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What have we heard?

ICETE Triennial Listening Team report

2 November 2018

The earth is the Lord’s and the fullness thereof, the world and those who dwell therein. (Ps. 24.1 ESV)

This is the note that has been sounded, at least as the psalmist might well have expressed it were he listening in, during these days together in Panama.

While that note has rung, in plenary addresses and workshops and mealtime conversations and walks along this ocean that YHWH has created for his enjoyment and for ours, a group of your friends has been listening in as well.

I think I’d better explain …

Among the curious thoughts banging about inside Riad’s febrile brain over the past year has been the notion that for the second ICETE triennial in a row, a Listening Group should attempt to discern God’s voice amid the warp and woof of presentation and conversation … and then to dare the unthinkable ambition of reporting back to you on what we think you … that is, we … have heard.

It has been a labor of love carried out somewhat clandestinely by these otherwise very un-spy-like people.

———————

Shadi Fatehi, Pars Theological Centre

Elias Ghazal, Middle East and North African Association for Theological Education

Evan Hunter, ScholarLeaders International

Mardochée Nadoumngar, Overseas Council


Daniel Owens, Hanoi Bible College & reSource Leadership International


Ivan Rusin, Ukrainian Evangelical Theological Seminary


Prabhu Singh, South Asia Institute of Advanced Christian Studies


Joanna Feliciano-Soberano, Asian Theological Seminary


Mariel Deluca Voth, Global Associates for Transformative Education

——————————-

Although these wonderful friends have made this a boisterously pleasant task, it has not been a simple one.

What image, after all, captures the task of summarizing what five days of conversation have wrought?

  • Is this a ‘striving after the wind’—Qohelet/Ecclesiates—a grasping at the fleeting thing that does not allow its own capture?
  • Is it a narrow impoverishment of what has in fact been a broad abundance?
  • In the light of my appearance and accent, is this a neo-colonialist appropriation of other people’s stories and then a retelling in my own interests?
  • Is it a behavior very much unlikethat of David Corbin’s ant, one which does not know its own limitations and so engages in self-destructive behavior and even community-destroying conduct?
  • Or, after five long days of words, it is tropical pelting of the ground with more and more rain long after the soil has exhausted its capacity for absorption?

Well, I hope it is none of these things.

Instead, I hope that what you will hear from me on behalf of ten sisters and brothers who have listened for you is a little bit like the task of a delightful United World Mission colleague of mine who is among us in these days.

Jocabed Solano is a Panamanian follower of Jesus. Like a few of the hotel workers who have looked after us this week, Jocabed is also a member of the Cuna Nation, a people who once owned the land on which this hotel is built.

Jocabed works for Memoria IndígenaIndigenous Memory. She visits with the communities of her people and of other indigenous people in this part of the Lord’s world and they recount to her their collective memory of the indigenous Christian workers who have sown, watered, nourished and harvested the grace of Jesus among them. Because most of these people do not write, Jocabed listens very carefully and then writes down the stories they have told her. Although she is the writerof these wonderful narratives that come to her in spoken form, she is not the authorof the stories that these narratives bear. She has merely captured and then given to her people a record of what they have known.

Jocabed’s ministry—the exercise of her vocation—rescues the story of thisAmerica’s indigenous peoples from the vagaries of declining memory. More importantly, it provides each community with a shared version of its own story. Jocabed says the very best thing is that her work helps the communities of her people to recover and then hold fast to their own identity.

Jocabed’s loving labors are not unlike what our … well, your … Listening Team has attempted to do this week. I would now like to tell you about what we think you have known … so that you can consider it, contest it, debate it, celebrate it, refute it, ponder it … and so remember who you … well,we … are becoming.

So here is what we have heard: seven things.

One: We’re all on the same side.

This worries me a little.

I wonder how many of you participated in our ICETE Triennial in 2015.

In Turkey we debated whether the end results of theological education can be measured … should be measured … whether assessment is a cancer invading the sacred heart of what we do … or a necessary obedience to assure its fruitfulness.

As we pursued the argument, I felt as though my heart was being torn out. Every loud declaration seemed to require a qualification.  Every bold pass of the brush and its color felt like it could only be looked at if first seasoned with nuance … every point seemed like it could be debated, must be debated, and that the very debate of it was both essential for our survival as theological educators … and the potential seed of polarization among us who carry our vocation around like a birthmark.

The air, as I recall it, was thick with three words: ‘Well, yes, but …’

Not so the Secular-Sacred Divide.

Who is for it? Where are its partisans and cheerleaders and intellectual defenders?

Where are the desperate cries that something precious will be lost if we make the tragic misstep of actually preparing our students for the world outside, if we actually mold their lives to the calling that occupies them Monday through Saturday?

