The Fine Line Between Prophet and Asshole

“There’s a fine line between being a prophet and being… an asshole,” said one of my friends at a recent gathering of pastors. Although we all laughed, we could identify with the struggle. A very fine line. Yes.

I can’t imagine how a person could serve as a pastor without taking on the prophetic role. Within the Church, the gap between the kind of people God calls us to be and the kind of people we really are is so clear that I am compelled to speak to it. To ignore it is to ignore my calling.

I often have trouble with the delivery of such a message. It burns within me until I can’t stand it anymore, and out it comes. It’s difficult for me to navigate that and sometimes my prophetic passion gets the best of me. What I’m saying may be the prophetic truth of God’s Kingdom, but in the way I’m saying it I cross the line into Asshole-dom.

On the same day that I heard my colleague say these words in the morning, I was at a Congregation Council meeting that night. For devotions we read a chapter that mentioned the topic of core values, so I gave each of them a blank piece of paper and asked them to jot down what they saw as their personal core values and then the core values of Ascension. Although it was just a quick exercise for them, it had been a long exercise for me as I prepared for the evening.

I spent time reading up on core values as those hidden beliefs we carry around that we may not even realize we have, and yet they influence everything we do. Often in the church, the hardest core values to see are the ones that prevent us from being the people God would have us be. So, that’s the way I approached the exercise, with that in mind.

The people sitting around the table with me weren’t thinking about any of that. They were thinking about core values as the things Ascension most values. So, when it came time for them to share, they were all positive values. Ascension values outreach, caring for others, education… Yes, all of that was true. They listed beautiful, affirming values we can all be proud of.

Then it was my turn. And what I had to share was not positive. So, I had a decision to make in a split second. I could have made something up to complete the exercise on a feel-good note. Or, I could share what I really wrote and throw cold, wet, negative noodles in their faces. In context, it wasn’t a choice between being prophet or asshole. I could only choose to be an asshole or not. And, guess what I chose?

I need you to know that I love these people. And, despite the way I may appear to others, I greatly prefer to be liked over being disliked. So, I tend to feel like an asshole whenever I’m being prophetic. But that doesn’t stop me from going there. Because as much as I prefer to be liked, some of my core values are honesty, which I’ve picked up from my relationship with my mother, and faithfulness, which I’ve picked up from my relationship with God. So, my inner drive to be honest and faithful overrides my desire to be liked.

Perhaps the fine line between prophet and asshole is in the eyes of the beholder; maybe it all depends on where we’re coming from. Maybe. But I don’t think so, because I have seen other pastors who thought they were being prophetic clearly acting like assholes. It’s not an entirely subjective label. The problem is that many assholes have no idea they’re acting like assholes. I’m cursed with enough self-awareness that I realize when I’m coming across like an asshole, occasionally in the moment, but pert near always afterwards.

So, where does that leave me? Doing the best I can, sometimes hitting the mark and sometimes missing it. Recognizing that I am simul prophet et asshole. In fact, to my congregation on any given Sunday, there are some who appreciate the challenge of my words and others who resent being told that they aren’t the people God wants them to be. For some I’m Pastor Prophet, and for others I’m Pastor Asshole... during the same sermon.

The fine line between prophet and asshole is a difficult one, but it’s a line I choose to walk. Because there are far worse things than being Pastor Prophet/Asshole. Like being Pastor Please-like-me or Pastor Who-Gives-a-Crap.  

Everybody Loves Nick

My grandson Nick enters kindergarten next year. Not too long ago he went to see his school. My daughter explained to him that he will be starting all over at a new school and his friends from Pre-K won’t be with him. His reaction? “That’s okay. I’ll make new friends. Everybody loves me.” 

I haven’t stopped thinking about this since my daughter shared it with me because I don’t know if I ever, in my entire life, saw the world as Nick sees it. I can’t remember a time when I ever believed that everybody loves me. It’s not something I have experienced or expected in my life. When I enter a new situation with new people, I never assume they will love me. I don’t even assume that they will like me.

