Dropout

“. . . the great evil of the church has always been the presence in it of persons unsuited for the work required of them there. One very simple sifting rule would be, that no one should be admitted to the clergy who had not first proved himself capable of making a life in some other calling.”

– George MacDonald, “The Curate’s Awakening”

I reluctantly cracked open the heavy tome a fourth time, attempting to plow once more through the Old Testament survey reading assignment. I had already completed four years majoring as an undergraduate in the study of Scripture, not to mention in the original languages, so much of the information in the textbook had been covered. The scholasticism curved slightly steeper here at the graduate level, however. Seminarians all enroll in the same preliminary courses, college credit notwithstanding, so there was no getting around it. Having previously been guided through similar information, I should have found it simple enough. While this ought to have been the case, I struggled to maintain focus not a week into my third semester, second year, in a course of study that would ultimately earn myself the degree “Master of Divinity.”

After attempt number four failed, exasperated, I surrendered and placed the book aside. I uttered a brief, sincere, desperate prayer, expressing my lost interest in my chosen field, wondering if it meant I was lost as well. I had a decision to make. On the one hand, the scale seemed to tip decidedly in favor of remaining where I was. I understood the value of staying the course, of maintaining a commitment. I had graduated from my alma mater with highest honors and had received the religion department’s top award for an exiting senior. I tutored Greek and was even given an opportunity or two as a senior to fill in for professors in a couple of classes. I hadn’t left myself with a wealth of options post-college, having both majored and minored in “Christian Studies.” Due to my performance as an undergrad, my tuition here was covered (word to the wise: finishing formal education debt-free is not to be taken lightly). My parents were ministers whose experiences had deeply influenced my siblings and me enough to consider pursuing the profession. Then there was the pesky, unwanted impression of turning your back on your perceived calling; surely one doesn’t “drop out” of seminary without incurring the wrath of God, or at least his ire. All signs advised staying put.

On the other hand, there was scant as much other than feelings. Nevertheless, I thought, what if my difficulties and lingering reservations were evidence that maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t called to this at all, that I was simply a good student and nothing more, mistaken about the career that best lies before me? After all, here I was, attending classes in a different seminary than that at which I began and in less than a year’s time, having believed the unease I had felt beneath the surface at the outset simply necessitated a change of scenery, carrying me to this moment and this place. Here I was back in my familiar home state, and still I had little or no passion remaining to serve as either a minister or academic. I wasn’t spiritually disillusioned but professionally uninspired and uncertain. If my heart was no longer in it, perhaps the rest of me should no longer remain either.

Not willing or ready to abandon recklessly a relatively secure station in life for God-knows-what, I sought the counsel of a trusted friend as well as my parents, who themselves were serving in ministry. I expressed my thoughts that perhaps I wasn’t where I belonged, though I hadn’t determined precisely what else there could be. I have heard since that one should not quit a job until you have another waiting for you; thoughtful words, indeed, but a few more years would pass before I gleaned such wisdom. To my surprise, they each recommended withdrawal, and I found myself thankful for friends and especially parents who so often supported and trusted my decisions. I would sleep on it and find resolve in the morning.

My course determined, I set out the next day to begin the process and paperwork, but there was one task that first needed attention. I had the privilege not more than a week or two prior of having begun a position as a graduate assistant for one of the seminary’s esteemed professors. I now had to deliver the inconvenient news that he would have to search for another assistant so unexpectedly soon into the semester. I couldn’t be certain how he would receive it. Both the dean and assistant dean of the previous seminary, where I also served as a grad assistant, went to great pains to persuade me to stay after I had decided to return to Texas, and it was difficult not to feel their efforts were wholly self-interested. It was, after all, a fledgling seminary on the cusp of accreditation, so retaining rather than losing students was a priority for them.

I arrived at his convenience and seated myself in his office, coming straight to the point. I no longer believed seminary is where I belonged; I would be withdrawing. His response was equally direct and honest, and what he said has stayed with me to this day. After expressing genuine respect for and understanding of my decision, he replied, “I’d ask that you not share this outside of these walls, but there are other students here who ought to make that decision.”

_______________

As the year 2000 dawned, the magazine “Christianity Today” selected C. S. Lewis’s “Mere Christianity” as the best religious book of the 20th century. If you take the time to read this and Lewis’s other works — not only the more popular but nonetheless timeless and outstanding Narnia series — you begin to understand the unique gift he possessed to illustrate, explain, and simplify even the most complex of theological concepts. I know some who would argue this point, but I discovered his work at a spiritually unsettled time in my life and found him to be a clear breath of fresh air in the thin, stifling atmosphere of skepticism. In his deft and capable hands, he demonstrated that it can, in fact, make logical sense to be a believer. While no man is infallible, I have found my faith encouraged and bolstered time and again when I revisit his works.