We all agree on this one, we’re all on the same side. We may need help with means, but the end, it would seem, is a blissful consensus.

History is over. Let’s just figure out our methods.

This worries me a little.

There is much to celebrate in this Hallelujah Choir of ours. Few among us will regret the demise of impassioned arguments about the priority of evangelism over social action … what was that? Who would hold up to an admiring light some of the evangelical escapism that abandoned our Abrahamic vocation in YHWH’s world in favor of lifeboat survival plans? That was a malady that has taken some of us decades to outgrow. Who could be found insisting that it really is a better and more important thing to be a preacher or a biblical scholar than an engineer or a nurse or a gardener?

As a veteran of the Antalya Listening Group, I can tell you that our gathering on one side of the matter here in Panama—at least our gathering there in theory— has changed the nature of our task this time around.  But more of that as we move ahead.

Now of course history has notended. We have much to learn and a world of challenges to face, methods to change, and opportunities to redeem.

We have so very much to discover, plenty of which to repent, and lifetimes or significant portions of them to invest in a world whose very fulness testifies to the Creator’s glory.

But let us not miss the small detail … or is it a very large one? … that nasty dragons hang out in places where we all think we agree.

 

Two: We (still) don’t integrate enough.

Maybe paradoxically, this was the point that was heard at highest volume by our Listening Group. It generated some very earnest self-criticism on your behalf.

As a community, we don’t believe in false dichotomies involving sacred and secular, yet we keep practicing them as though we do.

Here’s where I think the soul of the matter rests: we don’t need to be persuaded to integrate. We need to be shown how …to integrate.

This, I think, is why Ruth’s language of towers of power and eradication—and Ruth, you know I say this with great respect—fails to convince some of us. Those words sound us-and-them-ishwhen in fact our failings are internal and much regretted.  The enemy is not at the gates. He is in fact inside of us, as daughters and sons of cultures that are afflicted with false dichotomies that are, arguably, the very definition of ‘sin’.

So even though we heard that the topic of the Secular-Sacred Divide may not have had the legs to run well for the full four and a half days that were loaded into it … we detected a certain hunger for the kinds of ‘here’s how you could do it’ examplingthat came in some plenaries and not a few workshops.

Perhaps our truest prayer is this: Lord, we believe in bridging the SSD. Help our unbelief.

Three: Tell Us Why and How

Maybe this thirst for exampling explains why Gordon blew us away with his plenary address. Gordon spoke as a man in full discovery mode as he chronicled a kind of Gordonian break-out in Calgary.

If you’ll pardon a bit of rat-a-tat delivery,

  1. Learn how to preach for Monday morning.
  2. Develop the capacity to speak hope against the backdrop of lament.
  3. We witness to the in-breaking of the kingdom in word and deed.
  4. Learn how to navigate the political sphere // how to engage in principled compromise.
  5. When a society becomes more secularized, it becomes more and more polarized/fragmented. May we be known as peacemakers.
  6. We won’t be instruments of transformative change as long as we stay in our own spheres of theological and spiritual conviction. Let’s learn the skills of engaging ecumenism.

Then this: ‘Will we have the courage … will we be the Daniels and Esthers of our day?  … our students come to us riddled with fear … Yet we know that Christ sits on the throne of the universe …’

Gordon on faculty recruitment: ‘Will this person lower the anxiety level in our house?’

Somehow, Gordon’s talk struck us as … will you pardon me a bit of jargon … actionable data. We felt as though we could do that thing that Gordon said.

I still do, as I stand here.

This very morning, Terry’s slide ‘Can we Imagine Practical Solutions?’ is as provocative a slide as I have ever seen on a screen. I intend to take Terry’s paper back to Medellín, Colombia to an informal conversation circle that I shepherd along among a few colleagues on my patio.

This is not rocket science, it seems to me. Yet Terry’s presentation is fulsome with viable possibilities that seem to be very much within reach.

 

Four. Theology is an action formed in community for the sake of obedience.

Our Listening Group was about the most non-sloganish group of human beings you could imagine assembling. Still, we loved this phrase from Ruth’s community in Costa Rica.

The language helped us to register the fact that theology is directional. It is purposeful rather than simply there. It is dynamic rather than static. It is, as we have learned to observe under the tutelage of Chris Wright and others, missional.

Aligned with Ruth’s words, theology is a verb rather than a noun. Those of us whose souls naturally grin to Latin Americantunes will be reminded of Arjona’s ‘Jesús,hermanos míos,es verbo, no sustantivo.’ (translation: Jesus, my brothers is a verb not a noun.)

Furthermore, theology is communal property and communal activity.

