Carol Bechtel, the executive director of the American Waldensian Society, recently spoke to the General Synod of the Reformed Church in America, which had just voted to bestow on her the title of General Synod Professor Emerita. Waldensians and friends of the Waldensians worldwide will enjoy this transcript of Carol’s remarks.
First, I’m very grateful for this honor and for this invitation to address the synod. I wondered whether I should prepare two different speeches—one for if the synod voted “yes” and one for if they voted “no.” But in the end, I decided one speech would suffice for either situation.
I’d like to share three short stories—all under the heading of “funny/not funny.”
The first story goes back to 2007 when I was one of several candidates nominated for vice president of that synod.
Before the vote, one of my students told me about a conversation that he had overheard between two delegates. One asked the other, “Are you going to vote for that Bechtel woman?” The other replied, “No. She’s too smart!”
See what I mean about funny/not funny? Now, I’d be the first to admit that intelligence itself is no guarantee of wisdom. Ideally, those two traits walk hand in hand. But what does it say about us when we are suspicious of people who are smart? Evidently most of the other delegates didn’t share that suspicion, since they did elect me as their vice president that year and president the year after. But I tell the story to remind us that anti-intellectualism does not serve us well—and it does not serve God well.
The second story is a joke. Actually—it’s my favorite joke.
Two muffins are sitting in the oven. One muffin says to the other muffin, “Whew! Is it me, or is getting really hot in here?”
The second muffin says, “Oh, my gosh! A talking muffin!!!”
I love this joke. I especially love the fact that the second muffin is completely oblivious to the fact that he himself is a talking muffin!
Like the parables, this is one of those stories that gets more profound the more you think about it. I tell it as a way of reminding us of how important it is to think hard—and pray hard—as we set our priorities in the church. Talking muffins are really interesting, but they may not be the most urgent things on our agenda. So, in the months and years ahead, I hope we can discipline ourselves to ask, “Is this a talking muffin issue?” or is this an “It’s getting hot in here issue?” I will not presume to tell you which issues belong in which category, but I am encouraging you to ask the questions. I’ll be praying for you.
My third story is from the Old Testament. (No surprise there!)
In 1 Kings 19, Elijah is seriously depressed. He has good reason to be. Queen Jezebel is trying to kill him. But God sends an angel to nudge Elijah toward the mountain of God.
Now, it’s the holy mountain, so we are primed to expect God to show up with dramatic special effects. But how does God show up in this story? Do you remember? Is God in the earthquake? In the wind? In the fire? No. God is in the sound of a “still, small voice.”
Now, I know that one of the newer translations says God is in the “sound of sheer silence,” but I think that translation is under the influence of Simon and Garfunkel. Ah—some of you didn’t get that cultural reference. That’s a sure sign of my age!
But did you know that the Hebrew actually can be translated as “the sound of a faint whisper”? Not even a whisper, but a faint whisper!
Think about that. God isn’t always in the big, flashy, special effects. Sometimes, God shows up in the sound of a faint whisper!
Now, you may be saying, “That’s cool, Dr. Bechtel. But how is it funny?”
Well, it’s probably not a knee-slapper. But as a teacher, I can’t help but smile in sympathy with God. Because God is the teacher in this story. Elijah is the student—the student who misses the point.
Do you remember what Elijah said when he arrived at the mountain? He complained, “I alone am left.” But then, God the teacher stages a spectacular, elaborate visual aid: first the wind, then the earthquake, then the fire. And finally, the still, small voice.
But does Elijah get the point? No. He says exactly the same thing at the end of the lesson that he said at the beginning. “I alone am left.” He completely misses the point.
What is the point? I think the point for both Elijah and for us is this: Sometimes God chooses to speak through the sound of a still, small voice.
We, like Elijah, may feel alone. And yes, as a denomination, we are much smaller than we used to be. But this story reminds us that God can speak through a still, small voice—even through the sound of a faint whisper.
That’s the word I’d like to leave you with. That’s the word I’d like to encourage you with.
On June 30, after 31 years of teaching Old Testament at Western Theological Seminary, Carol will retire. She will continue, however, to serve as executive director of the American Waldensian Society, which will please AWS members and friends.
