God Sent Me a Teacher
By the Rev. Dr. Jonathan Mitchell -- Sunday, December 12, 1999

Letter From Your Editor, December 1999

Bible Reading

And now, little children, abide in him, so that when he is revealed we may have confidence and not be put to shame before him at his coming. If you know that he is righteous, you may be sure that everyone who does right has been born of him. How great is the love that the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are! If the world does not know us as such, it is because it does not know him. Beloved, we are God's children now. And what we will be has not been revealed. What we do know is this: when he is revealed, we will be like him, for we will see him as he is. And all who have this hope in him purify themselves, just as he is pure. (1 John 2:28 -3:3)

You are not to be called rabbi, for you have one teacher, and you are all students. And call no one your father on earth, for you have one Father: the one in heaven. (Matthew 23:8, 9)

Reading from Swedenborg

It is obvious that the Lord's words must be understood spiritually. What teacher cannot be called "teacher," and what father cannot be called "father"? Yet "father" stands for good, and "the Father in heaven" for divine good. And "teacher" or "rabbi" stands for truth, and "Christ, the Teacher" for divine truth. It is in the Bible's spiritual sense that we are not to be called father or teacher, not in its natural sense. In a natural sense, people may be called teachers and fathers. Yet they are representatives--meaning that teachers in the world do teach the truth, but they do it from the Lord, not from themselves; and fathers in the world are good, and lead their children to good, but from the Lord, not from themselves. So even though they are called teachers and fathers, they are not truly teachers and fathers, since the Lord alone is the Teacher and Father. (Apocalypse Explained #746e.13)

Sermon

While in seminary, I spent a summer serving as a hospital chaplain, as do most seminarians. I was part of a group that included five other "chaplain interns" and a supervisor. Early in that experience, I shared with the group my hesitation to pray with and for my patients in their rooms. I wasn't alone in this; the other group members from "liberal" theological traditions also expressed a shyness about praying with people.

I covered two patient units. They were in separate buildings, but both were on the tenth floor, and they were connected by a corridor. One day toward the end of my first week, I was visiting an elderly woman on one of my units who had suffered a stroke--a woman who, to judge by her strong brogue, had grown up in Ireland. Our "conversation" was incoherent at the surface level. It made no connected sense. But at another level we were communicating. I will never forget the sparkle in her eyes. . . .

While this was going on, a boy seven or eight years of age wandered into the room and struck up a conversation with me. He was visiting his grandfather at the hospital. He asked, "Are you a minister?" I said, "Yes." Next he asked, "Do you pray?" Again I said, "Yes." Then he asked me, "Will you pray for this woman?" We held hands and prayed for the woman, and afterwards for his grandfather. (I remember his telling me afterwards, "That was a good prayer.") That was the first time I prayed for a patient in her room. It had required a child to take me by the hand (literally!) and guide me over the self-imposed boundary.

Afterwards, I was telling my supervisor what a coincidence it seemed to me that it should be a boy who would walk in at that moment and get me praying. "Coincidence, Jonathan?" said my supervisor--who is not herself a Swedenborgian--"You're a Swedenborgian. You don't believe in coincidences!" Touché. She went on to quote the scripture: "And a little child shall lead them."

When I look back on that day now, I can only say: God sent me a teacher that afternoon. If anything, the story is more moving to me now than when it first happened. I have had too many run-ins with "coincidence" in the meantime. And if my "inner skeptic" hasn't been entirely silenced, I am much more respectful of the presence of mystery in the way events come together.

Now, I do not picture God standing above the world plotting well in advance the details of how events come together, secretly contriving to bring about the "coincidences" of our lives. I tend to believe that the natural world contains a degree of randomness and chaos. And as a Swedenborgian, I believe that human choices are free. Yet within the chaos and the coming together of human choices there dwells, as a soul or a spirit, the Sacred, the Holy One, the Mystery. And out of the chaos of events the Holy One is ever on the lookout for opportunities, wherever possible calling forth some unexpected good thing, a gift of providence. "The surprising workings of Grace," in the words of my supervisor.

I have no idea what has become of my young teacher since. Although I got to know his grandfather, I never saw him again. I'm sure he didn't consciously intend to teach a minister to pray. I doubt he knows he taught a minister to pray--if he remembers the incident at all. And yet possibly, just possibly, as he entered the room and saw me with the patient, a small voice within him whispered, "Ask him to pray" . . . and he obeyed. For however it came about, on that afternoon the teacher I needed appeared. It makes me wonder to what degree we have all been, without our knowledge, "sent as teachers" by God.

"We are children of God," says John, "and if the world does not know us as such, it is because it does not know him." But the same is true of us. We do not always know ourselves as "children of God," and for the same reason. We do not know him. The Lord works a small miracle of grace in our lives, and we say, "What a coincidence!" We simply don't see him at work. We don't hear that small voice within as his voice. John goes on to say that "what we will be has not been revealed"--a tribute to our freedom and to the fact that we are still under development. John suggests that as we come more and more to see the Lord, we become more like him. Part of this may be that as we come to see his work in our lives and hear his voice, we become more consciously the tools and implements for the working of his grace. Finally, John says, "All who have this hope in him purify themselves, just as he is pure." Out of our desire to see his work and hear his voice, we are motivated to the often hard work of taking off the blinders and taking out the earplugs.

This sermon is offered in anticipation of our planning session for Sunday School. And of course, out of this process I hope we will come to have some people who are officially designated as "teachers." Yet I would suggest that all of us are teachers and learners in more ways than we ever know. And yes, I have underscored the often repeated observation that those who teach, indeed all those who work with children, stand to learn more than they teach; stand to receive back more than they give.

But more than that, I have wanted to take the occasion to suggest that ultimately there is one Teacher, of whom we are all the ever-grateful learners. May we all become ever more acutely sensitive to that teaching. And may we be open to the many surprising ways the Lord sends each of us forth as teachers, with or without our knowing it. Amen.

Jonathan Mitchell is a Chapel Minister at Wayfarers Chapel in Rancho Palos Verdes, California (Updated 4/2003) This sermon was originally preached October 5, 1997.

Prayer

Divine Teacher, as we approach the wonder of your birth among us as the Holy Child of Bethlehem, open our eyes and our ears to your voice reaching out to us through the many teachers, both young and old, that we encounter each day. Inspire us to be learners and teachers, ever sensitive to your healing words. Amen.