The Graced Wenham Swamp

By Sean McDonough, PhD
Associate Professor of New Testament

A few weeks ago I had the pleasure of canoeing on (and briefly in) the Ipswich River. I have caught glimpses of the river as I have driven about the North Shore, but that is a very different thing from snaking through its length – it is a bit like looking at faucets and sinks with no sense of the pipes behind the walls.

The highlight of the trip was spending the night in the midst of the Great Wenham Swamp, an entity I had known up to this point only as a Great White Space with intermittent green brushstrokes on the town map. Here, just a few miles from GCTS, I felt I was in the New England equivalent of the Atchafalaya Basin or the Everglades – no alligators or poisonous snakes (though the mosquitoes did their level best to fill the “threatening animals” category), but plenty of water, plenty of wildness…and most importantly, plenty of birds.

I had been a low-level birdwatcher in the days before the flood of work and family commitments swallowed up the discretionary time necessary for standing around in the woods and waiting for things to turn up. My sightings were mostly happenstansical. I sat by the pond at the end of the road of our house in Duxbury and looked up to see inches away a Cedar Waxwing, with its sublime coloring and its punk-rock-sunglasses eyeband. I almost literally stumbled upon a brilliant blue Indigo Bunting on a path just off Route 20 in Waltham. I was astounded by the size of the wings and the bright red head of a Pileated Woodpecker I spotted while wandering in the woods at a church picnic in Townsend. A friend at work gave me a copy of Birds of North America and I was hooked, (or netted, as the case may be).

But that was long ago. I am now restricted to what flutters into our suburban neighborhood – the usual assortment of sparrows and crows, with the occasional cardinal or goldfinch to brighten things up. Even here, of course, strange and wonderful things can pop up – a pair of wood ducks alighted on our neighbors’ tree one morning a few weeks ago. I didn’t know they were wood ducks right away, but a google search of “ducks in trees white bands on head” kept turning up “wood duck” in response, and I had the diagnosis confirmed by Rick, a friend of mine who actually knows what he is doing in the ornithological realm.

He was in fact there with me in the Great Wenham Swamp. He showed me a few of the wood ducks flying past our little island hideaway, along with a Baltimore Oriole; my delight at the brilliance of its plumage (viewed through high quality binoculars) was matched only by my delight at the fact that it looked exactly like the picture of the oriole that adorns the Hamilton- Wenham Little Leaguers’ caps. While Rick describes himself as only a moderate birder, he was able to identify birds by calls and flight with remarkable ease.

It struck me then, as it has struck me before, how the experience of birdwatching reflects so closely the experience of God’s grace .(It also is an experience of grace, of course, if you appreciate birds). You can put yourself in a position to see certain birds if you choose the right time of day and the right setting, and if you keep your eyes and ears open…but you can’t make them come. They come when they want. In the same way, the gift of God’s grace will come and go as he pleases. But by patient attendance on his Word and consistent fellowship with his people, we can be in a position where the likelihood of finding his grace increases exponentially. But it is never under our control -- which is just as well. Wood ducks will very occasionally pop up on suburban streets; and the grace of God will sometimes appear where you least expect it.

The Christian Virtue of Patience (but I digress)

By David Horn, ThD
Director, The Ockenga Institute

I caught myself banging on the side of my computer yesterday. Can you believe it? It’s a MacBook Pro. Only two years old, which, in dog years now, is like driving around in my dad’s old 1964 Buick Electra, the dark blue one with the big fenders and the automatic windows (but I digress).

Perhaps it was the sound of the banging that jolted me back into the Middle Ages when seven deadly sins and the great seven heavenly virtues ruled the day. Patience. That’s what I need more of. (Patience…and a better memory. Upon further research, patience is not one of the original virtues, but for our sake here, let’s say it is one of the great eight heavenly virtues…but I digress).

Imagine, the Christian virtue of patience is now being defined by the length of time that it takes for me to blink my eyes. My entire psychological makeup—to say nothing of my sense of spirituality—now hangs on the thin mili-second thread that strings together my past to my present to my future. My understanding of God and His omnipresence is being redefined. My ability to trust patiently in Him is being reworked.

And then I thought about my grandfather, the potato farmer from Minnesota. What did patience look like to him during the early part of last century? How did he live up to his moral obligations to God and his friends and family during those lean years during the 1930-1940’s? For Enoch Bjork, patience was like a long-legged farm dog stretching out before a fire on a cold winter night. Once the dog got down on the floor it seemed like it took an entire day for him to untangle himself and throw his long appendages into all corners of the room.

For my grandfather, patience was measured by the seasons. In his mind, it started in spring when he put in his corn and it was tested all the way to the fall when he—hopefully—saw some fruit from his labor. The winter in between stretched out as a long, cold interlude that never seemed to end.

