I had a bit of a shaking experience recently; one which really called into question my intentions to begin a PhD program in New Testament studies next year. I found myself surrounded last Friday by intellectual snobbery, the likes of which I’d never experienced before–and all guns (metaphorically) were pointed right at me. I was giving a talk to a particular group who vehemently refused to accept any of my premises. I had (apparently not understanding my audience) suggested that the Scriptures might actually be legitimate or point toward actual true events. “How could I”, they scoffed, “an educated person, actually believe the Bible to be *gasp* the Word of God. Ha!” “These Bible people”, they further scoffed, “actually believe that they can talk to God–the fools!” “They believe in miracles!” I was so taken off guard by the insinuations that I could barely muster a response in between their criticisms. Needless to say, I never actually finished giving the talk (which was supposed to be about the nature of the early Church in Acts of the Apostles, incidentally).
While I (with my melancholic personality) spent most of the weekend still reeling and feeling, frankly, a bit sorry for myself, I’ve slowly begun to appreciate the experience. As a teacher, I speak to people a lot. And usually, people really enjoy what I have to say. I’ve become quite accustomed to my share of accolades. Worse than that however; although in truth, I’m really just a lowly catechist–a simple Bible teacher–I’ve recently begun to subconsciously fancy myself a lofty academic. I like the image of it. Leather bound books, tweed jackets, perhaps a Volvo someday. What’s wrong with that, you might ask? Nothing, really. Except the intention behind it. I’ve been forced to really search my soul this weekend and reassess why it is I want to follow the path I’m following. Could it be that I want to legitimatize my little place in the world to all of my secular, well-paid friends? Do I find it embarrassing to say that I’m a Bible teacher, rather than “well, I’m a faculty member–nay, a professor –at the St. John Vianney Seminary, ho, ho.”
Why is it–really–that I do what I do? Why is it that I teach the Bible in the first place? Is it for the image, or is it because Jesus Christ changed my life and I want to help show others that he can do the same for them? To many in the secular world, my job probably sounds pointless, even a waste. Am I okay with that? My friend Tim Gray likes to point out just how well-recognized and respected in Jerusalem’s Jewish community St. Paul probably was prior to his conversion. He probably could have had a prestigious teaching chair at the best Yeshiva in town. But what did he do? He threw it all away, packed his bags, and became a traveling preacher. One that was often laughed at, imprisoned and kicked out of the same synagogues which he could have been running, had things gone differently. Why? Because Jesus changed his life and he had to do something about it. That’s the reason I got into this gig in the first place, I reminded myself; and the events of the weekend provided a stark reconing with that.
In the end, I probably will still pursue the PhD. I want to have a voice in this field; one to counter the widely prevailing view that there is nothing supernatural or spiritual about the Bible. That it’s all politics; written by the powerful to keep the weak in check. What a tragic way to view Christianity. What lifelessness. The question I need to continually ask myself however, is, am I prepared to be humiliated, mocked and rejected–just like St. Paul? Are any of us? Why do we do what we do? What does that badge of Christian really mean, and what responsibility unavoidably comes with it?
