine” to feed my “new nature” as a Christian.
There is no question that I had been royally screwed up, but that did not mean that everything from my past life was useless. The Colonel didn’t see it that way. He had been a straight ‘A’ student, from a wealthy establishment family, served his country in WWII as a pilot and instructor, had played football, lifted weights and jogged every day. But all of that was just “rubbish” without Christ. He taught that all things before his born-again experience and the growth of Bible Doctrine in his human spirit were as “dung.” The more I listened to him, and I listened to him constantly, the more I began to incorporate his belief system as a replacement for my own.
Now, a certain amount of this is inevitable with any teacher or mentor. We begin to emulate those we admire. But Berachah church was a closed system. We listened only to Thieme. He was our “right pastor-teacher.” Just as there was a “right-man/right-woman” for each of us, designed by God especially for us, so there was a “right pastor-teacher” for each believer. We needed to master our right pastor’s teaching of systematic doctrine. It was futile for us to try to read the Bible for ourselves. We did not know the Greek, Hebrew and Aramaic languages, so we did not have the “correct” translation. Neither did we have the historical knowledge to put the scriptures into their proper context for interpretation before application to our own lives.
Our right pastor-teacher was to put it all together for us. As we subjected ourselves to the teaching authority of our right pastor-teacher, we were subjecting ourselves to God’s plan for our lives.
Pretty wild huh? Well, it sure looks that way from here, but back then, I was desperate for leadership and direction in my life. I was desperate for someone to show me the way to the truth. I was exhausted with wandering on my own. I was even exhausted with wondering. I just wanted someone smarter than me to lay it all out for me. Thieme was happy to oblige.
As I subjected myself to his biblical authority and teaching, it was only natural that I would begin to assimilate his political views and lifestyle. Everything I had learned was rubbish, so I was a blank slate. Unfortunately, the chalk at Berachah had a strange tint.
This was Texas, but Thieme was more conservative than most Texans. He was ultra-conservative politically, although he did have a liberal streak when it came to matters of race. He was neither racist nor anti-semitic. As a matter of fact, he saw all believers as born-again in Christ’s image and therefore members of the “royal family of God.” And for those who were as yet unbelievers, they were all equally corrupt and sinful whether white, red, yellow, brown or black, Jew, gentile or Asian. The only two categories of people were Believers and Unbelievers. And you became a Believer through the non-meritorious exercise of faith in Christ. No one was saved by merit, works, or status in society. All were saved by the grace of God alone, through faith.
But when it came to politics, Thieme made Barry Goldwater or Jerry Falwell seem liberal. It was 1971 and the Vietnam War was raging. Thieme had published a booklet entitled War: Moral of Immoral. This book argued that it was the duty of every Christian to serve his country. As such, a Christian should do his job as unto the Lord and if a soldier, should be the best “killer” in his outfit. I had read this before going into the Navy, thus my two minds that I described in earlier sections.
Often, the Colonel would preface that evening’s bible study with a reading from Medal of Honor citations. The military was glorified and even the Lord’s Supper was conducted as a “Military Communion.” Instead of ushers serving the crackers and grape juice, retired and active members of the military would serve in their “dress” uniforms. The Colonel would preside in his Air Force “dress whites.” It could be a bit distracting for a visitor when after meditating over the bread, the ushers were called summoned briskly to “Attention” and come marching down the aisles, some with swords jangling from their sides.
Rather than an emphasis on sending missionaries overseas, young people were encouraged to join elite units such as the Green Berets, Rangers, Navy SEALs, or Marine Recon. Everyone was expected to go to jump school to be “Airborne” qualified. I found myself questioning my discharge from the Navy. Hmm . . . maybe I should look into joining the Army?
As I sat in classes night after night, I felt myself being stirred to military service. One other thing was stirring me though. There was this really pretty brunette who came to class only during the summer months. She must be a college student. Maybe there was a way to meet her . . . .
Next: Finding Love and War
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