Dinosaurs, Volcanoes, and Holy Writ — Chapter 1

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Published:
May 19, 2020

Editor’s Note: The following article is the first chapter of the new memoir, DINOSAURS, VOLCANOES, AND HOLY WRIT: A Boy-Turned-Scientist Journeys from Fundamentalism to Faith, by James L. Hayward. It is reprinted here with permission from Wipf and Stock Publishers: www.wipfandstock.com.

 

When I Was a Child

James L. Hayward

 

“For in every adult there dwells the child that was, and in every child there lies the adult that will be.” —John Connolly1

 

Mountains crumbled. Rocks tumbled. People fled. Frightening music heightened a sense of horror. My seven-year-old heart thumped violently and my stomach revolted. I could take no more. I slid from my seat and beat a hasty retreat to the lobby where I was shielded from the horrible images.

It was 1955. Dad and his fellow Adventist pastors were holding an evangelistic “effort,” as they called it, in the Little Theater in downtown Worcester, Massachusetts. The terrifying images depicted events climaxing at the Second Coming. I was a sensitive kid who found the images repulsive.

One of Dad’s fellow evangelists at the Little Theater, Pastor Donald R. Goodness, apparently found the images repulsive as well. It wasn’t long before he traded his Adventist credentials for the turned collar of the Episcopalian priesthood—and a less apocalyptic theology.2 Dad, however, throughout his long life remained true, a person of strong Adventist opinions and firm Adventist convictions. He never understood how Don Goodness or anyone else who knew “The Truth” could turn their back on “God’s remnant Church.”3

 

Dad grew up dirt poor in Naugatuck, Connecticut. He and his identical twin, John, were the last of ten children. Their father once made a good living as a tool and die maker with the Steele and Johnson Company. But Grandpa’s eyesight went bad, so he could no longer see his work. In desperation he took a low-paying job at a Naugatuck plating factory, laboring twelve hours a day, six days a week.4

Dad’s French Canadian mother was raised Roman Catholic, but she converted to Seventh-day Adventism before giving birth to Dad and his twin brother. Grandma supplemented the meager family income by cleaning houses. She reigned over the family in a four-dollar-per-month clapboard shack at the dead end of a dirt road.5

Dad was shy. While other kids played during recess, he and John stood aside, too timid to join in.6 At Naugatuck High School he refused to read the English assignments because they were “untrue”—Sister Ellen G. White, the Adventist prophet, had warned that novels were “pernicious in their influence,” Satan-inspired, and best set ablaze.7 After three years of hating high school, he dropped out at age seventeen, moved to Stoneham, Massachusetts, and took a job as a kitchen helper and desk clerk at the Adventist-run New England Sanitarium and Hospital. In keeping with Sister White’s counsel he converted to vegetarianism.8

The nation was in the grip of World War II, and Dad soon was drafted as a conscientious objector. Ironically, the war years seemed among his happiest. He was stationed at a United States Army hospital for the treatment of injured soldiers near the town of Painswick, England. German V-2 rockets made most people nervous; to Dad they meant excitement. He volunteered as a medic to parachute into the Battle of the Bulge; his offer was declined because he refused to carry a sidearm. He volunteered, he said, not primarily because he was patriotic, wanted to save the world from Hitler, or hoped to support his comrades—just for the sheer adventure of it.9

After three years in the military and a GED, Dad completed a bachelor’s degree and ministerial training at Atlantic Union College in South Lancaster, Massachusetts. He served the Adventist Church for forty years as a talented and much loved pastor and church administrator. He was one of the most honest, hard-working, and courageous people I have known. Most of his days, however, were consumed with attempts to live in harmony with a plethora of nineteenth-century admonitions and warnings by Sister White. It was not unusual for him to begin sentences out of the blue with “She said . . .” “She” was an ever-present specter in our home.10

 

Sister White’s nineteenth-century comments on “The Time of the End”—events leading up to the Second Coming—were of particular concern to Dad and served as powerful motivators for his ministry. His meticulously drawn time line of these events was copied, recopied, and delivered to thousands of believers. Once, when he was in his eighties, I voiced skepticism about the feasibility of one of the predicted events happening during the twenty-first century. Dad impatiently retorted “It has to happen!” Five years before he died, he proudly published a 623-page tome entitled The Time of the End: A Study for the Last Days from the Word of God and the Spirit of Prophecy. The compilation, primarily of thousands of Sister White’s statements printed in dense, Bookman type, covers everything from the benefits of country living to the threats of the Mark of the Beast. The legend beneath Dad’s picture on the back cover notes that he “was recognized as one of Adventism’s leading authorities on Ellen White and the Spirit of Prophecy.”11

