A searchable, downloadable PDF of the original article appears below. Rev. Paul A. Myers is minister of Central Presbyterian Church in downtown Vancouver. He holds degrees from Regent College (M.C.S.), Vancouver School of Theology (M.Div.) and the Institut Protestant de Theologie, Montpellier, France (DEA. Th. summa cum laude).
An appeal to my almae matres: Vancouver School of Theology and Regent College
In the summer of 1991 I wandered into the office of the Dean of St. Andrew’s Hall, Vancouver School of Theology (VST) and inquired about the possibilities of ordained ministry in the Presbyterian Church. Thus began my personal odyssey of taking seriously God’s call on my life and undergoing further theological training for the task. Neither of these events were serene. I accepted my call to ordained ministry reluctantly, preferring independence over vows and a voice of dissent over conciliation. At length I surrendered and at length I have discovered joy. But my experience of theological training in Canada has not been so transformed. It remains for me a subject of some concern and some frustration. Let me explain.
My enrolment at VST occurred about six months after I had completed course work in the Reformed Seminary of France in Montpellier as a Ph.D. candidate in New Testament studies. Fresh from a Continental European style of education I was in no way prepared for the approach to education of VST. To say the least it is different, partly because it is North American and partly because VST professes to employ the “competency” curriculum model. In this model students must be judged “competent” in every respective category of education for ministry. Much like education in medical schools to be “not approved” in one category therefore is to be not approved for the whole. A student may do well in exegesis, clinical pastoral care and preaching but if that student is not competent in ethics they will not get through on the force of grade point averaging. In short, the theory suggests that nobody gets into a ministry environment until they are competent.
Most newcomers to VST see the obvious consequences first: there is really no grading process other than “approved” or “not yet,” and students proceed to competency at their own pace. VST has also attempted to structure into its curriculum greater flexibility to meet individual academic and personal needs. Finally, VST is committed to fostering a learning environment which, in the lingua franca around the school, is “noncompetitive.”
The ideal and the real
Because VST has such a unique curriculum model I must begin with a critique of it before I divulge my deeper concerns about my North American seminary experience. In fairness it must be stated first that the competency model at VST is ardently supported by many of the faculty and its students. Both theoretically and practically it is a defensible model for education. Few would disagree that its objectives of providing alternatives to pedagogical models that tend to view knowledge as something dispensed to and disembodied from the learner is praiseworthy. However, in my opinion, at VST there is a serious gap between the idealized model and the implementation of it. When combined with the school’s commitment to non-competitive learning and an individualized curricula the competency model begins to falter.
Take for example VST’s sensitivity to individual needs. With so many different schedules and commitments among students the institution has basically left the individual to plot their course and get their work in when they can. But the sensitivity is ironic because it ignores an essential truth about the great majority of people: most people are simply not self-starters. On the contrary, most people work better with clear goals under clear time constraints. They need and welcome these parameters, and most especially when they are caught in the morass of academic learning. Students at VST find their way in but many of them cannot seem to find their way through and out in a reasonable length of time. Many students add semesters and years to their education for the simple reason that they can get away with procrastination.
Parameters on time and itinerary also serve the useful function of spotting students who really do not belong in seminary. Let’s face it: the Sunday sermon comes with deadly accuracy, every one-hundred-sixty-eighth hour. True competency for ministry profession would have deadlines. But I witnessed time again deadlines either amended or ignored. Those phobic to or incapable of meeting deadlines will be ministers with short careers.
The commitment to a non-competitive learning environment has led to all manner of conundrums. Prominent among them is the prevailing pedagogical style of “facilitation” which is really a kind word for abdicating the lectern. The underlying premise is that “we all learn from one another.” While that premise may have some merit, it is not a premise to conduct a class by. In the interests of “community learning” and to my frustration I often witnessed Ph.D. instructors placidly allowing discussions to idle this way and that with the obvious consequence: those with the least to say said the most. In the end such pedagogy guarantees only the edification of banality.
The greatest misfortune about the non-competitive ideal is that it fosters mediocrity. At VST grades as well as recognition of convocation awards have been all but eliminated. These are reflective of earlier “hard” pedagogies that pit students against one another, making some winners and others losers. But when grades are eliminated so is the distinction between good, average, and poor. When recognition is eliminated a message is conveyed that excellence is not as important as it once was. Indeed, I witnessed considerable mediocrity from otherwise bright students who simply wanted to “get through.”
