I suppose, after 45 years as an ordained minister, I shouldn’t be surprised that my seminary experience belongs to a different generation that those currently receiving theological education from seminaries. It was a different time.

When we were admitted to seminary, it was a requirement of the school that we be in residence, living in seminary housing, for the first year. All of our classmates lived at the seminary. And we had it different from previous generations. When we were students, Chicago Theological Seminary owned an apartment building that housed a cafeteria with meal service and a preschool. When the seminary first built its Chicago campus at 5757 South University in Chicago, a single building housed two chapels, classrooms, faculty offices, a library, administrative offices, housing for single students, a commons area, kitchen and dining. Students could go through their days without having to go outside. Of course, they did go outside, with access to the University of Chicago with its divinity school, theological library, bookstore, and more. By the time we arrived as students, it was common for students to be married and married student housing included apartments large enough for students with children.

All the same, we lived and worked together with our classmates. Classroom discussions carried over to meal times and into the evenings. One of our professors was fond of saying, “No one should study Karl Barth alone.” Understanding complex theological thought requires multiple perspectives and the interplay of multiple minds. Seminary life for us involved a lot of community building. We shared chapel services and responsibilities for leading worship. We shared retreats and class travel. We visited churches together. We participated in the ownership and management of the seminary cooperative bookstore. We had study carrels in the library next to other students that allowed us to discuss our reading assignments as we worked on them. Community learning was built into our education.

That is a huge contrast with the state of graduate theological education these days. Our alma mater has sold its buildings and real estate holdings in Chicago. It is now housed in a building leased from the University of Chicago that was designed as a commuter campus. Gone are housing and meal services. Gone is the expectation that students live on campus. Living on campus is no longer an option. The majority of students in the institution don’t even live in the city of Chicago any more. They participate in classes online, traveling to the seminary buildings only on occasion for special seminars generally lasting for a few days. Students are encouraged to build virtual community through email, video conferencing, and other technology. The bulk of their education, however, is conducted in isolation from other students. They read their assignments in their own homes and react to them in private journals and online assignments.

We knew our professors in a different way. We were guests in their homes and regularly shared meals with them. We knew their families. We shared in their writing projects. We sought publication in the same journal. When the time came for us to defend our professional writing, we knew the panel we would face and they knew who we were. We had already discussed previous drafts of our papers and shared the process of revision.

I suppose that I am like other old people. I can go on and on about the way it was for us. I am out of touch with the way it is for the current generation of students. I can be critical of the current state of theological education. I am quick to point out what I see as deficiencies in the education of young clergy. And I know, from experience, that such observations are not helpful. I know that my criticisms do not play a vital role in developing the leadership of the church in this generation. I cannot, however, help myself. I find myself worrying about the leadership of the church. I look for opportunities to serve as a mentor and guide for young clergy even though they don’t seem to want that mentorship and guiding.

Whether or not we acknowledge it, whether or not we choose the role, pastors are the stewards of generations of tradition. We stand in a long lineage and it can be helpful to be aware of our history and tradition. From my point of view, such knowledge is essential. The forms of the liturgy we lead are not the product of a single generation. While brilliant writers and scholars have produced creative and meaningful liturgy, it rests on the experience of multiple generations of experience. We did not invent the use of music in worship and there is deep meaning in music that has served the church for hundreds of years. We are not the first to consider the flow of worship and elements such as Call to Worship, Invocation, and Benediction have form and function that support worship. Writing liturgy is an art that is distinct from assembling worship by picking and choosing from the huge supply of worship elements available on the Internet. There are different forms of prayer and communal prayer is more than a list of supplications and requests of the congregation. While an impromptu prayer composed as worshipers call out the things about which they worry for which they seek the support of others can be meaningful, placing the prayer concerns of the community in the context of the current situation in the world and the long succession of communal prayers throughout multiple generations can add depth and meaning for worshippers. Ours is not the first generation to face illness. We aren’t the only ones to know grief and loss. Our people have struggled with the roles of parenting and the nature of intimate relationships for generations and connections with our heritage can be life sustaining in times of struggle. A pastor who leads worship has responsibility for enabling people to make those connections.

Those connections, however, can only be made if they are known and understood. Sometimes they come by studying and becoming familiar with the prayers and songs and liturgies of previous generations.

I’m sure that sometimes it seems as if I am just an old guy who complains when I express my longing for familiar hymns and traditional liturgies. I do appreciate new and creative liturgy and music. Furthermore, I was educated in an environment of constant feedback and constructive criticism. My ideas were constantly tested and refined in a community of experienced teachers and peers. I wish such a community existed for the newest generation of church leaders. I fear it cannot be forged online.

The institution and its traditions, however, are strong. Faith forged in generation after generation will not be lost in a single decade or phase of the life of the church. Even when we don’t sing it in worship, I can still sing the hymn, “We Limit Not the Truth of God” and be inspired.