`Rejoice always': a lesson in dying

Students will often hear him say that a sign of maturity is to be able to "live with ambiguity."

As he describes it, he tells each class something like this:

"People who think they have all the answers to all of life's questions are fake. You have no right to oppose women in ministry until you have made a friend who is called to ministry and you've listened to her story. You have no right to make a statement about homosexuality until you have made friends with a Christian homosexual person. The conclusion you draw is another issue."

Clarissa Chng, a former student, remembers what he said on her first day in his class: Seminarians are called to a higher standard and greater responsibility. "You have burned the bridges of naivete, and there is no more turning back," he said.

Chng said she often reflects on Scholer's words.

"Every time I am faced with a difficult decision and find myself wishing that I could take the easy way out by feigning ignorance, I remember his words and realize that I must take responsibility for the knowledge I have and use it to inform my decision-making, even if that means going through a period of discomfort," she said.

Scholer also has asthma, diabetes and arthritis but stills counts the "wonderful" blessings of his life: Jeannette, his wife of 46 years; two grown daughters, Emily and Abigail; extended family; friends; students; and his calling. He is excited about walking down the aisle with Abigail at her wedding in Pasadena on June 16, the day before Father's Day.

And he is grateful he can still teach. He is the recipient of top faculty awards from the students and the seminary, and his classes are always full, including "The Bible, Women and Ministry," the most popular elective at Fuller.

On and outside campus, Scholer takes a small camera to record events minor and major. Every person in his pictures receives a print within days.

The Scholers still host a regular "hymn sing" at their home in Pasadena, where people of various ages and denominations join in songs of praise. At one get-together last winter, Scholer was a picture of contentment, seated in a big blue-gray armchair. But every so often, he couldn't keep up and had to take a break from singing, holding his red hymnal with his left hand and making tiny conducting motions with his right hand -- his lips silently following the lyrics.