What a difference it would have made for me if I had been like Nick, and I assumed I could make new friends wherever I went because, of course, everybody loves me. I suspect I would have lived more confidently and courageously. I would have become a woman who isn’t afraid to be who she is. I would have entered into relationships, not from a position of insecurity, needing to be loved by the other, but knowing that I am lovable, and if I’m not loved by the other, it’s not because of a deficiency in me, but a deficiency in the one who doesn’t love me. That would have changed the course of my life, to be sure.

Nothing traumatic happened to make me the way I am. Perhaps it was the circumstances of my childhood, or the way I was parented. Perhaps it’s just the way my brain is wired. But I know I’m not alone. The world is filled with people who don’t assume everybody loves them. Even worse, there are those who have grown up expecting other people to hate them. They live in a world where they’re judged by others for things they can’t control: their ethnicity, their physical appearance, their intellect, their gender identity or sexual orientation… What would their lives be like if they grew up like Nick, believing everybody loves them? What would our world be like? 

I suspect that what Nick believes is, in fact, true. He is a lovable kid. I’m not just saying that because I’m his Nana. Other kids love him. He’s smart and funny and kind to other people. What’s not to love? Anywhere he goes, Nick believes people will love him. It’s the best possible world for a five-year-old to live in. Of course, some day, somewhere, there will be someone who doesn’t love him. It will be a painful learning for Nick; I hope it doesn’t happen for him any time soon. But when it does, I trust that he will have stored up enough love within himself to overcome it.

For Grovelers and Grumblers

Are you a groveler or a grumbler? Are you painfully aware of how you’ve strayed from what God wants for your life and how much you need to be forgiven? Or are you appalled by the actions of so-called Christians who don’t appear to have a clue of what it really means to follow Jesus? Are you a groveler or a grumbler?

If you’re anything like me, the answer is, “yes.” Both are a part of who I am. I think that’s why I’ve always felt a deep connection with The Parable of the Prodigal Son.

Here’s the deal. Jesus is hanging out with tax collectors and sinners and this isn’t going over well with the fine, upstanding religious people of his day, the scribes and Pharisees. “It just isn’t right!” they insist.

So, he responds to their grumbling with three stories, one after another. The first is about a shepherd who has a hundred sheep. One wanders off and he leaves the 99 to go and find it. As shepherds go, this isn’t a real smart thing to do, but it all seems to work out. He finds that one lost sheep and brings it back home. When he gets there, he tells his friends, “This is something to celebrate. Let’s have a party!”

Then the second story is about a woman who has ten coins. She loses one and turns the house inside out and upside down in order to find it. When she finally does, she calls to her friends and says, “This is something to celebrate. Let’s have a party!”

And, in case his audience doesn’t quite comprehend what he’s trying to tell them about why he spends so much time with the wrong kind of people, Jesus tells them one more story to seal the deal.

We know it as the parable of “The Prodigal Son.” We really like the part about the son who makes a mess of his life and returns groveling to his father, who is waiting with open arms. It assures us that no matter what we may do in this life, no matter how far we may stray, God’s grace never fails. It’s a story that brings tears to our eyes, especially if we’ve ever experienced our own version of it in real life.

But there’s another son in this story. This is the son who REALLY makes a mess of his life.

Jesus’ original hearers understand exactly who he’s talking about when he gets to this part of the story. They’ve heard enough parables in their lives to know that the punch to the gut always comes at the very end. The good religious folks have been listening carefully, and they know that they are not the lost ones in these stories Jesus is telling to defend the dubious crowd he’s eating with. They’re NOT the younger son who goes off and blows all his inheritance on foolishness. They’re the older son, the good one who always does the right thing.

