Every Friday afternoon, I head a little closer to downtown Port-au-Prince, find my way through some now-familiar streets and arrive at SKDE, a seminary where I am teaching a course on Eschatology to twelve pastors who come from as far as three hours away to develop their theological skill.
Eschatology, for those who might have thought it was some kind of medical term, is the study of "last things" or "end times." Since none of us have been to the end times and been able to report back, all of what we know about end times comes from the Bible and some of that comes in literature that is not always straightforward, talking about bowls of wrath and lampstands and four horsemen and sheep and goats. You might wonder, in a land where people are desperately poor, why a course in these things would matter. You might wonder if I might be better spending my time teaching them pastoral care for people who mourn the death of loved ones or deacon training for how to help people care for those without the means to care for themselves.
However, eschatology is a thoroughly relevant course. A healthy perspective on the end times can help a person in a land that may not always seem hopeful to yet hold a hopeful posture. A reaffirmation that "God wins" and "Jesus will return" can simultaneously give us peace for ourselves personally and an urgency born of love for others. And because the new heaven and the new earth are the perfected versions of life now, anticipating the hope of heaven can motivate us to make earth just a little more heavenly now. In fact, 16th Century reformer, Martin Luther, when asked what he would do if he knew Christ was returning tomorrow said, "I will plant an apple tree." (Actually he said something like, "werde ich einen Apfelbaum pflanzen" because he was German).
So, it is with that "this matters" perspective that I head down to SKDE, filling my head with the inspirational belief that I am equipping these pastors and that I am making a tangible difference not just in their lives but in their whole congregation, and by extension their community, and by extension again every descendant every person in their congregation and community might ever have or come in contact with (you get the picture, I like to coach myself with extremely positive messages :).
Having said that, to be honest there are times when I truly wonder if "this matters." Like last week Friday when I was teaching a unit on Apocryphal literature. Different sections of the Bible are written with different genre of literature and this needs to be considered during Biblical interpretation. For example, in the historical books, such as 1st Samuel, words are straightforward. When David is described as a shepherd, it is because he literally is a shepherd. But in poetic books, like Psalms, words are not used literally, such as Psalm 23 where God is said to be a shepherd, not a literal one, but in the poetic sense one who is like a shepherd, the ultimate care-giving protector.
In preparation for helping them interpret the book of Revelation where numbers are used symbolically (such as 1000 years, 144,000 sealed from the tribe of Israel), I was reaching back to the beginning of the Bible and wondering aloud with them whether the first chapters of Genesis might have some symbolic language such as the "days" of creation. I wondered with them whether it makes sense to see the "days" as 24-hour, sunrise/sunset events when the sun itself wasn't created until the fourth day. We then spent the next two hours discussing the many wonderful and wonder-inspiring elements of apocalyptic literature, particularly as it is found in the book of Revelation.
Though the class had run past the allotted two hours, there was plenty of discussion and questions. As a teacher, I was thrilled with the engagement, really feeling like we were getting somewhere, like "this matters!" Then, I got a unique question: "Have you ever been to Germany? And if so, what time does the sun go down in Germany?" Not the question I was expecting. None of my teaching preparation touched on this. I told the class, some of whom had never heard of the concept or experienced it with their living closer to the equator, that though I didn't know much about sunset and sunrise times in Germany, I imagined it to be similar to Canada where the sunset in the summer is late, like after 9pm, but in the summer is early, sometimes before 5pm.
The questioner smiled. Then he pointed out that perhaps the first three days of creation were more like the days of summer in Canada and Germany and therefore longer and that somehow, perhaps, this might explain the length of the first three days of creation........um......yeah.....he really was arguing this. As he did, I made sure that my facial expression didn't betray what I was thinking, that is, 'this may be the most convoluted argument for a literalistic interpretation of Genesis 1 I have ever heard.' My mouth though, remembered the phrase my friend Caroline Payne taught me when we were learning to teach the Alpha Course years back, and I said, "That's very interesting. I have never heard that before." I really didn't know how to reply beyond that. I was stymied. Mental block.
