Recently, I picked up a clue to my own question when our graduate Ian Morgan Cron gave our annual Spiritual Life lectureship.  The second day of the lectureship he spoke on the eucharist ("communion" or "The Lord's Supper") and described the significance of being given the bread rather than reaching out and taking the bread.  That, he suggested is a metaphor for how the bread of life actually comes to us from God.  The problem in the Garden of Eden, he pointed out, was "taking."  In striking contrast, we once again receive life through Christ.

I hope it's not too much of a stretch to draw a parallel with the "lifegiving" function of mentoring when, in God's hands, a mentoring relationship draws us forward toward the people God made us to be.  However intentional we may be in pursuing and engaging mentors, a mentor's time, wisdom, presence, attentiveness, and love are gifts that cannot be demanded or grasped.  They can only be received as gifts from God Who has chosen this scandalous pattern of often manifesting His healing presence in our lives through others.  All this makes me wonder whether the giving and receiving of gifts might be a paradigm for just about all genuine healing, growth, and transformation that we can experience.  If so, we are wise employ disciplines that help us be attentive and engaged  receivers.  Yes, we come to the table, but we come because we are first invited.  And we come with open hands that can only faintly mirror the depth of our need and hunger for God to meet us, feed us, touch us, heal us, guide us.

Mentoring is only one expression of that, certainly, but when held up in the light of that giving-receiving paradigm, it reaches further and deeper into our lives than any mere development methodology could ever do.

Allow me a few musings on this question. Beginning with Scripture (always a good idea), Paul instructed Timothy that overseers "must keep hold of the deep truths of the faith with a clear conscience" (1 Tim. 3:9 - TNIV). That is, leaders of God's people must have sufficient confidence in the reality of the gospel of Jesus Christ to rest in it confidently even when exposed to stretching challenges to their faith. Of course, Paul does not overtly use the language of "enjoying God." Still, delight in the Lord is a weighty and magnetic motif in Scripture, close to core of why God made us. Why can that be so difficult for those who are training for ministry?

This line of thought probably deserves more than one installment, so I'll save some for later. For now, consider how seminary can be the occasion for expanding our capacities to delight in God and in the gift of life that He has given. A quick story to illustrate. I heard this on a recorded sermon by the famous Scottish theologian T.F. Torrance some years ago and use it periodically with my students.

Edgar Curtis was a gifted, young American music student who moved to Basel, Switzerland in the early 20th century to study with two well-known masters of the day: Adolf Busch and Rudolf Serkin.  Curtis approached Busch and Serkin, seeking their tutelage.  They rejected him, considering him too old (at only age twenty-seven).  Yet, he stayed in Basel and they saw that the young Edgar Curtis had unusual talent.  So, they called him back and asked to look at his hands.  Something they observed in Curtis’s hands prompted them to change their minds and offer to work with him one condition – that he move to Vienna for six months and let a colleagues of their work with his hands.  Curtis took them up on their offer.  For the next six months he endured agonizing exercises that literally altered the shape of hands, allowing him to receive mentoring from these two masters, Busch and Serkin, and achieve a level of musical excellence that delighted others (and, I’m sure, himself) for decades.

None of us come naturally or easily by the capacity to deeply, richly enjoy God and the life to which He has called each of us.  That capacity comes through experiences that at the time seem antithetical with joy!  Seems like that is something of what James had in mind when he said, “Consider it pure joy, by brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance.  Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything” (James 1:2-4).  I don’t think James had seminary in mind when he wrote those words, but they work for any experience that pushes us past superficiality and limits so that we can find satisfaction in the powerful realities of God that require more developed sensibilities and spiritual muscles.

We frequently use the language of “formation” and “preparation” when describing the purpose of attending seminary.  At the same time, seminary is about developing one’s capacities to enjoy God and lead others to that mature enjoyment, too.  I certainly want those who care for my own soul to have learned how to enjoy God when life is complex and overwhelming!  Otherwise, they cannot help me do so.

Of course, when failures of any type occur we need others (like wise mentors) to help us process those experiences and grow from them.  Mentors of this sort help us not repeat our mistakes.  I wonder, though, how a preoccupation with mistakes and failure may carry a hidden price tag, part of which is a fear of success (however that is to be defined), an underdeveloped ability to grow from and build upon success, and perhaps even an inability to celebrate and integrate success into an authentic holiness.

