The Seminary Files

My name is Karsten Gottlieb Eichmann. Though raised in Germany’s post-World War II secular—and sometimes directionless—environment, through my parents Providence intervened to steer me toward a life of faith and service. My theological education began at Tübingen College and culminated at the University of Berlin, even as it had for my hero, Dietrich Bonhoeffer. And like Herr Bonhoeffer, I came to the United States to engage in urban ministry. Unlike him, however, I never returned to the Fatherland. Currently I serve as a professor of New Testament studies, religious ethics, and biblical criticism at Lutheran Theological Seminary of Boston.

The excerpts below are from letters written over a twenty-year period to seminary students who trusted me as their spiritual mentor. From informal chats to in-depth counseling sessions, these letters were penned to provide real life answers for real people with real struggles. For the sake of this publication, many students have become one fictional student—Aleksandar Zupancic.

Whether you are a Christian or a non-believer, my hope is that you will see yourself reflected in these letters, and that you can find hope and purpose—though life is indeed fraught with difficulties—in Jesus.


16 September

Dear Aleksandar,

Your visit in my office this past week was a delight and a surprise. A delight, because your insights into the complicated workings of the human heart, mind, and soul always add much to both our classroom and personal discussions. And a surprise, because I never suspected the multi-faceted “dark nights of the soul” that have plagued you since childhood.

Please know that I do not write to you from a perceived position of strength; I am not one who comprehends all problems and knows how to solve them. Rather I write to you from a position of weakness: I am one who knows times of testing; I am one who does poorly in bearing burdens. Further, I am one who understands deceit, pride, rebellion, manipulation, selfishness and anger because all too often they vex my own life. I write to you with the hope that you may learn from my dysfunctions, that you may avoid the subtle pits I sometimes fall into, and that you may gain wisdom through my errors, thereby easing your burdens and sparing yourself future griefs.

So, let’s start at the beginning. The question—“What is the purpose of my life?”—should be asked by all believers. Its corollary question—“What purpose do specific events play in my life?”—should also engage the grey matter of every person who claims to have faith. Only God, of course, knows the answers to both queries. Yet Scripture has much light to shed on the “why” of our existence.

Rest assured: You are neither the result of biological accident nor cosmic mismanagement. You are here on this earth at a specific time, in a specific place, in a specific family, in a specific culture, in a specific country, with a specific personality and appearance, with specific talents, for a specific, God-ordained purpose. The exact details of that purpose are currently a mystery; yet the truths and principles for discovering it are laid out for you in holy writ. Your job is to learn what God has said, to walk in integrity the path He has set before you, and to trust that, in His good time, He will provide what you need to understand when you need to understand it.

28 September

Let me make an observation that I believe applies to you (it certainly applies to me). Often we “creative, artistic, poetic, musical, moody types” are addicted to emotions. In order for us to consider ourselves well and truly alive, we must feel the lofty heights of elation or the subterranean depths of depression. The type of sentiment we entertain is not the issue; feeling something—anything—is. We tend to reason that if we do not feel, then we are all but dead inside.

Emotions are a precious gift from God—they are part of what it means to be His “image bearers.” But be wary of them for their own sake, for they can become harsh taskmasters if we let them control our perception of reality.

Let me illustrate the point. I am a sensitive person; I cry frequently. I cry in part because of my empathetic identification with others’ misfortunes; but I also cry because I practically crave the bittersweet buzz the accompanying emotions produce. Learn to enjoy emotions that enhance your humanity and bless you in ways that mere beasts cannot appreciate. Realize, however, that sometimes a lack of the depth and range of passions is a welcome respite from the overbearing tyranny of the I-must-feel-something-in-order-to-be-alive mentality.

3 October

Another downside for those of us who thrive on feelings is this: often our feelings don’t match up with God’s perspective of reality. “I don’t feel forgiven” may accurately describe our emotional state, but it does not sum up the truth of our standing before God in Christ: He declares us free from sin’s strangulating power by the greater power of His precious blood applied to our hearts.

Perhaps we may lament, “I don't feel worthy of God’s love.” While in one way this is a perfect understanding of truth—who, after all, deserves the benefits of His love?—it denies the clear teaching of Jesus: the Father seeks out the lost and rejoices when He finds them precisely because He does love them. Our worthiness is never the real issue; God’s unfathomable mercy is.

Or sometimes—and here human wickedness is specially evident—the appalling phrase, “I don't feel like it” sums up our feeble attempts to shirk the rigors of an obedient life. Such arrogance! Are God’s eternal laws, statutes, covenants, and commands now negated by our ever-changing whims? No! Are emotions the end-all and be-all of existence? Hardly. Yes, they are essential to healthy human existence in that they add texture and zest to life. But neither highs nor lows nor a reluctance to do what God has clearly commanded accurately encapsulates human existence. Who He says we are, not what we say we are, or what we feel we are, is the supreme reality.

Well, time flees and classes call. Consider my words prayerfully: use what you can; discard the irrelevant. I must mail this short letter now. I look forward to seeing you next week.

Pax vobiscum,

Karstan