Whatever happened to the simple pleasures of the swing and the seesaw?
Surely the adrenalin of feet thrusting-forward and then kicking-back, penduluming that swing higher and wider is not lost forever? What about the child-startling push from behind, then running through and under and out — only to tease and dare a toe-tickle to the face from that swinging child? Surely that giggle on that face is irreplaceable?
What about that plank on a pivot we call a seesaw? Surely the laughs accompanying the undignified plonking on one side cannot be phased out? Nor can the realisation that there is no joy in being alone at the seesaw. It takes two and not just any two. They can be small or large, but when they are evenly-weighted and seated as far from the middle as possible, the play is always fun.
Of course, the pleasing thing is that the swing and the seesaw are still with us, often living in the margins of the playground, a bit like an old road near the modern highway. They grab my gaze. They feed my imagination. I believe in the simplicity of a training which swings and seesaws.
Take the swing. Early in such training there comes an appreciation for history and the way it swings. Things come and go — slowly, very slowly. There is nothing new under the sun. The objective is for students to have the ‘chronological snobbery’ flushed out of them. The newest is not necessarily closer to the best. It is not always advisable to be up-to-date. ‘Get relevant or die’ is overstated. Students discover that “remember” is one of the enduring worship imperatives in the Bible. And so an openness to the past enters in and with it, a humility. The fascination with trends loosens. It sinks in that those who don’t learn from history are destined to repeat its mistakes, simply because history swings.
Alternatively, consider the seesaw. Early in such training there comes an appreciation for truth and the way it comes to us on a seesaw. Evenly weighted and far from the middle. To the smaller, immature mind it sounds like a contradiction and so they plonk themselves on one side, immobilised into a disjunctive, ‘either:or’ pattern of thinking. Such plonking opens the way to false teaching because the grasp of truth is incomplete. The crucial truth comes to us as paradox and in tension which the best training provides the time and space to embrace — with the dignity and depravity in being human as one place to begin.
There is one further simple pleasure in the playground of old: the slide. Climb to the dizzying top, shift the weight
forward and then, at some magical point, it becomes a fun-filled slippery slope. The momentum is so great that it is too difficult to reverse. There is a warning here. This is a picture of gradual compromise. We see it happen in people’s lives over a year or two. We see it in a church’s life over a decade or two. It also happens in the lives of theological colleges — but over a generation or two.Yes, in the case of colleges it happens so slowly that few people notice. Usually it is just those with a swinging view of history and a seesawing understanding of truth who see it happening. For example, what would evangelist Charles Finney think about his Oberlin College today? As a 19 year old I visited Oberlin. Even at that tender age, it was a disturbing and defining experience for me. It took one hundred years, but the slip happened. Yes, it did.
About Me
the art of unpacking
After a childhood in India, a theological training in the USA and a pastoral ministry in Southland (New Zealand), I spent twenty years in theological education in New Zealand — first at Laidlaw College and then at Carey Baptist College, where I served as principal. In 2009 I began working with Langham Partnership and since 2013 I have been the Programme Director (Langham Preaching). Through it all I've cherished the experience of the 'gracious hand of God upon me' and I've relished the opportunity to 'unpack', or exegete, all that I encounter in my walk through life with Jesus.
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