One little detail about this story that’s easy to miss comes way up in verse 12, when the younger son comes to his father and asks for his share of the property. Notice what it says next: “So he divided his property between them.” Between them. The younger son isn’t the only one to receive his share of the property. And the way things worked back then, the older son gets two times what his younger brother gets. Just think about that… That means that he has received twice as much as his younger brother, and yet, he can’t bring himself to rejoice and celebrate when his brother is restored to his family.

The older brother has a way of looking at the world that says people get what they deserve and the most deserving should get the most. It’s similar to what we call the Protestant work ethic, and it’s assumed in our culture. It’s a big part of us. The Protestant work ethic teaches us that, if you want anything in this life, you’re gonna have to work for it. And if you work hard enough, you’ll be rewarded. It’s so ingrained in our culture that many people will fight to the death before they’ll admit that it might not necessarily happen that way. Or, God forbid, that maybe it shouldn’t happen that way.

When the younger son finally returns home, why does the father say, “Let’s celebrate!?” Is it because the son came and groveled at his feet? The father has his arms around his son before the boy even has time to finish the little apology he’s been rehearsing the whole way home.

We don’t know if the son is truly repentant or if he’s just desperate and poor. What we do know is that this son is totally undeserving. And that, of course, is the point. Because that’s the way grace works. And it’s too much for the older son to bear.

I remember once taking a group of college students to Washington, DC on a mission trip. We served lunch to the homeless in a soup kitchen. It was a real learning for the students because of some of the assumptions they had about homeless people. The students assumed that those coming to the soup kitchen would be humble. And grateful for the food. They would realize that these were college students who had chosen to come here over their spring break when they could have been in Fort Lauderdale, so they would appreciate these kind young people who were serving them.

Well, some did. But some did not. They complained about the menu and the portion sizes. They didn’t say “thank you” when they were served. A few of the students told them what they thought of their behavior and I had to intervene. We had a lot to talk about during our group meeting that night. It was a good learning.

They were reacting as the older son who expected a little more in return for his exemplary behavior. These ungrateful homeless people weren’t groveling enough! They didn’t deserve kindness. Yeah, that’s about right, isn’t it?

Despite the worldview of the culture around us, we need to be reminded of how things work in the Kingdom of God. And we need to figure out which kingdom we’ll pitch our tent in. God’s kingdom is not about deciding who deserves food, and clothing, and health care, and an adequate education for today’s world, and who does not. God’s kingdom is a place of mercy and compassion for all. Especially those many of us would deem undeserving.

God’s kingdom is not about excluding the undesirables who don’t meet our standards. It’s a place where all are welcome as children of God, without reservation.

And so, rather than schmooze with the good religious leaders, Jesus chooses to hang out with outcasts and untouchables, tax collectors and sinners. And he says, “This is something to celebrate! Let’s have a party!”

Certainly, it’s an invitation extended to those who don’t deserve it. But I can assure you that it’s also an invitation extended to those who are absolutely convinced that they do. Grovelers and Grumblers alike, God’s Grace is extended to all.

Like a Net

Preached for the 50^th Anniversary Celebration with Advent, Charlotte - February 10, 2019.

They were in the fish business and Jesus called them to the people business. Apparently, fishing was a transferrable skill. If you could catch fish, you could catch people. It was all about the catching. 

Now, through the centuries, this has been a classic text for evangelism. Christians point to Luke 5 and say, “Just like Peter, James and John, we’re all called to fish for people.”

But that’s meant different things in different contexts. We live in a very different culture today than the twelve who followed Jesus or the first Christians who heard these words. In the United States we Christians are not in the minority, and we’re not being persecuted for our faith. We also have a global awareness that tells us there are other paths to God that make as much sense to their adherents as Christianity does to us. We have an awareness that, for the most part, religion is a product of our birth. So, within our context, what does it mean for us to catch people? 

For a long time, the whole idea of fishing for people got my hackles up. I thought of those who evangelized and kept track of the souls they saved like people who were competing for first prize in a fishing derby. I found this so offensive that I couldn’t bring myself to participate. If that’s what it means to catch people, count me out. But, as I’ve gone back to this text, I’ve been energized by one word in particular: net. 

