I don't know how to remove the image from my computer, so every time I file a story, the ad reappears, showing Esther Williams in several bathing-suit poses. This has caused several folks to gasp as they pass my desk, and some of them actually stop to comment.

"That is the last thing I would expect a religion writer to have on a computer screen," one says. "I can't believe a clergyman, a man of the cloth, would have a bathing beauty on his computer screen," offers another. And those are the milder comments.

So, I've been thinking about their reactions to my bathing beauty picture, which, of course, I would remove if I knew how. Their comments, it seems to me, really are saying that clergy are not real people. Or if they are real people, they have learned how to deny themselves every pleasure that other men and women take for granted.

For instance, why do most clergy drive big cars that are always painted black? Do they really want to drive those big bruisers, or do they think that people in the congregation expect them to own a big gas-guzzler?

No, most clergy, I suspect, would like to drive little sports cars. But that would not be good for their image. Most would like to drive a red convertible, but that goes against everything people believe about clergy. So they buy big cars that look good in funeral processions.

Do clergy drink alcohol? I mean, if a pastor stopped by your house for a visit, would you take him out to the garage where you have the beer refrigerator? Or would you sit in the living room and sip tea?

Let me tell you, Billy Graham probably doesn't drink beer. If it were a real hot day with high humidity, Billy might have a lemonade but not a beer. I know that Billy's son Franklin does not drink alcohol because I heard him tell a group of pastors that drinking hooch doesn't look good.

But many clergy will confess that they enjoy an occasional beer. They may not imbibe with people from the congregation, but in the privacy of the parsonage or with other men or women of the cloth, they may partake.

Now for the big question: Do clergy look on other people with lust? If a clergy person were just sitting in a mall watching people, would it occur to the man or woman of the cloth to look at people with lust in the heart?

It may not occur to them -- they may not plan to lust -- but they do it. I don't think any of them get out of their cars and walk to the mall thinking, "I guess I'll go inside and lust." But lusting is a part of human nature. If these people are human, then they are open to lust.

I remember my first parish experience where the people treated the clergy like kings except when it came to salary. They paid all of us a pittance. I was in the supermarket getting the weekly foodstuffs one day when I encountered a parishioner, a nice fellow but with only one pedal on his bike.

I greeted him as he stood in the aisle with his mouth open. "So, you have to eat, just like all of us," he said. I shook my head in disbelief, finished my shopping and went home in a funk.

I have seen clergy smoke cigars. I know clergy who want a bigger home. I have talked to pastors who wish for a higher salary. And most revealing, I have known clergy who spend a good deal of time trying to find ways to make more money, a secret part-time job, for instance.

I think there are two reasons why people think of clergy in such unreal terms. First, they believe, there has to be at least one person in our world who does all the right things. We screw up so often that we want to believe that there is someone who never gets into messes. And then when it happens, we are shocked beyond belief.

Second, we want to think of clergy as being something other than human so we can treat them inhumanely. They have fewer needs so we don't have to pay them as much. They are accustomed to sacrifice, so we can provide them with a smaller home. They are the suffering servants who will take our criticism week after week and keep on caring for all the people.

I can honestly tell you, though, if I knew how to get Esther off my computer screen, I would -- maybe.

Clark D. Morphew