Everybody makes it
Of course, some people would argue vehemently that excellence has not been compromised. Debates would rage, statistics would be quoted, and so forth. But even the concept itself of the non-competitive environment I find quirky for one simple but persuasive reason: it ignores the real world. We may not like it, we may want to change it, but in the real world, for better or for worse, people compete. Even the strongest student supporters of the competency model relished those occasional words “very good” attached to their mark of “approved.” We do not live in an ideal world where it is unnecessary to promote oneself. A case in point is that curious process we describe as “seeking a call.” It is a process which, in the end, is certainly providential. But it is also true that candidates are selected by their favourable profiles, their interviews, their preaching, and so forth. In other words, at a certain level the process looks and feels very much like any other employment opportunity: someone gets the work and someone else keeps looking. Mediocrity among the ordained is a malaise the church does not need.
In a bona fide competency model a candidate would simply not be released to seek ministry until deemed competent in all categories. And here is the principle reason why the competency model does not work at this institution: the fabric of VST is a woof of cowardice. The simple truth about VST is that they are loathe to toss out candidates even though they consistently demonstrate an inability to master their subjects or clearly do not have the necessary emotional qualities suitable for ministry. Consequently, deadlines are not taken seriously, most papers “not yet approved” may be rewritten ad infinitum, dispensations, extensions and pardons of all kinds are granted, and a three-year program may be drawn out as long as student loans permit. The cynical proverb I heard often from students said it best: “everybody makes it.” But the seminary, with all due respect, must be more cold-hearted than that. To release into the pulpit those unqualified or ill-suited simply because VST wants to be a caring place of learning is a perilous mistake.
The culture of the seminary
The curriculum model at VST could be argued pro or con. Even the quirks I have identified could be amended without too much toil or grief. But in fact the real controlling factors in determining the quality of education at VST, and at every seminary, have little to do with their pedagogical models. Rather, it is the actual political culture of the school itself. It is difficult to say exactly what makes this ethos, this culture, what it is. Many factors are no doubt at work. But it exists nevertheless, and in my experience no seminary is without it.
Perhaps an illustration or two would help here. In my first week of classes students were taught on “introducing inclusive language to services of worship.” After a cursory tour of Old Testament texts characterizing God as feminine we were then presented with a handout sheet of the “how to” variety. We had, in less than one hour, glided from theological rationale to application without so much as a question being murmured. Assuming the best about a pedagogical model that encourages discussion, I undertook to dialogue with the presenter. I remarked on her unfortunate use of Scripture so reminiscent of fundamentalism, on the intractability of the language of metaphor, of the “stuckness” of it all and our need to confess that stuckness. I asked for a bibliography and conveyed my basic empathy with the struggle for inclusivity. I gave dialogue, I expected dialogue in return. What I did not know then (though the deadly quiet in the classroom should have told me) was that the political culture forbade anyone to critique this virulent issue. As time went on I learned what subjects were passionately not open to discussion. Not surprisingly, they tended to be the usual sacred dogmas of the “liberal” variety.
The second event involved a short “reflection” paper I submitted on one’s “own ideas and experience about ministry.” The instructor wanted to “not yet” the paper but did not because, as she said, “I approve all first assignments.” At issue was my presumed inability to really “reflect.” As a novice to the content expected at VST, I had conversed in theological language and foolishly quoted Homer. I heavily critiqued the assigned reading and lauded a theology of transcendence. In a word, the paper had too much rationality and not enough introspection. The instructor redirected me in the future, in her words, “to not try to dazzle” her but merely to offer “only a small bit of honest personal reflection.” Nonplussed, I left the interview and began the long descent of “feeling” my way through theological education. I learned that the political culture resented any theologies but immanence theologies and with them their trademark tendency to dialogue within oneself. The political culture resented students still oriented to “hard” pedagogical models that insinuated comparison with others and placed rationality over introspection.
In themselves these illustrations are not particularly disquieting because both the absence of dialogue and the suspicion of intellect are not new to seminaries. However they illustrate something of what is at issue in today’s seminary environment, whether that seminary is dubbed “conservative” or “liberal.” In spite of the well-crafted language in the seminary brochure, prospectus, statement of faith, and so on the political culture of the institution controls the content and quality of its education. In the theological tug of war going on between liberal and conservative the political culture of VST has little forbearance with those who appear to be on the other side of the rope.
