In our home in The Netherlands, during the Second World War, when I was not yet 10-years-old, our living room was often filled with smoke and fiery debates about the Reformed Church, about sermons, about Christian schools and about Article 31 of the Canons of Dordt. On the bookshelves were several very big, almost threatening, dark leather bound books with the name Calvin printed in gold on the spine, clearly for serious grownups only. I did not like those books and the name Calvin because they seemed to cause these animated discussions, with fighting words, about a split in the Church causing a division between my mother's family, where we loved to go on holidays, and my father's side. At that young age in that living room, I had heard about eternal damnation, isolation, excommunication, predestination, wretchedness, and much more. The big leather books were often consulted. Outside that room was the war and German soldiers were a loud part of the streetscape. My dad had a hiding place in our house, he was active in the resistance. His youngest brother, my uncle of 19, was caught and executed. For light we often used lanterns and candles. Thick curtains were drawn very closed. These were dark, somber, dangerous days and I blamed the gold printed name of Calvin, reflected by flickering candlelight on dark brown leather spines for all of it.