This afternoon I finally got around to decorating for Christmas. I pulled my Christmas tree out of its place in storage, along with the boxes of ornaments and nativity sets, and set about putting them up.
I love decorating the Christmas tree. There are people who organize their tree decorations according to color scheme, but I am not one of those people. My tree is a mishmash of ornaments of different ages, colors, styles, sizes, and materials. There are little wood figurines next to ceramic spheres, tinfoil symbols next to plastic churches, paper snowflakes next to sparkly pipecleaner shapes. But each one has a story. The tree, with all of the ornaments on it, is like a collection of short stories, since each ornament comes with its own narrative, a snippet of my life and history. And almost all of the ornaments remind me of people.
I was the only person decorating my tree this evening, but I was not alone. As I put up the miniature wooden sled and the puzzle-style Santa face, I thought of Harold, now-deceased neighbor who taught me to do jigsaw puzzles and who carved those ornaments. As I put up the Hallmark ornaments from the 90s, I remembered my parents giving me each of them to commemorate another Christmas celebration. As I put up the tinfoil and pipecleaner ornaments, I thought of my seminary friends, and the evening we spent together making decorations for my bare, Charlie Brown-like Christmas tree in Atlanta. There are ornaments on the tree from my sister, from my high school friends, from my elementary school teachers, from vacations I've taken. There are ornaments donated to me by the friends and kind church folks who heard that I didn't have enough ornaments for the 7.5-foot tall tree I purchased last year.
Here, decorating my tree this evening, I was surrounded by the communion of saints, or at least some of them. These are people from all over the country, and even the world, who are helping others to live and grow in faith. They have sung praises to God with their hands and their gifts, and you can see it in these symbols, these ornaments on the tree. You can argue that buying Christmas trees and ornaments is a sign of the commercialization of Christmas if you want. But on my tree I see songs of praise and signs of love, most of them inexpensive and handmade, but more beautiful, in my sight, than any matching ornaments could be.
Showing posts with label seminary. Show all posts
Showing posts with label seminary. Show all posts
Saturday, December 04, 2010
Thursday, July 01, 2010
I Have Learned
A few days ago, as I was sharing ice cream cake with several coworkers in our lunchroom to celebrate my one-year anniversary at this church, someone asked me to name five things I've learned this year. All at once hundreds of experiences went racing through my mind, moving so fast that I couldn't even distinguish most of them amidst the blur that whipped past my neurons. But, after giving it some thought, I picked out these few:
1) Funerals are harder than I thought, and weddings are easier.
As a bridesmaid, I have learned that weddings are complicated affairs, with tons and tons of details to take care of. But, as a pastor, weddings are relatively easy. In part, that's because weddings have coordinators: people who are in charge of all of the details so that the pastor doesn't have to worry about them. Whereas I have to help facilitate the receptions following memorial services, I have no part in planning wedding receptions. And since we require people to use wedding coordinators, I don't have to worry about the details of the procession or the recession or the flowers or anything else. I get to chill with the groom and groomsmen while someone else takes care of all of the minutiae. Not to mention that, since weddings tend to be occasions for joy and celebration, most of the people there are going to be happy no matter what I do.
Funerals, on the other hand, are tougher than I thought they'd be. Like weddings, most of the liturgy for funerals is provided by the Book of Worship. But funerals almost always involve some sort of sermon that speaks both of God's grace and of the life of the deceased. And sitting with grieving families, seeing the heartbreak in their eyes and hearing their voices crack with emotion as they speak about their loved ones... it breaks my heart even when I've never met the deceased. When the deceased is someone I know, it's even tougher. Trying to hold it together, setting my own grief aside even while watching the tears streaming down the faces of family and friends is one of the hardest things I have to do as a pastor.
2) When you least expect it, when you're at your lowest, God shows up.
I've preached what I thought were my worst sermons so far, but people have approached afterward and talked about how the sermon touched their hearts or spoke to where they are in their lives. On the mornings when I feel most frazzled, when my nerves are at their worst, God sends a bit of peace through the notes of the prelude or a smile from someone in the congregation, and I calm down. And when I'm having a really stressful day and my to-do list is longer than my arm, a text message from a friend or a kind word from a co-worker makes the day seem more manageable.
3) Dr. Frank was right.
Dr. Tom Frank always talked about how a congregation's history becomes a part of its DNA. He explained that you cannot understand a congregation until you know its past, its stories. He said to ask as many questions as you could and to pay attention to what stories they tell and what incidents in their past they refuse to talk about. In my first year in this congregation I have learned that he was absolutely right. Every congregation has tales, things they're proud of, moments that define the personality of the congregation. And every congregation has nightmare stories, its fissures, and the broken places that the congregation still mourns years later. But both the good and bad endure, shaping how the church functions decades later. And thanks to Dr. Frank's wisdom, I watched where I stepped and stayed mostly out of the doghouse.