Having grown up in poverty, Dad learned that success is the reward of hard labor and endurance. Throughout life he preferred work to most forms of pleasure. For the most part, his was a simple, practical life which reflected the common sense realism typical of many New Englanders of his era. I once heard him preach a sermon on philosophy—or “foolosophy” as he called it. The part I remember went like this: “Who am I? I’m Jim Hayward! Where am I from? I’m from Naugatuck, Connecticut! Where am I going? I’m going to heaven!”12

 

Mom and Dad married on May 22, 1947, two years after Dad was honorably discharged from the Army. Mom had completed her three-year nursing program at the New England Sanitarium and Hospital in 1946, and I was born on September 30, 1948 at the “San.” Both my parents were twenty-four years old at the time and lived on Prescott Street in South Lancaster. Dad was listed as a “student” and Mom as a “housewife.” Three years later, my brother, John, was born on July 26, 1951.

Dad’s studies at Atlantic Union College were funded by the G.I. Bill, but he had to work three jobs to keep the family afloat—maintenance at the college, pastor at a nearby church, and law enforcement as a policeman for the city of Lancaster. Much of the time he was exhausted. But he managed to complete his bachelor’s degree in religion on June 1, 1952.13

Dad was required to take a science course at AUC. Mammalogy was the only one that fit his schedule. Mammalogy is concerned with the anatomy, physiology, diversity, ecology, behaviors, and adaptations of mammals, creatures that share with us the possession of hair, three middle ear bones, neocortex, and mammary glands. He enrolled in the course with little enthusiasm. This, after all, was not his area of interest. The instructor, Richard M. Ritland, required two books for students, Mammals of North America, by Victor H. Cahalane, and American Mammals: Their Lives, Habits, and Economic Relations by W. J. Hamilton, Jr. When I was a boy, I discovered these books in Dad’s library and especially enjoyed reading Cahalane’s text. These books still occupy a place in my library, and I credit them with encouraging my interest in biology, especially of mammals.

We lived in a little brown, shingled cottage, “Cady’s House,” one block from campus. My first memories come from that house. I recall pictures of cats on the wall above my crib and playing in a sandbox beside the house. I was impressed by the authority of a little neighbor girl, Gail, even though she sometimes called me “So Po” (“Slow Poke”). Gail liked to pass interesting bits of information my way. When Mom and Dad tried to caution me against believing everything I heard, I remonstrated, “Gail said so!”

 

I grew into an earnest kid who shared Dad’s concrete realism and confidence in the absolute truth of Sister White’s statements. Through high school and my first three years of college, I studied her “Spirit of Prophecy” books, underlined important points and admonitions, and tried to live up to “The Truth” as she proclaimed it. But while Dad prepared for the end of the world, I was intrigued by its beginnings—creation and the flood.

My earliest concepts of creation and the flood were shaped largely by the first volume of Arthur S. Maxwell’s The Bible Story series. These lavishly illustrated books told tales from the Bible that appealed to children. I particularly admired the paintings by Harry Anderson. Anderson had been trained as an impressionist, and before joining the Adventist Church he had worked as a prominent magazine illustrator. His “people images” deftly captured facial expressions and moods with an almost mystical quality which imparted to them a life-like vibrancy.14

Anderson’s painting of Adam with the animals was my favorite. A joyful, naked, male figure stands, arms outstretched, surrounded by a menagerie of newly-created animals. “How happy Adam must have been to have all the animals love to come to him,” reads the accompanying legend.15 I could picture myself as Adam, mingling among the delightful assortment of creatures. I never thought to question why in such a “perfect” creation—one without pain, suffering, and death, and one of exquisite design—the lion in the picture bears canine teeth, the cat stalks the chickens, the dog exhibits carnivorous molars, and Adam sports nipples. These and other questions would come later.

