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.