The Modern, Christian Teacher

The modern teacher, particularly the modern, Christian teacher, is presented with a number of frustrations which, in a light mood, he would like to call "opportunities." I refer neither to "teachable moments" nor to mishaps when I speak of these opportunities. Rather, I call up the moments when the teacher has a solid glimpse of the student as a person.

To the materialist teacher, this is a frustration because, he believes, people are merely what they do, and the people he teachers do more, or at least other, than learn. The frustration of uncertainty in his role then presents itself, though perhaps it is to him like Harvey is to Jimmy Stewart, visible to no other.

I can see this materialist teacher in my classroom, wearing my face, assuming that sarcasm is an acceptable response to a student's ignorance. The student responds not by learning but by emoting. Is he a student or a person? The answer, of course, is "yes."

Struggling constantly with my materialistic and natural self, I, the modern, Christian teacher, am presented with far deeper frustrations at the recognition of humanity in my pupils. I must first see the inherent wonder of the image of God. Like a coin at the mint, these students bear the picture of their King, and I, like the worker at said mint, hope and strive to sharpen that image. What a fearful trade!

As I wonder at the teacher's role in this process, I think particularly of one history student whose ability to reason has increased magnificently, and I bow to Giver of all good things for His work in that young man's mind. If only the existence of valuable gifts led to an eternal glory...

The modern, Christian teacher see many frustrations in the personhood of students because they are fallen. Sloth, impatience, self-righteousness, and incontinent faith appear in my classroom daily, and not always at the small desks. The depravity of students coupled with a still regenerating teacher causes great heartache.

I recall the first day I taught. Mockery in the name of "cool" occurred just meters from where I stood, and I felt a deep resentment that I could do little more than cause a temporary halt. The human students picked back up at lunch.

The trough of depravity, so tenebrous and wicked, is also a wonderful challenge to the modern, Christian teacher, for he knows of the redemptive power of Jesus Christ. Fighting as Bunyan's Christian with Apollyon, we push ever into the darkest hearts, never missing an opportunity to show a biblical response to our subject matter. Our goal is that of Christ in 1 John 3--the forgiveness of sins and the destruction of the devil's work. I have seen the dead come to life this year.

The modern, Christian teacher's story is little different from any other with frustrations. It is only in the ordeal that the victor is proven. It is only in the tumult that opportunity lies. It is only with the will of the Father, by the grace of His Son, through the working of His Spirit that these opportunities are realized.

The Victory Arch of Carteer

At the entrance to town,
by the northeastern gate,
Rising up from the ground
on its marblized weight
Stood the symbol of our city's cheer:
The grand Victory Arch of Carteer.

Our polis was at war
With an enemy dire,
But if we needed more
Reason to be inspired
We'd look up and drop down a proud tear
For the Victory Arch of Carteer.

By the seventeenth week
Of our enemies siege
Our defense passed its peak,
And we had a new liege
Who wanted to stimulate fear
By the Victory Arch of Carteer.

We were treated as slaves,
And our spirits were flayed,
But we all acted brave
Until we were betrayed.
A citizen spoke of what we held most dear:
The prized Victory Arch of Carteer.

The tyrant took his ropes
And tied them round the Arch,
Then he crushed all our hopes
As he commanded "March!"
And a tumble of rock stabbed my heart like a spear.
'Twas the Victory Arch of Carteer.

Gone was that piece of art
Of commemoration
Which had kept every heart
At its strongest station,
But I looked at the place as dust started to clear
'Round the Victory Arch of Carteer.

And the shape of the stones
As they lay on the earth
Made me let out a groan
In the pangs of rebirth.
For an empty old cross was the sign that appeared
From the Victory Arch of Carteer.

And I raised up a shout
That was caught up by all
As each one thought about
Being saved from the Fall,
And we drove out the enemy to the frontier
Past the Victory Arch of Carteer.

As we came back to town
From our fighting afar,
There was feeling around
That our homeland was marred.
So we set up a monument we could revere:
'Twas the Victory Arch of Carteer.

The Day, The Day

The day, the day is pressed upon my soul
And consciousness with light. Dare I arise
To yet another juncture of vain tries?
Onto temporal earth alights my sole.

The day, the day does seem monotonous
As I progress so little. Yet I tread
The earth where God as man once sped
And gave the value robb'd by moth and rust.

