Written by N. Clayton Croy

Recently I celebrated an important milestone in my time at Trinity Lutheran Seminary: a ten year anniversary. My wife and I arrived in the summer of 1999, so summer 2009 marked a decade of service. I received a nice gift certificate to one of my favorite restaurants, but more important than that are the growth and learning that have taken place here, both personal and professional. Let me describe how that has occurred.

A Methodist in Lutheran Land

Trinity describes itself, not as an ecumenical seminary, but “a Lutheran seminary with ecumenical openness.” There is a palpable Lutheran ethos here. It is reflected in the curriculum, the faculty, the student body, our worship, and many other ways. This has presented a learning curve for me since I am a lifelong United Methodist.

Being a Methodist in Lutheran Land has had a twofold effect. On the one hand, I have been deeply enriched by the theological and (especially) the liturgical heritage of Lutheranism. In one of the first chapel services I attended at Trinity I was struck by the fact that there was scarcely one unscripted word in an hour long service. From the invocation to the prayers, from the sermon to the benediction, everything was carefully prepared in advance. Of course, there are United Methodist congregations in which this would be true, but my experience had more often been of a low church style, with extemporaneous words of welcome, prayers that were planned but not necessarily written, and sermons delivered from notes.

I soon learned that the word “empty” did not always have to accompany the word “ritual.” Scripted language, even language that had been scripted centuries ago, could convey heartfelt religious convictions, including… surprise! … my religious convictions. So I have come to appreciate written prayers along with spontaneous prayers, formal Lutheran worship along with Wesleyan free-form worship, and “A Mighty Fortress” as well as “O For a Thousand Tongues to Sing.”

On the other hand, my ten years at Trinity have confirmed me as a Methodist or Wesleyan Christian. I can affirm the basic tenets of Lutheran theology. I think Luther – especially in the context of early 16th century Europe – sounded exactly the right notes about salvation as a free gift of God’s justifying grace. No human actions merit it; only God bestows it. But as a Christian in the Wesleyan tradition, I am especially concerned to highlight the next phase of God’s redemptive plan. Once we are reconciled to God by justifying grace, God calls us to be conformed to the image of Christ by sanctifying grace. Whereas we never get to a point where God’s justification is not needed, I see the church in the West today as especially needing sanctification – not sanctimoniousness, mind you, not self-righteous religiosity, but the sincere, Spirit-enabled holiness that is lived out in personal, communal, and global spheres. So I will continue to glean all possible blessings and insights from my Lutheran colleagues and students, while occasionally injecting a little leaven of Wesleyan piety.

“One Thing” for a Bible Professor

One of my favorite movies is “City Slickers,” starring Billy Crystal and Jack Palance among others. Palance flawlessly plays Curly Washburn, a tough-as-boot-leather trail boss who leads the cattle drive that Mitch Robbins (played by Crystal) and his buddies take part in. In one scene Curly and Mitch are riding along, and Curly asks, “Do you know what the secret of life is?” Mitch confesses his ignorance, and Curly responds by holding up an index finger and saying, “This.” Mitch says incredulously, “The secret of life is your finger?” Curly says, “One thing. Just one thing. You stick to that, and everything else doesn’t matter.”  Mitch is both intrigued and disappointed. “That’s great, but what’s the one thing?” Curly replies, “That’s what you’ve got to figure out.” The brief exchange is the movie’s plot in a nutshell because Mitch’s midlife crisis and the resultant cattle drive have launched him on a quest to figure out what really matters in his life.

A philosophical question like – What is the one, most important thing? – can be answered from many different angles, but here I would pose the question professionally. What is the “one thing” for me as a teacher of Bible at Trinity Lutheran Seminary? Theological education is in part a matter of effectively bringing together past and present, of appropriating the rich resources of Scripture and tradition and using them to shape and inform the faith and practice of Christian communities. I think the most important thing I do as a teacher at Trinity is enable students to acquire, first the necessary background knowledge, and then the skills and the confidence to interpret Scripture in ways that are disciplined, creative, and faithful.

This is my “one thing” in the context of my teaching ministry. The Scriptures provide a window to the will and ways of God, a witness to the life of our Lord, and a means for the redemptive work of the Holy Spirit. The greatest struggles of both individual Christians and entire denominations, the controversies that bedevil us, often trace back to the desire to know the mind of God on some matter. Thus learning to use Scripture and other resources so as to make decisions that honor Christ is the one thing that organizes and unites my professional life.

Patch Adams and Theological Education

In late 1998 I was in the early stage of my professional career, when the movie “Patch Adams,” starring Robin Williams, was released. The movie told the true-life story of Hunter “Patch” Adams, a doctor who became famous for his unconventional approach to medicine that emphasized compassion, humor, and empathy. Adams, who earned his medical degree in 1971, believed that levity contributed to wellbeing and that a caring human environment promoted healing. These ideas that would now be considered mainstream in the medical profession were somewhat eccentric at the time.

I enjoyed the movie on an entertainment level like most viewers did, but I also caught a vision for my own profession, perhaps because I had recently completed a doctorate of a different sort. It was not that I viewed the teaching profession as impersonal and inhumane, although many of us could point to a particular teacher, class, or experience in school that was unpleasant. I just thought that the ethos of Patch Adams would be salutary in classroom settings: treating one another as whole persons, using creativity and humor to enhance learning, and going the extra step to show concern for one who is struggling.

So my newfound goal was to be the Patch Adams of theological education. This should not be confused with just being a class clown, because at the end of the day Patch Adams wanted his patients to get well, as I want my students to learn. The good news is that the faculty at Trinity has many a Patch Adams. My colleagues show genuine concern for students as people: created, loved, and called by God. More than a few of my colleagues have a penchant for wit and creativity. Trinity is not at all a somber place. But I may, for good or ill, push the envelope on occasion. I hope my halting efforts honor God’s reign and promote students’ learning and spiritual development. I have yet to show up in class with a bulbous, red clown nose and oversized shoes, but there’s always next semester.

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