What If Residential Seminary is the Gold Standard?
The guys at Unite Leadership Collective are adamant that the seminary model we have for pastoral formation is not sufficient. In the past, the narrative has been that the “residential model” is the “gold standard,” but we need something to supplement it. But the shift now is to question the “gold standard” part itself. “What if residential seminary training isn’t really the best way to form pastors?” is really a rhetorical question. It’s pretty obvious that this isn’t really a question. It’s a question in the sense of a lawyer or politician or marketing exec asking a question. It’s really an assertion.
Pastor Ahlman and Mr. Kalleberg (along with their interlocutor whom I’ve never heard of, an LCMS pastor named Chris Holder) argue that for a young guy right out of the Concordias, attending one of our seminaries might be a good option, but, so goes their argument, to snag the less traditional candidate for the office of the ministry we need a less traditional method.
By their logic, I would be the poster boy for an alternate route to the ministry.
I am an adult convert to Lutheranism. I have no family members who are Lutheran. I have no relatives who are pastors. I never attended a Lutheran Sunday school, day school, or university. I was a second career seminarian. I was already married. I left behind a lucrative career. My wife and I were already settled into a home and location that we envisioned as permanent. And to top it all off, when I first inquired about becoming a pastor, I had no desire to attend seminary. I had heard that there were alternate routes where I could keep my job and not have to move. That was what I wanted to do. And in fact, my undergraduate degree (which I completed in order to enroll at seminary) was at Thomas Edison State University - a pioneer in distance learning degrees.
Moreover, I have taught at Wittenberg Academy online since 2013, and I’m also the school’s chaplain, and I conduct weekly Vespers online. And if that weren’t enough, I have a lot of training and experience in leadership - from my career in IT as a consultant and project manager, from my PMP credential from PMI (which is augmented by ongoing education in Project Management), and in my fire chaplaincy service since 2011 (which is paramilitary and dedicated to the FEMA models of leadership and chain of command in a crisis situation), and as a military chaplain since 2017 (leadership is stressed both in coursework and in practical application).
I’m also a “bi-vocational” pastor (worker-priest). In fact, I have several side hustles to make supplementary scratch.
So based on these realities, according to them, I should be onboard with them on a lot of things.
All that said, I think these guys are completely wrong. I think we need to double down on our LCMS residential seminary training, and any alternate routes programs (if we have them at all) need to be rigorous and closely overseen by the seminary faculties, not independently managed by districts, circuits, or congregations. And such pathways to the ministry should be the exception and not the rule. We have seen the bait-and-switch concerning these programs: sold to us as being for poor congregations who will fold if their lay leader had to leave to go to seminary. The dirty little secret is that the SMP program is expensive. And it is often used by rich, multi-site, non-liturgical mega-congregations as a way to circumvent seminary training. The model of the plucky little impoverished parish in the inner city that is comprised of immigrants who only speak Tagalog and would have to close the church if Elder Jim were to have to move, is largely a myth: a rhetorical selling point. We’ve seen this bait-and-switch” technique before - especially if anyone remembers buying electronics on sale at Circuit City.
The other dirty little secret is that these guys are big fans of Kairos University and the Luther House of Study as an alternative. This program offers a non-residential MDiv. for something like $5k out the door. No moving. No vicarage. No in person classroom. You can get a Master of Divinity without ever having to put on a pair of pants, let alone a clerical shirt or surplice. But what is truly scandalous about this “Lutheran” seminary is that it isn’t actually Lutheran. Rather it is “pan-Lutheran.” The lady CEO is an “ordained” ELCA “pastor.”
In fact, here is an illustrative interview with her. Pastor Ahlman never addresses the elephant in the parlor that she is a “pastor.” He also mocks our traditional seminary system. And without irony, she claims to be biblical and conservative. Pastor Ahlman is imploring LCMS professors to “partner” with her.
I want nothing to do with this. And nor should any LCMS member. The ELCA is anathema. You cannot get any more antichrist than the ELCA: from their acceptance of goddess worship, homosexual and lesbian “pastors,” their famous defrocked “transgender” “bishop,” their endorsement of abortion, etc. They have a quatenus subscription and believe the Scriptures only “contain” God’s Word. They are promiscuous in fellowship, sharing altars and pulpits with the Reformed, the United Methodists, the ECUSA, and the UCC.
No thanks!
We should have nothing to do with the ELCA. We should not have joint ministries, joint schools, joint colleges, or joint programs. Their theologians should not write commentaries in our publications on the Bible and the Book of Concord. They should not be riding LCMS parade floats. They should not be our teachers and professors.
This really ought not be controversial.
The fact that these guys are promoting such an institution as preferable to our own confessionally Lutheran seminaries should elicit the sounding of an alarm. Our seminary presidents and faculties should oppose this in no uncertain terms. This is simply “Seminex’s Revenge.” We have to say “no,” and not be wishy-washy about it.
