"Are you sure?" Jesus asked.

"Uh-huh." Heads bobbed up and down.

Sarcastically, Thomas piped up, "I understand it, Teach, but, let's be honest. It's a little doubtful, don't you think? I mean, angels and furnaces of fire? Come on, gimme a break. I'll believe it when I see it."

"Be careful what you wish for, Thomas," Jesus said. "What about the rest of you?" He looked at Thaddaeus and Bartholomew. Those two never said anything. Were they really smart and attentive or just zoned out? "There'll be a test on it later on, you know." Andrew and James' grins turned to grimaces and they dropped their cards.

Simon Peter looked nervously at Matthew, who was writing everything down, and whispered, a bit loudly, "Psst. Matt…Hey, Matt! Can I borrow your notes?"

"Anything the matter, Peter?" Jesus asked.

"Oh, no, Teacher. It was a good lecture. But I think I missed that part about the pearl. What does the Merchant do with it again?"

"Oooh, oooh, pick me, pick me!" It was John, the student Jesus loved, a.k.a. the "Teacher's Pet," flailing his arm in the air, looking like he was sitting on a tack. His brother James rolled his eyes.

Jesus smiled. "Yes, Johnny?"

John sat bolt upright and recited "The merchant upon finding a pearl of 'great value' sells all that he has and buys it. And that's what the Kingdom of Heaven is like."

"Very good."

"It's also like a net that was thrown into the sea and caught fish of every kind, and when it was full…" "Yes. Thank you, Johnny, but Pete just asked about the pearl. What? You have more to say?"

"No, it's just that I was wondering if I could stay after class and help you pound the erasers."

Suddenly there was a groan, "Oh, Brother, you've got to be joking! I wouldn't stay after class even if you paid me thirty pieces of silver!"

"Ah, Judas, so glad you decided to join us. Can you tell us what you got out of my lesson today?"

"Fire, fire!" Judas laughed, holding up his notebook. On it was drawn men and women in flames, weeping and gnashing their teeth. "Heh, heh. I liked that part. It was cool."

"Well…yes, Judas, but that wasn't exactly the point, now, was it?"

"It was to me."

Jesus sighed. "It's going to be a long year," he thought.

Being a teacher isn't easy. No matter how hard we try to convey the rewards and consequences of life's lessons, there will always be those who don't pay attention, those who don't understand, and those who just don't care. Even our most eager students can be a bit trying at times. But we're called to love them all. Like Paul and Apollos, we're called to plant and water, trusting that God will give the growth.

Paul uses the metaphor of a master builder who lays a foundation, but says "Each builder must choose with care how to build on it." The foundation, Jesus Christ, has already been laid, but it is up to us to plan carefully what materials we will use. A building is only as strong as the materials with which it is built. Shoddy materials lead to early decay, and eventually, to collapse.

But as educators within the Episcopal tradition, we have access to a wealth of solid material from which to draw. While these materials include the explicitly Christian, they also include more implicit norms, such as living lives of faithfulness and integrity. These norms must be internalized before they can be demonstrated externally. To this end, the author of the Old Testament book of Proverbs advises us to "Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not rely on your own insight. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths."

In meditating upon these words of wisdom, I noticed that the author doesn't assume our paths are already straight, or that we can, of our own accord, make them so. Rather, the key to a life of faithfulness and integrity is to let go of our own insight and "trust in the Lord with all your heart." Such trusting requires a special sort of humility that isn't easy to come by, particularly when you find yourself the Queen or King of your own little fiefdom-the classroom-a sometimes rebellious one, to be sure, but one over which we have been given a degree of control that when you think about it, is rather more authority than is usually accorded to many "authority figures" in our society today.

It is sometimes difficult for powerful people to maintain their humility. And make no mistake: we who teach are powerful people, perhaps not by the worldly measurements of bank accounts and real estate, but by the impact that we inevitably have on those who pass through our classrooms. To prove this point is but a simple thing: if you were to make a mental list right now of the adults in your childhood who most cared for you, or, conversely, injured you, I would be shocked if even one of us did not have at least one teacher on that list.

And so it is that when we consider who we are and what task we have been given, it is necessarily a humbling reflection-even, I imagine, for those who have taught for many, many years. The good news is that scripture does not leave us to our own devices. For we have been given a precious opportunity this morning to take a moment to stop, to reflect, to give thanks, and to be fed for the journey we are about to undertake together. In gathering for prayer and praise, in receiving the body and blood, we have recourse to Jesus the Teacher, who asks a simple but humbling question: "Have you understood all this?"