Eastern Pentecostal Bible College, in Peterborough, Ontario was my Alma Mater. It was also where I spent almost half of my 50 years of Christian ministry as a prof. At its zenith it was Canada’s largest denominational undergraduate theological institution, with over 800 students on site, through its satellite schools and on-line courses, making it a significant influence in theological education.
Then came a name change, a difference in philosophy and relocation. In recent months, church leadership responsible for district theological education within my denomination, The Pentecostal Assemblies of Canada, announced that for the 4th time in 20 years, this July, the school will relocate once more – no doubt to save itself from extinction.
In the Scriptures, I find it ironic that “People of the Book,” could lose something that stood at the center of their society, yet it happened to Israel, as 2 Kings 22 faithfully records. Shockingly, the priests, whose job was to protect, preserve and proclaim this Word, were themselves responsible for this lost record of God’s gracious covenantal relationship. And it was lost, of all places, in “the house of the Lord” (22:8).
In my reflective moments, I sometimes hope that like Hilkiah of old, who with joy unspeakable reported, “Look, I found the Book of the Law,” prompting a spontaneous, righteous King Josiah to tear his clothes, repent and launch a national reformation in Israel (22:11; 23:1–25) ̶ that such spiritual recovery could happen again. Who knows! In the mean time, this Ode to Eastern Pentecostal Bible College reminds me of a season when it thrived and inspired, before events and egos overtook it. “Only Saying …”
She rose from beginnings small
To plant her flag in common soil
Content to charm the soul and fan to fire
The message of that Prince so dear
Whose call, inspired vows did honor
T’was not beauty that engaged the heart
Nor inspired its youthful legions
Nor drew its hopeful crowds
Nor won the devoted to a task so large
But their Shepherd dear, to whom they owed
Sanctified mission, mingled with love
Birthed in the womb of an honest vision
This child fair, did grow and leap
The mellow fruitfulness of truth and passion
Budding and swelling to rising tunes
Of crushed hall walls, teeming with life and faith
From village deep and country far
Eager to glimpse the Face of God
Love’s covenant bright and fierce
Held in the hands of young ivory hearts
Attentive to their daily ritual
Pressed their face behind the Rock to ‘see’
Such halcyon days of glory and crowns
Equipping, to contend by faith
And un-kill the plagues of hell
Whose theology captures and corrupts
Those were the days
That made God smile
Living testament to truth and duty
And all around the taste of growth and peace inched its way.
For few could speak of greater success
What greater vision shall we climb
Why stumble when we can shine
Yet uncertain storms and forces within
Conjured magic with little pictures of unknowable success
Before the Face of God
And like an Aescopic fable, Dolus took his false disguise
The jewel was marred
The crystal cracked
As dark clouds rushed where lights shone bright
Led by spirits foreign and furtive appetites.
Laying seeds of kryptonite along its future path
Now lying like silent dust
Like rock crushed of its life
Say it is not so
But it is
It was
And … it shall be
For from the human fringe came transcendent banality
Hubris killing the Promethean Promise, they so eagerly foretold
A lingering Sisyphean tragedy
Where history’s palms vanished in the race
And heaven turned away to weep in silence
While David whispered ‘How the mighty have fallen’
All of this - Before the face of God
Today she slumbers, awaiting the sacred assembly
To melt the frozen pond that holds the blessing fast
Awaiting the wise, the noble, the just
So she might stir from her chamber and rise to duty once again
And enlight the fate of ordinary men slipping towards their destiny
Oh, that this once city on a hill
This once pearl of unimaginable worth
That bulged with hosts of resplendent servants
Rushing to arms
Eager to invite the Face of God to earth
Could gather everything good and everything more
Around its sweet gospel feet
And in earnest rebirth lay bare its parched seasons
Haunted fields of graying stubble
That speak of something dipped in trouble
Refresh that visionary glory passed
Provoke the master of the stygian crypt
Rebuke the gusty days of Winter
And feel the gladness that comes with Spring
So that what has been ̶ will be again
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