Do Christians Intellectuals Have the Heart of Jesus?

The heart of Jesus—you know, Jesus had a heart, passions, motivations and values that drove him from deep within.  Just as he preached to others, that heart was love, agape.  A commitment to act out of a deep concern for the good of others.  The gospels sometimes give us a glimpse of heart driving Jesus’ life: “When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.”  At his core, he had a concern for the helpless, the lost, and the needy, and this concern drove him to heal and to provide.  He was like his father, who sent his son because of his great love for the world and the lost within it.  (We should remember, however, that some, many, or possibly all of his miracles were also done for the sake of saying something about his messianic identity).  Importantly, this heart of compassion or love was also the motivation for him teaching.  “Jesus saw the huge crowd…and he had compassion on them…So he began teaching them many things” (Mr 6:34, NLT).  Jesus’ ministry, his healing, his providing, his teaching, even perhaps his whole vocation, was driven by a love for people.

Do Christian intellectuals have this heart?  I’m a student at Princeton Theological Seminary; I’m surrounded by people who either love or at least devote themselves to studying the Bible, church history, theology, or other intellectual issues of relevance to the Christian faith.  And these people surround themselves by scholars in the field who devote themselves to research and writing about these topics.  Are we doing this out of a love for the church?  Perhaps the harder question, and it is indeed harder because it is more concrete, is, Are we doing this because we have compassion on people, because we see the needs of real people and want to meet that need?  Aren’t the students and professors here at Princeton the best of the best?  Certainly they’re top tier.  But are these the people who are most performing their impressive labours out of a concern for the real needs of people whom they wish to love and serve by their work?  

This kind of heart seems conspicuously absent among Christian intellectuals, (perhaps proportionally to how “academic” they are?).  We are the ones who live in the church’s treasury; we examine, study, and appraise all of its resources—the word, its saints, etc.  And yet we are often the ones least concerned for the ways that people need the resources to which we have such access and exposure.   We have the knowledge, but do we have the love to serve with it?  We are the ones who know the mind of Christ; but do we have his heart?  At the end of the day, Christian intellectuals are to model their lives after their savior, and I don’t see how that can avoid meaning that they are compelled to appropriate his heart into their lives—leading them to research, think and write about the Bible and theology for the real, (most likely spiritual) needs of real Christians.  

Expectations and Christians' Ingorance

Most American Christians don’t know practically anything about the Bible or church history—and no one seems to blink.  Take the books of the Bible: most people know that Genesis is about the creation of the world (let slide the fact that that is only the subject of the first 5% of the book); some know that the Exodus is about people leaving Egypt.  But what percent of people in the church know what Leviticus, Numbers, or Deuteronomy is about?  Could any normal Christian give a paragraph summary of those books?  A one sentence summary, of any of them?   How about 1 or 2 Samuel, or a summary of any of the 17 prophetic books?  Is it even possible to overstate the typical American lay-persons’ ignorance about the books of the Bible? And all this still says nothing about knowing a basic story of the Bible or the basic chronology of Biblical narrative (knowing that “Christians” “pastors” and “disciples” aren’t in the OT).  The more I study the Bible the more I realize that we Christians absolutely do not have even most basic acquaintance with it. 

It’s the same case with the typical Christians’ knowledge of Church history—actually, it’s probably worse.   What percentage of people in a typical church congregation could even name just 10 Christians from 100AD – 1900AD?  Some probably would mention a few names from the reformation or post reformation period.   It’d be even harder to name 7 from 100 – 1500.  And this doesn’t even include knowing anything about those people!  (Honestly, I could only tell you the smallest bit about 4 or 5).  Could any Christians you know tell you of even one event, person, period, or issue from Church history that has taught, warned, or inspired them as a Christian? 

What I cannot fathom about all this is that no one else is bothered (or that its only a small minority of us who are).  How can the people who confess that the Bible is the word of God also be the one who know nothing about it?  How can the people who confess that God works among his people and gives them gifts to understand him also be the ones who ignore the teaching and testimony of the majority of the Christians—namely, those who have come before us?   Cleary our ignorance of it is nothing else than the result of not taking the time and effort to really learn about it.  Is it that we think it is not worth learning?  I’m sure most would say that knowing the Bible is a good thing.  But for most, I think this opinion—that knowing the bible is a good thing—is intended as a generality; I don’t think most think very strongly that it would be a good thing for them.  If they did, perhaps they’d be working toward it.  So maybe the issue is that we don’t see the value; maybe part of the problem is that despite seeing the value, we are simply lazy.  Just like the overweight person thinks that being in shape would be nice, their often times too lazy to put in the effort to attain that reality. 

