Transcript
Let us pray. Let the good news come now, our Father, not only in word but in power, in the Holy Spirit, and with full assurance, through Jesus Christ our Lord, amen. Hear now the word of God as it is read from the first letter of the Apostle Paul to the church at Corinth, the fourth chapter beginning at the first verse. This is how one should regard us as servants of Christ and stewards of the mysteries of
God. Moreover, it is required of stewards that they be found trustworthy. But with me it is a very small thing that I should be judged by you or by any human court. I do not even judge myself. I am not aware of anything against myself, but I am not thereby acquitted. It is the Lord who judges me. Therefore, do not pronounce judgment before the time, before the Lord comes, who will bring to light the things now
hidden in darkness, and will disclose the purposes of the heart. Then everyone will receive his and her commendation from God. The word of the Lord. Amen. Have you ever wondered, she asked, why the Seminary is such a b***** place? I have indeed wondered about that. And yet the question came as a surprise. For I had seen the questioner three hours earlier in the dining hall at lunch, and at that time she was absolutely aglow. As we
stood in line together, she radiated as she told me of the seminar she had just completed at the ConEd Center. The seminar leader had been a seasoned pastor whose wisdom and insight generated in this younger colleague enthusiasm and inspiration for the work of ministry. I can hardly wait to get back to my church and put into practice the marvelous things I have learned this week, she said in parting. And now three hours later, at a
meeting of teaching church pastors, her face was glum and her mood was foul. When I commented on this transformation of countenance, she told me what had happened over lunch. She had joined the table of fellow seminar participants and they had devoted the luncheon conversation to criticism of the seminar and derogation of its leader. And that's when she asked, have you ever wondered why the Seminary is such a b***** place? And then she added, I love this
school and I am increasingly grateful for the education that I received here, but I do not miss the constant carping and criticism, not even a little bit. Her question continues to haunt me. Why is the Seminary such a b***** place? A part of the answer, I think, is the commitment of higher education in our western world to what Paul Ricoeur calls critique. Critique is the legacy of the Enlightenment. It is an attitude of mind which seeks
certainty by means of radical doubt. The Enlightenment taught us to accept nothing is true on the basis of authority or tradition and to believe only that which cannot reasonably be doubted. To think authentically is to think critically. Everything must be examined and analyzed. Nothing must be taken or enjoyed at face value. Failure to think critically is to consign ourselves to the realm of what Ricoeur again calls the first naivete. The Enlightenment heritage encourages all to engage
in a hermeneutics of suspicion, like the two psychologists who were on the elevator going up to their office. The elevator stopped at the second floor. A man got on, went up two floors. He got off and turned and said, have a good day. As the doors closed and the elevator ascended, the first psychologist said to the second, I wonder what he meant by that. The impact of this attitude of mind upon higher education is enormous. A
graduate theological education consists in learning how to read the Bible, not only historically, but critically. It involves us in the critical appropriation of our ecclesiastical and our theological traditions. The danger, of course, is not only that we will think naively, but that we will think only critically. For analysis without synthesis is merely destructive. Listen to these lines from an address by Dr. K. Patricia Richardson, currently chair of the Department of Administration Planning and Social Policy at
Harvard University Graduate School of Education. In an address, she says, traditional education has emphasized content mastery and critical analysis far more than synthesis. It is my observation that our best students graduate from college today with rather well-honed skills in tearing apart any argument. What they cannot do very well is put together information to build an argument or to solve a problem. The rancher down in Texas made the same point when he observed that any j******
can kick down a barn it took ten good carpenters to make. Now, hear me clearly. I am not suggesting that we who are called to Christian faith or to Christian ministry should retreat from critique into the realm and the security of the first naiveté. But I am suggesting that we must learn to move through critique into the realm of what Ricoeur again calls the second naiveté, where the bits and the pieces of our analysis come together
in a post-critical synthesis. Every attempt at synthesis, of course, is vulnerable to further analysis. That's why we enjoy analysis far more than synthesis. You can't be critiqued for analysis, and that's simply a fact of life. But the point is that we may not content ourselves in the ministry of the gospel with the joys and the pleasures of critique alone. If we engage in deconstruction, we must also learn to engage in reconstruction. At least we must