As original and unique as his thoughts were, even the best among us have been mentored or taught, formally or informally. “No man is an island,” as John Donne famously put it. Lewis’s “master,” as he would dub him, was George MacDonald, a man he never met but whose writing deeply influenced him and many others whose names have overshadowed his own.

I came across MacDonald shortly before my decision to withdraw, thanks to a very well-read friend who never lacked for literature both to recommend and lend. Published in 1864, “The Curate’s Awakening” tells the story of Thomas Wingfold, a minister who finds himself in a crisis of belief after his Christian faith is intellectually challenged. While there is a wealth of insight in the story for anyone who might find themselves even a century-and-a-half later in a similar crisis, among my favorite quotes is the gem above, spoken by Wingfold’s mentor, of sorts, who patiently guides him back to his faith.

MacDonald must have encountered in his own life the “great evil” of men unsuited for the ministry. I’ve wished he could have further unpacked this claim, even if spoken through a fictitious yet truth-telling protagonist in a novel. Perhaps I should read more of his works and search it out. I know, nevertheless, that these words struck a chord with me at a critical time. They and my professor’s private opinion shared also confirmed observations I had made over the course of a year in seminary, if not earlier, by those “called” to a life of professional church ministry.

While the Protestants among us applaud what Luther and the Reformers accomplished with the doctrine of the priesthood of the believer, I’ve wondered what good or ill this truth, by extension, has done for the conviction of those who believe they have been “called” to ministry. In the same way I do not need a priest to mediate God’s truth, likewise my calling is between myself and God, as it goes; who’s to dispute it?

_______________

The evening came on, and I joined my acquaintance and his friend for a little company. The former had recently finished seminary; the latter was nearing the end. I was somewhere between the second and third semester, already wondering in the back of my mind if I shouldn’t be elsewhere in life. The conversations I would hear rather than join that evening would only sow further uncertainty, along with a measure of disappointment.

I can’t recall finer details, but they conversed easily and freely. It was loud, bawdy, and more to the point, when women were mentioned, unapologetically and wholly objectifying. There was alcohol, which wasn’t necessarily a problem, but thrown atop everything else I was hearing from a pair ostensibly “called,” it certainly didn’t elevate my impression, which I kept to myself.

Granted, we all feel the need to blow off steam, and we all benefit from friends, or should, who allow us to speak our minds candidly. However, the best friends hold us accountable, and I confess I had expected better from future shepherds, so to speak. My acquaintance would later tell me in a private moment that, all evidence considered, he had arrived at the conclusion there likely wasn’t a God; he would ultimately change professions. His friend, to the best of my knowledge, moved on into ministry. Learning what I did that evening, wherever he landed is no place I wanted to be.

I could tell as well of ministerial undergrads who stole books from the university library where I held a work study job for 2 1/2 years, or the classmate and coworker who continued to pursue theological studies post-college, only to determine, like my acquaintance, that he was an atheist, albeit an atheist with a purpose. He would find his 15-minutes of fame years later after filing suit against the military for their refusal to allow him to serve as a humanist chaplain. Video I discovered online of a lecture he had delivered to an audience unfamiliar with his past revealed a curious affectation he had also developed — a crisp but unmistakably clean British accent. I gathered from such that he had either suffered a bump to his brain’s left hemisphere, or his theological education, not to mention his careful and conscientious presentation of himself, was deliberately tailored to gain the admiration of others rather than to edify the body of Christ.

In very recent years, I’ve known and heard of career ministers abandoning the profession and their congregations long before retirement over reasons not entirely clear to me or others, and some of them have done so in dramatic and disappointing fashion, leaving a trail of damaged relationships and churches in their wake. We’ve all heard of prominent pastors who have made the headlines taking it a step further and abandoning their faith as well. Then there are those who happily stay in place and whose behavior or doctrine falls far short of the mark. I heard of one recently whose teaching strayed so far from a fundamental doctrine laid plain in Scripture, it was worth questioning whether or not he takes the time to read it at all. And I haven’t even begun to mention claims of sexual misconduct, in some cases criminal, which the press is always pleased to share with the public. Regardless of whether it’s burnout, moral failing, or something else, it leaves me discouraged, and I return to MacDonald’s words, wishing, perhaps, that they had chanced to read them years before, if not to dissuade them from their calling to elevate its significance, prompting them to have made a wiser choice.