Now a guy like me who eats caveats for breakfast is always going to battle to find an honored space for the individual scholarwho is jolted awake at 3:15 a.m. with an explanation for that particular Hebrew infinitive absolute right there where it seems never to have belonged …!

Yet the steady rhythm of theology as a community affair that we’ve heard … or at least we think we’ve heard … is essential to the wresting of the community’s faith and identity from clergy hands in those places—high church and very, very low—where it has too long been the property of our priests. And more importantly, since many of those priests will be happy to be relieved of their burden, this theology must be placed in the hands of the avocado salesman and the architect and the stay-at-home mother and the civil servant and the bright young philosophy student who plays the drums in church on Sundays.

 

Five: It takes grit.

We found encouragement somehow, in the prospect of steady advance towards the dismantling of the secular-sacred divide.

There were Mark & Ian, reminding us that overcoming SSD will take ‘determination and skill over many years’ … something like digging a really big canal in order to join two oceans in a country with a little land and a lot of water.

That had the ring of reality to it. It sounded like a long campaign we could commit to.

After Ian had used that delectable phrase about ‘inducing change in our students without starting a revolution’, an African brother leaned over to Listening Group member Evan Hunter and asked ‘What, can’t we have revolutions now?’ or words to that effect.

I suspect our Listening Group would agree with me that bridging theological education’s secular-sacred divide will require a revolution or two … but that most of the heavy lifting will be done by sheer grit. If this is so, then we may be more helpfully supported along our journey by our sages thanby our prophets. Terry Halliday’s superb—in fact, stirring—address this morning encourages this intuition.

 

Six: Marvin should pray more.

I feel like I should explain that I don’t actually mean that Marvin doesn’t pray enough. Even if I knew Marvin well enough to think that, I probably wouldn’t address it in this context.

What I refer to is that prayer… on Thursday morning. He thanked our Maker and Divine Blesser for all those foods … and all that human ingenuity … all that Common Grace.

Maybe this dot connects with the earlier one about needing examples and some hand-holding. When Marvin prayed like that, I felt that, ‘Hey, I could pray like that, too ….’.

It wouldn’t be in Italian and so the food parts wouldn’t sound nearly as good, but I could deploy the liturgical exercise of prayer as gratitude for God’s Monday-through-Sunday blessings … and my students, if they heard me pray like Marvin, could do that, too.

Maybe we’d win a small victory … Maybe the Lord would be elevated on the praises of his people … Maybe the sacred-secular divide would slip just a little bit into our history. Maybe the earth really is the Lord’s, and the fullness thereof.

And maybe it’s on the tip of our tongues to say so. To God. To each other. And to a sad and tired world.

 

Seven: Secularism is shot through with paradoxes.

I thought of my beautiful Christian brothers and sisters in the little Pennsylvania German community where I grew up, scared to death at losing what they would call ‘the Christian values that have sustained our nation’, when I heard … for example ….

  • a German-speaking Russian Mennonite say ‘secularism is a great blessing to the Free Churches …’
  • an Indian seminary principal say ‘In India, we always want a secular culture’.

Rooted in their context, my dear Pennsylvanian friends would have no idea what these two brothers were talking about …

So let us not imagine when we talk about secularism as self-conscious participants in a global church that we are agreeing with each other … at least not until we have had a good, long conversation sufficient to make ourselves understood.

Indeed, members of our Listening Group got a real charge out of hearing the stories of our brothers and sisters in exploration of the many facets of secularism … and of God’s presence with them in places where ‘secular’ is a many-splendored thing.

Sometimes, when the sacred has become life-denying, there is deep Providence in the secular.

Secularism is shot through with paradoxes.

 

What we didn’t hear …

Not what I have delivered myself of those seven things we’ve heard, our Listening Group has met the lion’s share of its obligations.

Yet it would be irresponsible to stop here, since some of our observations fit best into the category of things we did not hear. These are things we expected to hear, but in the course of our week together, our listening for them was met with silence.

Just two things, and then a concluding thought …

 

One: We didn’t hear adequate definitions of terms.

Over and over, I heard members of our Listening Group say that too many assumptions were being made about words like ‘secular’, ‘sacred’, and the ‘secular-sacred divide’.

It was almost as though the conference topic was pregnant with more than one baby, and the quintuplets all spilled out at the same time. There they were, squirming around and pooping on the carpet, and we were chasing them in circles without really ever catching up with any one of them.