Fishermen like Peter, James and John didn’t fish with a pole. They didn’t lure fish with bait, one at a time, until each fish got caught on a hook and they reeled it in. It would have been hard to make a living like that. They fished with a net. They put the net down into the water and waited for the fish. They didn’t really catch the fish with the net so much as the fish got caught in the net. 

That kind of catching people makes sense to me because that’s the way it worked for me. Some of you may recall that I didn’t grow up in a church family. It just wasn’t a part of my life. But there was always this net in my life. It was made up of the neighbors who took me to Sunday school with them when I was little, the girlfriends who invited me to tag along to confirmation classes at the Lutheran Church, the high school friend who talked about Jesus all the time as if he were her best friend, the roommate in college who said her prayers every night, went to church on Sundays, and was gentle and loving with everyone she encountered. The group gathered at the pond, baptizing a young woman, just outside my room at the dorm. The Christians singing hymns under a shelter at the park while I was taking a walk. The students engaged in a discussion about the Bible at the table next to mine while I was trying to study at the student union. (They had no idea I was eavesdropping.) The young man I came to care for deeply, before I learned that he was a Pentecostal Christian. The net was wide and I got caught in it. 

That’s the way it worked for me, and I suspect that that’s the way it works for most people. There’s a net in our lives. It may include our parents or grandparents, our Sunday school teachers, our friends, the stranger who offers a random act of kindness, an author who speaks to your soul, the person who stands on the corner asking for help with a cardboard sign in his hand that reads, “God bless.” 

The net may be invisible to you, but when you open your eyes to it, you see it everywhere, telling you that God is here, that God loves you, and that life in the net is life in all its fullness. And the net calls you to become a part of the net yourself, so that you too are a part of telling others that God is here, that God loves you, and that life in the net is life in all its fullness. 

That means that it matters how we live in the world. In our day, it seems that those of us who call ourselves Christians often do more to repel people than catch them. 

Once a day I skim through my twitter feed to see what folks are saying, and with each passing day I’m more and more troubled by the things Christians are releasing into the universe that are not at all Christ-like. In our super-charged political atmosphere, it’s a challenge to disagree while still loving one another. Instead, I see Christians attacking one another, cursing, and pronouncing eternal damnation upon anyone who disagrees with them. That’s not how to catch people. It’s not what the Reign of God is about. The Reign of God is like a net. 

And then, once you become a part of God’s people, the church, you learn something deeper about becoming a part of the net. Its purpose is for catching, to be sure. But catching is not about trapping someone or holding them captive. This net operates much like the net you see under a tightrope act at the circus. The net is here to catch us when we fall. 

I’ve experienced that many times in my life, but at no time more clearly than when I came to be your pastor at Advent over 20 years ago. When I arrived, I was a mess. 

I had been married for 20 years to another pastor who, it turned out, slept with other women who happened to be members of the church we pastored together. Although the last thing I wanted to ever be was divorced, I didn’t really have a choice in the matter. 

And then, while I was an emotional disaster, and in no position to make major life decisions, I became involved with an old high school flame, and I married him, only to discover that he was already married to someone else. 

You only knew an inkling of what I was going through when I came to you, but I really was in no condition to be your pastor. I wanted to start my life over, but that didn’t happen automatically when I left Ohio and moved to North Carolina. I left behind a church I loved, my dearest friends in the world, my entire support system, even my son, who had one more year of high school. I left it all behind and moved to a place where I was absolutely alone. 

For the first couple of years that I served you, at the end of every day when I got in the car, I cried the whole way home it continued through the night. You had no way of knowing, and I was too ashamed to tell you.

What I experienced at Advent was a net that was waiting to catch me. Every day and at every turn, I heard God telling me, “I’m here. You’ll be okay, You’ll get past this, You are loved, Nancy.” I heard it through you. In your words, in your actions, in faithful lives that taught me that the Reign of God is like a net. Thank you for being my net at a time when I needed it the most. I can say with all certainty that I would not be here without you. 

