Heresy. You can look it up, but the dictionary is very inadequate in Christian terms. A heresy in Christian terms is a belief that is inherently contrary to Holy Scripture.

A mere man in Rome proclaimed that persons of the other Christian beliefs can only come to Christ through his church. This is a heresy! He claims to be the head of "The Church"; he is only head of his church. The head of the universal (catholic) church of Jesus Christ, the Church of God, is Jesus Christ himself. In Scriptural references Jesus Christ is proclaimed as the head of the Church and his followers as the Body of Christ.

It is my belief that members of the universal (catholic) Church of Jesus Christ crosses denominational lines: that Baptists, Methodists, Church of Christ, Roman Catholics, etc., may be members. It also is my belief that those who are members of the Church of Jesus Christ have made a conscious decision to accept Jesusí sacrifice to forgive their sinful state and obeyed his commands to complete their walk toward eternal salvation.

Heresies are alive and well in many Christian denominations, if not all.

Early in the Nineteenth century a Father and Son, Thomas and Alexander Campbell began a movement to attempt to restore the model of the New Testament Church of Jesus Christ. It met with massive resistance among most denominations and very hardened resistance in the Roman Church. Most of the churches were reluctant to give up their heresies and, most of all, the power they represented.

I make these statements humbly, in my imperfect human state, but with the Love of Jesus Christ in my heart for one and all.

Our division of the Body of Christ hinders our ability reach the lost souls for Jesus Christ and fuels the unbelief of the agnostic and atheists.

Love to you all, Ray Sigler

Sincerely, Mrs. Esther Koch

This past weekend I attended an average town festival. Just like any other, there were games, food, beer, and music. It really sounds like fun doesn't it?

But when you're there, all you can think about is:

How many kids are zipping past every five seconds.

How many drunk people have bumped into me so far tonight?

How many times have I had beer spilled on me?

Why does it smell so funny?

Why is the bathroom line so long? Anyway, you get the picture.

Then I questioned myself. Why am I here? Why are all of these kids my age here? I guess the simple answer is, there is nothing better to do.

I looked into it a little bit deeper, if we can't drink and dance and act ridiculous like all of the adults, and we have to just stand around, why are we here?

I came to the conclusion that just watching drunk people is entertaining enough. Looking into the crowd you could easily separate the drinkers from the kids. No, not just because they are adults and we are teenagers. Because the adults were dancing and scream-singing and carrying on. The teenagers were either standing in groups watching the drunken dancers in awe or sitting at a table talking about the shenanigans of their older relatives.

Drunk or not, festivals can be fun for all ages. As long as you don't mind bumping into drunk people, dodging small children, slipping over cords, and listening to horribly off-key audience singing.

I've talked to several local school bus drivers in recent days who claim that the number of people who blow past their stopped buses in violation of the law seems to be on the rise.

Locally, we continue to struggle with creating awareness among motorists that designated crosswalks give the pedestrian the right-of-way.

Only the most trusting and brave-hearted of pedestrians would trust that they have the right-of-way, because most cars zoom right past without so much as a second thought to the vulnerable human being standing in the crosswalk.

One local law enforcement official I talked to this week estimated that only about one in every ten drivers in his area actually observe the pedestrian right-of-way in local crosswalks.

Several years ago, Sybil and I served as the crossing guards for the Broadway and Main Street intersection in Trenton. The city was having a tough time finding someone to take the job, so we decided to split it. I worked the morning shift before coming to work, and Sybil usually worked the afternoons.

It wasn't that bad a job. We enjoyed the "regulars" who walked past every day, and most days there wasn't enough foot traffic to put too much of a strain on things.

Even so, both of us had more than our fair share of close calls, when drivers refused to yield to our flimsy hand-held stop signs and bright orange vests. Aside from that, many motorists--more than one might imagine--got very angry at having to stop and wait for children to cross the highway.

I was cursed at on a few occasions, and drivers would often squeal their tires as they went by, barely giving me time to clear the road.

Traveling through other towns during before- and after-school hours, I've noticed that many crossing guards are afraid to stop traffic at all. They simply wait for the cars to clear and then escort the kids across the road.

I've even stopped to yield to the pedestrians, as the law requires, and been brusquely waved through the crosswalk by impatient crossing guards, as if I were somehow stupid for not breaking the law along with everyone else.

Unfortunately, the ignorance of both traffic laws and simple driving courtesy aren't confined to the country's small towns. City drivers have been nuts for years, and the interstates are a growing problem.

Some estimates show an increase in interstate traffic of several hundred percent since 1970, and increases of twenty-five to forty percent in the past ten years.

A complete void of knowledge of any common courtesy or proper interstate driving techniques compounds the problems associated with the extra volume.

Truck drivers are probably the most courteous and sensible of all interstate drivers, and that seems logical, because they spend the most time on the road. They must get exasperated sometimes with the dolts driving passenger cars, who seem to locked in some sort of internal death struggle to "make time." They impatiently pass on the right; they block the outside lanes while other cars are trying to ramp onto the highway; they view one-lane construction zones as personal affronts to their God-given right to all that is selfish and destructive in the world.

The next time you're sitting still at an interstate construction zone, you can blame all those jackasses who didn't heed the warning signs three miles back, indicating that one of the lanes would end in... oh, I don't know... THREE MILES!

For them, the fate of the world rests on whether or not they get to work before Sanders-from-accounting shows up. They drive right to the point where the lane ends before nosing their way in--with an apologetic shrug to the poor schlub who actually bothered to merge when instructed to do so--as if it was all some sort of cosmic misunderstanding over which they had no control.

Not too long ago, I was approaching the construction zone on Interstate 64 near Fairview Heights, and the traffic was beginning to back up. I happened to be the last car in front of two tractor-trailers, and I watched in appreciation as the two big rigs both slowed down and rode side-by-side for a period of a half-mile or more, not allowing cars in the left lane to pass.

Their strategy worked. By creating space behind the last car in the right lane (me), the logjam cleared and everyone was able to proceed through the zone at a moderate pace.

I gave the truckers a wave of appreciation, because I had never seen such a thing before. Since then, there have been several people who have told me of similar experiences.

Has it come to this? That citizen drivers must take matters into their own hands, to save the idiots (and the rest of us) from themselves?

The way I see it, our behavior on the roads and highways speaks to an increasing selfishness in all of us, a gathering storm that may eventually manifest itself in a sort of highway armageddon, Mad Max come to life.

Trips to the grocery store or to drop the kids off at school will become triangulated death matches between ourselves, the road, and everyone else out there. Our highways and byways will be littered with automobile carcasses, sight-seeing families from Des Moines next to Greyhound buses full of bible school students from Memphis.

The question is whether, even then, the rest of us will care. Every man for himself. Range Rovers, Ho!