For example …

  • Does ‘SSD’ refer to a regrettable retreat into a small and exclusive piety that denies the fullness of God’s world?
  • Or ought the reference lead us rather to strategizing about how to live in a world where Christian privilege is absent and the biblical saints that come most to mind are the Jeremiahs, the Esthers, and the Daniels?
  • Or is the enemy to be confronted a Western weed that has grown prolifically in the soil of non-western landscapes? One that makes it easy to regret the arrival of the missionary boots that carried the germ?
  • Or is a creation-denying dualism the problem, one that invites us to await the destruction of earth that is really little more than the stage upon which personal redemptive drama is rehearsed?
  • Or is secularism rather a malady that afflicts followers of Jesus in all places, but which takes a different form in each of them, a kind of rough approximation to ‘sin’ or to something like it?
  • Or is it more, as one Listening Group member suggested, that we’re simply not yet very good at reading our context(s)?
  • Or are we referring to our disappointment that the church in countries with lots of Christians is not having a greater impact on society in those places, many of which remain as corrupt and dehumanizing as ever?

Different speakers seemed to us to make their own assumptions about the topic at hand. We missed what might have been an orienting definition of terms at the outset.

 

Two: What about the Bible’s own secular-sacred divide?

Agreement and consensus can be a very beautiful thing indeed.

But ‘groupspeak’, if I may for a moment deploy that pejorative adjective in a community as beautiful as this one, always leads eventually to smug self-confidence.

So I wonder: On what flanks are we open to risks to which we are blind, particularly because the biblical witness itself is shot through with the categories of sacred and profane?

… and profane does not often mean ‘bad’, ‘evil’, or ‘ugly.’ It means ‘common’ and can mean ‘good’ … even those familiar words ‘the common good’.

One member wondered about the ingrained differentiating notion of biblical concepts like priesthood and of those ‘dedicated to ministering the Word of God’.

What does this biblical current aim to teach us about reality when it traffics in its own sacred-profane distinctions? And do we run any risks to ourselves and others by happily ‘moving beyond’ the possibility that such distinctions have any enduring pertinence for the people of God in our day?

You’ll understand that this is a question rather than an accusation. But it is a genuine question. We listened … but we didn’t hear anything about that.

It strikes me as something other than a fruitful silence. Perhaps it is one that begs filling up with careful deliberation.

 

Conclusion: What do the seraphim see?

For some years, I’ve been fascinated by Isaiah’s throne-room vision in chapter six of the book that bears his name.

In that vision, the Seraphim—thundering, burning figures who seem somehow to stand in as princes of Creation itself—cry endlessly together about a reality that is difficult to see in this torn, dark, thrusting world here below.

The Seraphim seem never to tire of declaring that Yahweh—whose supremacy their own greatness does not challenge—is Qadosh, Qadosh, Qadosh … Holy, Holy, Holy.

Then they say this of creation. ‘The whole earth is full of his glory.’

The problem is that it is not self-evident that the text actually says that. The Hebrew grammar and the syntax are strange. Although it taxes conventional understanding, it is more than possible that the second half of the Seraphims’ unending declaration is that ‘The fulness of the earth is his glory.’

In my opinion, this meaning would accord well with the long prophetic book’s juxtaposition of the glory of fulness, on the one hand, with the tragedy of disintegration and negation and emptiness, on the other…

Every flurry of biodiversity, every engineer’s fresh insight, every gardener’s loving touch of leaf and petal, every baby nursing at her mother’s breast, every student’s wide-eyed discovery, every geneticists’s pregnant intuition, every tree growing unobserved by human eyes to and through the canopy of a Panamanian rain forest, every Colombian vallenato, every life-giving hallway conversation, every lover’s sigh, every Onesimus’ principled subservience, every Monday-morning commute, every theologian’s response to Terry’s Macedonian Call, every …

Well, you get the picture.

‘Holy … Holy … Holy … the fulness of the earth is his glory.’

Maybe … just maybe … our flawed and awkward efforts at meaningful reflection this week … limping representatives of Jesus’ global church … have made the Seraphims’ creed a little less ludicrous … a little more plausible … a little more to be longed-for and made real here below … in word and in deed.

May it be so, dear ICETE family.

These are the things we think that we have heard.

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What have we heard?: Twelve Stones

(David Baer on behalf of the Consultation ‘Listening Group’)

ICETE C-15: Engaged and Effective

 

As the program for this consultation was taking shape, Riad Kassis tasked me with delivering in this final plenary session a report under the working title ‘What have we heard?’

I confess that, over the past five days, I have had one or two unkind thoughts—mere fleeting spasms of rage, really— about my dear friend Riad. We have heard so very many things. After all, how am I to know what we have heard! I am hard of hearing and torpid of speech. I bring to this consultation more than my share of my own treasured biases. They not only motivate and empower me; they also filter and distort what I hear.

