If you enter my
office and study the paraphernalia within you will learn a lot about me. I have
placed special reminders everywhere of who I love, what I stand for and who I
am. I’ve spent thousands of hours in my office reading, studying, praying,
sermonizing, writing, putting together classes, counselling, phoning, emailing,
planning and sometimes just wondering what the heck I should be doing. Space is
important to me. I look forward to getting into my space and doing my work
where I have so often connected with God.
In one of his books, Eugene Peterson laments the fact
that churches now refer to the pastor’s office as an “office”. He wishes churches
would return to the more traditional description of calling it the pastor’s “study”.
Peterson sees the change in language to correspond with a lessening amount of
time many pastors spend in study. They are busy running the church as a CEO in order to keep the people coming back
to be entertained with religious services. But we have lost the role of the
resident theologian/teaching pastor in many churches. Theologians are not always
efficient! I agree with Peterson, and because I desire to be a theologian/teaching
pastor, I will refer to my “office” as my “study” for the remainder of this
chapter.
So what does one see in my study? My desk faces a collage
of pictures. None of them have been hung for aesthetic reasons. Each is there
because of what they mean to me. There are pictures of my wife and kids. There
are pictures of Christian thinkers who have influenced me like C.S. Lewis, John
Newton, Francis Schaeffer, John Stott and Martin Luther. I have John Calvin and
Jacob Arminius sharing the same picture frame!
Though I consider myself an Arminian, John Calvin is one
of my favorite theologians and I have repeatedly found his Institutes to be uplifting and deeply devotional. A quote from the Institutes sits framed on one of my
bookshelves, encapsulating for me the goal of thinking about God. Calvin
writes:
Doctrine is not an affair of the
tongue, but of life; it is not apprehended by the intellect and memory merely,
like other branches of learning; but it is received only when it possesses the
whole soul and finds its seat and habitation in the inmost recesses of the
heart. (Institutes, III, VI, 4).
In my collage is an article by my doctoral teacher Haddon
Robinson on the importance of reading for the life of the preacher. The books
on my shelves are testimony to this love life of mine. And I’m thankful that
each church I have served has blessed me with a book fund so that I don’t break
my own bank account. I think it was Erasmas who said that if he had to choose
between books and food he would choose books! Over the years, however, the number
of physical books I own has been significantly reduced. Much of my library has
been sent to stock a seminary in Cameroon and with e-books and online
resources, many of the reference books I used to use are no longer
necessary.
On my wall is the famous picture of the resurrected Jesus
teaching the two disciples on the way to Emmaus. This would be the best seminary
education one could get! Then there is a picture of the moment “Christian,” from Pilgrim’s Progress, comes to the
cross and the burden on his back falls off. I love that imagery and its depiction
of the power of the cross. I have a picture of the “weeping prophet” Jeremiah,
painted by Rembrandt. This was given to me by an older lady who struggled with
depression at a time when I was struggling with it.
I love the paintings, color and style, of Van Gogh. One
picture of his is called “The Church at Auvers” and it depicts a church with no
doors. It hangs in my office asking questions. Are we a church with “no doors?”
Do we only serving insiders? How do outsiders get in? Is a church with no doors
really even a church?
I have framed several scenes from Alice in Wonderland surrounding a quote from a letter Lewis Carroll
included in that book. The story of Alice
in Wonderland often frustrates people because it “has no point.” It is not
“accomplishing” anything. Our frustration with this exposes our driven
adulthood where we have reduced everything to measurements, results and “having
a purpose.” Carroll wanted to depict children at play and the delight they take
in the randomness and pointlessness of it. When I see these pictures of Alice in Wonderland I am reminded to
take life less seriously. To have fun. To play. To become children, like Jesus
called us to be. If I don’t do this I end up becoming a machine and less of a human
being. The quote from Lewis Carroll’s letter reads:
I do not believe that God means for us
to divide life into two halves…. Do you think he only comes to see kneeling
figures and to hear only tones of prayers – and that he does not also love to
see the lambs leaping in the sunlight, and to hear the merry voices of the
children at play? Surely their innocent laughter is as sweet in his ears as the
greatest anthem that ever came from some solemn cathedral.
