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Object Description
| Title | Bethel Yearbook 1978 |
| Alternative Title | Passages 1978 |
| Academic Year | 1977 - 1978 |
| Subject |
Bethel College (Saint Paul, Minn.) College yearbooks |
| Description | This volume documents the people, events, activities and ideas of the Bethel community during the 1977-1978 school year |
| Date Published | 1978 |
| Decade | 1970 |
| Digital Publisher | Bethel University Digital Library |
| Contributors | Bleeker, Laurie (Design Editor); Hansen, Denise (Copy Editor); Johnson, Steve (Photographer); Nelson, Darrel (Technical Advisor); |
| Digital Collection | Bethel Yearbook Collection (1909-1989) |
| Location |
United States Minnesota Saint Paul |
| Time Span of Publication | Published annually from 1909 to 1989 except for the years of 1933-36, 1982, 1984-87 |
| Type | Text |
| Format | application/pdf |
| Original Publisher | Bethel College |
| Copyright | Images are available for educational and research purposes and are covered by Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 Unported license. This image may not be reproduced for commercial purposes without the express written consent of Bethel University Digital Library. Contact Bethel University Digital Library at 651-638-6937 or digital-library@bethel.edu. |
| Physical Dimensions | 21.5 x 21.5 |
| Transcript | The name, Passages, suggests the passing of someone or something. It may call to mind the passing of seasons or the movement of people through a hallway. It may suggest people moving in and out of the lives of others, or it might bring to mind our own movement through the stages of growth. This all has to do with "change," for how else do we know that passage has occurred except by changes in time, in place, in ap-pearance, in attitude, in spirit. It is this element of "change" that Passages 1978 is all about. In large measure, this is what Bethel College is all about too — people who have come to cause change and to be changed. BETHEL COLLEGE SAINT PAUL, MINNESOTA 1978 LAURIE BLEEKER, DESIGN EDITOR DENISE HANSEN, COPY EDITOR STEVE JOHNSON, PHOTOGRAPHER DARREL NELSON, TECHNICAL ADVISOR RIVER THOUGHTS As the stream flowed quickly over the fall, it came at last to the open sea. Through seasons hot and cold and all, the endless terrain, to an island's lea. It paused to rest in a tidal pool before it passed through the delta straights. "What a journey," it thought, "from the calm and cool beginning, till now I'm at Neptune's Gates." "Yet what I've learned and how far I've come has made me unique, and that strength is great. But it's frightening to leave all I've known and done up to this time, to enter the gate." "What will be seen there? What fortune meet? How lost all my waters I've gathered before! But no, not lost, many others will greet these new droplets that slip through the salty shore." "And so with a crashing and splashing of glee, I'll try my own way, I'll sing my own song. Soon I'll be caught by the arms of the sea. I'm glad to be going, but sad to be gone." MEGAN HASTINGS These cloistered woods are wreathed in garland soft, Rough oaks glisten, The pond is glazed Winter's marbled wilderness is still my thoughts aloft. Seclusion shares a journal not in print— her discoveries, imaginings, bright joys, and loneliness —the dialog with God. Our solitary meetings with one King are strengthening as on the path we trod. I sojourn in His glittering cathedrals— A woodland wonderment of lauding bells. BARB TROSTAD "There are two perceptions we ought to get very carefully about our lives, the possibility that God is going to give us options for everything we do. An option to live your life fully, completely, totally alone, or the privilege and the gift to live with a mate." Mark Lee "The key to our problems today is a new type of education." John Perkins "The ennumeration of the constitutional rights of people accused of crime in the constitution was intended to prevent the government from doing to you what it would otherwise like to do." Judge Joe Summers "A Christianity that is unrelated to a historic Christ, and a Christianity that is unrelated to a living Christ, is a Christianity that cannot, under any circumstances, have strength." Stuart Briscoe As the years go by, things become more familiar. I have relaxed, open-ed up, and discovered America. I find out that Americans are just as helpful and friendly as Indians, and that friendship overcomes cultural differences. It has been three years since I came to Bethel. Through those years I have learned to think like Americans, and spell like they do. However, I am still an Indian at heart and will never be completely Americanized. That is why I want to return to India — the land of jungles, elephants, snakes, cows, and grass huts. The India that I know is also a land of the snow-capped Himalayas, roaring rivers, and