It’s mid-September, 2023, and I am on top of one of San Antonio’s most famous hills. At its crest is Trinity Baptist Church, a sanctuary that towers over its congregation and passersby like a prestigious university. The church’s columns, fountains, and landscaping signal that it is an institution of the highest education. Its steeple points toward the heavens, and its 16 bells resonate over historic neighborhoods from the sanctuary’s chimes.

I’d been attending TBC for a little more than a year. My wife and I became members upon a mutual spiritual awakening. Starting in September of 2022, we attended Sunday service and Bible study, and we came to like the people in the congregation.

Before we knew it, my wife and I were eating supper with our new church friends, visiting their homes, and spending time at the church on service days. I told her in a car ride that I would “remain focused on other priorities and wouldn’t become a total church person.”

And that brings us back to mid-September 2023 when the leaders of our Sunday school class asked if I would be interested in teaching the class. Since we started coming, I got re-baptized. I became the Communion team leader and a greeter, and my wife and I joined the floral team. I began to audit a text and traditions class at a seminary.

I said yes. I would teach.

I had two weeks to prepare for October 8, the first day I would teach. I brainstormed what I would talk about, but I didn’t start serious preparation until the weekend before.

The passage was John 13:12-15. Jesus washes his disciples’ feet, including one who will betray him. One of our pastors selected this passage for a 5-week curriculum on the church’s mission, vision, and promises. The fourth promise, “to grow in service,” is about how the church’s mission goes on the move and how it brings Jesus Christ into the world.

I have a wild background in service. I currently serve on an advisory board for a homeless nonprofit that handles data and funding for the other homeless nonprofits in my county. I donate blood every 8 weeks, with a 16-week break every five donations. I’ve organized a trash pickup at a lake near my house. I’ve served in AmeriCorps. I am a volunteer DJ at a community college radio station. I give commentary for two newspapers. And on and on.

But the point of the class is not to talk about me; it’s about ensuring that I point service toward God and facilitate a discussion with my Sunday school friends—a growing group of 30-50-year-olds who almost all have children.

I studied the verse and looked at the recommended lesson plan from one of our pastors. I made some modifications and tried to prepare as much as possible.

Today, Sunday, October 8, 2023, I felt relaxed and judicious. But when I said, “We are in John, Chapter 13, verses 12-17,” and asked for a volunteer to read, I felt the gravity of the situation in my chest. Pardon the expression, but teaching the Bible is like working with live ammo. Consequences hang over every misfired word.

Teaching a Sunday school class felt like the first time I drove a car, operated a forklift, or steered a tractor and dug holes with it. Suddenly, a world of responsibility and power existed not in front of me but because of me.

And, like the first time I used any large machines, I was awkward at times and graceful at other times. But I did well. I began to get a feel for it.

At the beginning of the class, I taught a little bit and asked questions. As usual, there was silence. But that’s okay. I pointed out the issue with the word servant in the NIV, which is based on the Latin servus, which means slave, and is at odds with Greek doulos, which has many unresolved meanings.

After this dose of scholarship, I got into my element. I pulled up a chair and sat down with the class. I opened the floor to discussion, and a few people opened up. I shared my stories and connected them to the lesson. Some others shared theirs, and I connected the lesson to their experiences. Because I study public policy and administration, I was able to bring up statistics on the decline of volunteering and other civic metrics.

I realized that my value as a teacher is in validating or guiding my students’ shares. I don’t have to have all the answers, but that’s not the goal anyway. Getting things out of our heads, sharing them in front of one another, and then putting those things back into our hearts—these are parts of my teaching philosophy.

My wife told me that my teaching today was the first time she had ever seen me work. She knows about what I do; she has seen where I work (a college writing center and other jobs I’ve had), but today, she saw me in action as a facilitator of good news.

I have much to reflect on after today’s experience. I believe I will be asked again to teach. I look forward to it. Teaching is a striking form of service. It feels like operating heavy machinery more than washing feet, but the sentiment is all the same.