Moreover, there is now yet another institution (with some of the same people involved) called the Center for Missional and Pastoral Leadership that is working to create an alternative to our seminary formation by means of an online MDiv through the Institute of Lutheran Theology. The ILT website isn’t particularly revealing, but they do count two church bodies that “ordain” women as “partners.” At least two of their Board of Directors are female “pastors.” Their faculty seems to include clergymen of various Lutheran church bodies, including the LCMS and ELCA. There is no indication that ILT refuses to enroll women in its MDiv program. ILT claims to be “faithful, reformational, global.” I wonder how our LCMS members who are ILT faculty members consider them to be “faithful.” Do we no longer hold male-only ordination to be faithful and biblical? What’s going on here?
The Center for Missional and Pastoral Leadership’s Facebook Page did include a video endorsement video by Dr. Kristi Kirk, the president of Discordia - Texas (Semitex) - but the video has been removed. It’s an odd endorsement, considering the lawsuit going on, and the reality that CTX doesn’t have a pre-seminary program or any other church career path. Again, what’s going on here? Is it unreasonable to think we LCMS members are owed an explanation by LCMS members involved in these organizations?
As I said, twenty-seven years ago, looking to go into the ministry as a guy with a wife and a lucrative career, I had to be convinced to leave behind my dreams of non-residential training. I had to change my mind about it. And what changed my mind was my first campus visit to CTS Fort Wayne. I realized what I would be giving up if I were to stay at home and study remotely and seek out a more convenient way, a way of looking back from the plow, a way that would accommodate my own attachment to the things of this world.
I got a taste of the classroom, the multiple daily services in chapel, the hymnody, the community, the serenity of being immersed in a monastic-like setting to pray, discern, study, and worship. I experienced the importance of face to face contact - in the dining hall, in the dorms, in the volunteer work that seminarians performed in exchange for access to the food and clothing coops, the world class professors.
And as a seminarian, I lived all of these, and I also had the joy to sing and tour with the Seminary Kantorei, living on a bus in close quarters with fifteen of my brothers and a couple faculty members (including our beloved Kantor Richard Resch). I wouldn’t trade these formative experiences for anything. The guys at Unite Leadership Collective talk a lot about “relationships,” well, nothing fosters relationships among the brothers like living, working, praying, and studying together in person for three years. It is the difference between real life in meatspace vs. looking at a screen or wearing virtual reality glasses.
After my campus visit, I went home, enrolled at Thomas Edison, and completed the remaining work on my bachelor’s degree in a year - while working fulltime at a software development company. Was it hard work? Yes. Was it a leap of faith to quit my job, move out of my house, and drive a U-Haul into the great unknown? Yes, it was.
I knew other second-career men who had it even more difficult - guys with big families. And, of course, it is tough on the seminarian, his wife, and his kids. And do you know what else is tough? Serving in the ministry. It is tough on pastor, wife, and kids. There is something to be said for not simply going the QEC route (quick, easy, and cheap). There is something about the hardships that are part of the formative process that cannot be short-circuited - at least not at great cost.
Mr. Kalleberg is veteran, and he makes an oft-made analogy to the service academies vs. alternate routes to becoming a military officer (e.g. ROTC).
The first time I heard this comparison was many years ago, when SMP was still a proposal. I don’t remember who it was, but the appeal was crass and gross. It went like this: “You MDiv guys should favor SMP, because you’ll be the supervisors, you’ll be like bishops. You’ll be like the West Point guys. Everyone will look up to you because you will know the languages and will have an MDiv. You will be seen as the elites!”
It is still shocking that this bribe appealing to our vanity was even attempted.
What I would much rather have is a ministerium in which every pastor is a well-trained theologian, who knows his languages, who knows his history, who knows his dogmatics, who has been trained to celebrate the Divine Service with dignity and excellence, who has been well-trained in the Bible and Confessions, who is comfortable at funerals and deathbeds, as well as at weddings and baptisms. I don’t want to be an elite pastor who can look down on his lesser-brethren. I want all of our pastors to be on the same level with the same high standards.
Mr. Kalleberg doesn’t push that “you can be an elite” narrative, but it’s kind of swirling around the background. We don’t need a two-tiered system.
The West Point comparison is also a false analogy as an apology against residential training. For the alternative to the service academies is not sitting in front of a screen in one’s jammies, nor is it even an occasional intensive. Nor is it just going to the local VFW and asking the veterans to teach you how to drill and clean a rifle. For even the guys who get commissions through ROTC or Officer’s Candidate School still have the experience of boot camp. In person. They still go to some other schooling to train for their MOS. In person. And even reservists attend monthly drills and summer trainings. In person. And a reservist or National Guardsman can be called into active service at any time. In person.