The other side of the rope
Regent College is only a ten minute walk from VST but in some respects it is a world apart. Regent has changed dramatically since I graduated from there in 1986. When I attended Regent it was still an “adolescent” of sorts. Two decrepit fraternity houses served as its campus. Faculty offices were cracker box in character. Classes were not large and had an added folksy quality by an abominable speaker system better left unused. Today Regent has come of age. All new facilities, a greatly enlarged student body, and many new faculty, some of considerable evangelical renown, mark some of that maturation. Regent is undoubtedly the leading evangelical seminary in the country and is known internationally. Its simple but modem, aesthetic building of glass and brick contrasts sharply with the great stone edifice at VST, once a testimony to denominational potency but today a building where the lights flicker and the water fountains do not work. Clearly it is Regent’s time to enjoy notoriety, to savour its growth and to command some attention. Its success must prompt some envy at VST too; after all, Regent’s first class, in 1970, was held in a rented basement room at VST.
There are many valid methodologies for study of Scripture and theology. But the method does not open revelation. Instead, by contemplation and worship we anticipate a spiritual encounter with Jesus Christ through the text.
In the new building a person can peer into the chapel, which is primarily a classroom, and see a room with a hundred or more students focused on the elucidations of one instructor. At Regent instructors do not abdicate the lectern and students do not “all learn from one another.” Instead the size and pedagogical style at Regent suggest that it should be mindful of the contrary extreme: knowledge dispensed. A survey of the curriculum and content of lectures reveal a tendency to rush into application of theology and together they form an agenda sometimes typical of the evangelical: get the information and do the job. Admittedly in today’s world pragmatism and speed are high virtues. But in the world of theology they are vices which lead quickly to superficiality and moralistic piety.
Regent College also bears the hereditary marks of evangelical isolation. I believe that part of this isolation derives from the fact that evangelicals have not yet admitted that the texts of Scripture are finite. The desire to protect an all-powerful God and the all-powerful text has forced evangelicals to constantly defend Scripture and consequently themselves also. They have not recognised that they too are finite, that they cannot succeed at sanctification, evangelism and so forth. Apologetics, “how to” theology and general feistiness are all responses to this heredity. However, a remarkable windfall about this otherwise unfortunate trait is that evangelicals take seriously the need to study the biblical languages. (The VST requirement of six weeks of intensive Hebrew and “recognition” of the Greek language hardly prepares ministers to be competent exegetes.)
Isolation is also experienced by the students themselves (and especially the M.Div. candidates) who, once they have completed their training, are usually left without the benefits of denominational support to guide them into ministry. Of course, Regent was not originally conceived as a seminary for those seeking ordained ministry. It originated as a school expressly for “the laity.” It is therefore startling how little theology is done in actual dialogue with the social sciences. While VST has long ago integrated its theological dialogue with other disciplines, at Regent whatever study there is involving psychology, sociology and also history still resembles the “how to” variety. Increasingly pastors in this post-Constantinian age have an indispensable need for ministry: they need to find out where we are in the world. Without that discovery they will simply reinforce bigotry in the churches and remain insulated with irrelevant dogma.
Politics as usual
Now I must comment again on that subject of political culture. If the liberal side has little forbearance with conservatives, the reverse is equally true. The liberal-conservative tug of war goes on. While I was a VST student I visited Regent occasionally to tap its library and browse in the bookstore. In the bookstore once I met and took up conversation with one of my former professors. He spoke forthrightly to me his reasons why VST was rife with heresy and incapable of producing anything good. In company with a fellow VST student I could only blush and later apologize for that imperious professor. Of course it was unfortunate that this professor spoke so foolishly. And yes, without any doubt I think most of the faculty at Regent and VST are keenly interested in respectful dialogue and in building bridges. The professor did not represent the official position of the school. However, he ably demonstrated the political culture at Regent College. Because Regent College is unashamedly evangelical in character the political culture of the institution dictates that it be the same, the best and the worst of evangelicalism.
Two institutions disparate in theology yet having similar “cultural” traits. The irony and the lessons are beginning to surface, particularly as I compare them to my seminary experience in France. In France the Protestant Church is miniscule, it has a long history of persecution, and it is poor. Naturally the context for seminarians in France is quite different than North America. However, my experience there has left me with a view of Canadian seminaries at least partially from without. I see that there may be a few lessons for us from our small but formidable fellow pilgrims in France. To my friends at VST and Regent, and to those also reading, I bid you:
1. Do not allow theological education to be compromised with any moral agenda
At both institutions I sometimes sensed that the instructors already knew what they wanted people to be doing in the world. It was simply a matter of pressuring us to agree with them. And what were we expected to do? That depended on the moral agenda. Real Christians are pro-life! Real Christians are anti-nuclear! Real Christians are anti-gay! Real Christians are pro-gay! Whew! Sometimes the only difference between liberal and conservative are the items put on one side or another of their list of do’s and don’t’s. Alas, this is nothing less than, as Ellul has rightly stated, “the subversion of Christianity,” when we focus on human action rather than God’s action. When will both institutions learn that formulating a moral agenda has almost nothing to do with theological education?