The day, the day sparkles with radiant
Moment. I pass immortals as I moan
Of dreariness; I hear an epic tone
In mumbled words riding prayer's gradient.

The day, the day does press upon my soul
And consciousness the Light. Divine nature,
Eternal power are presented sure
By day, by night. Now worship is my role.

The Day, the Day when I, at last, shall rise
To God will hold nostalgia only in one way:
I will, with fondness, think about each day
Of vanity, which, for love's sake, He prized.

Save For One

For Your glory, You made man; Your image you gave.
For Your glory, You let him to become depraved.
For Your glory, You saw every child born a slave
Save for One, Lord, of course, save for One.

For Your glory, You blessed all of Abraham's seed.
For Your glory, You saw Jacob steal Esau's deed.
For Your glory, You cursed men who hung on a tree
For eternity, Lord, save for One.

For Your glory, You execute man, woman, child.
For Your glory, You crush the head of that reptile.
For Your glory, each debt on Your ledger was piled
Save for One's, Lord, of course, save for One's.

For Your glory, Your kingdom continues to build,
For Your glory, through suffering and pleasures you willed.
For Your glory, let the mouth of Creation be filled
With this song: "Save for You; save for One!"

For Your glory, save sinners for Your sake alone.
For Your glory, continue to ever atone.
For Your glory, we'll worship Your crucified Son
For He chose to save, and save for One.

With Thanks to John Piper

Duty has been my compass since
I learned the Statutes Ten.
Without a thought for what love meant,
I serve first God then men.

I set about my martyrdom
To all my true longings:
I passed on seeking His kingdom
For the pleasure it brings.

Morality became my goal,
Though I enjoyed it not.
I prayed, "Please, God, restore my soul
To joy," while joy did rot.

But looking at Christ crucified
Through a fellow Christian's eyes,
I see my intuition lied
Defining God's assize.

God wants a happy heart from me:
"Delight," is His command,
"In Me. Not for morality
But joy, love God and man."

Scenario

In the middle row of the middle aisle
With my ticket for a rag,
I buttered up my greedy digits
Diving into the popcorn bag.
And, for a moment, I believed in good.

In the driver's seat, in the passing lane,
With my vector pointing east,
I played at Thomas Edison
To drown my ears in peace.
And, for a moment, I believed in good.

In the same old chair, at the same old table,
With my pencil scratching prayers,
I confessed I longed for evil things
Till I saw the blood He wears.
And, I hope, not only for a moment, I believed in good.

A Complexity Complex

I've been teaching from Galatians in my Bible class. The theme is life by faith through the Spirit as opposed to through following the law. I've really been enjoying it, and my students have been understanding it. That's something, anyway.
One of the verses that sticks out to me as I review is Galatians 5:14: "For the whole Law is fulfilled in one word, in the statement, 'You shall love your neighbor as yourself.'"
The whole Law. Not just one chapter of Deuteronomy, not just a couple commandments, but all of it. Summed up in loving others. I thought of a section toward the end of The Friendly Persuasion as I read and re-read this: Jess, the main character, keeps trying to do what is good and get this little boy to do what is good for goodness' sake, and he realizes there's a problem with that, concluding that all he really is supposed to do is love his fellow man. The idea expressed is that love isn't just for ethereal goodness' sake, but for the sake of relational others and a relational God's. I makes sense, but trying to apply it is difficult.
Why would God make humans so complex, put us in such complex societies with complex lifestyles that include things like money and culture and education, if all we're supposed to do is love?

A love that fills every action in this life must be as labyrinthine and multi-faceted as God, for He is love.

Jumbled

I set to discourse on my God. My thesis was His name.
But Jeff Garcia spoke up first, and I jumbled my words.
The Scarlet Thread became "Scarlet Begonias."

I bowed my head to lift a hymn of deepest mystery.
"Amazing Grace" and "My Sweet Lord" were fused and then were blurred.
Was Newton or was Harrison more ashamed?

Finally, I recognized the truth is not from me.
The word of God must come from God so it is not impured.
The uncultured, uneducated Truth is sitting on my shelf.

A Carol

"Hallelujah, Humiliation"

Equality with Deity
He did not seek to grasp.
Instead He donned man's flesh upon
Himself, His love His clasp.

