Surely there is a sense in which nothing stands outside the concept of “theological education.” As a child, I learned the gift of love and security reflected in the actions of my parents. This taught me about God. As I grew and learned about the natural world—the rocks and seas and animals—I learned about the intricacies of creation. This taught me about God too. And I could, of course, go on forever.

The idea that we learn about God through a near limitless number of avenues is a beautiful reflection of the expansiveness of God and his reach. Nothing is beyond his grasp, and thus every moment is a moment with him

and a part of our theological education. And yet I am a professional theological educator, and I do not believe that nature walks alone equip us sufficiently for ministry.

So what is the difference? Why in a created world that reveals God should someone pursue formal theological education? And why in an era where information is so readily available? What value is added by spending countless hours sitting in a classroom, studying, reading, and writing?

These are the questions of so many today. Seminary and other forms of theological education are supposedly the ways of the past. The future is learning through being in the world and through curating one’s own educational experience online.

So, again, what makes formal theological education different? Three things come to mind.

Theological education provides access to mentors.

When a student walks into a classroom, they have an experience designed by someone with expertise. The readings and lectures—when planned thoughtfully—flow together like a perfectly crafted playlist. The architect of this experience, the professor, raises problems and solutions that shift the tone and weight of the conversation like the move between ballad and bop.

But the professor is present for the experience of this oscillation. They gently guide the student through experiences of dissonance with what they previously held to be true, and when the student has that moment of connection with the material that represents growth and understanding, the professor can affirm the progress. Other students watch and participate in this process by asking their own questions and bearing witness

Nevertheless, some professors do not curate these kinds of experiences, and they do not deserve to be called “mentor.” They understand their primary role to be one of content delivery, and a student would learn just as much from that professor if they found their content in a video on the internet. Mentoring takes time and demands love in the classroom and beyond.

Theological education provides access to peers.

Although I myself am a professor (and hopefully a mentor), I firmly believe that the most important people in my students’ education are their peers. In the illustration I provided above, I shared a relatively vertical picture of education—a professor teaches a student—and although I named the presence of others, I gave the impression that they were bystanders.

But the best “lectures” that I have ever delivered were not me at a lectern and students voicing their assent to my brilliant ideas; they hardly qualify as lectures at all. On those days the students internalised the material. They engaged together—each from their own perspectives— and they participated in a dialogue. On those days, I simply facilitated a conversation, offering clarifications and raising questions when necessary. At the risk of belabouring my musical metaphors, on those days, I sang the melody, and my students joined me in rich harmonies. Their voices add fullness and diversity.

Even so, some educational environments do not always celebrate and facilitate the diversity of their students. They value assimilation—catechesis is both cultural and doctrinal. These environments do not welcome students to share who they are within the classroom and thus allow meaningful peer to peer learning. In those environments, peers reinforce the professor’s position because it is the only one that is valid.

Theological education provides access to formational experiences.

No matter how rich one’s classroom experience may be, theological education demands other opportunities for learning and spiritual formation. Many of these experiences draw upon the presence of good mentors and peers, but they centre spiritual growth rather than intellectual growth.

For the new information that students receive to sink deep within their bones, they must see it in action. In chapel, they hear preaching that reflects the goodness of God in a particular text in Scripture. This brings together their homiletics, biblical studies, and systematic theology lectures, and more importantly, it nourishes their souls. In their dining hall, they eat with students from other backgrounds; they break bread and pray for one another. They model charity, and they build relationships that will hold them together during in-class disagreements. Similarly, in the hallways, students hear professors laughing with colleagues and other students, and they see them with their children and spouses. In some environments, faculty, staff, and students are neighbours. Together they serve in local government and provide for the marginalised. Through this, they attest to God’s redemptive work in the world. These experiences also bear witness to the gifts God has bestowed to those in our midst. Hearing a peer singing or preaching or praying allows us to give thanks for how they have been equipped by God. Likewise, standing alongside those gifted in hospitality and exhortation presses us to develop those gifts in ourselves. But some theological programs have little to offer students outside the classroom. Students grow in knowledge and understanding of a certain kind, but their education is not embodied. The ties between the classroom and the church remain invisible.

When these benefits—good encounters with mentors and peers as well as other shared experiences—are not present, the difference between formal and informal theological education is diminished because they press us beyond our natural associations. In other words, they give us access to new things.

The breadth of this may vary depending on where our theological education takes place, but even in small denominational training schools, you should expect to encounter those whom you would not meet otherwise— people with knowledge of other theological traditions, regions, cultural backgrounds, and life experiences. But the limitations in certain styles and venues of theological education require students to choose their environments carefully. Practical considerations, such as degree length and cost, cannot—and should not—be eliminated. But formal theological education is a once-ina- lifetime opportunity that will lay the foundation for decades of ministry. In some cases, waiting a year or two (or five) might provide additional financial stability or an opportunity to relocate for residential education. These investments truly are not possible for everyone, but they should be considered by all desiring to pursue ministry.

At its best, formal theological education provides additional categories and language for our informal theological education. Our mentors and friends help us to put language to what we have observed in the world. And we worship together.

Madison N. Pierce (PhD, Durham University) is Associate Professor of New Testament at Western Theological Seminary (Holland, MI, USA). She also is New Testament Editor at Reviews of Biblical and Early Christian Studies and a co-host of The Two Cities podcast. Her research interests are the Epistle to the Hebrews and early Christian interpretation.