Our Latin teacher had almost no hair on his head but made up for it with the growth around his chin and neck. He was quite a scholar in ancient languages, often being timetabled to teach Greek but unfortunately nobody had bothered to instruct him in the art of class control, especially when it was a room full of adolescent boys. As a result of his ineptitude as a disciplinarian, most of our classes were a free for all and while the noise level was very high, the learning level was well below average. Sometimes, in an effort to regain some semblance of control, he would enter the room with all guns blazing, but by half way through the period, life would have returned to abnormality and, apart from the occasional raised rant from the front and the occasional attempt at grammar, vocabulary and translation, most of us left with little more knowledge of the Roman language than forty minutes earlier. But not everyone was laughing. For a start, the majority of us was keen to know enough Latin to pass the exam at the end of term. But an even more sinister threat lay directly below our classroom for there resided the senior master, also a well respected Classics teacher and after putting up with the noise from above for several periods, he could ignore it no longer and one day, just after class had begun, the door opened and in walked what would become our greatest nightmare for that whole year. Much to the embarrassment of 'beardy', there then took place a rapid interrogation of the class as to the cause and the culprits of the racket. In the now deathly silence nobody was terribly forthcoming with sufficient explanations, nor was anyone about to witness for the prosecution but we were all immensely sorry first years for the pain and suffering we had afflicted on those in the classroom below, particularly the senior master.
However repentance was never going to be enough. Not for the senior master. Punishment! That was all that would suffice and quench his thirst for blood. Detention! That was what he said. For the whole class. That very afternoon. One hour. No early bus. No mobile to explain why I was going to be late home. I guess we got off light. Other classes had been caned for similar behaviour. Anyway, like all convicted criminals, we did our time. And though the Latin didn't get much better, the term passed with one or two more such hiccups. When the exam results came out, two boys had scored zero in Latin and after a couple of years the bearded one left to seek new pastures, his reputation well beyond repair. But zero never really tells the whole story. Just like in sport when a team or player scores zero, it really gives no indication of the effort that may have been made, despite the scoreline.
This has taught me two things. First, God does not want to punish us for the wrong that we have done but He does expect repentance. Secondly, some people, while truly sorry for their sin, want to reach the goal of God's acceptance through their own efforts and many produce an impressive struggle but their sum reward will be zero because that is not God's chosen way. Jesus says, 'except a man be born again, he cannot enter the kingdom of heaven.' I guess there's nothing else to say.