I wonder what it was like before clocks when Middle Age man lacked the capacity to look down at his wrist, at any given moment, to measure with precision how his day was passing. Imagine how he ordered his day—as it moved from past moment to present to future—without this basic technology that allowed time to pass before his very eyes. More to the point, I wonder what it meant for him to be patient without an instrument to measure patience.

Neil Postman has it right in his book, Technopoly, when he says that all technologies possess inherent ideological biases. They are not neutral tools but they shape us in ways we cannot begin to imagine. Just imagine, the presence of a simple piece of technology like the watch has altered our ability to be patient. Just imagine, I am banging on my computer because time is no longer fast enough. Just imagine (but I digress).

Lost in the Taiga

By David Horn, ThD
Director, The Ockenga Institute

What could it be? Scanning across the sea of dark green coniferous forest, there it was, a square break in the darkness, a tiny patch in the fabric of the uninhabited Siberian quilt. It almost looked like a tilled garden. But, how can this be? They were hundreds of kilometers from civilization.

From their helicopter on that spring of 1982, Russian geologists looking for drilling sights in the subarctic mountains--taiga--of Siberia were desperately searching for a small morsel of land where they could put down. What they found, instead, was a thin fragment of civilization that first dumbfounded them and then captured their full imaginations. Parachuting in, they found themselves staring into the black din of a musty, sticky cabin, barely held up by sagging ceiling joists.

And from out of that cabin came an amazing human story. Huddled in that humble cabin came five hollow figures seemingly held together by bailing wire. First came the old man, his disheveled beard matched by his patched—his re-patched—shirt and pants. Two grown sons followed him, and then, behind them they could hear the hysterical cries of two grown daughters. It was summer so all were without shoes. But, come winter, they walked the snowy mountain range with homemade birch bark boots. The geologists stood face to face with the Lykov family. In turn, the Lykov family stood face to face with other human beings. The grown children had never seen another human face other than their family members. Never. They lived their lives completely to themselves, surviving solely on subsistence fare of potatoes and pine nuts.

What could have driven this family of hermits into this vast wilderness? Vasoly Peskov tells this amazing story that has reached millions of readers in his chronicle, Lost in the Taiga. What drove this family for decades into a life radically set apart from civilization? The Lykov family was part of a small group of “Old Believers” who began their journey from the outside world during the reforms in the Russian Orthodox Church during Peter the Great. Systematically setting themselves apart from the world, they spent what time they had each day that was not filled with scraping together enough food for the next, in long ritualistic, pietistic prayer. Their sole goal in life was to remain uncontaminated by the larger world.

The story of the Lykov family was part of my summer reading. I found it an amazing story not because it was so dramatically different from where most of us live our lives, although this is certainly the case in one sense. Quite the opposite, I found the story so compelling because I related so much to it. What is this impulse in all of us that closely measures our commitment to Jesus Christ by the degree to which we separate ourselves from the world around us? Like the Lykov family, I realize there is safety in maintaining a distance from the world, be it geographical, intellectual, or moral. But, in playing it safe, do we not risk a contamination of another sort? Like the Lykov family, losing contact with their world caused them to live tiny, utterly selfish, and distorted lives.

The point is, Jesus’ example in the Gospel clearly points us to the often forgotten truth that we, the Church, need the world out there—our associations, our towns and communities, our relationships with our unbelieving friends and enemies—as much as they need us. Without continuous, ongoing connections with our world, we all run the risk of living very small safe lives robbed of the very relationships that stirs the gospel in our souls.

Seminary or Cemetery?

By Maria Boccia, PhD
Professor of Pastoral Counseling and Psychology and
Director of Graduate Programs in Counseling at the Charlotte campus

“Seminary or Cemetery? Cultivating Spiritual Vitality in Theological Education.” This was the title of the Integrative Seminar at GCTS-Charlotte this past Saturday. The title reflects the common joke about seminary experience: that it kills the soul. We spent this past Saturday talking about this topic. Dr. Hollinger challenged us in the opening chapel to ask ourselves “have we lost our first love?” speaking from the letter to the church at Ephesus from Revelation 2:1-7. He pointed out that Ephesus was once a thriving city with a vibrant growing Christian community. Now it is an empty ruin. The challenge for us is to journey through seminary and our theological education without becoming an empty ruin. How can we do this?

Dr. Steve Klipowitz started the day with a presentation on the survey he took of GCTS-Charlotte students. He asked our students to rate their spiritual vitality and indicated whether it had increased or decreased during their seminary training. About 50% of the student body responded to the survey. Respondents were 37% MDivs, 28% MACCs and the rest the other MAs. I will not repeat all the results here, but I would like to highlight some of the outcomes that could be worth noticing and taking into consideration.

