The Other Side of Seminary

Open the door. Set my bag down. Turn on light number one. Turn on the library light. Walk upstairs. Walk back down. Open the computer to check emails. Look at the to-do list. Look at the calendar. Wonder how it is already May.

Bank statements are due soon. Graduation is coming.

Did I ask the professors to be there early? Yes, I did. How am I going to get the flowers and the cake both at 4 and be ready for the walkthrough? I need a clone. Did I submit that invoice? We need the water filter changed. Did the cleaners vacuum? I need to call them.

The to-do list piles against me, and just before the lump in my throat surfaces, I am paused in motion. By an all too familiar sound. It is Thursday morning. The preaching lab is being taught in the classroom overhead. The walls of this building are extremely thin, which can sometimes be a blessing. During these times, when future church leaders are giving a sermon for their class, they always begin with a hymn. As the powerful, deep, male voices sing "Holy, Holy, Holy," I pause and listen with hope, recalling why I am here and the work I believe in. Despite its routine and sometimes overwhelming nature, like any job, I remember this morning: this is the future of the church, and Holy is the Lord God Almighty.

A Long Investment

When addressing a group of donors last fall, Sinclair Ferguson, a visiting professor, posed the question: "Why seminary?" His answer was simple: your grandchildren need biblically sound pastors. A seminary propels us into the future of the church. By investing in seminary education, we ensure a vibrant and grounded church for generations to come.

Of course, many people have asked why we need pastors to have a seminary degree? Paul didn't go to seminary. While true, the counterargument is that you don't need a seminary degree when your letters are inherently inspired and breathed out by God. Paul no doubt emphasized teaching the word and learning. One might even argue that he started the first seminary (Acts 19:9).

20 Years from Now

I come from the underbelly of the seminary. I am the face behind the moving parts: the fall schedule flyer posted, the snacks in the breakroom, the classroom set up, the invoices submitted, the meals for faculty meetings, the peanut M&M's always at my desk. I am the person who meets the first child of our seminary students.

At times, my work can feel insignificant. But when voices echo through the paper-thin walls, I see the infants I care for at church right now in 20 or 30 years, with a church and a faithful pastor who learned in seminary. These pastors won’t just know Hebrew and Greek; they will sit under teachers who have been walking far longer in ministry than they have, having lunch with esteemed professors, inquiring about what it really means to shepherd a church. Because pastors have a bigger calling, not only to faithfully and biblically stand as ministers of the gospel of Jesus, but also to live out the truth: how to love people, how to comfort the broken, and care for the sick. Sit with those who weep, rejoice with those who rejoice.

My senior pastor, who also serves as a professor at the seminary where I work, preached on Isaiah 42 a couple of months ago. As it happens with some sermons, it has clung to me. In reference to the bruised reed and the faintly burning wick, he said:

"I suppose it's one of the reasons why one of the best ways you can see about a pastor's instincts is whether he knows how to be gentle with people, a leader who can see what a bruised reed is, what a faintly burning wick is, and say, no, we are not going to snuff it out, no, we are not going to break it, because it is nearly there. Because that's what Jesus does. So if you are in here today and broken, or nearly broken, know that Christ can take care of you."

Strip down the institution and the branding, lose the formality and regulations, and you will see a modern-day shepherd making disciples, who go and make more disciples. Our prayer is that they leave here not only knowing God more but also loving him more, walking as Christ walked, serving, and not looking to be served. And in 20 years, when a bruised reed comes to them, they will not snuff it out. They will sit with them and remind them of the same basics of the gospel they learned in a classroom, in the scripture, many moons ago, and perhaps they will remember that lady who gave them peanut M&Ms, who felt lucky to meet the future pastors of our generation.