Insofar as we love the gospel, to that same extent, let us study the ancient tongues... And let us notice that without the knowledge of languages we can scarcely preserve the gospel. Languages are the sheath which hides the sword of the Spirit, they are the chest in whichs this jewel is enclosed, the goblet holding this draught... Where the languages are studied, the proclamation will be fresh and powerful, the scriptures will be searched, and the faith will be constantly rediscovered through ever new words and deeds.

My first day of Greek, our instructor handed us this quote from Luther. (Any good Calvinistic can appreciate Luther, when he's right. :) If you told me in junior year of undergrad that in ten years, I'd be applying to PhD programs in ancient languages, I think I might have killed myself. That's not an over-exaggeration. I remember sitting on a cold concrete bench, on a crisp fall day much like today, crying, exasperated by my failure to comprehend modern Arabic. In fact, most mornings I would wake up and tear at the thought of going to class. (Arabic was, of course, a M-F 9am course.) I feared the reproachful eye of man. Literally - I dreaded the male students - native speakers - who would glare at any non-Arabic speaking females that didn't have the sense to sit in the back, behind the men. When I finished my required language courses for my degree, a heavy weight lifted. Never again, I thought. I purposefully picked a master's program with no language course requirement (only a comprehension exam) so that I would not have to sit in another language class.

And then I went to seminary. And I began to understand that to do what I wanted to do - to do what I felt called to do - I would have to study some languages. Maybe Hebrew and Greek would suffice. Terrified, I started with Hebrew. And wouldn't you know? Hebrew is a heckuva lot like Arabic. Even classical biblical Hebrew shares enough in common with modern standard Arabic that it was familiar, and not in a I'm-going-to-cringe kind of way. Before I knew it, I actually liked Hebrew. No, I loved it. By this point last year, I knew I would be not only learning Hebrew, Greek and classical Arabic, but perhaps Syriac and Aramaic, and maybe even some Coptic, too. Latin might be fun, just for kicks. German and French are always required at the doctoral level, unfortunately, so I'd have to throw those in as well.

Wait, I'm not a language person! I can't keep verb endings straight from one form to the next. I hate matching gender, number and tense. I can't roll my "r's" or perfect a glottal stop. I have a hard enough time with English grammar. Geesh, God, don't you get it? I'm not a langague person!

And that's when I remember that His ways are not our ways, and He uses clay pots to display His glory. I'm not a language person. In fact, I'm pretty average in my classes. But I know the gifts He has given me, and what He has called me to do with them is to glorify Him. Studying the ancient tongues of the biblical text is, in Luther's image, drinking rich draught. It's also a reminder of my own limits, and how He overcomes them.

Two weeks from today, I will interview with the department head at my Top Choice. I am terrifed and excited, grateful and undeserving. Me, a doctoral candidate in a language program? Not on my own merits but on the One who has brought me thus far, I shall lean.

Intentions

I planned to blog this summer. I really did. I’ve had a post idea floating in my head for almost two months. Obviously, it hasn’t progressed much beyond that. Summer has a way of fleeing, even when you have the time on your hands to do the things you ought.

Last night my vacation ended. I drove back with a friend from a trip to the beach, where we’d left 7 other friends (who were staying the whole week). Our conversations upset me, to the point where I’m not sure where to begin processing.

I joined a church planting team roughly 9 months ago. We officially launched on Easter Sunday this past spring. I love my new church. I love the people. I love the opportunities I’ve had to lead and serve. I love the smaller community. Like all new churches, we’ve had our fair share of challenges. Primarily, our biggest obstacle has been physical – an actual, consistent meeting space. We are in an urban area, with limited property and limited resources. We’ve been meeting at hotels for the most part but as of next week, we’re homeless again. We’ve got a plan – a providentially opened door for us – which I was excited to share with my car-mate on the ride home last night.

And that’s where things took a dive. I knew that she was part of another PCA church in the area. I knew that there had been some tension in our presbytery when our church plant was in the planning phases. I did not know that those tensions, along with feelings of betrayal, were still present. This church, which goes by CCA, has been through the ringer in recent years… struggling along without a pastor for a while. They’d finally gotten their feet back on the ground but not without asking our session for some help, and according to my source, receiving none. (Not just receiving none; being told there was none to give.)

And then along we came (Emmanuel)… with the resources our mother church told CCA they could not have.

And we invaded their backyard. We plopped down, like parasites, in the heart of the city they were trying to reach. And now, with what we (Emmanuel) see as a gracious provision from the Lord, we’ll be moving literally a few blocks away.

When I first thought about joining the church plant team, I sat down with the pastor to ask about this tension. Why are we planting another church in A, when CCA is there already? He was eager to answer how God had nudged him and his family there. They wanted to plant in an urban environment, with the hopes of using a ministry model like Tim Keller at Redeemer in Manhattan. They were thrilled to talk with our mother church about planting in A. And our mother church was excited to plant there, too. But then the found out about CCA. My pastor didn't know CCA existed. He changed his plans when he found out. He went to the elders and said, I’d rather go to B. B is just as good as A. B is still in the metro area, still urban, still diverse, and in need of a church. But the session voted – with voiced disagreement from CCA – that Emmanuel’s new home would be A. That, in fact, there are 200,000 people in A and there is need for 4, 5 maybe 6 PCA churches there. And that since Emmanuel would have a different feel than CCA, each church would appeal to different types. When the session gave approval for the plant, my pastor felt confident that this was God’s leading.

I listen to his description of what happened. I agreed with him. I agreed that A is a fantastic place for more than one church. That there is no need to have turf wars in ministry; that we’d be reaching out to our local neighbors, our friends, and that each church would be unique and yet united by our shared PCA affiliation. That maybe even we could partner together, since we both have small congregations, and share the burden of caring for our great city. In my naïve imagination, I had visions of joint picnics, ministry projects, and softball teams.

I’m not sure how much of my CCA friend’s assessment is factually correct. I'm not sure how much my information is correct. I’m not sure that it really matters. The fact is, she is still hurt. It does not matter that our intensions were good; that my pastor felt he’d done due diligence, that he even had the support of CCA’s pastor and the session. CCA (or at least one member) still feels betrayed. Perhaps more by the mother church that planted us (while refusing to help them), than they do by Emmanuel, but since we are so connected in their mind, it’s all one in the same.

The saddest moment on the car ride home was when I asked her what we could do to try and reconcile with CCA and she said, “Nothing.”

Now I feel broken. Upset by the hurt we’ve unintentionally caused CCA, confused by the actions of our mother church, and sad at the thought that a church could even have a turf mentality.

What kind of message does any of those actions and responses send to our world?