Ultimately, however, I think the real root of our widespread and profound ignorance is rooted in the fact that in the culture of our churches, knowing the Bible or church history is simply not essential to the Christian life.  Certainly learning about the Bible and Church history is not on the standard agenda for those Christians who see the Christian life as being merely about believing in Jesus, being saved, and trying to be good (i.e. those for who do not focus on the importance and normalcy of spiritual “maturity”).   And for those other congregations that do preach about sanctification and discipleship as the calling and journey of the Christian life—the knowledge of the Bible or of church history is typically not a very important goal.  In either camp, knowing the Bible or church history is simply not necessary to being a Christian. 

And so, as creatures of necessity, we are ignorant.  In life, what needs to get done is what gets done, and often little else.  To prove my point—that the cause of our ignorance is in the culture of our church generally, and more specifically, in what we consider to be necessary or essential to the Christian life—consider this: did any of us grow up in a church that said, “if you’re going to be a Christian, you have to learn the Bible and church history”?  No we did not.  And I bet if we did, we would have been forced to make a choice: either learn, or leave.  Now I’m not commending this approach for church’s today; it’s probably unbiblical.  But it does helpfully show that the cause of our ignorance well lies in the fact that knowledge has not been required or expected of us.  But is that right?  Should we really not expect Christians to learn the Bible and know their past?  I believe those concerned with the increasing biblical and theological illiteracy and ignorance in the church today need to alert the church with a call to a change in what is expected of Christians. 

Stories of Vigilante Justice as a Witness to God

I recently watched two action movies (Shooter and 24-Season 8) where the main character, a lethal killer, found himself up against a government system determined to cover up the evil it sent him to expose.  The government's moral vision was so corrupted that it though it best to protect the guilty and punish the hero laboring for justice.  In this circumstance, the main character determined that he needed to take matters into his own hands—which meant hunting the guilty down and executing them. 

Of course, this vigilante justice—where an individual appoints himself to bring justice to wrongdoers—probably has an unethical aspect to it.  Only certain people are actually allowed to execute the guilty, namely, those appointed by and acting as agents of the state.  But at the same time, we love these stories and probably find ourselves cheering the main character on. 

Is this story a myth—a story with a transcendent ideal embodied in it?  These stories of vigilante justice are based first on the belief that sometimes a system cannot be trusted, and that the correct moral analysis of a situation is one rooted in the heart of a righteous individual.  An upright heart, not a system, is ultimately the only thing that reliably perceives what is right and what is deserved.  Second, these stories are based on the belief that while the guilty may go free in our human systems of governance and justice, they should not and (hopefully) will not escape the righteous judgement of that individual.  Our love for these stories speaks to a deep human belief that the right perception of justice sometimes resides in one righteous heart, and that that the guilty should meet that righteous heart and receive their due judgement. 

I see in this ideal a unconscious longing for and witness to God, an echo in our heart of the fact that a truly correct moral perception is found only in one heart—the heart of God.  Our human systems are corrupted by human frailty and human evil.  But even when our systems fail, when the guilty walk free in them and we are blind to it, they will not escape justice itself, for there is one who sees the truth.  And that one who sees the truth is the exact one who will bring the guilty what they deserve: judgement, execution, justice.

This is incredible.  These stories testify to a longing for justice, and even a vision of justice, that is directly fulfilled in God.  Our hearts truly do seem draw to the story of God...

Christianty and Pragmatism

In my experience, most Christian intellectuals treat Pragmatism--the approach to life that values practical action particularly highly--is a philosophy to be named, criticised, and rejected. Christians who defend the life of the mind (like Mark Noll) lament that evangelicals have given so little value to thinking and understanding the world deeply, and have instead concerned themselves with activism.  Christianity is captive product of pragmatism.  Christian philosophers, such as Peter Kreeft, confidently refute Marx's call to action by appeal back to Socrates who could reject pragmatism and declare that the purpose of life was to pursue wisdom and truth.