As I drove home from class, I did start to wonder, if this was the nature of the questions I could be asked, whether I was really making any headway at all, whether all my preparation and teaching and marking homework, in French, was really all worth it. I wondered if I was building anything or just laying down the lessons and hoping it would amount to something.
Then I thought about what we've been putting our work teams through. How the Brampton team -- Renee, Ruth Ann, Anna, Iona, Al, and Erick were doing back-breaking work in trenches laying out re-bar and tying it off; how the Maranatha/Chatham team -- Sandy, Charles, Mitch, James, and Joe had lain foundation, lugged concrete and fill; and how the Woodland team -- Ethan, Tristan, Sarah, Lisa, Bethany, Niek, Steve, Oliver, Matt, Marjorie, Jake, and John -- had placed block upon block and hauled pail after pail of concrete. I wondered, as they tied re-bar, hauled fill, and placed block upon block if they had wondered the same thing.
I remember years ago, hearing a story, probably fictional, about two bricklayers working on the Empire State Building. One drudgingly slapping muck and heavy brick after heavy brick, the other, doing the exact same job, but whistling. The whistler asked the muck-slapper, "Why the long face?" to which he received the simple reply, "'Cuz I'm stuck here slapping muck while all these suits make their way to their air-conditioned offices" (assume New York accent). "Not me," responded the whistler, "I'm building a sky-scraper!"
Same lesson for the work teams: not just tying rebar, hauling fill or laying block but building a building that will build leaders that will build a community. Same lesson for me in the seminary, not just answering questions (or not being able to find any answer to them) or marking homework or preparing and presenting lessons, but building pastoral capacity for a number of churches.
Reminds me of some of the brilliance of Jesus. Arguing for the inclusion of the little things that add up to the big things. Children inherit the kingdom, mustard-seed-like faith is enough, two simple beams change the world one afternoon at Calvary.
That gives me hope. Not just that my seminary teaching matters or that the mission team's work on the training centre matters but that every little thing we do matters. Every little act of kindness, goodness, gentleness or service for another has the potential to add up to much more. Each time a parent digs a bit deeper to help a child, each time a friend forgives an unintended wrong, each time a family opens their door to a stranger; all of these, added together, have the potential to do amazing things. And the best part, "he who began a good work in me will be faithful to carry it to completion."
Mental block, gone.
Eschatology, for those who might have thought it was some kind of medical term, is the study of "last things" or "end times." Since none of us have been to the end times and been able to report back, all of what we know about end times comes from the Bible and some of that comes in literature that is not always straightforward, talking about bowls of wrath and lampstands and four horsemen and sheep and goats. You might wonder, in a land where people are desperately poor, why a course in these things would matter. You might wonder if I might be better spending my time teaching them pastoral care for people who mourn the death of loved ones or deacon training for how to help people care for those without the means to care for themselves.
However, eschatology is a thoroughly relevant course. A healthy perspective on the end times can help a person in a land that may not always seem hopeful to yet hold a hopeful posture. A reaffirmation that "God wins" and "Jesus will return" can simultaneously give us peace for ourselves personally and an urgency born of love for others. And because the new heaven and the new earth are the perfected versions of life now, anticipating the hope of heaven can motivate us to make earth just a little more heavenly now. In fact, 16th Century reformer, Martin Luther, when asked what he would do if he knew Christ was returning tomorrow said, "I will plant an apple tree." (Actually he said something like, "werde ich einen Apfelbaum pflanzen" because he was German).
So, it is with that "this matters" perspective that I head down to SKDE, filling my head with the inspirational belief that I am equipping these pastors and that I am making a tangible difference not just in their lives but in their whole congregation, and by extension their community, and by extension again every descendant every person in their congregation and community might ever have or come in contact with (you get the picture, I like to coach myself with extremely positive messages :).
Having said that, to be honest there are times when I truly wonder if "this matters." Like last week Friday when I was teaching a unit on Apocryphal literature. Different sections of the Bible are written with different genre of literature and this needs to be considered during Biblical interpretation. For example, in the historical books, such as 1st Samuel, words are straightforward. When David is described as a shepherd, it is because he literally is a shepherd. But in poetic books, like Psalms, words are not used literally, such as Psalm 23 where God is said to be a shepherd, not a literal one, but in the poetic sense one who is like a shepherd, the ultimate care-giving protector.