_______________

Future ministers, at least in Baptist institutions, are encouraged to take a good, hard, introspective look at their call early into their formal education. There is no grade to be earned in doing so, nor is there an august body of professors or clergymen before whom you stand to be judged on whether or not your call is valid. This call, your call, is between you and the Creator. That being said, I do believe there are enough who mistake a call simply to be an authentic, faithful follower of Christ in life, generally speaking, as a call to professional ministry. Feeling poignantly touched by the Gospel and its truth in a life-altering way is, in my opinion, something all believers ought to experience. And such believers are meant to infiltrate every profession, not just the clergy. The command — the “call,” if you will — to “go out into all the world,” can’t happen if we don’t actually go out into all the world.

In his first recorded letter to Timothy, Paul laid it out for those desirous of the task of “overseer”:

Whoever aspires to be an overseer desires a noble task. Now the overseer is to be above reproach, faithful to his wife, temperate, self-controlled, respectable, hospitable, able to teach, not given to drunkenness, not violent but gentle, not quarrelsome, not a lover of money. He must manage his own family well and see that his children obey him, and he must do so in a manner worthy of full respect (If anyone does not know how to manage his own family, how can he take care of God’s church?). He must not be a recent convert, or he may become conceited and fall under the same judgment as the devil. He must also have a good reputation with outsiders, so he will not fall into disgrace and into the devil’s trap.

I can’t help but notice that Paul opens with “whoever aspires to be” rather than “whoever is called to.” It appears one can actually choose this noble task. However, there are a few expectations. Do you have the inherent qualities required for the job? You’re welcome to earn the degree, but the best of what’s expected can’t necessarily be learned in a classroom. For many, you either have it or you don’t, perhaps in much the same way my oldest child has natural, God-given athletic abilities that I never had and never will.

I consider myself privileged to know at least a couple of men who fit the bill, degreed or not. My father and father-in-law both spent the greater part of their professional lives in career ministry in one form or another, and I have seen in them the qualities Paul details in the passage above. The degree, if we’re honest, could assist with only one — able to teach — insofar as the coursework would provide content for instruction. The ability to teach, however, along with the rest, comes from somewhere else. Moreover, with this ability should accompany an understanding on whose authority one is teaching.

“Thus saith the Lord.” There are few bolder pronouncements in Scripture than this, delivered most often by the prophets. It is not a phrase one would utter unless absolutely certain what followed was indeed the holy thoughts of God himself. Yet the minister, as interpreter and teacher, effectually serves as God’s mouthpiece each moment he steps into a pulpit and opens the book, whether he has considered the weight of this responsibility or not. There is no greater position of power and influence, in my opinion, and it is for this function alone I find MacDonald’s words above cautioning entrance into the profession most relevant. It reminds me of what our beloved professor of the original New Testament language shared with us at the close of our third course: “Students, you now know just enough Greek to be dangerous.”

I hope I do not sound contentiously dismissive of anyone’s call to ministry. Scripture is replete with examples of those who appeared unqualified for the task given to them. God uses the “weak things of the world to shame the strong,” as we know and read. It is one of his most beautiful and attractive characteristics that he utilizes those the callous world blithely casts aside. But I also believe God can and does equip us for the jobs he gives us, and it is worth at least a moment of the time granted to us to consider whether or not he has, in fact, gifted us accordingly. The lives of those we shepherd, by choice, by call, or both, may depend on it.

_______________

For almost 18 years, I have spent my professional life in public libraries. It is a career that has treated me very well, and I hope I have shown the same courtesy to those I’ve served. I’ve enjoyed successes that many never achieve and was convinced by 40 that if my career ended at that age, I would be satisfied with what had been accomplished. I have wondered on a handful of occasions what might have happened had I stayed put in seminary, but there’s no way to know. I have never regretted the decision, and I’ve never felt, judging from the way life has worked out, that God is displeased somehow with the decision. I have much to be thankful for, and I believe he had something to do with where I’ve ended up. I have considered that ministry may be somewhere down the road. It seems a waste of an education such as I absorbed to never utilize it in a professional context. In any event, it’s up to someone other than me, and I hope I’m attentive to the call if or when it arrives.

Maybe it’s presumptuous of me, but I’ve imagined returning to my alma mater to impart a few words of wisdom to the undergraduate ministers in training. Given the opportunity, I would likely open with MacDonald’s words. While my interest would not lie in dissuading them from their “noble task,” I would hope they might gain a greater respect for their call and consider its weight. It’s easy enough to take a class and earn the credit. It’s much harder to lead others desperate and thirsty for spiritual truth, especially if we’re meant to lead elsewhere.