As the summer reaches its climax and subsequently begins to wane, the sounds heard outside have been the dull clank of metal moving truck doors as new students, arriving from their cross-country trips, begin to move into their apartments (But seriously, must you move in at midnight?). The elevator in our building, having already won the award of “Slowest Elevator in LA,” has been overrun with people moving in and people moving out. The wait-time for our elevator has increased significantly over the past two weeks and has provided a lot of time to ponder the mysteries of life: Who am I? Where am I going? Did I just lock my key in my apartment? And as I consider the new students moving to Fuller, fresh-faced and filled with thoughts of being famous mega-church pastors, I thought it proper to offer some warning as to the nature of some of the students at Fuller, a warning that leads to the suitably evangelical altar call of this article, namely, the decision to avoid these tendencies (Yes, I see that hand, way in the back).

1. The Hornblower: Have you ever tried breathing through your mouth while keeping a noisemaker solidly between your lips? Every exhale causes a loud noise to emanate from said device, and after while begins to annoy everyone at the party. For many students, they arrive at seminary with a metaphorical noisemaker lodged in their metaphorical mouth. That is, whenever they choose to speak, the words that come forth describe themselves in grandiose terms. One does not seek out a hornblower, rather, one is sought out by one. See, the hornblower thrives on the social interaction between students that afford him or her an opportunity to promote themselves. They can hardly answer a question about the weather without also mentioning how they, without any meteorological training, were able to accurately predict the weather for the next week. When asked for feedback on a paper, project, or sermon, these students will often give anecdotal feedback by telling a story about themselves, a story which no doubt highlights their successes and not failures. Their catch phrase: “Go and do likewise,” often concludes all their self-referential stories. Should you encounter one, your best defense is silent nodding, a gesture which makes the hornblower think you are affirming their awesomeness, while in reality you are actually bobbing your head to the latest Coldplay song that is playing in your head.
2. The Don Quixote: The heights of the ivory tower do not strike fear in the heart of this student. He or she occupies the room in the tallest spire of the tallest tower of idealism and relishes in its unparalleled disconnection with reality. Their language is marked by repeated use of terms like, “deconstruction” or “problematic”. The metaphorical windmills of various local churches become elaborately constructed theological giants to be fought by the sword of pure reason as they proceed to talk derisively to the dim-witted Sancho Panzas in their life: people grounded in pragmatism. Theological education is the ultimate thrill for these students as it means severing deconstructing the tethering line, and drifting further and further into the upper atmosphere of the mind. When asked a question about practical matters, they will often begin an answer that quickly disintegrates into a haphazard rehearsal of names of obscure theologians and historians who may or may not have said anything relevant. Puzzled looks and confused stares do not bother these students, after all, they are engaged in an adventure that exists only in their minds. Should they invite you to don a suit of armor and join them, politely refuse, and then quickly run away.
3. The Temporal Anomaly: Three or four years of education are not enough for the temporal anomaly. These students have managed to turn a two-year M.A. program into a six-decade long epic journey filled with massive rent bills, a student loan pile the size of Uncle Scrooge’s money pit, and six kids who in addition to being born and raised at seminary, have since married current students, and have kids of their own. These temporal anomalies consider graduation to be the greatest myth perpetrated by the seminary community and often are heard suggesting that that they should be able to pass a class simply by showing up. When you encounter a T.A. (no, not that kind of T.A.), they have a bedraggled look in their eye that screams out: “I’ve been here so long, my soul is numb and I can’t feel the pain anymore.” When you ask them how long they’ve been at seminary, they will often begin counting the decades on each finger. After exhausting their fingers, they kick off their well-worn shoes and start using their toes. Should that fail, they may begin using your appendages to mark their time in seminary. Don’t freak out, just know that you’ve encountered a temporal anomaly and that the best thing you can do is ask them about the “good ol’ days.” Like a kitten to milk, they will indulge you in a serious discussion about the 1950s and how much they long for the day when everyone would go to church again. The best thing you can do is not mention anything that begins with: “After graduation I plan on….” Instead, listen to their rants about the past and then fake a phone call to yourself and excuse yourself to answer it.