The dark paneled walls of the Seminary’s mansion-turned-classrooms fascinated me as a child. Carved, eerie faces in the stately furniture from the old Horne residence would lock my gaze. White, pearly buttons recessed in the paneling—used to call the butler in another life—beckoned little fingers to push, and push again, in hopes a wall would slide open or a fireplace would turn into a secret compartment. Or perhaps the butler would still come.

In the mid-1970s, President Bruce Willson gave me permission to bring in a posse of my young teen friends to search for secret passageways. We knew the story of the old Horne recluse who holed himself up in the second floor of the mansion and had his food sent up by dumbwaiter. Surely, he was the sort of man who would have a concealed stairway or room. President Willson was very obliging, and permitted us to poke our noses into all the nooks and crannies of the four levels with our flashlights and crawl around inside built-in cupboards. We left dirty and unsatisfied, but strengthened in our convictions that the walls held secrets yet uncovered. Being close to the seminary was a privilege. The students and families that passed through our greater church community while they studied were full of youthful enthusiasm for the cause of Christ. We young adults watched them and wanted to emulate them.

Wise and kindly professors were often on our session. We always had someone to help unravel our deep theological tangles.

Our church worshiped in the seminary for a while. One student used to come down to services in his slippers. We met on metal folding chairs in the chapel, which was a renovation of the old carriage entrance, and during one exciting service a bat joined us very quietly, hanging on the wall until after the benediction.

When the RPCNA treasurer’s office was in the seminary, I would go during the week to visit my father after school. Then, I began to see how the ministry of the seminary went beyond the Reformed Presbyterian Church. Every year the number of students from the Pittsburgh community who came to take a class or two or work on their M.Div. grew.

Years later, when I returned to Pittsburgh to work at the Education & Publication office, the office was housed on the third floor of the seminary. I would walk downstairs mid-morning so I could hear the swell of mostly male voices singing psalms during chapel. Drew and I took some night courses back then. I learned Greek with an Irish accent from Dr. Renwick Wright, had the Old Testament temple and systems drawn in Dr. Clark Copeland’s word pictures, and deepened my knowledge of who God is with Dr. Wayne Spear’s systematic wisdom. We saw firsthand how the professors shepherded and nurtured, not just taught, their students.

This year, the seminary celebrates its 200th anniversary. You will read in this issue how God has blessed our tiny denomination with such a faithful institution. Many of you have been touched by the seminary in some way over the years, whether by your pastor or a firsthand experience, and can say with me, “The lines have fallen to me in pleasant places, yes, I have a good inheritance.”

—Lynne H. Gordon