peo-ple who need Christ. It is a land of diverse and ancient traditions, cultures, and languages. "Hey, I'd like to go home with you," several friends have said. These friends are Americans who have learned to say my name right, and put up with my crazy Indian. ways. THANGI CHHANGTE ONE IN A CROWD "Hi! What's your name?" "Thangi." "Tiny? That's a cute name. Where are you from?" "India." "Isn't that somewhere near Bang-ladesh?" That's what my first few days at Bethel sounded like. Looking back, I think the prob-lems I faced my freshman year were caused by feelings of insecurity. I felt that I was treated differently because I was from another race and culture. As a result, I was of-fended easily. I was also confused because I didn't want to lose my Indian culture by becoming Americanized. At the same time, I realized that I could not adjust without adapting. Adjusting did not come easy. I was used to thinking that the American way of doing things was not always right. For instance, I had been taught that the only correct way of spelling "check" was "cheque." Such spelling mistakes really bothered me at first, but I gradually got accustomed to them. DISCIPLESHIP Stephen said as he was stoned, "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit ... Lord, don't charge them with this sin." (Acts 7) These two themes of Stephen illustrate well the "radicalized" nature of my Christian discipleship. A student came into my office one day, several years ago, and asked, "If you were me, could you fight in the Viet Nam war?" I said, "Why do you ask?" "I'm thinking of applying for a Conscientious Objector status," he said, "but my pastor says that a good Christian cannot be a pacifist and that he will not write a supporting letter." Last fall a student knocked on the door and said, "Can I see you for a minute?" I said, "O.K." She replied, "I saw you on the World Vision telethon; I was wondering why God allows so many people to starve to death. Why isn't the evangelical church doing very much about it?" This past January, a student in my Human Rights in the Modern World class related to me a passage from the prison memoirs of Georgi Vins. This preacher of the gospel in the Soviet Union experienced prison brutality at several points in his life because of his faithfulness to Christ. The student asked, "Is my faith strong enough so that I would be able to continue living for Christ in that type of situation?" When Stephen said, "Lord, receive my spirit," he could say so because Christ really was the Lord of his life. He had captured the essence of what it means to say, "If Christ is Lord, no one else can be." Christians need to make sure that the State, the accumulation of material goods, and the desire for personal survival don't shape our values and become "Lords" ®f our lives. When Stephen muttered, "Lord, don't charge them with this sin," he echoed a principle of Christian discipleship which is "radical" in nature. Christ's teachings demand that we be peacemakers, that we love those who persecute us. (Matthew 5) Christ also demands that His followers live simply, abhor injustice, and serve Him totally. Christians are dissenters whose "radical" lifestyle frequently confront the ethics and values of the communities in which we live. This we should expect. Lord, I struggle with my friends to learn what it means to be a disciple of yours. Give me the courage to adopt those distinctive characteristics which will allow those around me to know that your life dwells within me. Lord, give me that kind of "radicalness" that allows me to confront injustice proclaim thy salvation give witness of thy love. Lord, give me the strength to recognize that thy people will always be the Provocative prophetic dissenting community in a world that does not want to recognize your existence. G WILLIAM CARLSON TEACHING TO LEARN After 20 years of teaching college students, I have learned: First, I am no judge of human potential. My batting average for predicting the success of my students is so low as to be unmeasurable. Some of those I thought would set the world on fire haven't even struck a match, and some whom I considered to be wet ashes are glowing steadily. One student who enrolled in a beginning writing course told me he wanted to become a professional writer. When his papers began corn-ing in, they were unbelievably bad. I called him in for a conference. Seeking a lead into a delicate sub-ject, I asked about his background. He told me he had dropped out of school at age 14, had bummed across the country, joined the army, spent a lot of time in libraries and, after his discharge, had passed the General Education Development Test as a substitute for a high school diploma. He was admitted to col-lege. But he had missed at least four years of putting words on paper and the gap was showing. I decided to postpone my advice for at least another