Today we resumed our lives in Cornerstone School of Ministry with the advent of the first day of the spring term. Our first class is the Gospels, taught by my man Tom Ewers. It was a fun day with each of us taking a turn telling Tom who we are -- it's his first semester teaching this year and there were a few faces he didn't know -- and when we got saved and a person we respect. It was fun stuff and cool to hear stories of how my brothers and sisters came to know Christ. Then Tom handed out the class syllabus. I perused through it until I got to the bombshell: One of our assignments is to memorize the Sermon on the Mount. Like, the whole thing.
I struggle with remembering my own children's middle names. I can barely remember who's in the Final Four and I watched all the games just a couple of days ago! (Editor's note: Hmmmm. That wouldn't be because of the psychological trauma of losing in the bracket pool to your 7-year-old daughter, would it? Author's rebuttal: Certainly not! I'm waaayyyy bigger than that. Really, I am.) I thumbed through my Bible to see what kind of monumental task I'm in for and whether I should start praying immediately for a miracle of memorization to occur. Oh boy, I thought when I reached the critical passages of Matthew. The Sermon on the Mount comprises three chapters, roughly 110 verses. Oy! Please, I beseech you, pray with me for a miracle.