I know I’m not the only one. Through the years, Advent has caught many people in their net through your ministries in the community and world, through the people who have passed through your doors, through those who have gone on from this place to be a part of other nets on other shores. 

I’m honored to have been among you for a short time, and I’m deeply honored to be with you as you celebrate 50 years of ministry here at Advent. Your net has been strong. 

May you continue to catch people and show them that the Reign of God is like a net. 

Speaking of Circumcision, or How Garrison Keillor Stole My Joke

This week during confirmation class we got into the topic of circumcision. It’s always fun to break this news to a room filled with unsuspecting 7^th and 8^th graders. This year’s class did not disappoint me. Their faces revealed shock, disgust, disbelief, and, of course, embarrassment to hear their pastor speaking so matter-of-factly about something so grizzly happening the male penis. Yes, it’s always a special moment.

And it took me back to an episode from my life that I had forgotten about. I may not be getting all the details correct, because it was so long ago, but this is the way I remember it…

In one of my previous lives I was quite involved in Christian Education events for my denomination, the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America. We were having a regional conference of some sort for educators. I was involved in the planning and all the educator-types from Chicago and Minneapolis were on the scene, as well. For some reason, I either offered or was offered up, I had responsibility for our entertainment one evening and ended up moderating a “Hollywood Squares” game with silly questions that only Christian Educators would appreciate.

One of the better questions I asked was, “What is the one question confirmation instructors are asked that they fear the most?” The answer, of course, was, “What is circumcision?”

It was a cute moment and I might have moved on to the next question, but I saw an opening for a big moment and I went for it.

“You know, I've been reading a lot about whales lately, and do you know how long the male appendage of a blue whale is?” This was before smart-phones, so no one knew the answer.

“Ten feet!" I announced with all the amazement in my voice I could muster. "The male appendage on a blue whale is ten feet long!” Reading the faces of my audience, I could tell that they were more puzzled than impressed. Why is this woman talking about whale penises at a big church event? I suspect they were a little worried about what I was going to say next.

“…so do you know how they circumcise a blue whale?” And now no one in the audience seemed to be breathing… “Well, it takes four skin-divers.”

The room expoded in laughter. They went nuts. Yes, it was a BIG moment.

Fast-forward about a year. I’m driving in my car listening to Garrison Keillor’s annual joke show on “A Prairie Home Companion.” It’s nothing but non-stop, rapid-fire jokes.

And then I heard it. Garrison Keillor says, “Do you know how they circumcise a blue whale?” and the punch line follows, “It takes four skin-divers.”

I nearly drove off the road. “He stole my joke! He stole my joke!” I’m yelling and pounding on the steering wheel.

Obviously, someone from that conference retold my joke and it made its way to “The Prairie Home Companion.” Garrison Keillor may not have known it was my joke, but he stole my joke. Without the lead-in, it wasn’t nearly as funny, but he most definitely stole my freaking joke!

I guess when you release a circumcision joke into the universe, it belongs to the universe.

The Santa Claus Conspiracy

Tis the season of Santa Claus. Who doesn’t love to hear the man with the white beard, all decked out in a red suit, laughing, “Ho-ho-ho!”?

Despite the fact that the Santa narrative often overshadows Jesus’ birth narrative, the jolly old elf is so much fun that most Christians are hard-pressed to do away with him. (Christian cultures all around the world have some kind of a Santa figure.) So, we tell our children dueling dual stories and figure that, eventually, they’ll figure out the real meaning of Christmas for themselves. 

Before I proceed, please know that I’m not one of those religious types who are down on Santa Claus. You know, the ones who won’t allow Santa Claus to have any part in their Christmas celebration. These are the same kind of people who insist that Halloween is akin to devil worship. Nope, I’m not one of them. Santa Claus is okay in my book. So is Peter Cottontail. And the Tooth Fairy. I would never deny children the fun these colorful characters bring. But… 

I also would never be a part of the adult conspiracy that passes these fictional characters off to children as real. It’s deceptive. It’s wrong. And it’s damaging to the faith of children.

