Name: Clam Chowder - New England Home Style
Ingredients: 1 Bacon - slice; 2 tb Onion; 1 Potato - small; 1/2 c Water; 1/2 ts Salt; 1 ds Pepper; 1 cn Minced Clams; 1 c Milk; 1 tb Butter

For the type of human nature that each of us possesses is not pure human nature. The true humanity created by God has in our case been corrupted and spoiled. There have only been three pure human beings: Adam and Eve (before the fall), and Jesus. All the rest of us are but broken, corrupted versions of humanity. Jesus is not only as human as we are; He is more human. Our humanity is not a standard by which we are to measure His. His humanity, true and unadulterated, is the standard by which we are to be measured.

Millard Erickson

CATEGORY	CUISINE	TAG	YIELD
Seafood, Dairy	New England	Fish, New england, Soups, Appetizers	2	Servings

INGREDIENTS

1		Bacon – slice
2	tb	Onion
1		Potato – small
1/2	c	Water
1/2	ts	Salt
1	ds	Pepper
1	cn	Minced Clams
1	c	Milk
1	tb	Butter

INSTRUCTIONS

Cook bacon, drain on paper towels and reserve drippings. Saute onion in
reserved drippings until tender. Set aside. Combine potato, water, salt,
pepper and cook until tender. Stir in clams, milk, butter and onion. Heat
thoroughly. Springle crumbled bacon over each serving
From: Charlotte Grunwald's Private Collection of Authentic New England
Cooking
From Gemini's MASSIVE MealMaster collection at www.synapse.com/~gemini

A Message from our Provider:

“Jesus: beaten so that you could be unbeatable”

Make him a minister of the Word! Fling him into his office, tear the office sign from the door and nail on the sign: Study. Take him off the mailing list, lock him up with his books and his typewriter and his Bible. Slam him down on his knees before texts, broken hearts, the flippant lives of a superficial flock, and the Holy God. Force him to be the one man in our surfeited communities who knows about God. Throw him into the ring to box with God until he learns how short his arms are. Let him come out only when he is bruised and beaten into being a blessing. Set a time clock on him that will imprison him with thought and writing about God for 40 hours a week. Shut his garrulous mouth forever spouting "remarks" and stop his tongue always tripping lightly over everything nonessential. Require him to have something to say before he dare break silence. Bend his knees in the lonesome valley, fire him from the PTA and cancel his country club membership; burn his eyes with weary study, wreck his emotional poise with worry for God, and make him exchange his pious stance for a humble walk before God and man. Make him spend and be spent for the glory of God. Rip out his telephone, burn up his ecclesiastical success sheets, refuse his glad hand, and put water in the gas tank of his community buggy. Give him a Bible and tie him in his pulpit and make him preach the Word of the living God. Test him, quiz him and examine him; humiliate him for his ignorance of things divine, and shame him for his glib comprehension of finances, batting averages, and political in-fighting. Laugh at his frustrated effort to play psychiatrist, scorn his insipid morality, refuse his supine intelligence, and compel him to be a minister of the Word. If he dotes on being pleasing, demand that he please God and not man. Form a choir and raise a chant and haunt him with it night and day: "Sir, we wish to see Jesus." When at long last, he dares assay the pulpit, ask him if he has a Word from God; if he does not, then dismiss him and tell him you can read the morning paper, digest the television commentaries, think through the day's superficial problems, manage the community's myriad drives, and bless assorted baked potatoes and green beans ad infinitum better than he can. Command him not to come back until he has read and re-read, written and re-written, until he can stand up, worn and forlorn, and say, "Thus saith the Lord." And when he is burned out by the flaming Word that coursed through him, when he is consumed at last by the fiery Grace blazing through him, and when he who was privileged to translate the truth of God to man is finally translated from earth to heaven, then bear him away gently, blow a muted trumpet and lay him down softly, place a two-edged sword on his coffin and raise a tune triumphant, for he was a brave soldier of the Word and e'er he died he had become a spokesman for his God.

Floyd Shafer