Through labor pains to stable plain
Was Infinite confined,
Corporeal, memorial
Of God's plan for mankind.

Hallelujah, humiliation!
He put Himself to degradation.
Hallelujah, humiliation!
The stepping down, the Incarnation.

Heaven's beloved, the nature of
A servant did betake,
Obedient and lenient
For Law and grace's sake.

This awesome goal gave Jesus' soul
Abode in Bethlehem:
The Son of God with flesh was shod
To save the souls of men.

Hallelujah, humiliation!
He put Himself to degradation.
Hallelujah, humiliation!
The stepping down, the Incarnation.

Now, Christians, all hark to His call
To follow His Advent.
He will robe you in bodies new
To pass through firmament.

Hallelujah, the restoration!
His remnant is a new creation.
Hallelujah, the restoration!
Salvific love, propitiation.

Goodness

I like making theories.  In a high school class entitled "human behavior," I'd make up theories about psychology.  One, which I'm pretty sure was wrong, was that each person can only retain a set amount of knowledge, and their personality is totally based on the knowledge retained from their first years of childhood.  It's bogus.  In college, I tried to limit myself to theories on history.  I had a good one in my "History of China" class, but I'm not terribly interested in Chinese history, so I used it in a paper and promptly lost the data.  Teaching has led me to come up with some educational theories, the main one being that learning has almost nothing to do with the teacher (I know it's not true, but sometimes I wonder...).  Mostly, though, my life experience deals with being a Christian, so I've made plenty of theological theories.  One of these, and I think lots of Christians share it, is that Christians go through phases of being taught certain lessons, to the point that most believers can say "God has really been teaching me _____________ lately."

Well, God has really been teaching me that He is the Author of Goodness.  I've spent the last year and a half or so thinking of Christianity as a privileged duty.    I've been thinking in terms of my response and not in terms of God's grace.  I act as though my faith starts with God but ends with me.  In reality, my faith starts with God and ends with God, extending an undeserved and unreturnable grace to me.  I'm starting to understand the answer in the Westminster Catechism to the question of "What is the chief end of man?"

Answer:  Man's chief and highest end is to glorify God and fully enjoy Him forever.

In Stephen Lawhead's book series The Song of Albion, the Celtic characters sometimes refer to God is the "Gifting-Giver."  Should I meet God on a mountain, I want it to be Calvary and not Sinai.

Adam of the Amazon

Standing on the peak of a South American mountain, overlooking the Amazon, I felt the same feeling as when I viewed the source of the Nile in Africa, the one Mark Twain writes about as he stands in the ancient city of Tangier, Morocco, in The Innocents Abroad.  I was too modern to juxtapose myself with this place.  My blue jeans, faded by manufacturers more than wear, clashed with the endless jungle.

Longing to be Adam, to be a part of the pristine world, I removed my clothing.  My attempt to be a part of a fall-less world was impaired, however, by the trail behind me.  Someone might come, might laugh, might feel embarrassed.  Someone might see me.  I took a quick glance around and slipped my legs back into my pants.  I couldn't stand there in "all my glory," because I was no longer glorious.  I was not Adam of the Amazon; I was a tourist from a broken world.

The desire to regain that place, to stand in Adam's steps, is one I feel no shame in possessing.  But the shame itself is another thing.  Meditating on this experience, I am forced to see that my own humiliation is nothing compared to the Incarnation, let alone the Crucifixion.  And because of that, a brighter glory is ahead, one with white robes to wear, with a more pristine world to stand proudly in.

"A Lover is like Narcissus"

A lover is like Narcissus

Or Eros to Psyche.

In offering his love the best,

He says, "The best is me!"

But how can man this justify

If first he loves his brother?

One cannot love a plural first

Unless the self is other.

Disgusted at lovers' conceits,

We leave them to our loss.

But self-love finds a selfless place

In the Man Upon the Cross.

Augustine

I was reading through the old saint's Confessions this morning, and I came upon an interesting little section. I'd quote it and let you love it, but I left it at home, so I'll just paraphrase.

Basically, Augustine was talking about how it's not wrong to love "corporeal objects." Rather, our love of all worldly things is good, because it makes us love the Giver more. Only in our self-deception can we ever love the object without giving glory to its Maker, and so, Augustine says, go on and love the world appropriately.