As I was writing these opening lines yesterday afternoon, a large flock of birds converged on a rooftop near the balcony where I was sitting. They came not from one direction but from many, returning all at once to their rooftop home as thogh upon some inaudible signal. Only half in jest, I decided to take this as a sign.

Let me see whether I can tease some of the words we’ve heard from the many directions to which those sounds have taken flight back into a common place, like birds near sunset returning from their day’s many activities to their community roost.

But first, a word about what this report is, what it is not, and how it comes to be.

I was assisted by a Listening Group that I selected on shamelessly selfish grounds. Quite simply, these are people whom I know, whom I consider discerning, and whom I guessed would not say ‘no’. They are: Ashish Chrispal, Mariel Deluca Voth, Lori Drexler, Mardochée Nadoumngar, Ivan Rusin, Wojciech Szczerba, Rana Wazir, John Jusu, Jane Overstreet, Mark Royster, and Jung-Suk Lee.  We met each evening to ask each other, ‘What are we hearing?’

However, this report is my own responsibility. Even these Listening Team members are likely to be surprised—though I hope not dismayed—by what I have left out and by perhaps some thoughts of my own that I have witlessly placed upon their lips.

What did Listening Group members attempt to accomplish as we served you by listening to plenary sessions, workshops, conversations at all hours, the delightfully barbed banter of old friends, and musings and comments overheard in passing?

Well, we did not understand our job as simply rehearsing or summarizing for you things that people said. This is not a Summary of the Proceedings of ICETE C-15.

Rather, we have attempted the audacious task of discerning what we have heard from God, that is, what God might be speaking to us through those plenary sessions, workshops, conversations, musings, and overheard conversations.

We have attempted to perform a theological task on the assumption that our Lord has been present in this gathered community, and that he has desired to makes us wiser, to move us forward.

I make no claim that we have heard exhaustively. In fact, I’m sure that we have not.

This is not an assessment exercise.

But here, offered to you as a service lovingly rendered, are some things that I think we have heard.

Twelve stones, if you will, to mark and memorialize the portion of our journey that is just now completed.

 

*   *   *

  1. The tide has turned.

The assessment of what we are accomplishing in theological education is no longer the hobby, the crusade, or the mania of the social scientists and the educationalists.

Please hear carefully what I am saying. I am not saying that assessment can no longer be dismissed as those things because in some political sense the assessment enthusiasts have outnumbered those of us who, as one long-serving missionary teacher told me, never knew the word ‘impact’ back in the day.

I am saying that outcomes assessment is no longer the province of its native enthusiasts. The tide has turned decisively. Assessment has gone mainstream. We may be infants at the execution of it, but global theological educators have developed either a sense of obligation or an appetite (or both) for outcomes assessment. I do not believe this movement-in-the-making will lose its steam or fade away.

There are without doubt rear-guard actions against this new thing, and these may continue for some time.

But they will be ineffectual.

We are all assessors now. Let’s get on with it.

 

  1. An assessment culture begins and ends with humility.

On Monday of next week, when my legs are banging into the seat in front of me on hour eight or nine of Turkish Airlines Flight 7’s trajectory towards Washington, DC, my heart will still be rejoicing about several features of this Consultation.

One of these is the decided emphasis upon humility.

This is no small thing, for idolatries lurk like wolves behind the rubbish bins and broken-down vehicles in the Assessment Neighborhood, waiting for their moment to spring forth. Humility will keep them in their place.

This is no small thing, because assessment takes in its unforgiving hand what for many of us has been one of the most cherished privileges and passions of our lives and exposes it to reality’s sometimes harsh critique. We who have loved teaching and learning, we who have thrived as students and teachers and administrative leaders of seminaries … we whose hearts respond to every harsh critique of the seminary with a bit of pain and with the sense that this is not the whole story … we must now exercise the humility of taking this precious privilege and exposing it to the light. We must ask if what we have done … in fact what we have been … is what we believe we have done and been. And we must let others provide us with the answers.

Only humility will sustain us in that place.

But humility will not have done its work only when it has given us the courage to engage a culture of assessment. Humility will be required when our expanding expertise in assessment tempts us with the Pelagian delusion that, if we only perfect our systems, we will accomplish God’s will for Him. I find Chris Wright’s observation that some of us come to this theme with suspicion and others with enthusiasm particularly helpful here. I myself come with a degree of suspicion, for life and conviction have both alerted me to how quickly we arrogate to ourselves divine prerogatives when we have acquired just a little knowledge … just a little competence.

I rejoice that the note of humility has been sounded so clearly during this Consultation.

And while I am rejoicing … here’s a third stone for our little pile of remembering.