semester. I'm glad I did. He has made a living in freelance writing for the last 15 years. Second, I have learned there is a vast difference between criticizing and producing. It takes very little skill to point out the weaknesses in someone else's work. And that's how most teachers of writing spend their time and energy. I was reminded of that a year ago when a book manuscript of mine ended in the hands of an editor who had been one of my students. It came back with a contract on condi-tion I would do a rewrite. The editor outlined the kind of changes he wanted and then wrote, "I feel as though I am reproducing your class notes in this letter." Trouble was, he was right. The very things that I had thundered at him I had failed to do. Third, I have learned that teaching can become an ego trip. The temptation to brag, "He was a student of mine," is almost over-whelming. It implies that I am par-tially responsible for his success, or that his being successful means that I am a good teacher. A teacher may have students who become famous in spite of him. I know that the only credit I can take for a student's suc-cess is that I was not a roadblock along his way. The most important function I have is to encourage each student, to blow gently on whatever flicker-ing flame of creativity burns within him—not hard enough to extinguish it, just to make it glow a little stronger. ALVERA MICKELSON , I II ill III I -1-_,i1.1L1 I ILtL 11 1 11 1111111:, 111._ I 101$110. PROCRASTINATION AGAIN Six forty five A.M. announced itself via Glen Campbell and "Southern Nights" full volume on my clock-radio. From beneath institutional-white sheets, a 98 degree electric blanket, and a moun-tain of text books came a moan of disbelief. By the chorus of the song our subject was snoring again. It was not until unreasonable roommates began shouting that I rolled from my artificially-heated nest into the cold, stark reality of morning. I completed the every day miracles of bathing in my sleep and applying mascara with both eyes closed. At 7:45 I was shocked to find my weary body on a bus heading toward New Campus . . . and the Library. Procrastination was about to be opposed. Final deadline for my research paper didn't fall till 4:30 that afternoon. "No more fooling around." I told myself sternly. "To-day you are going to choose your topic and get that thing written!" There would be no visits to Doc's Corner. Breakfast was out of the question. And today, the number of hopeful sojourns made daily to my P.O. would decrease. Sitting in the drafty interior of the bus I felt sufficiently sorry for myself. I savored the titles "Martyr" and "Saint" for a delicious, dramatic moment. With arms stretched around an impressive mound of LRC thrillers, Existentialism and the Modern Man among them, I began an unac-customed journey toward the Bethel library. Midway between the coat racks and the drinking fountains, my asser-tive strides halted. I listened ner-vously. "Doughnuts, Coffee, Socializa-tion ..." I recognized the familiar call that drifted up the gym stairs from the Coffee Shop. "Nope," I answered. "Today I am not procrastinating. I am writing an 'A' paper." An amazed passerby stared. I smiled proudly at my courageous words, but my posture drooped as I thought of the im-possibility of holding a caramel roll in my hand. My feet took two rapid, brave steps toward the intellectually-stimulating domain of the library. "Steaming tea. Toasted English muffins ..." continued the voice coaxingly. My confident arms trembled slightly as I opened the gym doors. Doughnuts and sweet rolls pummel-ed a nose caught unaware. I heard a chorus of carefree Bethelites moan in epicurean ecstasy over their leisurely breakfasts. "My paper," I thought. "I have to write a paper." "Tomato juice ... muffins ..." The voice paused for the climatic addition, "a waffle." A crazed smile emerged from behind a coffee cup. An arm curved joyously about a butter-dripping waffle. The battle with procrastina-tion was lost again. SHELLY NIELSEN Walking through the Art Department I was distracted by a small huddle of people. Out of curiosity I stopped to take a look. "It's a bronze pour," said the guy standing on the outside of the huddle. I stepped closer feel-ing a sense of tension and an-ticipation in the air. I fixed my eyes upon a sweat-soaked professor, and I watched him dip a long iron thermometer into the pot of molten bronze. Above the roar of the kiln he yelled, "It's ready now. We've reached 2200 degrees." As if a race had begun the waiting workers began to replace their tension with action. Chains clanged, rattling as they were set in motion. The ceiling hoist squeaked, bearing the weight of the spewing and spit-ting red-hot bronze. Motionless, I watched the lowering pot reach the empty molds. Before the last mold was speedily filled, beads of sweat rolled from my face. "O.K. we've got