“Teacher.”
It’s a name I ran from for years.
A label I never wanted imposed upon myself.
A word that I deemed better fit for someone more patient, more loving, more caring.
But believe it or not, at one point I was passionate about being a teacher.
I substitute taught a lot in college. At first I did it because I wanted experience working in the public school system. But in the end, I did it for the money. I dreaded going to teach at the schools, and I was always left exhausted at the end of the day.
In college, I pursued a degree that taught me all the things there were to know about teaching children in a classroom, but I never quite committed all the way to being a certified teacher.
But lately I’ve realized that the title “teacher” isn’t just this person who teaches at a school.
In fact, Jesus was a teacher. And yet, he never entered a classroom.
Jesus was called “Teacher” because he opened his mouth and spoke the words the Holy Spirit gave him to tell people. He always taught what they needed to know most. In the same way, I feel the Holy Spirit used my willingness to just open my mouth to fill it with words the refugees in Greece needed to hear.
I’ve sat down to write a blog about Greece several times. And every time I have such a hard time putting into words the things God is doing there and in my heart.
Greece was all-squad month, which means that our entire squad lived and worked together for the month. However, this month was a little different than our other all-squad month in that we were serving all over the city, so we were pretty spread out.
Last month, our squad helped out at the Drop-In Center, which is when we open the doors of the church to refugee women, children, and even some men to come eat, drink coffee, shower, and learn English. Some of us also helped out at a soup kitchen, while others were able to deliver beds to actual refugee camps. We also engaged in intercessory prayer.
Although I didn’t go into the camps, I felt at peace that God had me where He wanted me. I ended up teaching English at the Drop-In Center, which was something I volunteered to HELP someone do, but didn’t actually want to do it myself. Even though I am certified to teach ESL, I didn’t want to fully commit to leading by myself.
Well, the first day of ministry comes, and the first people in the door to the Drop-In Center were our translators. We sit down together as I begin our first English lesson together (note that this was my first time ever teaching adults), and for the first time in my teaching history, I actually enjoyed it. In fact, I loved it. Teaching English just flowed so naturally from me, and the translators followed with ease. Repetition is key, I remembered learning in college. So we started from where their notes ended, and day after day we reviewed what we had learned the day before, building on that foundation. Soon, the translators started referring to me as “Teacher”, even using it in place of my name.
“Teacher, how are you today?”
“Teacher, could you explain?”
“Thank you, Teacher.”
It’s something that caught me by surprise. But it was something they saw as truth. I was their teacher.
In those moments, I realized that I had limited the term “teacher” to mean something smaller than it actually was. Something that was my own definition and limited in its meaning. My problem was that I didn’t want to fit into that box I had made it to be.
Sometimes I doubt my ability to teach others because I never finished my teaching certification. However, I am reminded of how Jesus was called “Teacher” even though he didn’t have a teaching degree. The world was his classroom. He taught was the Father taught him, learning from the ultimate Teacher.
Later I found out that my “students” had been practicing English from their lessons by reading an English/Farsi Bible. How encouraging that they used the Word as a study guide! As their English developed, we began sharing pictures of the places we were from, they being from Iran, me being from Texas. They talked about going out to the movies, going out for coffee, and hanging out with friends an family; things we do on a normal, everyday basis. The reason I mention this is because when you think of traveling the world to “reach the nations,” the first thought is usually starving children in Africa. But here we are, in the middle of Greece, serving refugees who had been chased out of the places they call home, living what we think of normal, everyday lives. Their lives had been wrecked.
The husband of another family I taught used Google Translate to tell me how they “found love in a church” and how hearing these English lessons gave them motivation to try going to church again. He explained how their church close by wasn’t friendly and how it would be expensive for his family to travel to another one every week. I saw him one last time at church the last Sunday we were there. He told me he took notes so he could tell his family what he learned in church that day. I cried.
Although I don’t have a favorite place (as I have a favorite thing about each place we have visited so far), Greece was the first ministry I wept for. I wept for having to leave people who resembled family… wept for how their first-world life looked just like my life at home, yet circumstances drove them away from their home… wept for not being able to do more.
All I can do is know that God let us join Him where He was working for a bit, and I can trust His words in Philippians 1:6…. “Being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.”