 

  1. We can begin with Scripture!

I am exhilarated by the way we have begun with Scripture and how we have seen our deliberations infused with the voice of Scripture. Messieurs Wright, Ott, and Parro come particularly to mind as I reflect on this, but they have hardly been alone!

In fact, I feel quite blown away by this.

When I think of the things we have heard, I thrill to register the fact in this report that more than anything we have heard God’s own Word: read, honored, scrutinized, and explained.

My own modestly suspicious reservations drain away as I observe this gathered community gathering around our Father’s Word to us.

 

  1. Expect unexpected outcomes!

A Canadian brother of a certain age fell into stride with me as we made our way to the group photograph … which by the way was conducted in an amazingly orderly fashion for a bunch of theologians and educators. He said something like this: ‘Why do we think we know what’s going to happen as we minister in Christ’s name?’ Then, with reference to his own long ministry, he mused, ‘All the best things that we ever saw happen were completely unintended consequences. We were never trying to do that.’ He gave me some stirring examples.

I have heard during this Consultation—and we must continue to remind ourselves—that the Lord will use us as his instruments to accomplish small glories and perhaps some large ones that we never saw coming. And that he will do this regularly just when we feel our intended outcomes have wrought nothing but frustration.

On that sad day when surprise has been drained out of our list of outcomes, we can be sure that we have created our own monster. It will devour us.

When we can no longer be surprised by the joy of unexpected outcomes because we have become too earnest about our intended ones, we will know that we have wandered off the gospel path.  Only repentance will help us find our way back.

 

  1. A question: In our zeal to serve the Church, does the tradition still speak? Or in this day of constant adjustments, has the tradition died?

In addition to the pull of ‘what our churches and communities want from our graduates’, does biblical wisdom … does the gospel …does the accrued wisdom of the theological tradition push subjects that ought to be mastered? Just as we read books written far away and long ago in order to attenuate our cultural myopia, is it possible that we do not know all that we ought to learn and know, and that the tradition itself can be our teacher here?

I confess that I have not heard this question posed as often as I could have wished.

And here is a corollary:

 

  1. Does the seminary have anything to teach the Church that the Church may not have an appetite to learn?

In a moment of frustration, a long-time colleague in Latin America once observed: ‘You know, churches and groups of pastors can be self-preserving mafias too. It’s not only the seminary …’

I think he was right.

Similarly, an African brother this week recounted that pastors routinely fault his seminary’s students for wanting ‘to think things out for themselves’. He smiled and continued, ‘This is when I know that we have served them well!’ … though perhaps the pastor and his church would have preferred to have been served with a more docile crop of emerging leaders.
If the seminary is ‘where the Church goes to think’—as we have heard in these days—then does the seminary know some things that the church ought to learn?
Again, hearkening back to the dialect of a certain moment in Latin America, does the seminary have an uncomfortable prophetic voice that the church needs to hear, even if it would rather not?

If so, then perhaps the seminary’s entire loving vocation vis-à-vis the Church is not captured merely by 92% satisfaction results on survey and assessment instruments.

I would like to see this topic explored further.

 

  1. We need each other!

In the venerable tradition of bell curves everywhere, impact assessment in theological education has its beady-eyed fanatics and its burro-like intransigents. We need each other.

In the body of Christ, we cannot afford to demonize or ridiculize the brothers and sisters at either edge of the bell curve. What is at stake is too important and people are right now feeling the earth move under their feet. This is unsettling. I am unsettled!

Let us show grace to each other in this season.

I was deeply moved when veterans of change management towards an assessment culture within their respective seminaries, narrating their experience within our Listening Group, spoke of their affection for doubting and reluctant faculty members. They spoke pastorally of the need to preserve and honor the sacrificial service of such people. One of our case study presenters used the strong word ‘devastated’ to describe how faculty can experience the critique that an assessment culture necessarily brings.

As a community of theological educators in deeply uncertain times who fervently bear our own passions, we must exercise the judgment charity with those who see things differently.

Some of you enthusiasts will need to repent of attitudinal sins against the suspicious in these unsettling times. And some of us who are suspicious will need to repent of our sins against the enthusiasts.

I certainly need to.

 

  1. It is difficult, but not impossible, to measure a graduate’s faithfulness and effectiveness

 

Our Listening Group was struck by how widespread was the struggle to come down to particulars in measuring faithfulness and effectiveness.

Yet what I’ll call a healthy anti-gnostic impulse among us wouldn’t let us give up.

In my view, we would benefit from looking at the best research and the best practices in this area rather than reinventing the wheel. Having said this, a persistent undercurrent of conversation insists that these things will vary widely with context and therefore hew to the particular rather than the universal end of the spectrum.