Hence, one underdeveloped aspect of mentoring is helping people process success (and I use the word "success" unapologetically, despite its baggage).  By "success" I have in mind both success at what we DO and success (including progress, faithfulness, growth, etc.) at who we are.  I'm often struck by Paul's comment in Romans 15:14: "I myself am convinced, brothers and sisters, that you yourselves are full of goodness, filled with knowledge and competent to instruct one another."  This, after fourteen chapters of teaching and, in some cases, correction.

What do mentors do that helps us deal well with success?  Here are a few ideas.  They help us know how to integrate successes with humility and gratitude to God while not moving into a false, cheesy piety.  They see the good that God has built into our lives that, for whatever reason, we can't see.  They bless that good work of God and call us to move forward with courage and confidence.  They keep us from taking our successes too seriously while giving us the freedom to enjoy and celebrate them.  They help us see all success and progress as a gift of God for which we need be neither ashamed nor embarrassed.

Last week I saw an exuberant example of Wes's chain in action.  One of his long time mentees, Russell Verhey (another Denver Seminary alum from somewhat less than a hundred years ago) dropped by the seminary and told me of a group of men whom he has the privilege of walking alongside as they find the storylines of their lives captured and retold by Christ.  I don't know any of these guys, but I know their lives are larger in Christ because of Russell.  What also grabbed me, though, was how lifegiving these relationships are to Russell.  His own storyline in Christ is gaining nuance and texture because of the men he mentors.  They stretch him and ask him questions he can't answer.  Yet, he's having a blast!  Why is that?  Perhaps it's similar to the thrill and satisfaction of being around something that is alive.  And isn't that what we all really want - to really be alive?

That mentoring chain runs in two directions.  Whatever mentors may give, they receive as much or more back.  I have heard that time and time from literally hundreds of mentors over the past ten years.  Next time I look at the Wes Roberts chain on my own key ring, I'll see more there than I did at first.

Laughter derives from surprise.  Why did my children laugh at "peek-a-boo" or any of the other silly games I played with them?  It was because everything was new to them.  They could be surprised by countless experiences that have become ordinary and even dull to me in adulthood.  Why do I roll my eyes when I hear a joke for the umpteenth time, when I was breathless with laughter the first time I heard it?  I am no longer surprised.  With age and experience it's sadly common to become jaded, having little time for the light-hearted affect so common to youth and naivete.  Intense suffering and loss can also (quite understandably) dull our ability to laugh.  For many, life does not contain much to laugh about.

So, what's at stake here theologically?  Simply put, it's the ongoing capacity of our hearts to be surprised by God.  God's redemptive work in both our personal lives and in all of creation regularly confronts us with the unexpected.  No matter how many times God brings life out of death or hope from despair, the next iteration of that redemptive work still surprises me in some way.  Frankly, though, faith, hope, and love easily slip from being life-giving connections with the living God into little more than words . . . abstractions.  Problems, risks, and failures become larger than God.  The capacity to laugh is either suffocated or trivialized.

Of course, laughter itself is not the point since with it we can anesthetize ourselves to the inappropriate, trivialize the tragic, avoid looking deeply, or harm others.  Sarah laughed in unbelief (Gen. 18:12).  However, aside from extreme circumstances that legitimately and tragically rob us of laughter, our capacity and willingness to laugh can reflect our capacity for surprise - including God's surprises!

So, consider the following theological diagnostics that laughter provides: (1) Does my belief in God's faithfulness and unchanging truth translate into a compulsive insistence that God "behave" predictably in our lives?  (2) Do I REALLY [functionally] believe that God's grace is more defining and active than all the forces of evil at work in the world?  (3) When was the last time that I experienced the lightness of heart that comes with a glimmer of hope that God gave?  (4) Has the Holy Spirit ever caught me off guard or corrected me in such a way that I felt more loved and lighthearted as a result?

These diagnostic criteria only illustrate.  I invite you to suggest others.  Hopefully, the point is clear.  We need not TRY to laugh or be silly (some personalities just don't work that way, which is fine).  Abraham's laughter of astonishment at God's promises (Gen. 17:17) says nothing about his personality.  It speaks volumes, though, about how Abraham's spirit was somehow still open to surprise . . . and open to God.

