Cracked Pots - All

(May 29, 2008)

My husband John just graduated from Gordon-Conwell seminary with a Masters in Biblical Studies. We attended the commencement ceremony where close to 70 people were graduating with masters and doctorate degrees.

It was hard to keep myself from being mesmerized by all the colorful and interesting robes and hats as they marched in and out and across the podium. I couldn’t help wondering what each color and shape meant. I found out that one advantage of becoming a doctor is that you get to wear a funnier looking hat. 

I was impressed by one of the student speakers, Teresa Kay Hood, who had the foresight to realize we would be distracted by these colorful status symbols. She talked about how she was broken as a person before she came to seminary, and how she had found healing and new life in the process of her studies. She referred to herself as a cracked pot that had been mended. Then she took it a step further, with love, daring to challenge the caste system. “Don’t be fooled by the regalia and bright colors you see today. Underneath these robes are cracked pots – all,” she said, with a sweet smile and quiet confidence radiating from her face.

That was just the beginning of the theme of Christ-like humility that flowed through the entire service. It was unlike any other graduation ceremony I had ever attended. We were there to celebrate human accomplishment, yet the focus was skillfully shifted back to Christ. The highest award was given to the biggest servant. It was called the “Towel and Basin Award.” The professors and graduating students were all humble servants, grateful to God for their gifts and privileges, while oozing with passion to give it all back to Christ and his church.

Haddon Robinson, the keynote speaker, a man of great accomplishment, had no interest in promoting himself,  but exuded the warmth and grace that comes only by walking with God your entire life. His speech was about putting others first, a brilliant mini-sermon, but his heart and example communicated even more than his words. I ran into him in the hall afterwards. He didn’t know me from Adam and Eve, yet he greeted me as if I were his favorite niece.

I no longer believe the theory that seminaries are cemeteries where people go to die and lose their faith. We are already dead, without the light of Christ in our lives. Spending four to eight years with your face in the Word, as well as the words of those who have gone before us, you cannot help but shine a little brighter as you reflect back that light in your own face. I see this light in my husband, and I see it in the faces of those who have dedicated their lives to study. Now my only problem is deciding what my emphasis will be when it’s my turn to go seminary.