May 18, 2010: Hear My Words That I Might Teach You

How do you mentor those who do not want to be mentored? How do you make disciples of those who don't want to be discipled? How do you teach when your "words, like silent raindrops, fall, and echo in the well of silence"?

These thoughts have come to mind a lot lately in one form or another. Some examples:

1) A relative of mine, an outstanding high school teacher, bewails political rhetoric about "schools that fail our children". He knows better. He has seen enough lazy belligerent mean-spirited blockheaded kids and their enabling parents to know that most often it's the children who are failing their schools. You can't teach kids who don't want to learn.

2) Heartbreaking case: an unwed and ill-prepared mother agrees at first to be mentored by a mature and godly woman who will raise her baby until she gets her life together. Instead, she gets pregnant again and screws up her life some more and then demands her toddler back. So much for learning responsible motherhood.

3) More than once I have been lectured about the superiority of the King James Version by people who didn't know what they were talking about. They hadn't studied Greek or Hebrew, never earned masters degrees in linguistics and divinity, never worked as Bible translators. At such times I can't help thinking, "You know, the way this should work is that you ask me what translation to use."

4) The world's finest pediatric physical therapist assistant (ok, I'm biased - I'm married to her) demonstrates proven techniques to parents about how to get their kids crawling and walking, and then she returns a week later to find the parents have done nothing, or have even done the opposite of what she suggested. The child's development stalls.

There's a Latin phrase, the exact wording of which I haven't been able to track down, that goes something like, "Heed the words of the expert in his field." It's a good rule. If I tell you, for example, how to fix a lawnmower, please feel free to roll your eyes, sigh inwardly, tell me that I'm talking out my rear end, and then go seek a second opinion. But if I tell you that some cherished dogma first appeared out of nowhere in the 1830s, or that every Church Father from Origen to J. I. Packer concurred on a doctrine that troubles you, well, (how do I put this modestly?) I'm right.

I got a great email the other day from my oldest and best friend. We were Bible Majors together at Wheaton, both studied at Trinity; he's an editor now in Christian publishing and has written a couple books. He wrote, "One of my favorite moments in different small groups is when I simply articulate a biblical principle, and a person will just stare at me for a moment, with his or her mouth slightly open, and then that person will say something like, "Wow, I never thought of that before."

Of course, the reason she "never thought of that before" is because she hasn't read the Bible countless times as my friend has, nor has she had the opportunity to view it through the interpretive lens of pastoral and theological giants like Augustine, Calvin, Edwards, Spurgeon and Lewis. My friend, an expert in the field of Bible interpretation, has vast amounts of that knowledge stored in his brain and can release it upon request with the ease of turning on a spigot. Got a question? Ask Doug, and then keep your mouth shut and take careful notes.

Much wisdom consists not in knowing something yourself, but in knowing how to defer to someone who does. A few years ago I met with a financial planner to discuss how to invest the yearly $2,000 that my church was giving me for retirement. It was a simple meeting. I knew she was a highly regarded financial expert - "well spoken of by everyone" like Demetrius in 3 John 12 - so I told her, "Look, I don't know SQUAT about investment. You do. Invest it whatever way you think is best." Never regretted it.

I surprise barbers and hair stylists with that same humble deference. All my life they have asked me how I wanted my hair cut, and I have never known how to respond because I don't understand hair. So I have learned to say, "Cut it the way you want. I trust your judgment. You do this for a living, and I'll assume you know better than I do how it should look." I think that suffices to explain the mystery of how, with zero fashion sense, I still manage to look so good. It's really just a matter of heeding the experts at Great Clips.