I recently attended drill for the Louisiana State Guard, and our instructor was a fellow LASG NCO who formerly served in the Marines, also as an NCO. His lecture was delightful. It was peppered with Marine Corps language and wisdom - not to mention a lot of practical advice for those of us serving in the state context.
He mentioned the reality that whenever soldiers, sailors, airmen, or marines get together - whether currently serving or veterans - they will inevitably tell boot camp stories. And I remember growing up, the most stories that my dad ever told about his time in the Marine Corps were just that: boot camp stories.
There is something about the transformative experience, the rite of passage, that is too important to militant formation to be short-circuited for something QEC: quicker, easier, and cheaper. Although you can learn to disassemble, reassemble, and clean a rifle by watching YouTube videos, although there are tutorials for making “hospital corners” online, and even though you can go to Wikipedia to see what the rank insignias look like, and in spite of the fact that the guys at the VFW can show you how to salute - there is no substitute for boot camp. Can you imagine even having this discussion among the Marines: “What if Parris Island is NOT the gold standard?” suggesting a non-residential alternative route instead?
Our instructor used a term that I thought was apropos to seminary life (that I gently edited for a mixed audience):
“Boot camp is trauma bonding. What do you think war is?”
“Trauma bonding” is a great term. Seminary life typically begins being stuck with a class of guys taking a ten week intensive, all-day course in Biblical Greek. At least that was the case 25 years ago. I would assume that part is still the same. It is rigorous. Ten weeks is not a lot of time to learn to read the New Testament only in Greek in subsequent classes. Therefore, the class is intense. It is a struggle. Some guys dropped out. Most persevered. It was hard for most. Some of us remember dreaming in Greek - not that we necessarily understood it! Study groups formed. Learning to seek out help from the Graduate Assistant or the Professor was an act of humility. Tests were tough. And the pace went along at a clip. Falling behind was not an option. We learned to help one another out. Needless to say, we formed bonds in Greek with our brothers that stayed with us throughout seminary and beyond. This is not an accident, nor is it a luxury for men in the pastoral office.
And once, again, we ate together, prayed together, worshiped together, argued together, studied together, partied together, took tests together, and grew together. And the “trauma bonding” did not end here. We spent three years together with various groups of men all training for the Holy Office.
As an introvert, and as a married student who lived off campus, it took me (and my wife) a while to catch on. But we did. We made close friendships that later proved important to us in prosecuting the war against sin, death, and the devil in the Church Militant. I didn’t really completely get this as a seminarian. But looking back, I see the wisdom of the “trauma bonding” and the forging of a “band of brothers” that simply can’t be done online or by some other kind of alternative QEC method.
It took me a while to realize that a seminary is not a classroom where pastors are taught how to do things. It includes that. But it is much, much more. For pastors aren’t trained to do certain skills, they are formed into being something. It cannot be learned by watching YouTube videos. As the sainted Rev. Professor Kurt Marquart said in a videotape presentation called “Today’s Seminary, Tomorrow’s Pastors” (which I used to have, and am trying to locate a copy, if anyone can help with that, I would be grateful), “Pastors cannot be mass produced.” He added something along the lines that they are formed in the crucible of the Holy Spirit, by crunching with the Word of God.
And for all the lip service we pay to diversity, guys in the military meet people from all over the country, coast to coast, from every walk of life, from big cities to tiny villages, people of every kind of lifestyle and ethnicity and upbringing. This can’t be duplicated if one is being trained locally or parochially. My seminary brothers came from all across the U.S., from every region, as well as from Canada, Latin America, Haiti, Africa, Europe, and the former USSR. Our brotherhood in arms under the cross spans the globe. And many of those bonds were forged at seminary.
The sense of being in training for war was certainly understood by the seminarians in one particular dorm, who would gather together on Friday nights to watch Full Metal Jacket together.
Additional parts of the formation: worship up to four times a day in the chapel (morning and afternoon, Compline, as well as a main service of the day: be it Holy Communion, Matins, Morning Prayer, Responsive Prayer, the Litany, etc.) - including the hearing of different preachers five days a week over the course of three years), singing the hymns, observing different liturgists and celebrants, week after week, year after year, barbecues and ice cream socials with fellow students’ and professors’ families, as well as the staff and administration, Gemuetlichkeit every Friday, along with the occasional smoke-outs with students and faculty, shared meals, shared joys and griefs, shared sins and shared forgiveness - including private confession and absolution. All of this happens in community. We also did field work in a local hospital or nursing home, and in a local parish. We put in volunteer hours to earn points for the food coop, and access to the clothing coop.
It was humbling to go from making a big salary to wearing donated clothing and eating donated food. We went from dining in restaurants pre-sem, to counting every dollar. My wife was actually in tears when someone donated a $20 gift card to us for Applebee’s that first Christmas. These are experiences that can’t be duplicated by a QEC non-residential model.
