I once saved my preaching professor from being charged with a felony.

I had already saved him from death. To be such a great preacher, he was a horrible driver. One day on our way to lunch as he was looking into the backseat while going 60 mph down the freeway, I asked if he wouldn’t mind to turn around and watch the road.

“If we die, tomorrow’s headline will be that ‘Calvin Miller and Four Others Die.’ I don’t want to be an other,” I told him.

From that day forward, I drove wherever we went.

Each semester, he would host his classes for an end-of-semester celebration.

“You have endured me, therefore I will feed you,” he would say.

Enduring him wasn’t always easy. While holding up a sermon manuscript, he would say, “It’s a shame a sermon so beautifully written could be so poorly presented.” The student would wither behind the pulpit as the rest of us feared our critique.

The sermons were always tense, but the parties were always great.

He had a beautiful house built on a hillside overlooking his own version of the Butchart Gardens. Pathways and fountains littered the grounds with a large deck overlooking it all.

As dusk fell and the party was in full gear, we heard a scream. The crowd gathered to the edge of the balcony as we saw a junior high neighbor boy streaking through the gardens.

The Dean’s wife was shocked, but the professor thought it was hilarious.

He ran and got his video camera and began to record.

He chased the kid down trying to get an interview.

When he returned to the house, he was so proud of his catch that he lost sense of reality.

“What are you going to do with that?” I asked.

“Show it to friends,” he said, “it’s hilarious. Who has a streaker at their party?”

“Not seminary professors,” I said. “Give me the tape.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Say It Out Loud: Seminary professor possesses video tape of naked teenage boy,” I said.

The sound of it hit him. He handed me the tape. I smashed it and threw it into the trash.

He called after his biography released. “You didn’t make it,” he said.

“Okay,” I responded.

“I didn’t feel like confessing to my child porn,” he said.

“I think that was wise,” I responded.