 

During the 1950s, our family often returned to South Lancaster where Dad had attended Atlantic Union College and where Grandma Hayward, his aging mother, lived. Grandma rented a room in a white frame house two blocks from campus and adjacent to the office of Dad’s employer, the Southern New England Conference of Seventh-day Adventists. Dr. Guy Winslow owned the house and lived on the main level. He rented out the upstairs rooms to older folks. Upon arrival, we would pass little baskets of organic, home-grown vegetables for sale on the front lawn, enter a large hall decked with colorful wall hangings, ascend the creaky stairs, and knock on Grandma’s door just to the right. I remember the smell of the place, not a bad smell, but a distinctive one.

Winslow liked to sit in a rocking chair on his front porch and pass the time of day. My parents would greet him with “Hi, Dr. Winslow,” but I don’t recall much conversation beyond the greeting. He always seemed a little gruff, although apparently he treated Grandma and the other residents kindly. If one of us needed to use the bathroom during our visit, Grandma would tell us, “Don’t flush the toilet, Dear, if it’s just void. Dr. Winslow doesn’t want us to use too much water.” But Grandma had a soft spot in her heart for him. My cousin Richard Coffen remembers she once worried that Winslow had developed colon or prostate cancer after seeing blood-spattered underwear hanging on his clothesline.16

It was never clear to me what Winslow did for a living. Everyone addressed him as “Doctor,” but he didn’t seem to be a medical doctor and he didn’t teach at Atlantic Union College. Dad and Mom said very little about him. But a cloud hung over his reputation, something to do with church. All this remained a mystery to me until recently.

In the course of some historical research, I ran across a reference to a 1933 dissertation from Clark University entitled “Ellen Gould White and Seventh-day Adventism” by Guy Herbert Winslow. Clark is only twenty-one miles from South Lancaster, so I wondered if Guy Winslow, my grandmother’s landlord, was the Guy Herbert Winslow who authored the dissertation. It turns out he was. James White Library at Andrews University, where I was teaching, contained just about every published item associated with Adventism and its history, and sure enough, Winslow’s dissertation was in the stacks.

I checked out his 465-page tome and found it to be highly critical of both Ellen White and Seventh-day Adventist leadership. Winslow claimed that church leaders influenced the prophet to such an extent that her visions and dreams were simply confirmations of their own views, and that they manipulated her “prophetic gift” to support their own political ends. He wrote “There is not the slightest evidence that she at any time in this condition [in vision] learned a single thing that was not well-known before by her associates.” He concluded his work by predicting that her “teachings will gradually join the ranks of outgrown and therefore discarded fanatical American religious theories, together with witchcraft, spiritualism and Mormonism; and their author will remain but as a curiosity—like those exhibited by [P. T.] Barnum in the Great American Museum.”17

Further research demonstrated that before attending Clark, Winslow had been a dedicated Seventh-day Adventist. He funded part of his way through Adventist secondary school as a door-to-door peddler of Adventist books in Maine, served as the tent master and cornetist for several Adventist evangelistic meetings, taught biology at South Lancaster Academy, held summer sessions at the Adventist campuses of Union College in Nebraska and Southwestern Union College in Texas, and served as a professor of history at Atlantic Union College until 1929. He was much appreciated by his AUC students, who dedicated their 1929 annual to him. He stood in more than once for the college president when the president was away from campus. By 1930, however, Winslow had transferred to Worcester State College where he taught history, a job he retained until his retirement in 1958.18

One can only guess at what transpired to lead a respected and much-loved forty-three-year-old professor to leave AUC, and who then four years later wrote a stridently negative dissertation on Ellen White and Adventist leadership. Was he severed from the college for something he said or did? Did he fail to get along with the new college president installed the year before he left? Did he become aware of things about Ellen White and the Adventist Church that made him angry? The answer may be lost to history. Regardless, there is some irony to the fact that an early and vitriolic critic of Ellen White and the Adventist Church was the long-time landlord for the mother of my dad, a conservative Adventist pastor who eventually would hold the reputation as one of Ellen White’s most devoted disciples and staunch defenders.

Winslow apparently retained some respect for his Adventist heritage, at least in relation to health care. A 1968 issue of the Atlantic Union Gleaner, a regional Adventist news magazine, pictured the now retired professor, a recent patient at the church’s New England Memorial Hospital, donating a check for its building program. He died five years later at age eighty-six.19

 

Inspired by my cousin Richard, I started a life list of birds at age seven. For each new bird I saw, Mom helped me tick off the name in the checklist provided in Roger Tory Peterson’s A Field Guide to Birds. One of the first of names checked was “American goldfinch”—I remember seeing it in its nest just outside the window of the home of one of Dad’s parishioners. Leafing through Peterson’s guides, as well as through the Golden Nature Guides edited by Herbert S. Zim, I was introduced to the names of birds, mammals, plants, shells, insects, reptiles and amphibians, rocks, fossils, tracks, weather, and stars and planets—all the wonderful objects that make up the dazzling array we call nature.