It was not easy, and looking back, that’s part of the formation. Every pastor’s life is different. I suppose some guys have entire careers with no difficulties, no financial struggles, no antagonistic parishioners, no natural disasters, etc. Some guys are privileged to land at rich churches in growing demographic areas of the country. Most are not so fortunate.
One classmate’s family ate government cheese at his first call. Many of my classmates endured great suffering right out of seminary. My first call was rather traumatic. I’m just going to leave it at that. I remember as a seminarian, a pastor gave a fireside chat and casually explained that a disgruntled parishioner shot bullet holes into his house while he and his family were at home. I didn’t believe it. I thought he had to be mistaken. But I certainly did believe it after serving in the Church Militant for a few years. In fact, of all of my close clergy friends, I have yet to meet even one that doesn’t have some degree of PTS (Post-Traumatic Stress).
“Trauma bonding” serves to toughen us up, and provide resources for us: brothers in arms under the cross to reach out to in times of trouble. This is part of the formation that is residential seminary life.
In my subsequent twenty years of ministry, I was able to lean on my brothers when I got fired from my first call, when my second (and current) call began with Hurricane Katrina shutting down not only our church, but our entire region, for weeks. I was not shot at like the guy that spoke to our class, but my family and I were criminally stalked and threatened to the point of having to have my stalker arrested, and being granted a Permanent Protection Order by a judge. I went through several hurricanes that damaged our property (as well as the human turmoil that happened as a result). I’ve had to deal with demonic issues. It was my brothers in arms under the cross who carried me and my wife through the tragedy of the loss of our teenage son. And this is just the tip of the iceberg. There is a lot that I’m deliberately leaving out. And our experience is not unusual.
And, of course, over the years, we have been able to help bear the burdens and griefs of our friends and colleagues: pastors and their wives, who likewise went through difficult times. We have also shared a lot of joys and triumphs together.
We need our seminarians and their wives and families to develop thick skin, as well as to cultivate a network of lifelong support with their brethren. There is a necessary self-denial and discipline that goes with pastoral service. And we do need to see ourselves as a warrior profession in the heat of battle. Good soldiers are made in their training, in their formation.
All of that said, I would like to see seminarians very carefully vetted. Men without the temperament or personality or emotional quotient or self-awareness or academic chops should not be admitted in the first place. If these things become apparent, those men should be weeded out as soon as possible so they don’t waste four years of their lives only to fail in the ministry. I would like to see even more rigor in the program, maybe an emphasis on the holistic man that includes physical fitness, spiritual discipline, and intellectual betterment. Our seminarians should learn how to dress well and present themselves better to the world. I would like to see deaconesses educated elsewhere, as the men need to train with other men without distraction. I would like to see all expenses paid for - including housing - for the men and their families who make the sacrifice to go to seminary and commit to the pastoral life.
I also don’t think we actually have a pastor shortage. We have a lot of churches that are simply too small to support themselves and their pastors. Our polity does not allow churches to be combined, and very few voluntarily decide to do so, or to close. Pastors are spread very thin as a result. We don’t have a pastor shortage, but rather a laity shortage. We have a baby shortage, and have since the 1960s. It has gotten precipitously worse. Evangelism begins in the bedroom.
But I do see things getting better long term (but they will get worse first). As boomers die off, our churches will continue to shrink. Many will not be able to absorb the losses. But in time, as younger people (who are more traditional, more family oriented, and more likely to “be fruitful and multiply”) become ascendant, we will see a long-term uptick in our numbers. This is a marathon, not a sprint. I think we should take advantage of the fact that we need fewer pastors right now to provide better for a smaller number of seminarians, and to accept only the very brightest and best into the program.
The argument that the early church didn’t have seminaries is foolish. The early church also didn’t have electric lights and flush toilets, not to mention climate-controlled church buildings. Moreover, Jesus had the Twelve enrolled in a residential program. They lived together. They didn’t meet virtually. They ate together, worshiped, prayed, studied, fought, and forgave one another in person. And our Lord trained them for three years - in person. It was a time of school but also a time for “field education.”
It is also interesting that there is no hue and cry to make it quicker, easier, and cheaper to become a pilot (or an air traffic controller), a lawyer, an accountant, or a surgeon. Nobody is looking to provide an alternative to medical or flight school, since we see those things as important, as matters of life and death.
The ministry is also a matter of life and death - and the stakes are eternal. We need to avoid the temptation to take away our investment in our seminaries, and to look for a QEC way to get men into the Holy Office with a smaller investment and less sacrifice. If it is important to us, we will treat it as such. If it isn’t, we won’t.
I’m for keeping the gold standard for future generations.