Saturday, December 23, 2006


Many people have written to me regarding the BANNER article and my ongoing search for justice. Two reponses recently came from well-known denominational insiders: one commenting, "All I can say to you is , I'm very, very sorry," another saying, "Ruth, I feel badly for all involved, but especially for you, how all of this unfolded over time. I wish for you the strength and freedom to "let it go," to live in the confidence that you tried to do the right thing and to accept the things you cannot change."

Another message came from a French man teaching English in China: "How are you these days? Getting over the bitter experience at Calvin? (Remember, the real, historical John Calvin drowned his opponents, so you must be lucky the 21st century Calvin let you go scott free!)"

Still another writes: "What you no longer teach in the classroom, you are now teaching in a much more public arena. Was that God's plan afterall....just wondering...I guess that is why your journey, your story has drawn me in." She goes on to speak of going through a somewhat similar experience and ends up saying, "You are much more articulate than I will ever be."

So how do I respond to these and many more messages giving me advice and asking for support. Well, I don't think old Calvin actually drowned anyone, but I certainly can be glad I was not burned at the stake. And, I do appreciate those who offer words of sadness and sympathy.

But should I "let it go" or should I seek to articulate what others are less able to do? Is God's plan that let it go or that I speak out so that hopefully I can prevent this from happening to others?

My life is very full, and "My Calvin Seminary Story" is only one part of a very busy schedule. This "ordeal has led me to many new friends and acquaintances, including the writer of this message:

Dear Ruth: To let you know I've added to my mobbing mainpage a link to your site. Again thanks for exposing these shenanigans to public view. Have a happy Christmas, best wishes for the new year. Ken