Sayers contends that genuinely artistic expressions create, not from nothing, as only God can do, yet still they bring into being something (whether through images, sounds, or words) that did not previously exist.  For example, a painting may not depict any actual scenerio though it is recognizable.  A poem may not portray a specific experience that a reader has had, but still allows the reader to see his or her own experience through the poet's words.  Something is brought into being that is connected to life and yet is also new.  Sayers suggests that this is a more genuinely Christian approach to art because it stems from our bearing the image of God.  We create because God creates.  Sayers also makes the case that on this theological basis "art" done for the sake of moral formation is not really art, though it may be driven by noble intentions.  I encourage you to read the whole essay.  This nutshell summary does not come close to grasping the nuance of her case.  It really is brilliant, in my view.

I find Sayers' perspective clarifying and challenging for several areas of life and ministry in addition to my understanding of art.  Take mentoring, for example.  Too often and too easily, mentoring is undertaken in the same way that Sayers says some ancient Greeks treated art, as technique.  Technique-oriented mentoring, as with some attempts at art, focuses on precise duplication; the "this is how to do it" and "this is what it should look like" approach.  While technique is essential for mastery of almost any endeavor, the richness of our humanity in God's image is reflected when precision of technique is eclipsed by what is created.  It's doing what has been taught to us and modeled for us, but in a way (however subtle) that captures or reflects something more - something of what it means to be human.

As a mentor, have you ever thought or said about someone you mentored, "She credits my influence but I never could have done that or done it that way"?  That is Sayers' theological aesthetics of art in action, whether it's with preaching a sermon, designing and managing a project, resolving a complicated dispute, or building a birdhouse.  The work of art takes from what exists, like what a mentor knows or gives, and goes further with it than the mentor could go.  Some would call this standing on the shoulders of mentors to reach higher than the mentors reached.  True, but there is more.  When we grow with and from mentors, we don't merely reach higher, know more, or do more (though we might).  We create.  We reflect our creative, triune God by bringing into life the fruit of our own abilities, our own experience of God's presence and redemption.  From this fruit, others are nourished and the creating can continue.

So, even if mentors think they "don't have a creative bone in their body," they can be involved in creative, aesthetic work that they never realized.  What difference does it make?  As a mentor, give to mentees what you have and what you know, then turn them loose to see what they can do!  Believe in them that simply because they, too, are made in God's image, they have perspectives, experiences, and abilities in a unique combination that will create distinct paths for God's glory and grace into the world.  As a mentee, realize that being creative is not merely for those with more "right-brained" inclinations.  Being creative is for ALL because it is a fruit of being made in God's image, whether we are counseling or finding a better way to build a bridge.  Draw out from mentors what their creative process and challenges have been.  They know more than they know they know (on that note, read Michael Polanyi's Personal Knowledge to further develop your epistemology of mentoring).

Actually, I must admit that I am not much of a blogger, contrary to what my opening claim (borrowed and butchered from Rene Descartes) suggests.  So, rejecting the self-imposed and suffocating pressure of having to regularly drum up profound things to say, I plan to chart a new course with this blog!  Especially since this is a Denver Seminary sponsored project, I will do my best to write only when I have (or at least think I have) something to say.  You, of course, can be the judge of whether I have succeeded.  Caveat lector - "Let the reader beware."

Here follows my periodic reflections on a number of subjects in which I have keen personal and professional interest: theology, theological education, and mentoring.  All three of those hang together for me in important ways, even though they can also be discrete discussions.  Given the parameters of my task and the dignity of my employer, I will avoid (if at all possible) my other favorite topics like hunting and 4x4 trucks.  Forgive me in advance if a metaphor or allusion periodically sneeks in from those other parts of my life.  And please interact with me if you have time and interest.  I would appreciate the opportunity to learn from you.

A bit of context might be in order.  Though I don't assume any general or particular public interest in the idiosyncracies of my life, it is important to know that I teach theology, oversee Denver Seminary's mentoring process, and get involved in many other types of administrative projects here.  Sometimes this fragmented vocational scene makes me crazy, but it also scratches (on good days) the multiple itches and interests that drive me.  Additionally, I immensely enjoy my colleagues here at Denver Seminary.  They are a wonderful and fun group of people.  As a Denver Seminary alumnus (M.Div. '88), serving God at and through my alma mater is a privilege for which I'm quite grateful.  I hope that the musings to follow will somehow contribute to your own movement into places of blessing that enlarge your heart toward God and others.