In my tradition (the Presbyterian Church USA) we call ordained clergy either “Ministers of the Word and Sacrament” or “Teaching Elders.” A wise pastor (thanks BW) said to me this past week that he was constantly reminding himself that as a Teaching Elder, his role involves constantly teaching people. The teaching never ends. (Also the learning never ends.)
Often our teaching involves correcting misinformation. Correcting Biblical misinformation (e.g. the sin of Sodom and Gomorrah was not about homosexuality; Mary Magdalene was not a prostitute), theological misinformation (e.g. the pulpit is not elevated because the preacher is the most important person in the room or because the acoustics are better but because The Word of God is to be elevated), and polity misinformation (the richest person in the congregation doesn’t automatically get to serve as an elder) is often difficult. If we’ve always believed something, we assume our beliefs were correct, especially if we haven’t done any Bible study since the third grade.
If we’ve always done things a certain way – from always worshipping on Sunday mornings at 11:00 to always having a member of The ____ Family on the preschool board – there might be pushback when someone says, “You know, we could worship at 10:30” or “Let’s elect a new church member to the preschool board.”
Correcting God’s children – especially in these days when authority figures are not always considered trustworthy – is not for the fainthearted. Obviously it’s more effective to teach in ways that don’t shame or slam people. Now more than ever, our spiritual leaders need people skills.
It’s a joy to teach curious, interested humans. But what if God’s children in our particular context are not only incurious or disinterested, but they are unteachable? What if we serve a people who have always believed X and plan to always believe X – whether it’s true or not?
I don’t have an answer for this. But I believe this is at the crux of our political and theological divides. If we have no interest in learning beyond what we already know, it’s impossible for us to grow spiritually. The God we learned about as children is different from the God revealed to us today. The world we knew as a child is different from the world we know today. Or at least, it should be.
Something to ask ourselves: How teachable am I? How willing am I to change my perspective? How willing am I to consider something I’ve never considered before?
I believe our ability to grow closer to God and each other depends on our answers.
A Church for Starving Artists 