4) Burnout is serious stuff.
I've only been doing this for a year, and there were still moments when I wasn't sure I could keep up the pace of pastoral ministry. When seminaries and conferences and boards of ordained ministry tell new pastors to take sabbath and keep in touch with clergy colleagues, they are NOT KIDDING. Probably the best advice I got going into ministry, and I heard it in all sorts of places, is to draw boundaries, to maintain them, and to actually take your sabbath. When I don't take enough time away to read, study, and be around other people, I don't have the energy to write good liturgy, the presence of mind to provide good pastoral care, or the creativity to preach good sermons. I lose my perspective and start to think that what I do is about me. But when I get away from it, I remember that it's about God, and as much as my effort helps, it was never about what I could do. I couldn't have gotten through this year without drawing some intentional boundaries, taking some time away, and having the help and good counsel of friends in ministry.
5) I was better prepared than I thought.
I knew that I had gone to one of the best theology schools in the country. I knew that, academically, I was very well prepared for ministry. But my practical experience was limited. I had preached fewer than ten sermons before I started in full-time ministry. I had only been to a few weddings and had never actually attended a funeral service. But I discovered, once I got into the church, that I was better prepared than I knew. My coursework prepared me well to teach classes, design and lead worship, and preach. My experiences through Contextual Education gave me really good preparation for leading committee meetings and overseeing administrative details. Plus, my travels and other work experiences gave me much better preparation than I realized. Who knew that being a radio DJ and doing home repair would give me skills I'd use in the church? It seems that God was working ahead of me in ways that I could not have foreseen or understood at the time. Oh, how I love prevenient grace!
1) Funerals are harder than I thought, and weddings are easier.
As a bridesmaid, I have learned that weddings are complicated affairs, with tons and tons of details to take care of. But, as a pastor, weddings are relatively easy. In part, that's because weddings have coordinators: people who are in charge of all of the details so that the pastor doesn't have to worry about them. Whereas I have to help facilitate the receptions following memorial services, I have no part in planning wedding receptions. And since we require people to use wedding coordinators, I don't have to worry about the details of the procession or the recession or the flowers or anything else. I get to chill with the groom and groomsmen while someone else takes care of all of the minutiae. Not to mention that, since weddings tend to be occasions for joy and celebration, most of the people there are going to be happy no matter what I do.
Funerals, on the other hand, are tougher than I thought they'd be. Like weddings, most of the liturgy for funerals is provided by the Book of Worship. But funerals almost always involve some sort of sermon that speaks both of God's grace and of the life of the deceased. And sitting with grieving families, seeing the heartbreak in their eyes and hearing their voices crack with emotion as they speak about their loved ones... it breaks my heart even when I've never met the deceased. When the deceased is someone I know, it's even tougher. Trying to hold it together, setting my own grief aside even while watching the tears streaming down the faces of family and friends is one of the hardest things I have to do as a pastor.
2) When you least expect it, when you're at your lowest, God shows up.
I've preached what I thought were my worst sermons so far, but people have approached afterward and talked about how the sermon touched their hearts or spoke to where they are in their lives. On the mornings when I feel most frazzled, when my nerves are at their worst, God sends a bit of peace through the notes of the prelude or a smile from someone in the congregation, and I calm down. And when I'm having a really stressful day and my to-do list is longer than my arm, a text message from a friend or a kind word from a co-worker makes the day seem more manageable.
3) Dr. Frank was right.
Dr. Tom Frank always talked about how a congregation's history becomes a part of its DNA. He explained that you cannot understand a congregation until you know its past, its stories. He said to ask as many questions as you could and to pay attention to what stories they tell and what incidents in their past they refuse to talk about. In my first year in this congregation I have learned that he was absolutely right. Every congregation has tales, things they're proud of, moments that define the personality of the congregation. And every congregation has nightmare stories, its fissures, and the broken places that the congregation still mourns years later. But both the good and bad endure, shaping how the church functions decades later. And thanks to Dr. Frank's wisdom, I watched where I stepped and stayed mostly out of the doghouse.
4) Burnout is serious stuff.
I've only been doing this for a year, and there were still moments when I wasn't sure I could keep up the pace of pastoral ministry. When seminaries and conferences and boards of ordained ministry tell new pastors to take sabbath and keep in touch with clergy colleagues, they are NOT KIDDING. Probably the best advice I got going into ministry, and I heard it in all sorts of places, is to draw boundaries, to maintain them, and to actually take your sabbath. When I don't take enough time away to read, study, and be around other people, I don't have the energy to write good liturgy, the presence of mind to provide good pastoral care, or the creativity to preach good sermons. I lose my perspective and start to think that what I do is about me. But when I get away from it, I remember that it's about God, and as much as my effort helps, it was never about what I could do. I couldn't have gotten through this year without drawing some intentional boundaries, taking some time away, and having the help and good counsel of friends in ministry.
