The More I Learn, the Smaller I Become

I entered college as an excited and stubborn young theologian who was ready to soak up as much knowledge as I could. With plans to eventually go on to seminary and pursue the calling to be a pastor, the prospect of submerging myself in theological studies for the next four years was thrilling. Growing up as a pastor’s kid, I assumed that I was ahead of the pack in my theological understanding and figured college would be a perfect place to prove this through various debates, all while learning more interesting facts that I could use in future sermons.

I brought all of my expectations and bold convictions to this new place, but the inertia that was taking me into college was quickly met with an outside force. In the first week at school, I unfortunately found a way to both flex my theological muscles and inflict deep pain to someone. What started as an innocent conversation turned into an emotional war zone, where I refused to be the first to wave the white flag. My conviction blinded me to my severe lack of love as I continued to debate my point. I missed the forest for the trees and ended up fracturing a relationship. I wish I could say that was the last time that I let my pride get the best of me instead of acting with grace and humility. While I came to school to gain knowledge, I ended up learning a lot about relationships, spirituality, and hardship.

As I walked through my daily classes and busy schedule, I began to realize that learning was having an unexpected effect on me. It was not only deepening the grooves in my brain, but it was bringing me into a deeper understanding of who I was; how small I was.

The more I wrote down, studied, and pondered, the smaller I felt. Learning made me confident, but only in the feeling that I knew nothing.

Learning is vulnerable. Learning is violent. It opens us up to the brutality of uncertainty and embarrassment. The confidence we once saw as a virtue quickly turns into stubbornness, which soon turns to discomfort and humiliation. We find ourselves in a place of doubt, wondering if there is anything we could still cling to. The hands that once grasped a bold self-perception of intelligence and discernment quickly turn to hands spread wide as they tried to catch conviction like drops of rain. In this place, we realize that we are not who we thought we were. We may have formerly perceived ourselves as theologically-sound, ethically stable, and faithful young Christians. But then we realize that we are no different from those whom we ruthlessly criticize in our minds for being different from us.

True learning looks like pain, not self-confirmation. A real education doesn’t provide tools to justify our past convictions or build a house of comfort. To learn is to suffer, and to suffer is to participate in Christ. Learning is an act of kenosis: the emptying of oneself so that one may be filled — not with mere knowledge, but with love. Learning is an act of love. Now, we can love our neighbor by seeing their situation as more than black-white binary. We can become enchanted by nuance and tension, knowing that love resides there. Where learning abounds, so does grace. Grace is a side effect of learning that comes when we stop searching for answers. As we learn, we shrink, and so do those things that we once thought were gigantic.

So, let’s allow ourselves to shrink as we learn what humility is. In this shrinking, we will learn that God chose what was foolish in order to shame us. Let us pursue the foolishness of God all the days of our lives. Soon, we will hear the words, “Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell me, if you have understanding.” Then, we will quickly learn that shrinking was always better than worldly growth anyways. In our smallness, we look up at the cross, where the wisdom of God is displayed in a Savior who refused to leave us to our own knowledge to save ourselves.  Now we are where we need to be: small Christians in a world loved by a God who loves small Christians. The more we learn, the smaller we become.