In preparation for helping them interpret the book of Revelation where numbers are used symbolically (such as 1000 years, 144,000 sealed from the tribe of Israel), I was reaching back to the beginning of the Bible and wondering aloud with them whether the first chapters of Genesis might have some symbolic language such as the "days" of creation. I wondered with them whether it makes sense to see the "days" as 24-hour, sunrise/sunset events when the sun itself wasn't created until the fourth day. We then spent the next two hours discussing the many wonderful and wonder-inspiring elements of apocalyptic literature, particularly as it is found in the book of Revelation.
Though the class had run past the allotted two hours, there was plenty of discussion and questions. As a teacher, I was thrilled with the engagement, really feeling like we were getting somewhere, like "this matters!" Then, I got a unique question: "Have you ever been to Germany? And if so, what time does the sun go down in Germany?" Not the question I was expecting. None of my teaching preparation touched on this. I told the class, some of whom had never heard of the concept or experienced it with their living closer to the equator, that though I didn't know much about sunset and sunrise times in Germany, I imagined it to be similar to Canada where the sunset in the summer is late, like after 9pm, but in the summer is early, sometimes before 5pm.
The questioner smiled. Then he pointed out that perhaps the first three days of creation were more like the days of summer in Canada and Germany and therefore longer and that somehow, perhaps, this might explain the length of the first three days of creation........um......yeah.....he really was arguing this. As he did, I made sure that my facial expression didn't betray what I was thinking, that is, 'this may be the most convoluted argument for a literalistic interpretation of Genesis 1 I have ever heard.' My mouth though, remembered the phrase my friend Caroline Payne taught me when we were learning to teach the Alpha Course years back, and I said, "That's very interesting. I have never heard that before." I really didn't know how to reply beyond that. I was stymied. Mental block.
As I drove home from class, I did start to wonder, if this was the nature of the questions I could be asked, whether I was really making any headway at all, whether all my preparation and teaching and marking homework, in French, was really all worth it. I wondered if I was building anything or just laying down the lessons and hoping it would amount to something.
Then I thought about what we've been putting our work teams through. How the Brampton team -- Renee, Ruth Ann, Anna, Iona, Al, and Erick were doing back-breaking work in trenches laying out re-bar and tying it off; how the Maranatha/Chatham team -- Sandy, Charles, Mitch, James, and Joe had lain foundation, lugged concrete and fill; and how the Woodland team -- Ethan, Tristan, Sarah, Lisa, Bethany, Niek, Steve, Oliver, Matt, Marjorie, Jake, and John -- had placed block upon block and hauled pail after pail of concrete. I wondered, as they tied re-bar, hauled fill, and placed block upon block if they had wondered the same thing.
I remember years ago, hearing a story, probably fictional, about two bricklayers working on the Empire State Building. One drudgingly slapping muck and heavy brick after heavy brick, the other, doing the exact same job, but whistling. The whistler asked the muck-slapper, "Why the long face?" to which he received the simple reply, "'Cuz I'm stuck here slapping muck while all these suits make their way to their air-conditioned offices" (assume New York accent). "Not me," responded the whistler, "I'm building a sky-scraper!"
Same lesson for the work teams: not just tying rebar, hauling fill or laying block but building a building that will build leaders that will build a community. Same lesson for me in the seminary, not just answering questions (or not being able to find any answer to them) or marking homework or preparing and presenting lessons, but building pastoral capacity for a number of churches.
Reminds me of some of the brilliance of Jesus. Arguing for the inclusion of the little things that add up to the big things. Children inherit the kingdom, mustard-seed-like faith is enough, two simple beams change the world one afternoon at Calvary.
That gives me hope. Not just that my seminary teaching matters or that the mission team's work on the training centre matters but that every little thing we do matters. Every little act of kindness, goodness, gentleness or service for another has the potential to add up to much more. Each time a parent digs a bit deeper to help a child, each time a friend forgives an unintended wrong, each time a family opens their door to a stranger; all of these, added together, have the potential to do amazing things. And the best part, "he who began a good work in me will be faithful to carry it to completion."
Mental block, gone.
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