I myself wonder how impact is to be measured in oppressive contexts where survival of the Christian community itself occurs against all odds and is itself an achievement to be celebrated.

I detect something of a heart’s cry at this stage of our journey: ‘Yes, Lord, we want to assess … Help our non-assessment … !’

 

  1. Clarity

I perhaps should not have come this far without mentioning the pressing matter of clarity, a topic that raised its hoary head at every turn of every day.

Clarity about vision. Clarity about mission. Clarity about intended outcomes. Clarity about actual outcomes. Clarity that trues our aim. Clarity that devastates. Clarity that empowers.

There were times when I though this consultation might have best been subtitled In Quest of Clarity.

Yesterday morning, I found myself tapping into my notes my own quasi-Logic Chain:

Humility … honesty … clarity … (repeat)

Humility … honesty … clarity … (repeat)

For some years, I have steadied my own soul in leadership with a small sticky note that appears on my laptop screen. I see it every day. It contains just three words: Don’t look away.

‘I keep hearing the word clarity … ‘

… one Listening Group colleague said.

Indeed. We’ll be the better for that.

 

  • Messiness

 

But clear does not mean clinical.

One brother working in Mexico, contemplating the Book of Acts’ assessment of outcomes under Maestro Parro’s baton, mused: ‘I’m amazed by how messy it all was … and is’.

Whether our logic chain is scottcunninghamesque and linear … or johnjusuesque and spiral … the business of assessing the outcomes of our life’s labors and then responding to that assessment is messy and imperfect.

In my country, we have a statement that is hilarious in its context: There’s no crying in baseball!

To which we might add the dictum: There’s no whining about the messiness of outcomes assessment in theological education. It just is.

 

  1. The thing is, just begin!

 

In outcomes assessment as in most things that matter in life, the hardest thing is simply to start.

We heard this over and over again this week.

The one thing that makes me proudest of my own Overseas Council team’s role in this assessment project is the speed with which our partner seminaries in the project have progressed from ‘we need this so badly’ to voices of humble and confident authority in the practice.

For me, Ivan Rusin—leading the Ukrainian Evangelical Theological Seminary—is the poster child for this phenomenon, though many more could stand in for him. 24 to 18 months ago, such schools had only the deep conviction that they were standing on a burning platform and needed to do things differently if they were to survive, let alone thrive in the accomplishment of their ministry.

Over the last four days, school leader after school leader became our instructor in how to move humbly from confusion to clarity about what they were attempting to do to clarity about what they are doing and what they are accomplishing and on to the work remains ahead of them now that they know these things.

The corollary here: This is not as hard as it looks. You should try this at home.

The thing is, just begin!

 

  1. Tell me the old, old story!

 

Testimony and anecdote are God-authorized and contain metrics.

From Chris’ beginning to Elizabeth’s beautiful Colombian-accented exhortation, we have reveled in and perhaps even remembered how to remember the power of story, indeed the power even of the small stories that our stories as part of the Great Story of YHWH’s redeeming love.

I myself find it easier to love you who are enthusiasts of assessment when I realize that you will allow me to tell you my story.

Story matters.

 

Tell me the old, old story of unseen things above,

Of Jesus and His glory, of Jesus and His love.

Tell me the story simply, as to a little child,

For I am weak and weary, and helpless and defiled.

 

Tell me the story slowly, that I may take it in,

That wonderful redemption, God’s remedy for sin.

Tell me the story often, for I forget so soon;

The early dew of morning has passed away at noon.

 

Tell me the story softly, with earnest tones and grave;

Remember I’m the sinner whom Jesus came to save.

Tell me the story always, if you would really be,

In any time of trouble, a comforter to me.

 

Tell me the same old story when you have cause to fear

That this world’s empty glory is costing me too dear.

Yes, and when that world’s glory is dawning on my soul,

Tell me the old, old story: ‘Christ Jesus makes thee whole.’

 

Tell us the ever-new story of emerging Christian leaders who caught a holy, humble fire by rubbing shoulders with frail and fallen theological educators like us. Tell us how they went on from our classrooms and private conversations to—through faith—conquer kingdoms, enforce justice, obtain promises, stop the mouths of lions, quench the power of fire, escape the edge of the sword, become strong out of weakness, become mighty in war, put foreign armies to flight. Tell us how some received back their dead by resurrection, how some were tortured, refusing to accept release, so that they might rise again to a better life. Tell us how others suffered mocking and flogging, and even chains and imprisonment, how they were stoned, and even sawn in two. Remind us how the world was not worthy of them … and how they surround us now as a great cloud of witnesses.

Count, measure, and assess, so that we can serve them still better and take our places alongside of them with humility, honesty, and clarity.