them all," said the professor. I stepped from the crowd as the excited feeling slow-ly escaped me. Never had I felt so much excitement, anticipation, and tension at Bethel. MIKF.ROSE LI. High on a edged cliff my hunger resounds through canyon walls; in feathery thicket does my appetite cry out empty echoes. Delay not, 0 Lord, for this starving soul awaits for you alone; swiftly attend my distress, for in you is my trust secured. Unexpectedly, the span of stalling wings shadows the air. Hope fastens firm, stretching me outward for prey— life giving food. My mouth widens, expressing joyous reliance upon you, 0 Lord; From open lips flow forth the praises of my provider. TED LEWIS PSALM OF PRAISE Behold, the Lord is an eagle whose wings shall ever shield me; faithful is he who nurtures the offspring of his nest. THINGS PEOPLE GO TO SEE AT BETHEL When I was in high school I asked my brother, then a Bethel student, what he did in his spare time. "What spare time?" he responded im-mediately, apparently not having to think about it. Despite my efforts to pry from him the drawing cards of collegiate life, he insisted that "spare time" was a term little known in the land roamed by Keith Tekautz and Dr. Berglund. It seemed a strange change of at-mosphere, three or four years later, when I heard fellow Bethel students arguing that "you can hardly expect students not to break the lifestyle policies when Bethel doesn't give us anything to do here." I wondered how they had escaped the profs I was facing. But, I felt for Bethel's desperate element and set out to find something enticing enough to keep such people off the streets. I found a number of things to see at Bethel, and once caught in the flow of things I couldn't help but drift along. It began with Welcome Week. The first night I went to see a typical Welcome Week movie. It was very academic (because Bethel is a learn-ing community) and many people were asleep. I realized that was good because the Welcome Week staff was going to wake the sleeping freshmen (and poor innocent RAs) at 3 a.m. to go see silly skits in the gym. If exhaus-tion won't keep them off the streets I don't know what will. I tried to see several Bethel foot-ball games. It seems I was always behind some girl who jumped up and screamed on every play so ac-tually I didn't see much football at all. I wished the girl was in the streets. Festival of Christmas involved so many students that hardly anyone was left to be on the streets. "The Rainmaker," was a play directed by Dr. Rainbow who is famous for not giving his cast any spare time. It was well worth the sacrifice. When I went to see baseball games I recalled how we used to play baseball in the streets. I can only begin to l ist the movies, concerts, plays and athletic events I attended. At the end of the year I went to the all-school banquet with people I had met at concerts and football games. My grades were lower, I was poorer, and I hadn't had any spare time. But I stayed off the streets, and I'll never forget the things I went to see at Bethel. DAVID SHELLEY , i_ ,..,--- v s--': -'.-4,-, - - =.• ' '" - Irrr.t".•••• . --;- - ... . ., , . ,..s.: ........... 7 -•-•7•-7 >-i- .: - :L. ,_- f. - : ......-•••-,, . ,.., ••• ,-,- ,,,,..... -•'' ... • — ....... . _ .., , .....,....:-.... • .,,... .. ,....... , --• .c.......... ..... -.,- --.7.*-T_I-7-, '-:Ne-4, -- .,;.7 • . - ----.7,..--. .........,. ,.,.,. ,._. .:. ..„-, . 4:7 44. - -...-•-,- -_-,.. ', -. t•. •_ - - . ..-.-. t. ..." 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"..t,';'..:r.4".... -, 4,, ...irti - -‘04-i. 4-1.1!:-;,;,..i., :.-..,:k:,, . .A., 0441.17; • ...". .- _,..v. .k • ,:-.1 . ,,.. ..., - 4 ,...-,.., •-. ...,,... .. 1',..., .:. -,..- 7." • . 4-A* ,-, , •'' '-''' ''. - - 7 - • Alk- — tY ■ r • 1.;•••1 • ;46'`■ 1- i 1164khiaii4 4„. •rAl (11114.11771 • Ric YOU GOTTA WANT IT "You gotta want it" is a phrase that has stuck with me while I've played football here at Bethel. Win-ning a game was important, but more important was whether I gave my best. "Wanting it," meant giving my best. One lesson I've learned through sports is to face defeat squarely (unless you're unfortunate enough to win all the time). When my at-titude is right I can face defeat honestly and evaluate my own per-formance and character rather than blaming others or rationalizing the game away. The discipline sports has taught me helps me give my best. I wasn't born strong. I knew in order to be good I would have to work at it. The first few practices of the season my freshman year were real-ly hard. Most of my teammates were bigger than I was, and this made me wonder if I could make it. But the friendship of my teammates helped me stick out those first few but-terflies. When you sweat together, bleed together, and pray together you can't help but get close to your teammates. No one becomes a champion in a matter of