The average score on spiritual vitality was 6.65 out of 10. However, the responses really were bimodal: there were a group of students who reported their spiritual vitality was “fair” and a group that were “good” or better. There were some key factors that discriminated between these two groups. The three most important were: active involvement in a vital church, maintaining regular devotional life, and participating in a small group. Students reported factors contributing to the decline in their spiritual life such as tyranny of the urgent (over-committed, too busy, stressed), lack of devotional time, and just the vagaries of life. Those who reported the poorest spiritual vitality tended to be those working more than 40 hours a week as well is going to school, being in seminary more than four years, and being in full-time ministry.

I would just make a couple of comments: while the seminary is very concerned about the spiritual life of students and tries to be actively engaged in encouraging spiritual vitality, the three biggest factors were factors that are for the most part outside the control of seminary: Church, devotional time, and small groups. Again, some of the biggest threats to spiritual vitality are in the students’ control; e.g., working more than 40 hours a week while going to seminary.

At student orientation this year, I encouraged the new students to consider their priorities and make adjustments in their time commitments to accommodate the demands of seminary. When I came to GCTS for the D.Min. program, I sat down and counted the cost. I realized that I needed to add about 20 hours to my weekly schedule for work related to the program. I then chose to drop teaching Sunday school, leading a small group, serving on the board of a nonprofit, and serving as faculty adviser for a Christian sorority at UNC Chapel Hill. All of these things were good things, but they were not the things to which God was calling to me at this season of my life. I encouraged the students to think about this, and decide whether good things might be interfering with God things.

I will leave you with a couple of other gems from the day. Dr. Alan Myatt talked to the students about spiritual friendships, and the important role they can play in maintaining spiritual vitality. He recommended the book Sacred Companions: the Gift of Spiritual Friendship & Direction by David G. Benner. I encourage you to check it out. Finally, I will leave you with some of the questions that were addressed to the students at our integrative seminar:

• In what ways are you encouraged by your spiritual condition?
• In what ways are you challenged or discouraged?
• What steps can you take to support and encourage future spiritual growth in your life?
• In what ways do you think the seminary could better support spiritual formation in the lives of students?
• How could students better help each other maintain a fervent life with God?

Finding the Sweet Spot

By David Horn
Director, The Ockenga Institute

I woke up this morning to the news in the Boston Globe that has all of New England concerned. David Ortiz has lost his swing. More to the point, the Red Sox slugger who bats at the “sweet spot” in the batting order, has lost his ability to hit the ball consistently on the “sweet spot” of the bat. It’s that fertile part of hickory geography--between the handle and the very tip of the bat, where the round ball perfectly connects with the roundness of the barrel of the bat--that batters are forever seeking after. If this geography is compromised by a fraction of an inch, a would-be triple is dinked off into the left field grandstands or a hoped-for homer falls lifelessly into the glove of the right fielder.

This past weekend, I had the opportunity to lead a retreat with a group of people in our church who are no longer in the sweet spot of our church. They playfully call themselves the Half Century Club. The geography these individuals represent sits on the out side of the bat, as it were: Lot’s of gray hair, lots of no hair, lots of sags and aches, lots of pills to remedy failing systems, lots of individuals on the other side of their dreams. What a great group they were, as they attentively discussed the Prologue of the Book of Job with me. You could see the message of that book written deeply in many of their eyes. Like Job, certainly several of them had seen many a curve ball in their own lives. Long gone are the days when they have felt comfortable at the plate, when they have felt fully productive in ways they once have been. Most of them have been pushed further down the batting order.

Churches have “sweet spots” as well. If the church literature is to be believed, the sweet spot in our churches is: Married…late 20’s to late 40’s…with children and teenagers… middle and upper middle class. These are the people we like to fill our pews because they make great volunteers for our programs. In fact, they have the children to fill these programs. And, they also are in prime positions to provide the resources to fund these programs. If we were going to start a church plant, these would certainly be the persons we would want to show up the first day we open our doors.

Churches, in fact, are measured by how they hit this demographic sweet spot. I always cringe a little when I hear people describe their churches as dying communities filled with “old people.” New England is filled with these kind of churches. On the one hand, I understand that “healthy” churches are deemed to be places that consistently seek to accommodate new people into the lives of their communities. They are vital places where new ideas are heard and accepted, institutions that are not stuck in the past. For this reason, “healthy” churches tend to be multi-generational that include persons of all ages.

But, I am not convinced that this is often what is meant by these comments. After all, who would start a church with the demographic found in the Half Century Club? Too often, functionality is the measure of community in our churches. That is, persons are too often measured by their ability to contribute. Like the Red Sox, the value a player has in our churches is measured by their ability to consistently hit the sweet spot.

