Work that Lasts

Another day, another set of classified documents found in someone's house or office.  Not just any someone--high ranking officials, world leaders.  Did they not have to go through the same training that I did?

In my last full-time job, I was the campus person designated as the one authorized to be in charge of confidential documents and files, documents and files that needed safekeeping.  As such, I had to go through an annual training from a government agency, and take tests, and be prepared for the surprise inspections that the training assured us we might face.  As a result of that training, I didn't even like to take the confidential stuff out of my office to another spot on campus, much less to my house.  I felt nervous transporting them from campus to campus.

These documents weren't classified, in the sense that documents found in the possession of Trump, Biden, and now Pence, were classified.  No state secrets were in my possession.  I didn't know the identity of spies or special agents.  The information entrusted to me revolved around student records, faculty files, personal information from people applying for jobs, and eventually, the HR records of the whole campus.  I never left files out on my desk, but I also didn't keep them in a locked cabinet.  I should have been sure to lock my office door when I zipped across the hall to the bathroom, but I didn't.  

I felt guilty about this lapse of security.  I'm also fairly sure that after I left, the same care was not taken with the file cabinet of doom that contained so much information.  

Today I'm thinking about yesterday's chapel service and celebratory lunch afterwards, when one of my favorite professors here, the one who taught the Foundations of Preaching class last term, Dr. Veronice Miles was installed as the Mary Elizabeth McGehee Joyce Chair of Preaching.  As the luncheon wound down, various people spoke in tribute (pre-arranged, not spontaneous).  I felt a strange mix of emotions:  so happy to be able to benefit from her teaching and preaching, but also sad that I'm not having the same level of influence.

I write this realizing that she might be sad that she's having a diminishing level of influence.  There are far fewer seminary students now than there would have been when she first came here.  And I write also realizing that influence is probably not the most useful metric.

The truth, as I see it right now, is that most of us will do our work never knowing what will matter to future generations.  Today is the feast day that celebrates the conversion of St. Paul.  

I find it helpful to remember that Paul expected that Christ would return within the lifetime of everyone hearing or reading his words. He wasn't writing guidebooks for the centuries. He would be astonished to realize that we're still reading his letters--much the way that I would be if someone from 2000 years in the future told me that future communities treasured my blog posts or e-mails.

But honestly, if someone told me that my blog posts were treasured centuries into the future, I would be thrilled.