Reflections on 25 years of teaching

That's a wrap (or at least a long pause).

The first course I ever taught at the seminary level was Greek. I loved it. I was living my dream, still a grad student trying to slog my way through a dissertation. I put everything I had into teaching those Perkins students about cases and conjugations and other elements of Greek grammar and syntax. I later had the great privilege of teaching a course on the Bible and epistemology with Billy Abraham. I taught Intro to the New Testament to undergrads at SMU, and I taught Bible as Literature, Religion and Violence, and Introduction to World Religions for a while at a community college. I couldn’t believe I got to do this and get paid for it (even if the pay wasn’t much).

Once I landed a full-time teaching gig at United I began to teach our introductory NT courses, Greek, and advanced courses in different books of the Bible. I taught courses on Bible and Disabilities and Wesleyan Biblical Interpretation. Over time, my administrative load became heavier and heavier, and I taught less and less. Lately it’s been all I can do to offer Introduction to the New Testament and an occasional elective. Next Thursday I’ll teach my last class at United, and perhaps my last class ever. It’s a course on the Gospel of Mark. Things have come full circle. I cut my teeth on Mark as a young scholar.

I’m excited to move into the presidency of Asbury, and I knew when I signed up teaching wouldn’t be on the agenda. I’m okay with that because I get to work toward a thriving future for Asbury and to contribute to the education of many thousands of students. To lead an institution like this is an opportunity I don’t take lightly, even for a moment. I know it will be demanding work with its share of frustrations. Having worked in higher-ed administration for quite some time, I’m not naïve about such things. And yet I feel like I did in those early days of teaching. I’m excited, with a renewed sense of calling and vocation.

As a bonus, I won’t have to grade papers. Most professors would tell you they would teach for free. They get paid to grade papers. That’s definitely been my experience. On the list of “Things I’d Like To Do Right Now,” grading papers is only slightly above getting a root canal. Speaking of that, I have several papers to grade this afternoon. Thoughts and prayers are appreciated.

My dislike of grading is intense, but it’s been exacerbated by the rise of AI chatbots that can write papers—pretty good papers, in fact—in a matter of seconds. You might imagine that seminary students wouldn’t use AI for their papers. The truth is, while most don’t, a few will each semester. In the crunch for time, when they’re squeezed between family and church and school, the temptation to do it “just this once” is sometimes too great. Disappointing as it is, this is the reality professors now face. The software available to detect the use of AI is helpful, but not entirely reliable. Term papers, the standard means of assessing competencies in humanities courses, are now all but useless. Some of my colleagues have switched to using oral exams. I’ve heard others contemplating the return of blue books. What’s next? Scantron? Hang on a minute while I break out my old Pearl Jam CDs and update Windows 95.

A young Professor Watson. Hardly a gray hair in sight.

The rise of AI is just one of the ways in which teaching has changed over the years. When I first started, all of my students were in-person. These days most are online. If I have real-time interaction with them, it’s normally on a screen. Even students who live in Dayton (where the school is located) commonly opt for an online option. It’s just more convenient. In other (asynchronous) courses, I may have no real-time interaction with students. They engage one another through chatrooms and sometimes in other ways. One can teach effectively through asynchronous online courses. The formation of faith and character, in my experience, is harder to achieve. I don’t mean it’s impossible. It just requires a great deal of structure and intentionality.

The content of my teaching has changed over time as well. I never wanted to be the professor reading off a legal pad he wrote notes on 30 years ago. Plus, when I look back at my early lectures, I cringe a bit. As a grad student, I was taught to engage the text through historical, social-scientific, and literary approaches. Boy howdy, did my early students get a lot of that. I should probably go back and apologize to them. I still draw on these disciplines, but I’m much more comfortable now talking about the theology of the text and its relevance to the Christian life. Put differently, my teaching is much more geared toward New Testament theology and its application to the work in which my students are engaged. I also explore with students how our sacred texts relate to the Great Tradition of Christian doctrine. In other words, I more often draw from the history of biblical interpretation. Biblical scholarship didn’t start with the European Enlightenment.

My students today are less skeptical than those of twenty years ago. What I mean is, when I started teaching, many students came in with considerable skepticism about the reality of miracles, the trustworthiness of Scripture, and other matters that relate to the concept of divine agency. Many were reading Marcus Borg or John Dominic Crossan. These scholars, and many others like them at the time, published popular works arguing that the Jesus of Christian tradition—the incarnate Son, truly divine and truly human, crucified for our sins and risen from the dead—was simply a metaphor. The real Jesus was a social reformer of some kind or another. Some of my students thought I was quite radical because I said we should place our trust in the canonical heritage of the church, rather than in the ever-changing judgments of historians. I’ve never tried to be “radical.” I don’t like the term. Rather, my goal has to be both faithful and intellectually virtuous. Yet perhaps they were right. Amid the cult of novelty that so dominates the Western world, to submit to the “democracy of the dead” is a radical stance.

Today, most of my students have never heard of Borg or Crossan. They’re comfortable with claims of divine action (i.e., miracles, the inspiration of Scripture, and even deliverance from demonic oppression). Their questions tend to be about how the church can speak in meaningful ways to people who have grown up without faith. They struggle more to articulate the goodness of Christianity than the factuality of its major doctrinal claims. The culture wars have done a number on the church. They have politicized our witness. They have fostered distrust in Christian institutions. They have elevated worldviews in conflict with the faith we proclaim. That is the context in which my students today must minister. They have different questions, and I have had to learn to teach in different ways.

As I wrap up this phase of my career, I’m grateful. God has given me a context in which to exercise my gifts through the vocation of teaching, writing, and administration. I’ve gotten to work with some amazing colleagues who have stimulated my thinking and taught me a great deal. Serving as Academic Dean for fourteen years has been no picnic, but when did Christ suggest that our callings and ministry would be easy? I’ve never wanted easy. I’ve wanted to serve Christ and his church, and God has given me amazing opportunities to do so.

The church is the most important institution in the world, and it’s been an honor to engage with so many faithful stewards of her mission and ministries. I admire my students. Most of them preach every week. They pray with the sick and dying. They feed the poor and clothe the naked. They pour themselves out for their parishioners. Some have given up lucrative careers to follow God’s call. While there have been outliers, most of my students over the years have been faithful, committed, self-sacrificial ministers of the gospel. I see the power of God in their lives and through the work of their hands. A few of my former students are now dear friends. It does my heart good to see them thrive in faithfulness.

God has been good.

Now on to new fields.