I recall trying as a grade schooler to memorize the names of the thirty plus animal phyla—“Porifera,” “Cnidaria,” “Echinodermata,” “Ctenophora,” etc. Over and over I practiced the terms. Memorization never came easily or naturally for me, so my intense engagement in the process at this age suggests the value I placed on life’s diversity. Years later I would learn the distinguishing features of these groups, their respective positions in the fossil record, and their purported evolutionary relationships, but memorization of their names was an important first step toward understanding.

Mom and Dad encouraged my interest in nature by purchasing nearly every book written by Sam Campbell, the Midwestern naturalist and self-described “Philosopher of the Forest.” Sam’s books were popular among young Adventist readers during the 1950s and 1960s. I absorbed and reabsorbed his books, and fantasized what it would be like to visit Sam at “Wegimind,” his Wisconsin island home. I felt intimately connected with Sam and his friends, both animal and human. If Sam said it, I believed it. Most boys idolized baseball or football stars as their heroes. My hero was Sam Campbell. Sam put a rich, thoughtful, and lovingly humorous face on nature which I deeply relished. More than any other influence, Sam made me want to live the life of a naturalist, to work on an island, and to study the behavior of its creatures.

Year after year Sam came to Atlantic Union College for its Saturday evening lyceum series. During the late 1950s, I watched and listened in delight as he narrated comical films about his animal friends in his friendly, high-pitched voice. At intermissions, he would come out to the lobby, talk and laugh with mobs of adoring kids and adults, and autograph books. He was a joyful, warm-hearted person who loved both nature and people. I longed to meet him but I was too shy, so I gawked from the sidelines. The signed copies of his books we purchased, however, remain prized possessions.

Most Adventists, including my family, had no idea Sam was a Christian Scientist. Christian Scientists, like Adventists, trace their roots to nineteenth-century New England. But unlike Adventists, Christian Scientists consider the material world, including evil, sickness, and death, as illusory. They believe the spiritual world to be the highest reality. Despite his identity as a Christian Scientist, Sam was suspicious of sectarianism. He read broadly, including the Bible and the works of Emerson, Tolstoy, Whitman, Tennyson, Dante, Longfellow, Bryant, William James, and others. From these influences, and from his experiences with people and with the natural world, he forged an eclectic faith, one he could own with integrity. He fully embraced the material world and spent his adult life writing and lecturing about its importance. His church’s belief in the healing virtues of a positive spirit was apparently what attracted him. But to Sam, that positive spirit was achieved through total immersion in a real, physical world.20

As I reflect on Sam’s writings today, I am bemused at how paternalistic and chauvinistic he was, how he anthropomorphized the animals he wrote about, and how he idealized nature. Nonetheless, the sentiments he expressed, the values he espoused, and the joy he conveyed were qualities that I have carried with me through the years. Sam’s upbeat writings served as an antidote to the apocalypticism that pervaded my early years. “Our fears,” he wrote, “show us a sort of false world wherein we live a false state of existence.”21

Although Sam frequently referred to God as the creator of all that is good, “creationism” as we think of it today never appeared in his writings. I learned from him that I could experience warm friendships, the sacredness of life, a worshipful attitude, an appreciation for beauty—the best of life, in other words—without resorting to rigid doctrinal constraints or anti-scientific perspectives. He taught me the joy that accompanies the fearless exploration of reality with an honest heart and open mind.

 

In 1960, just before I turned twelve, we moved from Boston to Atlanta where Dad became pastor of the Beverly Road Seventh-day Adventist Church. Moving from north to south was an interesting cultural experience. The Civil War centenary, the civil rights movement, and the twenty-fifth anniversary of Margaret Mitchell’s Gone with the Wind were in full swing. Racially segregated bathrooms, restaurant “sit-ins,”22 and signs declaring “The South Will Rise Again” were the norm. Accents, foods, and attitudes differed dramatically—although sometimes delightfully so—from what I was used to. Kids ran around barefoot, a practice that seemed oddly primitive to my fully shod and buttoned-up New England sensibilities. Despite my Yankee heritage, though, I made good friends and enjoyed my new surroundings.

