From the age of 6 to the age of 28, I was in formal, institutional education: twelve years of public school, four years of Christian college, three years of seminary, three years in graduate studies at a secular university in Germany. Then, after 22 years of nonstop education, I went straight to teaching at a Christian college. From a professional standpoint, you could say I had arrived. I had the highest degree in my field of New Testament studies, and I had a position as a professor in higher education. My life was defined by study. That’s what I did for a living: I studied, I thought, I wrote, and I taught.
And one of the great things about the academic life was that there was a great deal of time for unpressured reflection, thinking, study, and writing. My summers were free. And when I had taught my courses once, the preparation time after that was much less. This, I thought, was the ideal situation for a lifetime of insight. And that’s what we’re talking about in this message: “Insight: Word and Spirit in Study.”
Over those six years teaching biblical studies at the college level, I was also involved in my local church, Olivet Baptist. And little by little, God began to do something unexpected between the ages of 28 and 34. If I heard a weak sermon, I would think on the way home, “We’ve got to do better than that.” And if I heard a strong sermon, I would think on the way home, “I would love to do that.”
Then came the decisive evening of October 14, 1979, five years into those teaching days, between ten and midnight. Here’s an excerpt from my journal.
I am closer tonight to actually deciding to resign at Bethel and take a pastorate than I have ever been. . . . The urge is almost overwhelming. It takes this form: I am enthralled by the reality of God and the power of his word to create authentic people. . . .
But I am not wholly deluded: I know, really know, I would despair as a pastor. I would despair that my people are not where I want them to be. I would despair at ruptured study and writing goals. I would despair at barren administrative details. . . . I would lose the simplicity of task and routine in the college. My life and time would be much less my own. I would lose the serenity of undisturbed hours of study. . . . I would lose the quiet of the study and trade it for hours in the car on the way to the hospital and to homes. I would lose the uniformity of responsibility and be swamped by dozens of different tasks, many of which would no doubt be distasteful unless and until my palate changed. I would lose the collegial stimulation of fellow theologians in return for a draining ministry to the hungry. I would lose an almost total occupation with theological subject matter and inherit the press for programs and functions.
But is this any way to make a choice! Great God, what is faith if not trusting you for the life-transforming work of your Spirit through the ministry of the word. And oh would I learn to pray! I am such a babe at prayer. But of late it has felt so crucial to me. But then, what demands there would be to lay hold on the resources of God, “to serve in the strength which God supplies.”
Would I really lose the occasion for growth in insight? Would sermon preparation really be an abandonment of discovery of God in the word? It is a ridiculous thought. . . . But it would all have to be real, living, life-changing insight. All my energies would be on finding reality in the text, for only what is real — deeply, movingly real — can be fed to the really hungry and the really needy. . . . Oh no! To leave the lecture hall for the pulpit would not be to leave burgeoning theological insight for some sterile managerial slot. The demands of the pulpit on me (I speak not for others) on me would be the demands of God on my mind and heart to penetrate like never before to the heart of the word and to abound in understanding.
My last word is this. I cannot decide now. But I know which side I want to win — the pastorate.
And it did. In 2013 I completed 33 years of pastoring the same church, Bethlehem Baptist. And brothers, I can say to this day, there are no regrets. I never looked back once and said, “That was a mistake.”