2. Do not censor academic freedom
In Montpellier I was allowed to go as far as I needed to go in reflection. Professors had clear, articulated perspectives and yet never did I feel any pressure to be like them. Classes were small, beginning with a high calibre lecture and followed by an equal amount of time for debate. And debate we did. A person was free to think whatever they chose provided they could ably defend their views. It was never a case of who is right and who is wrong. Right and wrong may be argued in traffic court but rarely in the world of theology.
Academic freedom must begin with an institutional policy of the same. When a seminary formulates a statement of faith and then insists that teachers sign it regularly they are engaged in assuring that the seminary’s values will be upheld. If professors are not given the freedom to grow and change then students will certainly not either.
3. Do not tolerate diversity, glory in it
The church in France is so small and insignificant that it would be impossible for contending Protestants to establish their own seminaries. Instead, with limited resources, we were all taken together: evangelicals, existentialists, Bultmannian liberals, neo-Orthodox, mystics, fundamentalists, even the occasional Unitarian. Surprisingly, pandemonium did not ensue but instead very good discussions and always that pressure to test the weight of your own position. But the political culture of the seminary in France is somehow free of the sense of threat about differences. They are not caught in that frantic North American urge to be right, to be all-knowing and to win a convert. In France there is instead a frank acknowledgement that diversity is more interesting, plural theologies are necessary and defensible biblically, and no theology is a complete theology. When classes ended, we effectively stepped out of the ring and all went out to lunch together.
North American seminaries boast about being international, or interdenominational, few if any could contend that they are truly intertheological. Seminaries would benefit immeasurably if they dared to bring in more theological “otherness.” Rather than simply reassert their respective dogma they ought to be hungering after contrary views.
4. Teach history
In France it would be unthinkable to not include the “greats” and the times they represented in any discussion of theology. Christian thought did not begin with Schleiermacher on the left and Jonathan Edwards on the right. Christian history is not rooted in the Enlightenment, not in English Puritanism, nor even in the Reformation.
The Church is rooted in the Patristics and any serious theology must happen in dialogue with the voices of our rich past. We study history not simply to know it but to converse with it and be shaped by it.
5. Integrate spirituality with exegesis
At the risk of sounding mundane, theology at its best is worship. Exegesis of texts at its best is worship. In this regard seminaries must model both “scientific” and contemplative exegesis working together. There are many valid methodologies for study of Scripture and theology. But the method does not open revelation. Instead, by contemplation and worship we anticipate a spiritual encounter with Jesus Christ through the text. I am grateful that both VST and Regent have scheduled regular services of community worship. Worship must also be urged in the context of private study.
One of the benefits of worship is that it always involves or fosters a good dose of humility. When seminaries begin all their curriculum planning and class time with the simple recognition that no theology is complete, no theology is the theology and that every theology is potentially noteworthy, then some of the negative traits of political culture may subside. Let’s admit the truth: theology is an impossible discipline. It is an attempt to articulate something about the God of the universe, ineffable, sublime, totally other, yet near to us in Jesus Christ. If that premise does not provoke humility in us then we should consider other work.
Conclusion
The mandate of seminaries has never been easy, and never has it been more challenging than in our times. We no longer live in those serene times when both the church and its ministers inherited respect and sympathy. North Americans are better educated and no longer culturally conscripted to participate in Christian faith. Our voice is no longer sought nor heard. So, we now have the formidable task to articulate more clearly than ever the reason for our hope. It is our responsibility to integrate ourselves to the world, to learn from it, and to speak to it but differently than we once spoke.
Ordained persons will be asked, as never before in North America, to articulate this faith. It is not the time to slacken our demand for academic excellence, for theology free of moral agendas, and for ministers socially aligned with the times. Yet increasingly congregations are becoming receptacles of the theologically inarticulate, the pastorally untrained, and the emotionally unsuited. It is time to do something about that.