Faith, reason, and the educated Christian Creationism - College and ...

They turned him one way and then another.
They lifted him up and put him
down. Above all, they talked to him
about Jesus. One day, in light of their
conversations with him, they asked if
he had given his heart to the Lord. In
full sincerity he said,“Yes.” He came
close to the Lord because, as in the parable
of the Good Samaritan, someone
came close to him, a stranger in the
road, in care and compassion.
All this was taking place before I arrived
in Yugoslavia. It was beyond anything
I could have imagined. But more
was to happen. Getting off the plane in
Zagreb, I was unexpectedly met by a tall,
well-groomed man who announced he
would take me to the hospital. This undoubtedly
was due to the “preparations”
the seminary student said he
would make for me. As we drove to the
hospital I said to my generous host, “I
suppose you are a minister here in
town.” He responded, “You might say
that I am something like that.” In fact
he was the conference president! What
an honor. Here I was, just a stranger in
the road, and the conference president
came to help me. What a contrast to the
two ministers of religion in the parable,
the priest and the Levite, who refused to
minister to a wounded stranger.
It was an incredible moment when I
walked into my dad’s hospital room. He
had no idea I was coming. He was sitting
up on the edge of the bed with the
nurse supporting him. When our eyes
met, I saw the look of unbelieving joy in
my dad’s face. A torrent of emotion
swept through me. I had made it. My
father was still alive. God’s blessing was
clear.
When we began to talk, my father
said things I will never forget. He, for
whom I had such longing for years that
he come to know his Lord and the Adventist
faith, said to me, “If they make
people like this, then I want to be a part
of this people. You are a righteous people.”
The “people like this” were the
Seventh-day Adventists who had been
Dialogue 15:3 2003
visiting and caring for him, a stranger in
their road.
A little later, my father said, “If I live
to get out of here, I want to be baptized
into this people.” Unbelievable! What
had led him to this place? Not doctrine,
but Adventist people radiating the love
of Christ.
This accords with something that
happened several weeks before my father
made the journey to his homeland.
Each year at Andrews University, Yugoslavs
from all over North America come
together for a few days of camp meeting.
It dawned on me that I ought to invite
my dad to these meetings where he
would hear his native language spoken
and music played on instruments he
himself played. He accepted the invitation
and thoroughly enjoyed all that
took place.
At the church service on Sabbath,
Theodore Carcich, the big, strapping
Croatian vice-president of the General
Conference, then retired, was speaking.
At one point in his sermon, he began to
talk about the mark of the beast. This
worried me with my Catholic father
right next to me. He wasn’t ready for
this. I began to pray, “Dear Lord, help
Elder Carcich talk about something
else.” Suddenly Elder Carcich switched
thoughts and said: “In the area of the
state of Washington where I live are
many Catholics. You know, the only
way to win a Catholic to the Adventist
Church is to love him.” Elder Carcich
was even more right than he knew at
the time! After the sermon, as my father
stood conversing with people, I asked
Elder Carcich if he would be willing to
meet my father. He burst forth with an
enthusiastic, “Oh, yes,” and moved
swiftly toward my father like a Yugoslavian
tank. Whomp, he threw his arms
around my dad and gave him a gigantic
hug. My father was a big man, but the
good elder was even bigger, and all that
was left showing of my dad was his
stunned face. This expression of Adventist
love and acceptance was extremely
moving. Elder Carcich’s words and actions
were a prophecy and preparation
for what was to come in Yugoslavia.
One day my father said to me and
the conference president standing near
in his hospital room, “Put one of your
hands up to the hand of the other.” Our
palms and upward pointing fingers
came together. Then my father placed
his hands around ours, looked me
straight in the eye, and said, “You are
my son,” turned to the president and
said, “And you are my friend.” His
words were a complete reversal of his
long-ago declaration: “You are no longer
my son. You have no place in this
home!” Now, in my father’s final hours
of life, he solemnly asserted that I was
his son. At that very moment, I believe,
the heavenly Father was bowing low to
my father’s bed saying, “And you are My
son.”
None of the medications given so far
had been effective in relieving my father’s
pain. As I learned later, two-thirds
of his heart muscle had been destroyed
in the attack, and his circulation was so
poor that gangrene began to develop on
his toes. His pain and feeling of cold
were unbearable. I pled with the doctor
to give him an even more potent painkiller.
After hesitation and reflection—
he was worried that a stronger medication
might cause my dad’s heart to
stop—he agreed. He decided upon morphine
which put my father into a relaxed
and peaceful sleep. He stayed that
way all day. Late in the evening, two
people I had gotten to know convinced
me to accept a dinner invitation. With
my father resting comfortably, we set off
by car to a distant restaurant. Upon our
return it was past midnight, and I
thought they were going to take me
right to my hotel. Instead they asked if I
would like to visit my father. I said yes,
and before long I was in the critical-care
unit of the hospital. In the quiet of the
moment, with not even the nurse
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