Adults often go to great lengths to make sure their children believe in Santa Claus. Should a child dare to question the logic of it all, the adult will resort to piling the bullshit on even deeper. All this seems to come from some perverse need to protect the child from the harsh reality of a world without mythical characters who see everything you do and keep track of it all so you can be rewarded or punished for your deeds. 

Just think about that for a moment. Does it not teach a twisted world-view to children? At best, it’s bribery. At its worse, it teaches children that love is, in fact, quite conditional and, whether or not you receive cool stuff, all depends upon how good you are. (You might also want to consider the implications this way of thinking has for children of poverty.) In recent years, many have added the creepy Elf on the Shelf to the myth, and the deception has only multiplied.  

What may seem like harmless play to adults is not so harmless from a child’s perspective. I remember well the angst I went through as a child when I started detecting holes in the Santa Claus story. It just didn’t make sense that a guy could carry enough presents on his sleigh to bring presents to all the kids in the world. The number of presents under my family’s Christmas tree alone would fill one very large sleigh. And how could he possibly deliver all those presents to everyone in the entire world in one night? I wasn’t very old when I realized that it was a preposterous premise. 

This happened to be right around the time my father died, and it created a real crisis of faith for me. I remember feeling deceived by adults. I had no idea what a conspiracy was, but that’s clearly what was going on. I felt betrayed by people I thought I could trust. They were all in on it together, and I wondered what else they had lied to me about. 

Perhaps God, too, was something adults made up to get us kids to be good. After all, grown-ups seemed to go to similar lengths to convince children that their far-fetched stories about God were true. And then there were the threats that if I dared question the existence of Santa, I wouldn’t get any presents on Christmas morning, so I’d better play along and keep my doubts to myself. Yes, the God stories seemed to follow the same pattern. 

When my kids were born, I vowed that I would never lie to them, especially about matters of faith. (Yes, to a child, for the above reasons, the existence of the Santa Claus is a matter of faith.) So, I was always up front with them about Santa, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy. 

From the get-go, I told Gretchen and Ben, “Santa is pretend." And it didn’t ruin a darn thing for them. Of course, in their earliest years they had no idea what pretend meant, nor did they care. The line between pretend and real to a four-year-old is non-existent. 

All these pretend characters still visited our house, and we’d play along, because it was fun. During December we visited Santa and they told him what they wanted for Christmas. On Christmas Eve, we put out cookies and milk for him, and then, as they got older, on Christmas morning, the kids would ask their father and me, “Which one of you ate the cookies?” (wink wink)

As they grew, they came to understand the difference between what’s real and what’s pretend, and it just wasn’t a big deal. They never had to face the harsh truth about Santa Claus because it had never been hidden from them. Best of all, they never had to wonder why their mother had lied to them. 

I wasn’t a perfect parent, by any means. I messed up a lot. But to this day, I feel especially good about the way I handled this, and I encourage new parents to consider taking a similar approach with their kids. You don’t have to banish Santa Claus from your home. Just be up front about him with your children. Let them know that Santa is pretend. At the very least, when they start to question the veracity of Santa, come clean with them. Then, when it comes to matters of faith, they’ll be able to trust you.

(As a footnote, to parents. Be assured that I will not be exposing the Santa Claus conspiracy to your children. If they believe in Santa, I will respect that. But please know that I will not reinforce it.)

"My life of education hasn't hurt me none"... but has it helped me?

In his song, "Kodachrome", Paul Simon sings, "...my life of education hasn't hurt me none." I’m thinking back on my formal education this morning and wondering if that's true. I suspect it hasn't hurt me. But has it helped me? I have to wonder, what was the point?

