ages

I was reading the other day with the fan on my face, because its still hot down here, and from somewhere in the bookshelves above my head a single piece of paper blew out and landed on the ground. I noticed it, picked it up, and read it over. It was something my first religious studies teacher had written and handed out to his class when I was a freshman. Dr. Kliever, I see now, was personally responsible for me becoming a religious studies major on account of the power of my experience in the first religions course I ever took, “Ways of Being Religious” taught by Dr. Kliever. Dr. Kliever was, and I say this with utmost love in my heart, a crippled midget, a shining old man, and by far one of the smartest and most amazing individuals I have ever come across in my life, no less study under. I remember he would limp in with his cane, sit up on his stool, and just talk, and when he talked his speech was so strong and on point it sounded like he was reading from some incredible book, but he was just talking. It was he who encouraged me to relate to religion and spirituality and the experience of the divine in my own way. He gave me the go ahead to write with my own heart.
I took a second class from him second semester my freshman year, and then I found other teachers to guide me from there on out. When I was driving across the country somewhere between my junior and senior year I had a dream about him. He was in a meeting with my parents nonetheless and told them I had a glow or something. It was a dream mind you, and maybe one day I’ll type it up for you, but it would be missing the point here and now. It was a powerful dream and though I don’t often keep dream journals on account of how inconsistent my ability to remember my dreams in the morning is, I wrote it down. It was one of those deams that strike you and stick with you.
When I got back to school and started going through my school email account there was a death notification in my mailbox from sometime during the summer. Whenever an SMU faculty or important member of the community passes a notice is sent to everyone. I hadn’t checked the account all summer, but when I read that he had passed away the first thing that came to my mind was the dream I had had and how vivid it had been. Musing further on what a great man he was and realizing that he was actually the reason I kept after religious studies. I noticed the date he had passed away in the notification and it hit me that the night he had been in my dream was the night after he passed away, thought I didn’t know it at the time. I wonder what you do and where you go the first night after you die?
When the fan blew this down from somewhere, I still don’t know where, it seemed fitting to post it here and share it with you. Its simple, its beautiful, it was sent.


Jesus Through the Decades
Lonnie D. Kliever

When I was a child, I was drawn to baby Jesus. And why not – he was surrounded with loving parents, choiring angels, awestruck shepherds, adoring wise men and talking animals! This is every child’s dream of existence – being the center of everybody’s world. When I was a child, Jesus was my Playmate.

When I was an older child, I was drawn to the teacher Jesus. I envisioned him as the gentle golden-haired man I saw in pictures in the family Bible and displayed on felt board at Sunday School. He told wonderful stories, taught important principals, and helped people in miraculous ways. When I was an older child, Jesus was my Hero.

When I was a teenager, I needed a stronger and stranger Jesus. I needed a Jesus that could deliver me from the turmoil of adolescence. I needed someone who could erase my guilt, reinforce my will, and reassure me in the face of death. When I was a teen-ager, Jesus was my Savior.

When I became a man, I was less preoccupied with myself – my guilt feelings, my failed vows, my shaky relationships, my own mortality. I was more concerned with making the world a better place. I found in Jesus the pattern of a way of life that made sense of things. He taught and demonstrated a life of justice and mercy as well as love and hope. When I was a man, Jesus was my Ideal.

When I became an old man, I began to see life more from the end than the beginning. I was less concerned about what I had not done in the past and more concerned about what I could do in the future. Surprisingly, at first thought Jesus did not seem as relevant to me as he once did. He died too young to show me how to grow old and die gracefully. But further reflection on Jesus has made me realize that he conveys the wisdom for living and dying at any stage in life. He reveals and evokes the passionate life that chooses worth over wealth, love over power, justice over privilege, and life over death. As an old man, Jesus is my Guru.