One day a grade school classmate at Atlanta Union Academy declared that, it being February 12, we should celebrate Charles Darwin’s birthday. Our teacher responded with a disapproving look. I had heard of Darwin and evolution but had paid little attention to the name. I had been taught the Truth about creation since I was knee high, and Darwin’s theory was just another one of the deceptions so often spoken about by Dad. Anyway, I was more interested in tending my list of birds than considering arguments about the history of earth and life.

 

In my day, many Adventist kids were baptized when they reached twelve, which was considered to be their “age of accountability.” Thus on December 10, 1960, only four months after arriving in Atlanta, Dad baptized me into the Seventh-day Adventist Church. I stood in front of the congregation before entering the baptismal tank, and Dad questioned me as to whether I believed a list of Adventist tenets; I nodded “yes” to each one. My “Certificate of Baptism,” provided that day and signed by Dad, includes a “Summary of Doctrinal Beliefs,” two of which allude to the creation: number one refers to Jesus Christ “who created all things,” and number fourteen asserts that the seventh-day Sabbath is “the eternal sign of Christ’s power as Creator.”23

Today the Adventist Church’s doctrinal summary is considerably more complicated. What is now statement number six declares that God

created the universe, and in a recent six-day creation the Lord made “the heavens and the earth, the sea, and all that is in them” and rested on the seventh day. Thus He established the Sabbath as a perpetual memorial of the work He performed and completed during six literal days that together with the Sabbath constituted the same unit of time that we call a week today.24

The words “recent,” “literal,” and “same unit of time” were added in 2015, apparently in reaction to burgeoning evidence that both earth and life are billions of years old, evidence perceived to be an existential threat to the church’s seventh-day Sabbath doctrine.25

Like other Adventist kids, I learned to keep the Sabbath Day holy. For my family that meant faithfully attending “Sabbath School” and church, not playing with non-Adventist neighbor children, not riding my bike, not listening to secular music, not doing chores or homework, not going to the store, and not reading anything unrelated to God. It also meant a peaceful, freshly-cleaned house, visiting with friends at church, and enjoying a delicious after-church meal. And fortunately for me, approved Sabbath-keeping included enjoying nature and reading books by Sam Campbell.            

 

Although Sam Campbell inspired my love of life in the present, he wrote little about life in the past. I don’t know what sparked my enthusiasm for historical biology and paleontology. Perhaps it was the Golden Nature Guide on Fossils that piqued my interest. But growing up in New England made it unlikely I would find a fossil there—the northeastern states are mostly covered with igneous extrusions, metamorphic rocks, and glacial deposits, generally non-fossil-bearing strata. Fossils are found more commonly in sedimentary rocks like siltstone, shale, and limestone, rocks not so common in the northeast. In the southeastern states where we had moved, however, fossil-bearing rocks are abundant.

During each of the three summers we lived in Atlanta, our family migrated the 120 miles north for a week of “camp meeting” on the campus of Southern Missionary College, located in the beautiful “valleys and ridges” province of southeastern Tennessee. Instead of warming a seat in the “Earliteen” tent, however, I spent much of my time looking for new birds and poking around the natural areas close to campus. Just behind the college buildings loomed White Oak Mountain—not really a mountain, but one of the many crests found in this region. One day I hiked up the side of the ridge, probably looking for a new bird. Not far up the ridge I came to a clearing with a large water tank. As I looked down at the broken, reddish-tan limestone, I spotted my first-ever fossil. The little crinoid fragment stood out clearly from its matrix. I was ecstatic. Within minutes I found many more specimens, trophies I keep as reminders of that day.

I don’t recall thinking about the origin of those White Oak Mountain fossils. At thirteen I was more interested in collecting and classifying objects than in thinking about how they got there. I am certain, however, that if asked I would have attributed their origin to Noah’s great flood.

 


Notes & References:

[1] John Connolly, The Book of Lost Things. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2006, dedication page.

2 James Lloyd Hayward, Sr., Memoirs, unpublished manuscript, 2014, page 35; Donald R. Goodness served as a Seventh-day Adventist pastor from 1953 to 1959, at which time he entered the Episcopal Theological School in Cambridge, Massachusetts. He became an ordained priest in 1962 or 1963 (New York Times, January 17, 1972, 35). In 1997 Goodness retired as the tenth rector of New York City’s The Church of the Ascension, located on Fifth Avenue and founded in 1827 (The Church of the Ascension in the City of New York, “Parish History,” https://ascensionnyc.org/history/).

