Seminary students are just as broken, suffering from just as many insecurities, driven by just as vain ambitions, as crippled by sin, and struggling with as much doubt as everybody else.

What evidence do I have for this claim? First of all, myself. Although God has grown and matured me more than I could have ever imagined, I still have moments of insecurity and anxiety. I have times when my mind is full of ambitions about how famous I could be or how much praise might be heaped upon me for this or that accomplishment. I still sin, sometimes profoundly. Although I have much greater faith than ever before, I am often aware of how little I feel and act like God is real, here, now.

I’m not the only one. A few weeks after the start of the semester, I began to notice that there was a sort of deadly silence that hung about the seminary. I don’t mean a literal silence, but an oppressive sense of general insecurity and furtiveness. Walking along the pathways of the campus, you would notice that seminarians greet each other much less often, and more tersely, than you might expect of tomorrow’s Christian leaders. In the classroom, I was astounded by how few questions or comments were offered by students. In one class, the professor asked a group of about 80 students if someone would please volunteer to pray at the start of class. After an embarrassingly long pause he finally prayed himself.

Seminary students, perhaps especially at DTS, are held to a tremendously high standard of behavior, spirituality, and knowledge by each other, the school, and society. My observation is that this standard is very intimidating, especially to younger students. A common response is to fold up and avoid saying or doing anything lest it be the wrong thing. I find this very sad. It also disappoints me, personally, because this atmosphere of fear is not conducive to the kind of relationships I want with my fellow students or the kind of discussions I want in the classroom.

I find it surprising that on a campus with as many students as DTS has, there are so few student clubs and organizations. The student organization page on the DTS site lists eight organizations, including Student Fellowship, Black Student Fellowship, International Student Fellowship Council, Seminary Wives in Ministry, and Women Student Fellowship. There are few student organizations that are there just "for fun" or to support mutual interests, for instance chess or Latin or boating or fencing or soccer or quilting or debate or writing or Hellenistic Greek or service or outreach. One club does meet this description: EIKON, an organization dedicated to developing and promoting student creativity in all forms of art. Bravo EIKON! Still, why are there so few clubs and organizations? Why are students so reticent to connect and spend time together?

Most DTS students are required to participate for two years in “Spiritual Formation Groups.” These are small Bible study groups like you would find in many churches, and they are meant to help students be drawn out of themselves, form relationships, and benefit from mutual discipleship and support. One of the reasons I came to DTS was to join in a Spiritual Formation Group. When I came on campus, I was disturbed to find that they are not well liked. Students often speak of them with loathing, faculty and staff speak of them almost apologetically. A recent article in the student newspaper mentioned that somewhere between one-fifth and one-third of Spiritual Formation Groups flounder and have to be resuscitated by DTS staff.

Those appalling statistics underscore what is perhaps the great tension at the heart of Christianity. Is Christianity a club, where like-minded people can form friendships and alliances and discuss topics of mutual interest in a safe, uncontroversial environment? Is it a self-improvement program, designed to crank up the spirituality, psychological health, strength, self-discipline, and wisdom of individuals who subscribe? Or is it something else, or something more? It’s easy to call yourself a Christian, to wear the right things, say the right phrases, and vote for the right political party. It’s easy to work on self-improvement and “maturity.” It’s even relatively easy to become a leader in the Christian world. What’s not so easy is to become a person who deeply loves people and knows how to form and sustain relationships—in other words, to become Christlike. Seminary students live in the heart of this tension. They’re expected to be card-carrying, secret-handshaking, Bible-slapping members of the Christian club. They’re expected to be “holier than us,” a cut above the rest, nearer to perfect than the ordinary Christian. And at the same time, most of them—I hope—are sincerely following the Spirit’s true call to think with the mind of Christ, feel with the heart of Christ, and act with the love of Christ in a practical and self-sacrificial way. That’s a lot of expectations. And seminary students ain’t all that. So they tend to be a little furtive and edgy.

I ain’t saying I’m all that either. I’m not easy to get along with; I don’t like people, on the whole, and I don’t form friendships easily. But I do yearn for friendships even if I’m scared of them. Probably, a lot of seminary students are like me: they want to be more loving and have better relationships, but getting close to others is scary and it’s easier to “grow in the faith on your own,” even if that’s an oxymoron.

I am a programmer and an artist, a skeptic and a Christian. I'm attracted both to the logical and the mystical, the scientific and the spiritual, the analytical and the creative. Hence the title of this blog. If you haven't figured it out already, it is a silly, mathematicized rendition of one of the most important phrases in the Bible: λόγος τοῦ θεοῦ. This is Greek, the language the New Testament was written in. It is usually translated "Word of God" or "God's Word," but it has many meanings. It can mean "God's Message," "God's Conversation," "God's Question," or even "God's Story."

This latter sense reminds me of an idea of J. R. R. Tolkien's. He said that we are all living inside the "True Myth," a myth that is like any other--full of adventure, epic in scope, drenched in symbolism and meaning--except that this myth is Real. For the True Myth, God himself is the bard who forms the story and each of us are the heroes and villains who act both as participants and audience.

As I look back over my life, the ups and the downs and everything in between, I see how God is telling a story through me. So far the story has been beautiful and wonderful, though not without tragedy and pain. It makes me wonder where the story is going and how it will end.

In his Gospel, the apostle John said that "the Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us." What a strange idea! How could a Word become flesh? And yet John was not just blowing smoke: he knew this Word personally. As he wrote his Gospel, John could remember the Word resting his head against his chest. He could remember seeing the blood of the Word trickling along rough wood. He heard the voice of the Word asking him to take care of the woman who had, in another bloody and ignominious event, given birth to the Word. John knew better than any of us how real, how frail and human, the Word was. Yet he still recognized that this man, Jesus of Nazareth, this friend of his, was far more than human. Jesus was the Hero of the Story: the Hero of heroes, the centerpiece of history. More than that, he was the Teller of the Story, the creator and sustainer of the universe. And in some profound sense, John said, Jesus also was the Story itself. In his Gospel, John recalls for us something Jesus had said: "I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life."

Jesus was, and remains today, God's Message to mankind, in which he revealed his unbelievable love for each and every human being on the face of the planet, and through which he made it possible for any of us to be friends with God again, despite our total rebellion and sick depravity. This Message is not an FYI--an advisory statement, a bit of information to file along with the others. It demands a reply; and more than a reply, a conversation.

It is in our reply that our personal stories and God's commingle, where we become a hero or villain in the True Myth. On this site I will try to articulate my conversation with God and offer my story as it unfolds.