Fires that Enlighten

Three or four weeks into my first year in seminary I noticed a van being loaded next to the student dorm. I thought that maybe one of the students had some kind of emergency and was forced to leave school. I walked inside the residence hall and found a man about my age giving his now-empty room one last look before he left.

“Is there a problem at home?” I asked.

“No,” he replied with an edge to his voice. “I’m leaving this God-forsaken place before it destroys my faith.” I watched as he turned and left the building and got into his van and drove off.

During my seven years of theological education, I heard of a number of students who left the seminary because theological education messed with their fixed beliefs. These students came to seminary to gather more ammunition for what they already believed. When they discovered that theological education had something else in mind, they quickly became disenchanted.

Theological education is not for the faint-hearted or closed-minded. There were moments in seminary when I felt like much of what I believed was being taken away from me. I walked out of class many days frightened and confused, but fortunately I had wonderful teachers who sympathized with what I was going through and made themselves available to discuss my bruised and wounded ego.

Seminary exposed the cracks—chasms, really—in my theological foundation. My faith was childish and naïve, based more on my cultural upbringing than a thoughtful and considered study of Scripture. For the first time I was confronted with inconsistencies and superstitions that had become unquestioned dogma in my belief system. It was a painful as well as an exhilarating experience. Beloved convictions were being peeled away, but my vision of God was being enlarged.

I discovered that God is far bigger than I had ever imagined. I learned that even among the most devoted and brilliant men and women of faith there were more questions than answers. I became aware of the Bible’s multifaceted layers of traditions with long histories of interpretation. I grew to understand that each reader approaches the biblical text with his or her own set of prejudices and biases, and I began to see how often the Bible is manipulated to advance ideological agendas, usually with tragic results.

I look back on those days of theological education with deep gratitude. I met students and professors who became lifelong friends. I read books that opened my eyes to new ways of understanding the faith adventure. I enjoyed classroom discussions and even heated arguments that forced me to rethink many of my cherished convictions. Most of all, I am grateful for my professors who created within me a thirst for knowledge and truth that continues to this day. It was the philosopher Socrates who said that the purpose of education is to kindle a flame, not fill a vessel.  My theological education lit a fire under my intellectual and spiritual growth that has never been extinguished.

There were days, though, when I felt anything but gratitude. Systematic theology widened my perspective of how and why the Bible could be interpreted in various ways, all faithful to the text. That the Bible could be faithfully understood in a variety of ways annoyed me. Greek and Hebrew were difficult subjects to master, especially Hebrew. I felt anxiety before every test, and afterwards I worried whether I had gotten the accents correct or rendered the verb tenses accurately.

When I read Baptist history, I was horrified to learn that the reason for my denomination’s existence was racism. Southern Baptists had split from the Northern Baptists not long before the civil war, primarily because Southern Baptists wanted to uphold the institution of slavery and refused to acknowledge its evil. I read sermon after sermon by so-called “distinguished” Baptist pastors who extolled the virtues of segregation and the superiority of the “white race.” If I ever became a pastor, I promised myself, all races of people would be welcomed in the church I served.

Education stretches us, doesn’t it? Learning new ways to think about things can make us uncomfortable. We are much more at ease having our beliefs confirmed than challenged.

During my formal student days I learned that there is a distinction between education and indoctrination. Indoctrination’s goal is to fill minds with a narrow set of beliefs without critically examining a wider field of information. If young minds are filled with dogmatic assertions, however, without the benefit of critical analysis, then the opportunity for their intellectual growth is limited.

Education, on the other hand, introduces students to a wide range of ideas and perspectives and encourages students to think for themselves.  Well prepared teachers, of course, guide and facilitate classroom discussions, helping students to evaluate and process the information.

While this form of instruction can challenge students, even make them uncomfortable at times, it is one of the principles that has made possible the great intellectual and scientific strides of the past 300 years. The abolishment of slavery, a woman’s right to vote, liberal democracy, economic capitalism, freedom of religion, freedom of speech, the freedom of the press, and so much more were all brought about because education triumphed over indoctrination—not without a fight, however. There were powerful forces at work that desperately fought to keep people’s minds closed. Education has always threatened the powerful status quo.  

We should be concerned when books are banned from school libraries or particular subjects are taken out of the curriculum because they might make some students feel uncomfortable. One of the purposes of education is to challenge students to confront difficult subjects and learn from them. Who hasn’t wished that their calculus class didn’t create so much anxiety or pled with their teacher to lighten the homework assignment? High School students, especially, are intellectually mature enough to explore and learn about America’s past that reveals the darker side of our history. An informed awareness of the past can help to lay the groundwork to prevent similar evils from ever occurring again.

Years ago I met with a man in his early thirties to discuss a theological issue. He had written me a letter to express his disagreement with something I had said in one of my sermons. I invited him to have coffee so that we could speak face-to-face. Just moments after we had sat down he told me that no matter what I said, no matter how convincing my argument, he wasn’t going to change his mind. He believed what he believed and, as far as he was concerned, that was it.

Well, we sipped our coffee and talked about his job, family and hobbies and after an hour or so we shook hands, said “Goodbye,” and went our separate ways. We never discussed his disagreement with me. What would have been the point? He had closed his mind. My intentions were never to convince him that his views were wrong, only to show him there were also other ways to understand the issue, but he wasn’t interested.

I’ve thought of that young man often over the years. I wonder if anything ever cracked the ideological armor that encased him. In one sense, it protected him from ever having to grapple with uncomfortable issues, but in another sense, it prevented him from the wonderful adventure of discovering a wider world.