if we intend to be the channels of God's redeeming and renewing love for the world. And so the educational experience itself engenders in us and should a critical attitude of mind. And yet there is a fine line between authentic critique and mere negative criticism. Criticism of this kind has a nose for what is wrong, for what is flawed, for what is imperfect. And it focuses upon these things to the exclusion of what is right, what is
worthy, what is valuable. Like the story of the psychologist who showed a patient a sheet of white paper with a small inkblot on it. What do you see? the psychologist asked. I see an inkblot, the patient replied. But what about the rest of the usable paper? asked the psychologist. We're all inclined to see the inkblots, the inkblots on the world, the inkblots on the church, the inkblots on one another. Too often, however, we fail to see
the goodness and the beauty and the truthfulness of that which is only marginally marred by the inkblots. Over these past three and a half years, I have developed not a fear of seminary students, but a fear for you. My fear is that you are long on condemnation and short on redemption. The papers I have read in my own courses tell me that many apparently believe that the world can be changed for the better merely by yelling
at it. I tell you in all sincerity, that is not so. You cannot establish justice in the world by merely condemning injustice. Neither can you create orthodoxy in the church merely by condemning heresy. It just doesn't work that way. Righteousness and truth are the products of love rather than the products of criticism. Not that love is uncritical, quite the contrary, but love is critical in the service of redemption and affirmation. Which is to say that before
ministers raise their prophetic voices, they need to establish their pastoral credibility. Without that credibility, neither you nor I nor anyone else will ever be heard. If the line is fine between critique and criticism, it is even finer between criticism and what my young questioner described as bitchiness. The term is indeed inelegant, but it is certainly descriptive. It describes an attitude that is negative about anything and everything that is positive. It designates people who are discontent with
the world, with the church, with other people, but especially with themselves. Feeling miserable about themselves, they are determined to make the rest of the world share their condition. They are like the man who went to the doctor with symptoms of arthritis. After a careful examination, the physician suggested that the condition might well be psychosomatic in origin. The problem might be the product of the man's evident hostility. As they talked, it came out that this man was
alienated from his son-in-law. Finally, the man said, are you telling me, doctor, that my arthritis might disappear if I learn to forgive and love my son-in-law? Could be, the doctor replied. No thanks, the man declared. I'll keep the arthritis. Unfortunately, that man's name is Legion, for he is many. So why is the Seminary such a b***** place? In part, because it is an educational institution which encourages students to think critically. In part,
because we all slide too easily from critique to criticism. And in part, because we are so unhappy with ourselves that we are unhappy with everything and everyone else. What we forget is that the ministry, even our ministry, that ministry before you, that ministry which is going to be better than all the ministries that have gone before, and I pray to God it's so, that ministry is itself subject to critique and to criticism and to the unhappiness
of others. The Apostle Paul knew this from his own ministerial experience. He discovered early on that even servants of Christ and stewards of the mysteries of God are vulnerable to criticism. The Corinthians apparently loved to play pick Paul apart. They criticized him for his lack of rhetorical skills. He didn't dance on the table when he preached and when he taught them. Today we would say he was boring. They didn't like the way he parted his hair
or combed it over. But his response to that criticism is worth our pondering. With me it is a very small thing that I should be judged by you or by any human court. I do not even judge myself. I am not aware of anything against myself, but I am not thereby acquitted. It is the Lord who judges me. Therefore do not pronounce judgment before the time, before the Lord comes, who will bring to light the things
now hidden in darkness and will disclose the purposes of the heart. The message is clear. We are all subject to critique, but not primarily or even ultimately to the critique of human courts or of human beings or to people who establish themselves as human courts. We ourselves, our ministry, yes, even our theology, stands under the judgment of the Lord. And even though our conscience may be cleared, that is no guarantee that we are guiltless. But in
that final critique, in that eschatological judgment when the things now hidden in darkness are brought to light and the purposes of the heart are revealed, notice clearly that the result will not be condemnation, but commendation. Then every man, every woman will receive his or her commendation from God. You will hear from God all the things you've done right, all the things you had right, and not about all the things you did wrong or had wrong. For
God's critique, unlike ours, is redemptive. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.