After high school, I spent over 14 additional years in school. For the past 26 years I’ve been able to put Ph.D. after my name, although I rarely do. It’s not necessary for my job, or my life either, for that matter. When I went for it, I thought I would one day teach in a college or a seminary, but my timing was off and life got in the way, so it didn’t happen. Now I don’t feel any calling whatsoever to the academic life. What was the point?

Honestly, after I successfully defended my dissertation, and my advisor told me I was officially in the club, I felt a let-down. It seemed to prove little. I knew better than to believe it was a sign of my superior intelligence. If anything, a doctorate is a reward for perseverance after jumping through what seem to be a never-ending series of hoops. When it was all over, if I had any pride over what I had accomplished, it was that I had hung in there and finished what I started. I made it all the way through the last hoop! 

My Ph.D. does not leave me feeling better than less schooled people. Not only is the sheepskin missing from my office wall, I couldn’t even tell you where it is. I actually am a little embarrassed by it because it seems so pretentious to me. Yes, for a short while, I knew a whole lot about a little. But now I am only too aware of the fact that I know very little about a whole lot.

Through the years, I have had this recurring dream where, for one reason or another, it’s discovered that I never actually fulfilled the requirements to graduate from high school. So, they take all my degrees away from me and I have to go back to finish. The problem is, I can’t pass any of the tests in order to graduate. This isn’t far from the truth. I suspect that I really wouldn’t be able to pass the standardized tests to graduate from high school these days. Especially the math. Oy! Knowing that leaves me feeling like such a fraud. Yes, I’ve spent more years in school after high school than it takes most people to get to high school graduation. And, what was the point?

There is much about our educational process, in general, that leaves me asking this same question. In our culture, we encourage kids to go to college so they can get a good job someday; many recent college graduates are still waiting. But then, even when it happens according to plan, even when you find yourself in a position where you get paid more because you have a college degree, how much of what you learned while working toward that college degree do you actually use in your job? The percentage has to be miniscule. I sometimes wonder if we just reward people for playing the game and going along with the system.

What do I know? I took Latin in high school, and what was the point of that? At the time, the draw was that it would help you on your SAT because it’s such a great vocabulary-builder. What a crock! Since English borrows heavily from the Germanic and Romance languages, any one of those is a great vocabulary-builder. And the thing about German or Spanish is that you can actually go someplace where people speak the language! I can see absolutely no point in learning Latin or Klingon or any other language that no living person on earth speaks.

Maybe I’m just a slacker. Back when I was in seminary we had to learn Greek so that we could read the New Testament in its original language. (By the way, it’s also a language that no one speaks anymore as modern Greek is only remotely akin to biblical Greek.) I went to classes and crammed it all in so I could meet the requirements. But that was forty years ago. I have colleagues who turn to their Greek text every week as they prepare their sermons, but not me. It’s been decades since I’ve cracked open my Greek New Testament. So, what was the point?

Was it all a waste of time? Although I’m sure I must have gained something from my schooling, I have trouble pinpointing what that something is. It certainly wasn’t about accumulating information, because that seems to leave my head as quickly as it enters, which is why my best friend these days is someone named Google. If anything, I learned how to learn. I learned a way of thinking critically, with my mind open to new possibilities. And I learned a way of organizing and processing stuff that I might not have figured out otherwise. Or maybe I would have. I’ll never know, because I can’t go back and un-school myself.

Perhaps the best I can say is that my formal education hasn’t hurt me. Maybe it’s even made me a better person. I'm not sure. But it seems that the most important things I’ve learned have had little to do with school. Things like forgiveness, and compassion, and joy. And I've learned about them in a multitude of ways: through my relationships with other people, through losses, by making mistakes, by venturing outside my comfort zone. Of course, that’s learning that continues to this day. There are no hoops to jump through, no papers to write, no exams to take at the end. Instead, this learning simply leads me into a deeper, fuller understanding of myself and the One who is Love. And that, I know, is really the point.