I usually just can't do that. I really like a lot of things. I love backpacking, but half the time, I only love it because it makes me feel cool. I like writing, even writing about how wonderful God is, but I often turn to scholarship or style instead of the Author of all things good.

I read a little Decartes the other day, and he was talking about purging himself of all things that are doubtable so he can start over fresh. I'd sometimes like to purge myself of all loves that are empty on their own and be made new. But I've already been made new. Weird.

"The Healing Pool of Belcedare"

I raised my king to his riding chair,
And the destination, far from there,
Was the Healing Pool of Belcedare.

My king, who once looked bright and fair,
Had caught the gorgon's diseased stare.
He now sat tethered to his chair
Till he reached the Pool of Belcedare.

In all Creation, nothing's so rare
As the Gift that springs to acrid air,
The water from that ancient lair
Of life. And every bather will Heaven spare
In the Healing Pool of Belcedare.

The monarch bearing with much care,
I crossed through plains and deserts bare;
We took straight paths, climbed each steep stair.
At last arrived, we caught a glare
Making red the water flowing there
In the Healing Pool of Belcedare.

The deep maroon gave me a scare,
But the king he bade me to prepare
For his descent from the riding chair.
Toward the flow, like colt to mare,
The king he crawled. His robes did tear,
And in he fell, broke body bare,
To the Healing Pool of Belcedare.

My heart could burst; my king was where?
Had to his death I led him there?
Then I heard laughter in a blare
Of royal noise, and I gave up care.
"Come, friend," spake king, "wherefore despair?
Just scrub your face and wash your hair
In the blood that makes the foulest fair.
I am healed at the Pool of Belcedare!"

You can figure out the allegory.

Some Pleasurable Snippets

I thought I'd entertain with a few words from my students.  Grammatical errors have been corrected.  These come from tests, papers, and class discussions:

From an extra-credit assignment:  

"The War of 1812 was fought between two well-known countries which had fought several times before:  the United States of America and Great Britain."  

For those of you who are unaware of this, the US had only fought Britain in the Revolution.

From a paper on the Second Great Awakening:  

"A refunding disposition was in progress."

I simply have no idea what that could possibly mean.

From a Bible Quiz:

Q:  Do Jesus and Nicodemus discuss any of the "Ultimate Questions" of Origin, Identity, Meaning, Morality, or Destiny?  Explain.

A (Student 1):  You are a Spirit of God.  

A (Student 2):  They discuss that Christianity is real.

While I do appreciate that one of my students thinks I am a Spirit of God, and although I am willing to admit that my students might use phrases (like "refunding disposition") that I am unfamiliar with, I must say, these kids make me feel pretty smart sometimes.

Servants Indentured and Beggars Relieved

"Each man is a slave to his own spirit."

During the days of Thomas Edison and Henry Ford, hard work was the high moral, the principle behind the Greatest Commandment of the spirit of the age.  The Classical Era has been cited as a time when beauty was held in highest reverence.  Tolerance and equality command the pens of today's historians, and we think in terms of ourselves.  And how could we not?  

The great issue of all time has been personal liberty, and it has never been achieved, nor (praise Heaven) will it be, in the modern sense.  The list of totalistic libertarians stretches from Adam to Judas to me, and yet each man (including my students, with little prompting) can recognize the fact that he is enslaved.  The high vocabulary includes "success" and "adventure" and "love," but each of these has taken on a personal meaning and lost its value.  Should I be a slave to any of these things, as many are, indeed, my life will be an enslavement to my own selfish spirit.

When I discussed this with my students, they said that we choose our masters.  I didn't bring up God's sovereignty with them, because they mostly aren't Christians and are being evangelized to.  That'd be like saying, "Become a Christian; you might do it anyway."  However, I feel that a short mention of it is appropriate here.  Will we indeed be slaves to God of His choosing?  I certainly believe so!  For I cannot change my blemished spirt for His Holy Spirit.  The desire to do so doesn't even originate in me.  But I am an indentured servant to the Man of the Cross, doing His work and set free to exist as is right.  

Mundane?

What a gift it is to be a Christian, to be saved, to be free!  To live out a story of infinite adventure among people of infinite value wherein the real Protagonist is infinitely good, that is what I want to be a part of.  And I am!  Hemingway covers the idea this way:  "All good books have one thing in common - they are truer than if they had really happened."