For this is my story, this is my song, praising my Savior all the day long.
This is our story. This is our song, praising our Savior all the day long.

 

I hope these reflections—these twelve stones, if you will—have in some small way helped that far-flown flock of ideas return home after an almost frenetically busy ICETE Triennial Consultation to their common roost, prepared to take wing again when flight is needed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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An address delivered to the triennial conference of the International Council for Evangelical Theological Education
Sopron, Hungary
October 2009

A concert is a lovely thing.

Whether the Hong Kong Philharmonic touching just last week such disparate notes as those composed by the early classical Haydn and the late Romantic Berlioz or U2 rocking Chicago’s Lincoln Park or a band of street musicians in Cuba turning lunch three-dimensional by adding sound to the day’s taste and sights or the sheer joie d’vivre of a South African children’s choir causing our jaws to drop and making us feel momentarily a little younger—a bit more like them—a concert is about the pleasing and productive synthesis of otherwise individual and cacophonous sounds.

And speaking of cacophony, you can have solo or cacophony at the drop of a hat. A concert, though, requires that its participants subjugate aspects of their own ambition and ability to a larger, greater, more beautiful project.

There’s the rub. And there’s the magic.

A good concert—like the proverbial news from afar or the fruit of the grape—gladdens the heart. A very good concert draws us closer to transcendent truth, even to our Creator himself. A superb concert causes us to feel, to think, to imagine—indeed to become—something that our mere individuality could scarcely ever produce.

The very best of concerts is tribute. It is worship. It draws our attention beyond the artists to the One who alone is capable of creating a world where such nobility and beauty—where such sounds—are possible. (more…)

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We need thoughtful people in the pulpit.

Around the dinner table, a friend and his wife decry the insipid aridity of much that passes for Christian proclamation. These are not cultured despisers, these hosts of mine. They are decades-old friends who have been around the block and around the world, have celebrated life and been beaten up by it, have served and been served in proportions that overweight the first of the two.

They are veterans. All of their life together has been lived out under the sound of a voice from a pulpit. Whether in San José or Aberdeen or Wheaton or Cambridge, Christian preaching has been a contextual envelope for the grit of getting on with things. They have always lived within range of the pulpit’s voice.

Much of it has been very bad. (more…)

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In the last two decades, the wily old PhD has been challenged by a feisty upstart, the Doctor of Ministry. High-achieving individuals dedicated to some field of theology, biblical studies, or pastoral ministry often hop back and forth between the two, wondering which better fits their needs and life situation.

First, some terminology. Let’s begin with the Doctor of Philosophy. In North America, this research degree is usually abbreviated Ph.D, while in Great Britain PhD is more common. There are variants, of course. Harvard University and Harvard Divinity School, for example, offer both a Ph.D. and a Th.D. The latter abbreviates Doctor of Theology. Although there are fierce debates inside Harvard regarding the equivalence (or not) of the two degrees, people on the outside generally regard them as two variants of the same course of study. On the other side of the Atlantic, Oxford University offers the DPhil. (more…)

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As the owner of a doctorate in biblical studies, I am regularly asked by one aspiring doctoral student or another whether I think he or she should walk the same path. Nearly always, I am taken aback by the vigor and ambition of such people. In my own life, the studies that led up to doctoral work, the immersion in biblical texts and languages that the experience itself made possible, and the skills and network of scholars that it percolated into my life have congealed into a profound blessing.

I believe the endeavor to be capable of fostering deep acuity with regard to matters biblical and theological. Furthermore, I’m convinced that both Church and society urgently need thought leaders schooled and shaped in just this way if they are to experience discernment rather that vulnerability, wisdom instead of folly, and faithful maturity instead of vacuous striving after whatever wind blows most strongly at the moment. With good reasons, certain traditions value their ‘doctors of the Church’ for the critical niche ministry they exercise in her midst.

Why, then, does the joy of such conversations mingle with a touch of apprehension and even reluctance? Reflection on this question persuades me that my mixed emotions come from a veteran’s and observer’s awareness of the deep, unspoken costs that doctoral work in biblical studies and theology inflict upon those who pursue it and those who love them. Most worthy things do just this. (more…)

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Tiempos atrás, la vida me otorgó la satisfacción de compartir aulas y espacios pastorales con un amigo y colega costarricense quien no ha flaqueado en mantener los lazos de la amistad desde mi emigración hacia la patria en 2004. Recientemente el mencionado Alexander Cabezas, ahora miembro imprescindible del equipo de Viva Juntos por la Niñez en Costa Rica, se permitió ventilar unos pensamientos que a este peregrino vivificaron el corazón. (more…)

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