But isn’t this what James is speaking against when he admonishes his brothers and sisters not to show favoritism in their churches? He speaks in economic terms—“Suppose a man comes into your meeting wearing a gold ring and fine clothes, and a poor man in shabby clothes also comes in (James 2.2).”—but he could just as well be speaking of my elderly friends. The point is, community should not be measured in terms of the transient form of functional value found from those in our midst. After all, when all is said and done, when Jesus speaks of the Kingdom of God earlier in the New Testament, who are those who inherit the earth?: The poor in spirit, and those who mourn, and the meek…and you know the rest of the Beatitudes.

Perhaps the reason why I am particularly sensitive to this issue is because there is a reason why I was asked to speak at this Half Century Club retreat. I am one of them. How did this happen? In my head, I am still thirty-five years old, still hitting in the sweet spot of the order. All of a sudden, I find myself on the backside of my own productivity, certainly my hopes and dreams. So, I ask my own church what I ask more broadly, “What is my role in the church now that I no longer can hit for average and with power?” (I just hope Ortiz gets his swing back…but I digress!)

Who Was It For You?

By David Horn
Director, The Ockenga Institute

His name was Vernon Corneil. To the best of my recollection, he was the very first person who huddled over a wee bundle of kindling that, in time, was to burst into flames. He was the first person who God used to instill a sense of call to ministry in me when I was in my early teens. I am quite sure Mr. Corneil had no idea of the impact he was having on my life. He was a layperson who just took an active interest in me and saw something that was not to be revealed to me for some years hence.

For those of you who are in vocational ministry, who was it for you? Trace your footprints back to the beginnings of your own sense of calling. Who was it that God used, in His providence, to fan the earliest embers of your own sense of service to God? Who first saw your gifts? Who took the risk to spend time with you? Who began to pray for you? Whose imagination went wild when they saw your future? Whose simple but consistent words of encouragement would, in time, be transformed into stouthearted confidence?

I am convinced that one of the great lost practices of the Church today is the purposeful identification and nurturing of its future leaders? Why is this? Have we relegated our responsibilities as pastors and lay leaders to the parachurch organizations? Have we marginalized the opportunity to shape the next generation of Church leaders to the borderlands of our youth program? Have we become so committed to the veracity of one truth—the priesthood of all believers—that we have neglected an equally important truth--the setting apart of some for special service and leadership? Have we leaned too hard on the subjective impulse of the individual that we fail to see an individual’s calling as part of the clarifying work of the larger community of faith?

Look across your sanctuary next Sunday. Can you identify one…two…maybe three individuals who you could see leading your church courageously into the future? Maybe it’s only a hunch that you have. Maybe all that you have is a hunch that some young person will leave your midst and make an impact either in your local church or somewhere else. Taking on the responsibility of identifying and nurturing the future leadership of the Church is risky business. But, what an exciting adventure for you and for a young person who is in the beginning stages of sensing God’s leading in his or her life!

Zephyrs Wanted

By Jeff Arthurs
Professor of Preaching & Communication and Dean of the Chapel

I teach preaching, and sometimes I get tired of my own teaching. I get tired of the constant emphasis in my classes on rhetorical skill. Somehow that emphasis seems to crowd out deeper, loftier, or more pressing issues like theology and spirituality. Don’t get me wrong, all of us could use a heapin’ helpin’ of rhetorical training (boring sermons are so . . . boring, and confusing sermons are so . . . boring), but I often like to breathe the fresh air of pastoral theology. Like this:
“Obey your leaders and submit to them, for they keep watch over your souls as those who will give an account (Hebrews 13:17a, NASB).

Preachers are soul-watchers. Is that how you think of preaching—as keeping watch over souls? When we preach, we should “look at” souls (as when we watch the sunset), “tend” souls (as when we watch the fire), and “guard” souls (as when we stand on watch through the night). That last nuance is closest to Hebrews 13:17 because it says we are to “keep watch,” attentively guarding our dear congregation. In the context of the book of Hebrews the idea is that pastors are responsible to help believers keep believing. Our preaching should help them not slip back and turn from the Faith. Pastoring is serious business! Notice also that the verse says we will have to give an account of how well we did this. Real serious business!

That’s clean air for my lungs. Do you have any ideas for how I can incorporate more clean air in my teaching? Remember that I have only ten 3 hour sessions (and that those sessions are really 2.5 hours); remember that homiletics is a performance class (student sermons take up half of the ten sessions); remember that students really do need help with rhetoric (boring sermons are so boring); and remember that my training is in rhetoric (I think God has positioned me in the Church to be of service in that area). But I still need a breath of fresh air. I think my students do too. Please post your zephyrs to this blog.