Now, I don't think that ol' Ernest is being postmodern or is executing historical philosophy here, but I do think he's saying something about the reality presented in the great stories.  These are the ones where we feel deep connection, where we long for the ultimate defeat of the bad guy, and where we stand alongside the hero.  When we admire Beowulf, when we despise Voldemort, when we observe the heroic end of Arthur, we are seeking deeper realities than mundane, scheduled life.

Today, in Life of Christ, I was introducing my students to the calling of the disciples.  If only they could see that these stories are just colorful blips on the radar of our stories, what then? Going on from there, if we'd realize that our stories are just pixels on the IMAX screen of God's story, how much more joyful, more essential, more alive would each of our actions be!

At least I'm learning something...

According to my government students, I must be the best Bible teacher ever.

According to my Bible students, I might not even teach Bible.

I'm not too worried about that, though.  I really am enjoying working through the life of Christ and giving my 10th grade students mini-sermons that I think are synoptically snazzy.  I was teaching about the baptism of Christ today, and I really learned a lot from it.  I'm not sure if they did or not, but the homework pretty much reiterates the whole point, so whatever.

I was talking about how baptism has its roots in the Jews baptizing Gentiles into the Promise, which has its roots in the Jews passing through the Red Sea.  Now, I've argued fairly thoroughly with Ben Johnson about baptism, whether babies should be baptized or not, and, as I told my students today, I'm not terribly worried about that question compared to the understanding of the symbolism.  Let's take a quick look at the ol' passage through that Arabian body of water:

The Jews were coming out of Egypt, where they were in slavery, led by Moses, the soon-to-be lawgiver, into the Promised Land (if only they'd go in).  What would this possibly picture on a deeper level?  Well, I thought about it in the way I figured Jud Davis, my New Testament professor would, and I came up with something that seems fairly legitimate.  Passage from slavery through the law into the Promise.  That's what goes on.  Now, Moses doesn't get people into the Promised Land, because they're too scared to enter.  However, the Fulfillment of the law brings everyone into the ultimate Promised Land.

Get it?  Jesus' baptism is a picture of our salvation!  I don't think I did any sketchy Bible work to see that; the picture is slavery to promise, and as John the Baptizer says, Jesus' baptizes us not with water, but with the Holy Spirit.

Well dip me or sprinkle me, but I want some of that.

Runner's High for the second time.

Last night, I went for a run, following the setting sun into the Western frontier and all that, and the sky was just beautiful.  The colors here, as Amy and I marvel at time and again, are consistently unbelievable (sounds like an oxymoron, I know).  As I ran, I noticed that I'd reached a point where I didn't feel the pain anymore, and I recalled the first time that had happened.

I was running to work one morning in Rwanda, my iPod in my ear, looking pretty outlandish to the locals, and it was shuffling from one song about the Gospel to another.  I was getting pretty excited, and I remember thinking "I don't think I can usually run this fast, this long."  Well, I did.  And I passed Kim and Trigger as they were walking, and I said something that made them respond in a way that said I was not acting normal, especially for someone running in the morning that close to the Equator.

The same things was going on this time.  Ipod in, Jars of Clay blasting my eardrums, and I was thinking about the chapel presentation I'm giving tomorrow.  But I was listening to these songs about running away from Someone who just wants to love me, and I kept thinking, "Why do I always concentrate on the harshness of the Gospel?  The truth is grace and freedom!"

I don't think it's just because I was having runner's high for the second time that I thought that; I think God was really trying to remind me that the Sabbath is made for man, not man for the Sabbath:

Eternity is a gift for us, and that truth is fundamental to understanding before you start thinking about sacrificing all of yourself.

In Suriname, by Providence

In Suriname, by Providence, my restive strength was beached.

What was the lesson, Providence, You fore-ordained to teach?

I seek to own, by charity, whatever You bestow

For all from You is charity, since You came here below.

Pray, break me through, Omnipotence, that I no longer dream

Of aught but You Omnipotent; remove my optic beam.

When all that's left is faithfulness, Your own image divine

Will fly forth from my faithfulness, because it is not mine.

So I will aid in Suriname as acts Your church commutes,

Until, when they say "Suriname," I hear Your attributes.

And yes, that is a Shakespearean sonnet in iambic heptameter.