But I am not convinced. Is pragmatism really a foreign value to Christianity?  More to the point of Kreeft, does Christianity promote a life of reflection and the pursuit of wisdom?  I cant help but see that the "Christian as philosopher" (the notion that chief end of man is to pursue wisdom and truth through reflection) is not the vision of the Christian life set forth in scripture.  To Noll's point, does Scripture summon Christians to be people who have a unique and substantively Christians understanding of history, economics, politics and linguistics?  Again, I don't see this in scripture.

The scriptures which most directly address the Christian--the epistles--do these encourage a life of reflection in pursuit of truth?  Does it tell Christians they need a solid grounding in Christian liberal arts?  NO!  It assumes that Christians meet together, that they worship, that they seek to love one another through the daily task of life, that they seek to remain faithful and hopeful as they suffer for their faith, that they continue to hold on to their faith in Christ, that they pray for one another, etc.  The Christian is not called to a life of reflection.  And certainly, I have a hard time thinking that the early Christians--mostly farmers, slaves, artisans and merchants--would have felt that they were called to understand the nature, society, and human nature.  The Bible does not call us to a life of contemplation or reflection.  I think CS Lewis spoke of contemplation as one mode of existence, and experience as another.  My understanding is that the Bible assumes most people will live in the experiential mode, but they are to supplement it with the contemplation of the gospel, and that that contemplation is to then vitalize and direct their experience / action in the world.

What I do see is that the Christian is summoned to faith, and their is a content to faith--an that understanding meant something for the nature of history, of the person, of the state, etc.  But these were all theological matters, and they we simply to be believed as part of the gospel and the larger story of God and his work in the world.  (and it was not as if the Christian's calling to simply try to study this; if anything, study is a means to the end of knowing, and it is necessary because what we should believe is unclear--the apostles did not see the task of believing or knowing this way).  In other words, the Christians was called to faith in the gospel, not to some humanistic understanding of all of life.  The Christian is called to a robust faith, but not to be or pursue a humanities or liberal arts major.  (Again, I think my concern is that people who are passionate about humanities and liberal arts will see their specific endeavour -studying these things as people who believe in the gospel--and make it somehow the task of the Christian  more generally, or of all church leaders.).  The scandal of the evangelical mind is not that we don't have a Christian account of the humanities, but that we no longer have a substantive account of what makes us Christian--the gospel.

So the life of reflection and understanding is typically opposed to pragmatism, and some of our Christian leaders (who just happen to be university professors devoted to contemplation, surrounding themselves with students devoted to contemplation) --some of our leaders tell us that Christianity is in desperate need of us embracing the former and not the latter. But I think our Christian theology itself pushes us to pragmatism, to be concerned with common actions of daily work and life.  People matter.  People die.  People will spend eternity somewhere.  People need.  And God cares passionately about all these things.  Now we see through a glass darkly.  If I remember correctly, that is said in a particular context...about loving ones neighbour ..  Are we supposed to be spending all our time trying to clarify our Christian vision, or acting based on what we've seen clearly so far?  Is action-rooted-in-faith or contemplation-rooted-in-faith a more faithful mode of Christian living?   

The Awakwardness of Biblical Studies for Christians

Writing a commentary is a strange thing for a Christian--and so is reading one for that matter.  I was reading Titus today, and realized that in 5 minutes I pretty much understood the first chapter.  It'd be strange to study it for 5 years.  Sure, I'd learn a lot about its finer points.  But its awkward.  Titus was not written to be studied; it was written to be heard and obeyed.  Now to any of my friends quick to defend the value of academics and to rebuke my pietistic anti-intellectualism, you just have to admit it: there is a different posture, a very different mode of engagement, between hearing a charge to receive it (or it as you understand it) and rigorously analyzing a charge to decipher its meaning.   My question is: What mode of engagement do you think Titus intends?  

Now, I'm just as concerned as the next guy (probably more concerned than him) about the massive swathes of scripture that the church has left unengaged and, generally speaking, has not heard or heard with understanding (90% of the prophets [heck, just about all of the OT narrative], much of the law, certain books of the NT).  And I am somewhat cognizant that certain portions of scripture are pretty inaccessible to me (Revelation, for example).  I have to learn a good bit more about how to read those texts and what is going on in them before I will ever understand them in the way the author, appointed by the will of God, intended me to understand them.  But not all of scripture is like this to me.  Much of it, perhaps more than I have admitted, is clear.  ...And I think I need to read or write a commentary about it...  humph.   Scripture is for hearing and obeying, not for studying and commentating.  The latter serve the former, when they are necessary.  But they are not always necessary, and when they aren't, they are a distraction.  