weeks. Sacrifice, sweat, soul searching, ups and down, giving your best are all parts of a true champion. Our Lord was that kind of champion. MIKE ANDERSON IN THE LIMELIGHT It may be true that "all the world is a stage," and everyone has his moments in the limelight. But some of us place ourselves in its beam by choice, in theatre, athletics, music ... We take our talents before crowds hoping and trusting that what we do will bring a favorable response, for once we are out there we cannot leave until the job is done. The limelight makes us vulnerable. Mistakes leap out when we least expect them. We fumble lines, notes and footballs. We trip up in public performance. Though our minds amplify inaudible whispers and snickers, there is no place to hide, and we must charge on—alone. Hours and days and weeks of exhausting practice are spent in preparation for those short moments under the lights, a time during which the demands on us are high. We have a responsibility to do no less than our very best. The audience has paid their good money to come and see what we do—which means we'd better be at least as good as a large pizza, or a drive in the country, or Star Wars. The light demands greater responsibility in everyday life as well. Though it is less bright, the light follows us off-stage. We hear, "There's the villain of the play. D'you suppose he's like that in real life?"—and realize we are being watched. But along with the vulnerability, work, and increased responsibility come rewards. Solid relationships develop amid the stinky socks of the locker room and greasy make-up backstage. Friendships grow strong behind the lights. However, it is under the heat of the actual glare that the great exhilaration comes. We experience conquest and adventure and fulfillment. For us the stage becomes Hillary's Everest—we must mount it "because it is there." Its call is irresistible, and we leap into its blizzard of emotional tenseness, stomach butterflies and dry throats, emerging victorious regardless of whether we win or lose. We have extended ourselves out of the realm of the ordinary. We have stretched body and mind; muscles and imagination. We have discovered new worlds within us. And when we descend from the heights reached under the lights we are stronger, wiser, fuller people for having done it. It is then we begin to await with eager an-ticipation the next time the lights come up and the static spark of a live performance crackles through the air. In the limelight—its our life, our world, and we love it. BRUCE R. BONNE • ,'44' 1'1 . 2 .. •'• ri t.,.1.i..,'.:; ; ,' 1 .1 . . .., .f ,,, .. r-'... '-1-. -- , ' • ' I% 000., 00 r ..7' .. : t' . AV '*. '• .. )j i4 t fi "-NNW !; • 4."'"'"11•40••CM0-0. �� 14.111111, a DEC. 6, 8 A.M. Trod stiff kneed, wind chilled. Approach frosted vehicle with caution. Anticipation is fed with a free turning lock. Peer in at the abandoned space capsule, dungeon cooled. Vinyl is never meant to get this cold. Plop in. No other way. Grunt and vow you'll move while seat accepts life again. Key rises like a hopeless twig swallowed in gloved fingers. Gumption risen, pump and turn. Eternal seconds turn you over breathless and familiar snap sparks life and warmth that emanates every where but your toes. Check rearview mirror and go. STEPHEN B. STARR COFFEE SHOP Hum of carefree chatter melts into steady drone. Numbed fingers having lost the battle with sub-zero windchill, seek warmth on coffee cups. Oven-warm chocolate-chip cookies, still bendable, melt in savoring mouths. Townhouse dwellers speak of cold evenings and turned up thermostats. Bible and chem majors discuss alternately, theological problems and chemistry equations. Cash register's ring sounds endlessly, contributing to buzz of conversations. Words and sounds mesh together; Bethel is represented. CHAR EKLOF PASSING THROUGH Three journalists interviewed a renowned concert pianist. "How does it feel to be famous?" asked the first. With answers to that and similar questions, he wrote the story of a celebrity. "How long should a beginning student practice each day?" the second asked, and compiled advice about good piano-playing. "How do you eliminate the air space from your flawless arpeggios?" asked the third writer, who even-tually composed the profile of a unique artist. Three students came to Bethel fora four-year inter-view with the artists here—teachers, librarians, janitors, deans, RA's, other students. "What's for lunch?" asked the first, and graduated with a lot of 'neat' memories. "How many pages does this paper have to be?" asked the second, who compiled an impressive resume and pleased his parents, graduating magna cum laude. "But what does it all mean . .or what do I mean?" ask-ed the third, without presumption. He graduated quietly, equipped to live. HOLLY SCHM1ESS |
| Language | English |
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