The atmosphere at the living room table was markedly different from the last time we had all sat together – this time all was silent. Each of us stared ahead, trying to find the words to say, but words were difficult to come by while still in shock from the events of the past few minutes. Why was the body of Robin Baker in our house? Who was the current Robin Baker? What did C.S. Lewis have anything to do with this? After some deliberation amongst ourselves, we finally resolved to call the George Fox security house and tell them everything that had happened.

The officer to whom we spoke was sorely confused at what we told him, but decided it would be best for him to check it out. He told us that he was investigating something in Minthorn and that we should meet him there…

Myself and all of Hancock House dashed through the falling snow and cold night air. The lamplight combined with the myriad Christmas lights on the quad painted George Fox as a strange place; we were once again students in the late 1800’s, our brick building just beginning to conquer the vast forest surrounding us.

We made our way across the sleepy campus to the little grove of oak trees that surround the old building. Minthorn stood among the oaks as the one of the oldest buildings at Fox, and it certainly looked that way. The three-story architectural behemoth of the 1800’s was silhouetted against the faded hills behind it. We walked in.

In the front parlor, sitting on a piece of antique furniture, was Robin Baker. He bid us sit down and not be alarmed.

“I have a story to tell,” he said. “I must first say that I’m not who you think I am. My name is Clive,” he said in Robin Baker’s voice, “and this body is only a temporary one. Before you ask all your questions, let me tell all. In the early 20^th century I began writing the book that would later become The Screwtape Letters…”

“Wait, you’re C.S. Lewis!” I said.

“Yes. Now in order to most accurately write about spiritual realities, I had to force my mind and spirit into spiritual realms. One morning, while sitting in my study, I went too far and acquired the ability to separate my spirit from my body and cast it into others. This is how I was able to write so poignantly on angels and demons: I was myself a spiritual entity. Pretty soon I realized that I would die eventually… I needed new bodies. Desperate to go on living, I cast my soul out to the wind and it chanced to reach a man named Herbert Hoover. We conversed, and he said he had an idea: I would get to take possession of the body of all the presidents of the small university known as George Fox for the duration of their presidency (and thus go on living) in exchange for me helping him win the presidency. I agreed. So that’s why the real Robin Baker is sound asleep in that little room in your house, and why I’m here now.”

We looked at him, looked at each other, and then went back to Hancock and never said anything about it again. Thankfully, we learned the timeless Christmas lesson of how to give without expecting anything in return.