Money as the root of the medieval church's sins...

How right Paul was that “the love of money is the root of all kinds of evil.”  When anyone reads about the late medieval church (the “catholic Church”  in Europe from around 1000-1500), they are confronted by a long list of sins riddling the church.  Simony (people buying their way into church positions), “Venality” (being open to bribery), “pluralism” (people holding multiple church offices), and the list goes on.  What I am struck by is how so many of the problems of the early church all have to do with money.  Even the indulgence trade (a practice around the time of the reformation (1400-1500s) of having church people “buy” time off from purgatory)—the issue which prompted the reformation—was a matter of money and the church trying to get more of it. I wonder how much of the long list of the church’s blighting sins throughout history really just has money at its root.  It would be interesting to trace church history from this perspective…

An Open Letter to a Good Friend: On Dogma, Mystery, Concervatism, and his Break from Tradition.

Kevin,

I enjoyed reading your post.  From your writing ripples wafts chestertonian air.  It’s fun to read your writing.  While I am interested in all your content (publishing, marriage, choosing to love) I am, predictably, most engaged by your comments about breaking with tradition, about your journey ex evangelica.

As I considered your thoughts, it seemed like the first main thing you were getting at is, to put it simply, that there is a lot of intellectual crappiness in fundamentalism and evangelicalism. [1]  Its anti-intellectualism (trusting the minimally trained pastor; reading the bible without a brain; the notion that truth only comes from the Bible, and not the tribesman, etc) and emotionalism (worship is about raising your hand; the bible is a book of inspiration); its repetitive, overworked focus on and overvaluation of sex; its cliché, parochial, and shallow ethics (alcohol is bad); its negative emotional-epistemological stance: excessive ease of belief   (“people who can hold to any number of dogmas at any given moment”), its aversion to all things intellectually new.  …It’s all pretty crappy.

One issue you mention is just as crappy, though more complex.  Teaching you that there is a spiritual geography called heaven and hell.  We’ve here applied a particular (and troubling) literalistic view of theological language: when the Bible talks about a place called heaven with streets of gold, it’s all pretty straightforward—it’s a land in some definite place, pretty much just like ours (material, spatial, physical, etc.).   This literalistic understanding is present in other areas of Christian confession. We say that “God” is a person, who exists in a place with a mind, who has emotions and a will, and who acts in this world and communicates with people, etc.  All these attributions are understood literally, and those who make such confessions see what they are saying to be totally unproblematic.  We know what we are saying about God, and were saying it’s all true. 

The problem, of course, is that these things make no sense.  We can’t really understand there being a material, spatial, physical world outside of this universe, and no one believes that heaven is in this one.  So where is it?  What kind of cosmology are we predicating?  Or with God: What does it mean to be a person without having a located, perspectival consciousness?  How does he focus and attend to all people, to one in NJ and one in china?  How does God exist everywhere (and that not as some rarified material substance)?  I have no concept of existence except as of existing at a particular point.  What it mean to say that God thinks, when he just knows everything?  How does he choose without having a body?  Christians confess that he is at work in the world providentially, in and behind human decisions, for example (consider the story of Joseph in Egypt in Genesis 36ff).  How does this work?  How does God act?  How does he communicate with a soul, let alone all souls everywhere at one?  I could go on.  The point is, I don’t understand anything of what I mean when I make all the banal claims that Christians make about the existence of a particular God.

Its all pretty intellectually crappy, not to mention unattractive.

1) But that’s always been true.  There’s a lot of crap in the Christian camp.  Theological ethics that rarely get beyond sex and alchol?   The view that scriptures meaning is obviously apparent to all, and no one needs to learn to read it well?   Furthermore, our failure to realize the uter mysteriousness of all our language about God makes us look like foolishly overconfident to those pressing the philosophical complications.

But this is not why I stay in the tradition.  I'm not here for the crap.   I find Christianity intellectually habitable because the Biblical authors were themselves profound, subtle  sophisticated, and passionate thinkers.  Because there were Anselms, Luthers and Calvins, and because there are great minds in the church today.  As a man who I was wisely one encouraged to read said, We should “indeed be critical in the sense of rejecting what is false and unhelpful, but…wholly uncritical in the sense that we do not … waste time in thinking about what we reject but lay ourselves open in uncommenting, humble receptivity to any nourishment that is going.”  And I think there is a lot of fish here with these bones. 