3 James L. Hayward, Sr. served as a Seventh-day Adventist (SDA) pastor and administrator for forty years. During his career he pastored nine churches and served as secretary of Michigan Conference of SDA, president of Wisconsin Conference of SDA, and manager of the Voice of Prophecy radio ministry. After his retirement he served as an interim pastor at nine more churches in Texas and California (Hayward, Sr., Memoirs, 74–75).

4 Hayward, Sr., Memoirs, 1–2.

5 Hayward, Sr., Memoirs, 1–3.

6 Hayward, Sr., Memoirs, 5, and personal communication.

7 Personal communication; Ellen G. White, Testimonies for the Church, Volume 2 (Mountain View, CA: Pacific Press, 1948), 236; Ellen G. White, The Story of Patriarchs and Prophets (Mountain View, CA: Pacific Press, 1958), 459.

8 Hayward, Sr., Memoirs, 8, and personal communication.

9 Hayward, Sr., Memoirs, 9–25. Twenty-three percent of Memoirs is devoted to Dad’s recollections of his three-year Army experience. For many years he kept his Army insignia and honors in his top dresser drawer, and he often spoke fondly of his years in “the service.” His comment about volunteering to parachute into the Battle of the Bulge was made to me in 2011 or 2012.

10 Hayward, Sr., Memoirs, 74–75.

11 Hayward, Sr., The Time of the End: A Study for the Last Days from the Word of God and the Spirit of Prophecy. Revised edition (Harrisburg, PA: American Christian Ministries, 2013), back cover.

12 Hayward, Sr., Memoirs, 6–7. Dad preached this sermon at the Arizona SDA Conference Camp Meeting, Camp Yavapines, Prescott, Arizona, probably during the summer of 1969.

13 Hayward, Sr., Memoirs, 26–28.

14 Kent Stein, “Harry Anderson (1906–1996): The Art of Loose Realism,” American Art Archives, http://www.americanartarchives.com/anderson,harry.htm.

15 Arthur S. Maxwell, The Bible Story: More than Four Hundred Stories in Ten Volumes Covering the Entire Bible from Genesis to Revelation, Vol. 1. (Mountain View, CA: Pacific Press, 1953), 42–43.

16 Richard Coffen to JLH (email), August 8, 2017.

17 Guy Herbert Winslow, “Ellen Gould White and Seventh-day Adventism,” PhD diss., Clark University, 1933, 387.

18 Winslow’s name appears in the SDA church’s regional paper, the Atlantic Union Gleaner, more than a dozen times between 1908 and 1927, where news notes concerning his book sales, work with evangelistic meetings, faculty appointments, and activities at Atlantic Union College appear. His obituary (“Guy Herbert Winslow,” At Rest, Accent on AUC 24, 1974, noted his faculty appointment at Worcester State College, his gardening, and the year of his retirement.

19 Anonymous, “Patient Donates to Hospital Building Program,” Atlantic Union Gleaner 67 (March 19, 1968): 16.

20 Shandelle M. Henson, Sam Campbell: Philosopher of the Forest (Brushton, NY: Teach Services, 2002).

21 Sam Campbell, How’s Inky? A Porcupine and His Pals Offer Some Highlights on Happiness (Indianapolis, IN: Bobbs-Merrill, 1943), 118.

22 Sit-ins were peaceful protests in which groups of black people occupied white-only restaurants until they were served.

23 “Certificate of Baptism,” General Conference of Seventh-day Adventists.

242018 Seventh-day Adventist Yearbook (Silver Spring, MD: General Conference of Seventh-day Adventists), http://documents.adventistarchives.org/Yearbooks/Forms/AllItems.aspx, 8.

25 Lawrence T. Geraty, “How the Adventist Church Changed Its Fundamental Beliefs in San Antonio,” Spectrum 43 (Summer, 2015): 69–72.

 


Dinosaurs, Volcanoes, and Holy Writ is available on Amazon in paperback and Kindle, or directly from the publisher.


 

James L. Hayward is Professor Emeritus of Biology at Andrews University. He is the author of The Creation-Evolution Controversy: An Annotated Bibliography (1998), selected as an Outstanding Academic Title by Choice.

Book cover image courtesy of Wipf & Stock.

 

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