59 — In Uniform for Church? (Houston: May 1978)

It was not exactly the triumphant return that I had imagined when we first left Berachah Church for Rhodesia.  Even though Ken had assured me that we were “welcome,” I felt trepidation as we took seats near the back of the auditorium of 1500 gathered to listen to another one of Bob Thieme’s bible classes.  

We had been gone 14 months, but it seemed like a lifetime.  We were out of the war zone, but not free from the war that was raging in our hearts.  Since becoming a believer in Jesus during the summer of 1969, Berachah had been the center of my spiritual universe.    There were times before Rhodesia that I would wake up in a panic after dreaming that I somehow found myself back in Louisville or somewhere else where I could not attend that evening’s bible class.  This recurrent nightmare plagued me periodically during my first six years in Houston.  I didn’t fear death from combat--I feared missing bible class!  That is how important Berachah was to me.  My entire identity was tied up in that church.

The teachings of Thieme had liberated me from my LSD-inspired Hippie worldview.  Under his tutelage now for almost nine years, I was remodeled inside and out: liberal Jew to conservative Christian, antiwar protestor to military aficionado, political science major to military history buff, longhaired hippie to crewcut zealot, and skinny non-athlete to hardened soldier. 

However, the important changes had been those that had taken place in our year in Africa.  We had field tested Thieme’s bible doctrine lifestyle.  It failed the test, leaving us with multiple collapses in our worldview construct.  The collapses were personal, spiritual and political.  Bottom line?  Thieme’s bible doctrine, when put to the test, failed.  

So, although Pegi and I walked with the confidence that we had gained from our experience, we were very tentative as we carefully reentered the Berachah community.  Who could we trust?  Really, there was no one who had any real idea of what we experienced, the world we had just left, or the culture shock we were experiencing.

Of course, other than Ken and Jill Duckman, no one at Berachah knew that we had returned from Rhodesia.  Absolutely no one knew that we had been advised to leave.  I had to maintain the confidential nature of my orders from the Rhodesian Army chief of staff.  Technically, I was still a member of the Rhodesian Army.  I was not about to imperil the position of the Army in its attempt to remain neutral by blabbing my mouth in the US.  It is only now, three decades later that I am revealing the content of my discussions with Generals MacIntyre and MacClean.  I couldn’t even share the details with my best friend, Ken.  

So, as we attempted to reintegrate into Berachah, we had a balancing act in explaining our presence.  It was up to us to manage the information.  So, we simply explained that we had been released from our three-year commitment due to the change in government that was underway.  I am sure that there wasn’t a person in Berachah at that time who was even aware of the new transitional government that had begun the day we left.  If the Colonel was aware, he was in denial!  After all, he refused to believe what I reported even when I quoted the Rhodesian news media.  He was just determined to believe that Rhodesia was the “Texas of Africa” and that they would go down fighting to the last man before agreeing to black majority rule.

As I said, it was up to us to manage the information carefully.  So, the first few days and weeks at Berachah were okay for us from an acceptance perspective.  Of course, the Colonel didn’t even want to speak with us, so I don’t think we can say we were “welcomed” back!  

With the approach of  the Memorial Day weekend, Thieme encouraged all who had ever served in any military to wear their uniforms for the services and bible classes.  [All Berachah “services” were just bible classes.  On Sundays there were one or two hymns sung as well as the monthly “Military Communions” during which selected veterans served as ushers in full dress uniforms.]  

I decided that this would be a good time for me to wear my Rhodesian Army uniform.  Over that weekend, I wore my starched camo uniform with my hobnailed drill boots, my battle dress “blouse” with khaki shorts and knee socks--several different combinations.  My strange looking camo and black beret didn’t get as many looks as did the shorts and knee socks!  I think I also wore my dress green uniform as well.  I can’t remember now—I just remember almost slipping and falling on linoleum hallways in my hobnailed boots.

A few weeks later as I was entering the auditorium for a class, I ran into Roy Hurst who was on Thieme’s staff and had introduced me to the Rhodesian recruiting process (23 — Honeymooning in a War Zone).  He stopped me and gave me that funny demeaning sneer that always seemed to be on his face.  “Hey Jeff, I  got a letter from Eugene Wiseman this week.”  Eugene was the Rhodesian pastor who had ordained me into the chaplaincy.  He had finally shown up at Llewellyn Barracks as an Army Chaplain.  Since Gen MacIntyre had instructed me to leave without informing my chain of command, Eugene believed I was on leave.  “Eugene says that you are AWOL.”

Uh oh!  Now what?  I couldn’t tell Roy about my conversation with Gen MacIntyre.  I couldn’t tell him that the General had advised me that all records of my service would be destroyed.  

No Roy, I had permission to leave.  Eugene just hasn’t seen the paperwork.  After all, Eugene was late in taking up his post in Bulawayo, so we didn’t have time to chat before I left.  But, I didn’t report to Eugene.  I got my orders from HQ.

That was all I could say, but I could see that smirk was still there.  I was sure that Roy had already told Thieme that “unstable and unreliable” Jeff was a deserter!  I expected the hammer to fall and to be excoriated from the pulpit.  Surprisingly, that seemed to be the end of the matter, but it was also the end of our time at Berachah.  

You know, that was a good thing.  Since returning, our doubts about Thieme’s so-called scholarship had gotten worse.  I had begun correspondence courses in Greek and Hebrew.  I completed two years of Hebrew courses in three months and I could already see that Thieme’s “corrected translations” of the Hebrew scriptures were absolute nonsense.    Although his Greek was better than his Hebrew and I had only completed one semester of biblical Greek, I was already seeing significant errors in his translations which were the foundation of his teaching.

We already knew that the practical living piece of his doctrinal system was useless.  If his theology was based on inaccurate biblical translations, then his whole system was suspect.  Thieme and his staff might think poorly of me, but I had already lost most of my respect for him.

It was time to go!

Next:  60 — ♪♪ On Wisconsin, on Wisconsin ♪♪ Again! (Jan 1979)

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21 -- From Jewish Hippie to Texas Conservative (Houston: Summer 1971)

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 antisemitic.  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 1970 and the Vietnam War was raging.  Thieme had published a booklet entitled War:  Moral or 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 briskly to “Attention!” and came 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:  22 — Finding Love and War (Houston:  1973)

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