2) To make a more specific comment on theological language: George Hunsinger’s essay “Beyond literalism and Expressivism..” is good reading here.  After noting the serious difficulty of maintaining our theological language if it is construed literally, Hunsinger proposes a realist view of theological language.  Basically, while God does not, for example, act in the way we understand acting, the word “act”, taken up by God into his purposes and used in his self revelation, actually is appropriate: God acts like we think of acting, but in a way that is also uniquely his own.  He is a “person,” but unlike person as we know it.  He has awareness, but different from any awareness we know.  Etc.  I think this analogical account of theological language needs to be applied all over, including with heaven and hell.  This language genuinely gets at reality, but not in an unqualified, literalistic way; but also not in a liberal, ‘this-language-is-just-a-metaphorical-way-to-express-my-religious-experience’ kind of way, either.  It’s all analogically asserted.

3) Of course, this raises the question of our epistemological stance.  We are sometimes so comfortable with the claims we made.  Yeah, yeah, some of the radical ones need to be defended (thank God we’ve got our William lane Craigs), but it’s all a pretty un-radical world.  Not so.  I think everything in the Christian life is mysterious.  Christian theology lays another layer of reality atop the one we see, and says its true.  The very idea of God-as-a-person, not to mention each of his attributes.  God’s activity of creation, the idea that he is at work in this world, somehow participating in it causally; the idea that God hears our prayer; that he speaks (without vocal cords); or even the popular idea that he “speaks” to us in our minds/souls inaudibly and through our feelings/sense of him—What is that?  How does he interact with our physiology?  The idea of the reality of human sin, the atoning nature of Christ’s death, the idea of God being man, etc.  It’s all mysterious.  It all believed by faith.  I can’t ground it adequately, for the system is simply way too large.  But I confess it all, and by grace believe. The problem I see, is with those who do not realize the fundamentally mysterious nature of everything we say about God.  

4) Your beef with the fear-filled culture of fundamentalism seems to note its (admittedly excessively rigid) conservative culture.  It’s not that conservatism is afraid of the new; it’s that its afraid of losing the old.  Time erases just as much as it creates.  So conservatism is about disciplined sacrifice: we may well miss out on the latest truths, but we will hopefully keep what we’ve seen in the past.  It’s surprisingly like marriage.  Marriage requires us to sacrifice and resist a whole set of impulses, in favor of taking one set farther in one direction than all the impulses of the present would ever take us on their own.   

Oh: is hoping for marriage more valuable than enjoying it?

Well, I hope that’s enough to make you think.   Your world of fundamentalism had a lot of crap, but maybe there are slightly better pools, and maybe even that water, unavoidably adulterated, can be filtered, and not just flushed.  Your final objection—about religion, particularism and universality, about the need for a religion or life philosophy (or version of Christianity) to account for, explains, and appeals to universal human experience [or something along those lines]— that will have to wait till another day. 

Nik B

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[1] IM sure my writing will miss your main points, though I have tried to grasp them; but nonetheless, I think it will help you clarify them, if you find the time.

The church's mission is not about making the world more christian...

[An old email (5/10/2012) to a friend on how culture is a real part of the church's mission, but not in the way it is sometimes conceived:]

Perhaps evangelicals like myself traditionally think of culture as having one basic referent--there is a culture out there (ex. general American culture).  Culture refers to public culture, culture of the world or nation state.  Then, since God is interested in culture, Christians are to do their best trying to redeem that (public, national) culture. So, aren't we supposed to argue for family rights, religious liberties, ethical law; we've supposed to make our world more compassionate to the weak, more caring for the suffering.  Better school education--better sex education--teach abstinence in the public school, crack down on drugs;  and not just that: encourage kids to be all they can be, rather than our current culture of lazinees or mind-numbing video and TV overload; try to see our country have better marriages, rather than cohabitation and divorce,  etc.  In other words, we're trying to reform our nation to make it look more...just!  moral!  really, to make it look more christian.  