In the center of all these pictures I have Raphael’s
famous School of Athens. It depicts
many of the greatest human thinkers in history with Plato and Aristotle in the
middle. It is an illustration of humanity’s wisdom. Above that painting I have
placed another painting. This one was done by Mattias Grunewald around the year
1515. It shows Jesus hanging on the cross with John the Baptist pointing the
world to him. (This painting is not meant to be historically, but theologically
accurate). I have purposely placed this picture above the Athens one with this verse
from 1 Corinthians 1:25 between them: The
foolishness of God is wiser than human wisdom. In other words, Jesus’ death
on the cross, God’s weakness, God’s “stupidity,” has accomplished more and is
more profound than all human wisdom put together. I love Paul’s wording here! I
look at this everyday as I write my sermons.
Around my office you will see a picture from Cameroon of an
African Jesus blessing the African people. My degrees are hung up. A
cartoonist’s caricature of me hangs next to them. There is the “Contagious
Character” award I received from the Greenfield
Elementary school for the work I did there while a pastor at Greenfield. On top of one of my
bookshelves is Stryper’s first record,
“The Yellow and Black Attack.” Next to it is a big foam hand with “Go Oilers”
on it. (This is Edmonton’s professional hockey team). I have a beer bottle from
Germany given to me from someone in the church called “Luther’s Brew”. It has a
picture of Martin Luther on it who always bragged about his wife making the
best beer in Germany.
Then there is my John Wesley wig on a head stand. I’ve
used this when I’ve dressed up like John and delivered one of his sermons. I
think how funny it is that 250 years ago this style of dress was considered dignified.
I wonder what they will say about the suit and tie 250 years from now! All of
this reminds me not to get tied up in the externals of dress and style and
equate that with Christianity.
Against one wall rests the staff my pastoral mentor Ralph
Korner gave me at my ordination. On top of the staff rest the stole given to me
at my infant baptism. On my desk is a verse that sums up my “job description”:
Watch your life and doctrine closely. Persevere in them, because if you do, you will save both yourself and your hearers. (1 Timothy 4:16).
These are visible signs of my call into pastoral
ministry.
I have an icon of Jesus leaning against some of my books
as an indicator that I am part of a great tradition of Christians who were here
long before I was and that the church is much broader than “Baptist”. Although
I am proud to be a “Baptist” Christian I have a comic on my door of two kids
walking to church with one of the kids saying to the other, “We’re Baptist’s.
What abomination are you?” There is an absurdity around denominationalism all
centred around the person who prayed that we would be one as the Triune God is
one. (John 17:20-26).
Finally, I have a picture of death. The words we are afraid
to use are revealing. Like when we talk about the “birds and the bees” instead
of sex or, as is now common, we refer to a funeral as a “celebration of life."
In the Middle Ages scholars used to place a skull on
their desk so that they wouldn’t forget their mortality. I thought it would be
good to redeem this practice, but realized that a skull might not go over well,
even if it were only a plastic one from Halloween. I’ve opted for a picture
instead.
In many Medieval Churches you can see pictures of people
from different stations of life. There are kings, serfs, merchants, servants
and babies. Then, beside each of them stands a dancing skeleton known as “The Dance
of Death”. This skeleton is a Grim Reaper type figure who collects the dead
when a person’s time has come to an end. These pictures are to remind people
that they are all equal when death calls. From the highest emperor to the
lowest peasant everyone will face death. The question then is how we will face death?
On one of those frescos I found a curate (pastor)
standing next to The Dance of Death. As the little story under this picture
tells, this pastor lived more for himself than for Christ. I hope that I won’t
be like this curate when The Dance of Death comes to get me. On the day of the
resurrection I want to hear, “Well done good and faithful servant.” This picture
keeps me sober. I want to live in such a way that I won’t go down to the grave
listening to The Dance of Death sing:
Mad fool, old of years.
You have not chosen anything else than
the goods of this world.
I know not, what shall become of you.
You paid to little heed to me,
And neither did you think of dying.
Now you must enter into the land,
Mr. Curate, give me your hand.
Question: What kinds of things do you put around your space
to reflect your character and help make things feel “homey”?
