You don’t know what you don’t know

My father drilled into my brain, from my earliest memories, that I would go to college. He did not go to college. He dropped out of high school his senior year and joined the U.S. Navy during World War II. After the war, he received his diploma from Surgoinsville High School in northeast Tennessee. He married at 20 and began a family that would include two sons. He was not, however, an uneducated man.

Dad was curious about a great many things. He would formally study electricity and, later, electronics, and provide a good home. My mother never had to go to work after she became pregnant with me.

But he would also learn how to do anything that needed doing around the home. He and Mom never paid for roofers, painters, plumbers, fence installers, builders of carports, masons, bricklayers, lawn care people, carpet installers, or people who installed drop ceilings or wood paneling. Dad learned how to do it all and did it. All long before Google. He also learned to be an armorer and an oil painter. But he always regretted not going to college.

Dad was wise but also wise enough to know that “a person doesn’t know what he doesn’t know until he realizes that he doesn’t know.” And the cure for that was education and experience.

However, it has been said that “Experience is the best teacher, but the tuition is frightfully high.” I remember one pastor from my hometown that proclaimed he didn’t need to “go to cemetery.” He was. Of course, disparagingly referring to the theological seminary.

But the longer he served as a pastor, the more he realized that he wasn’t as prepared as he thought he was. He returned to higher education and earned bachelor’s, master’s and doctoral degrees. He began with a church of 150 and, when he retired, the church had nearly 4,000 people.

One could argue that the schooling made no difference, but they would be wrong. There is no virtue in choosing to be less educated than one can be, if the opportunity is there.

When I was honorably discharged from the Marine Corps, I returned to the university, now with a wife and infant son. While the social work degree I obtained helped me in understanding and working with individuals and groups of people, it did nothing to help my formation biblically or theologically.

The adage of “It’s just me, my Bible, and Jesus,” is a pathway to continued ignorance, especially if one is to be a minister and teacher.

Fortunately, I realized early how woefully unequipped I was. I am certain that the devout older people in my first church were much more worldly and biblically wise than was the young pastor.

Attendance at the local minister’s association meetings is unpleasant when you realize that you are the most ignorant person in the room.

Another son came along, and I knew that going off to seminary would be very difficult. Besides, my wife was now enrolled in nursing school, so we had to stay put.

I decided to do two things (in addition to Bible reading and sermon preparation). I decided to read everything I could that would help me understand the Bible, help me form an orthodox theology, and learn to be a pastor. Secondly, I took long-distance courses from Bible schools and, later, seminaries. I wound up with a library of hundreds of volumes.

Over time, I earned diplomas in Bible and Doctrine and Ministerial Studies from a recognized Bible college, and, once I was able to go to seminary, a Diploma in Advanced Pastoral Leadership from Trinity Anglican Seminary, a Master of Arts in Biblical Literature from an ATS accredited seminary and a doctoral degree from a legitimate but unaccredited seminary founded by suffragette Carrie Nation.

Does this mean that I am a better pastor? No, but it does mean that I am a better equipped pastor than I would have been if I had willingly remained in my ignorance. My father and mother, before they died were to see both myself and my younger brother receive college degrees.

Senator J.D. Vance, like me, is a product of Appalachia, although he grew up in a far worse social environment than I did. Like me, he served in the Marine Corps and earned a pathway to education via the G.I. Bill. Like me, he attended a state university

Unlike me, he went to an Ivy League graduate school while I went to a denominational seminary. He became a lawyer and a politician and I, who am old enough to be his father, took a different path. But we both recognized that learning is a vital key.

Those who denigrate education and despise those who are educated are often participating in “reverse snobbery.” I saw it all the time in Appalachia.

Even members of my own community, after I received my first degree, reminded me on a regular basis that I “was no better than they were,” and that I should “not forget where I came from.”

Well, they were correct. I was no better than they were, and I have never forgotten, nor failed to be grateful, for where I came from.

But this much is true: I made my father proud, and I provided a better life for my family than I would have otherwise. And I still have a lot to learn.

[David Epps is the Rector of the Cathedral of Christ the King. Worship services are on Sundays at 10:00 a.m. and on livestream at www.ctk.life. He is the bishop of the Diocese of the Mid-South (www.midsouthdiocese.life). He has been a weekly opinion columnist for The Citizen for over 27 years. He may be contacted at davidepps@ctk.life.]