But, I think (or wonder)  if this neglects an important and radical biblical distinction between church and world, perhaps doing so because of following in (cultural!) modernistic univeralistic thinking.  Our enlightenment worldview says that all people are basically one / the same.   Fundamentally, we are human [this might not be a purely enlightenment commitment], and all humans are of one basic kind.  In this common brotherhood, we share a common identity and we use reason as our common meeting ground.  And in this common ground we form a shared life called the public arena, governed by reason, the fruits of which is culture. That is where culture occurs.

But that all seems questionable to me.  Biblically, the church is a separate community.  Fundamentally, we are something else, with our own story, our own calling, called to live a common life together as God's people.  A people who are no longer Greek, no longer American.  and what does that mean if not a new identity, socially, and consequently, culturally. This is the church-world distinction. 

I believe this distinction between church and world has some import to our thinking about missions.  Sometimes we think of God so loving the world.  God displays his love of the world by using the church to be a vehicle to love the non-church.  
But I think that God's love for the world is displayed in the church.  God's goal of a redeemed world reconciled world is realized in the church, not outside it.  So, we see, in my opinion, a mission of the church to the world which is primarily a call to join it, to be included in the community of Christ, the sphere of restoration, blessing, reconciliation.   

But the distinction between the church and the world not only supports the idea that the church is the domain of the realization of God's mission to humanity.  It also, I think, will capture the fact that God's mission to to the world is not just achieved when people are brought into the church.  The church has not yet itself fully become that community of restoration, reconciled to God's lordship.  The church needs to grow into the life which is the goal of redemption, and it is a life which comes progressively, through the continuation of God's mission.  I guess what im saying is that justification is not the culmination of God's redemptive mission, but rather the sanctification of the community.  God labors for a people who are both his own and who have receiving in them (communally) the new (and eschatological) life of Christ.
 
The church-world distinction helps us think about the church as a distinct community, as the domain of God's enacted redemption, and as the place where God's mission climaxes. I think those commitments end up supporting the idea that the church's cultural and social mission is not in transforming the culture and character of the world, but rather in itself being a new, redeemed culture / society.   (And therein is its verbal and deedful testimony to the world that Jesus is its lord!).   God is interested in a redeemed culture; but he is looking for that redeemed culture in his redeemed community, not in his unredeemed community. 

The spiritual complexity of Luther and Karlstadt

There is something I love about Luther--things like his immovable conviction and courage or his total disdain for fame (my consolation is that in time, my books will lie forgotten in the dust").  But then when I read about Luther's return to Wittenburg from the Wartbug castle, and how under certain "biblical values" he tried to wrest the reform movement back into his own hands (which meant pulling it from those of Andreas Bodenstein Von Karlstadt) Luther appears so political, and quite frankly, repulsive.

Similarly, when I read about Karlstadt, I see such a ...sad man.  Nearly possessed with an inferiority complex, excessively accumulating degrees, taking criticisms personally, always feeling attacked  ever consigned to second fiddle, following Luther's theology but never credited much as a leader, except perhaps of aberrant movements happily forgotten--Karlstadt seems like a man trying to find a passion that would also establish his own worth.  He strikes me as a broken man, as one not whole.  But then when I read of his amazing paradigm shift, of his abjuring academics for the life of a layman, for sweat and toil; or when I hear hows his tracts showed a "vigorous concern for a regenerate life of obedience to the Lord," Karlstadt seemed to have a passion and vitality that not even Luther had.  He had something even Luther was missing.
 
Luther is protestantisms saint; but at times he seems such an unattractive man.  Karlstadt...is it right to say that he protestantism's embarrasing uncle?He was such a weak man, yet there was something so strong in his heart.  The complexity and humanness of these men--not even to mention their raw and prolonged animosity toward eachother--seem to me like sources that could teach me so much.
  

Christian Growth is not learning

We think that Christian growth takes place in our head, by learning more.  This just is not true.  When “growth” is talked about in the NT, it talks about living in a certain way.  One bears more fruit, one becomes more conformed to the pattern of Jesus, ones love abounds more and more.  Where, then, do we get the idea from that growth is about learning the Bible and doctrine better and better?  Maybe from the combination of the reformation notion that the shepherd is a teacher, and the shepherd is also the model for the community.  The pastor is the one who knows the Bible best, and that’s the part of him we see most when the majority of our interactions with him are via the pulpit.  So if we are to be like him, then we grow to know more and more.  That’s why the ultimate Christian is the preacher.  But it’s just not Biblical.