The Keychain

As a child, I always attended the week-long Vacation Bible School held every summer at First Baptist Church. One year, it was announced that the first child to successfully memorize the names of Jesus' 12 disciples during VBS would receive a special prize. The teacher then held aloft a glimmering silver keychain with 12 charms—each shaped like the profile of a man's face and etched with the name of one of the disciples.

Instantly, I was gripped by a fierce determination that this keychain would be mine at any cost. Glancing about at my competitors, I noticed that most had adopted an indifferent—even blank—expression, but this did not reassure me in the least. Why, any number of these kids could show up the next day, rattle off the names of Peter, John, and whatever the other ten disciples were called, and take home the prize. And I couldn’t let that happen.

So that night, I worked feverishly to memorize the list of disciples, gleefully noting that since 2 of them were called James, I only 11 different names to learn. I kept rehearsing the list in my head the next morning as a new session of VBS got underway, while my colleagues pretended to busy themselves with chit-chat and bubble gum. Then, to my dismay, the teacher launched right into the day's activities with no mention of the contest. Singing time gave way to Bible story time, which was followed by craft time—and still no word of the keychain. By snack time, my nerves were shot, and I tentatively raised a hand.

“Yes, Steve, do you need to go to the bathroom?”

“No, ma'am. I want to say the names.”

“Names?”

“Of the disciples. I'm ready to say them.”

“Honey, you've got all week to learn those names. I didn't mean for you to do it all in one night!”

“But I’m ready now. Can I say them?”

“Well, alright.”

I went home with the glittering keychain that day, my joy undiminished by the fact that, as an 8 year-old, I had no real keys to speak of. And I developed a life-long fascination with the 12 men whose names had won me a moment in the sun. Who were they, really? Why were they chosen? With one or two exceptions, the Bible’s descriptions of these men’s lives and motivations were as lacking in detail as the silvery profiles hanging from my keychain.

So it was that I entered my New Testament Survey class at Golden Gate seminary haunted by a dozen men on a silver keychain, just as Elisha and the Bears had stalked my entry into Old Testament class a year earlier. Would I get some answers this time around?