5) I was better prepared than I thought.
I knew that I had gone to one of the best theology schools in the country. I knew that, academically, I was very well prepared for ministry. But my practical experience was limited. I had preached fewer than ten sermons before I started in full-time ministry. I had only been to a few weddings and had never actually attended a funeral service. But I discovered, once I got into the church, that I was better prepared than I knew. My coursework prepared me well to teach classes, design and lead worship, and preach. My experiences through Contextual Education gave me really good preparation for leading committee meetings and overseeing administrative details. Plus, my travels and other work experiences gave me much better preparation than I realized. Who knew that being a radio DJ and doing home repair would give me skills I'd use in the church? It seems that God was working ahead of me in ways that I could not have foreseen or understood at the time. Oh, how I love prevenient grace!
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Wedding Liturgy
Last weekend I had the opportunity to be witness to the marriage of two of my close friends. Both the bride and the groom were my seminary classmates, people with whom I had shared late night theological discussions, study sessions, and celebrations. They are both intelligent, wise, funny, and dedicated to serving God. They had specially designed their wedding service with hymns about the love of God, Old Testament and New Testament readings, and communion. I have watched their relationship from the beginning, and I really believe that being together strengthens and builds up both of them, so that they are not only more in love with each other, but also more able to love God. And their first act after saying their wedding vows was to take the bread and the cup, serve one another communion, and then serve the body and blood of Christ to their closest family and friends. Standing there in the midst of that love, observing the beauty of a covenant made in love, even my tough heart almost succumbed to tears of joy.
It wasn't the only time of the weekend when I nearly cried, but the other times had less to do with beauty and more to do with the absolute hilarity that ensues when my friends get together. The wedding brought together almost all of my closest friends from seminary, and we lived up every minute together. We talked, joked, and laughed until our abdominal muscles were sore and tears streamed down our faces. It reminded me, yet again, that I have been incredibly blessed to have been brought together with these people. Who else could give a toast that was so laden with double-entendres that the groom laughed himself to tears? Who else could make spending six hours in an airport into a thoroughly enjoyable experience? Who else could make someplace as strange as the "Heart of Texas Motel" seem like home? I love these people.
It wasn't the only time of the weekend when I nearly cried, but the other times had less to do with beauty and more to do with the absolute hilarity that ensues when my friends get together. The wedding brought together almost all of my closest friends from seminary, and we lived up every minute together. We talked, joked, and laughed until our abdominal muscles were sore and tears streamed down our faces. It reminded me, yet again, that I have been incredibly blessed to have been brought together with these people. Who else could give a toast that was so laden with double-entendres that the groom laughed himself to tears? Who else could make spending six hours in an airport into a thoroughly enjoyable experience? Who else could make someplace as strange as the "Heart of Texas Motel" seem like home? I love these people.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Here I Am
I went to the beach this week with several of my seminary classmates. For several days, we read on the beach, swam in the Atlantic, swam in the pool, lounged in the hot tub, laughed, cooked, and played Wii. In the midst of that relaxation, we also shared a simple worship service. We read Scripture, prayed, sang hymns, and shared a love feast. As we broke bread together, I looked into the faces of people who have shaped my life and my faith for the last three years. I looked at the empty spaces around the table and thought of my other friends from seminary, those who have already moved away and those who could not join us this week, and thought of the ways that those missing have influenced my life as well.
As we sang "Here I Am, Lord," I was struck by the power of the moment. For three years I have been surrounded by people who are, without a doubt, called by God to serve in powerful ways. And they have answered that call with courage and commitment. They have pursued education to equip them for service, and they have sought opportunities to serve where they felt the Spirit leading them. They have been blessed with skills and talents that I know will enable them to do incredible things, and they are going forth to use those blessings with passion and wisdom. I am honored to know them and be able to call them my friends.
When God called, we replied, "Here I am. Send me." Now we go where God leads us.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Sending Forth
Today was the sending forth service at my seminary. We gathered in the chapel to worship together one last time. I sat in the chapel, listening to the words and music echoing through the space, surrounded by a beautiful cloud of witnesses. My parents sat by my side, and I looked around the room at the faces of the students and professors who have touched my life for the last three years. I am thankful for them.
I served communion for the service, so I got to wear a robe and share the body of Christ with my friends. One of my favorite professors, a man who has inspired, challenged, and guided me in incredible ways over the last three years, came up to receive the sacrament, and I almost cried as I held out the chalice to him. I almost cried when my several of my friends came up and hugged me after receiving. But then my father, a devout Catholic who never takes communion in Protestant services, came up to allow me to serve him communion, and my composure cracked. As I looked into my father's eyes and held the chalice out to him, as I glanced at my mother's tear-streaked face while she watched our interchange, the tears began to flow. And in that moment, it finally started feeling real. The fact that I'm graduating, leaving my beloved seminary community, and becoming a pastor finally began to click. It was a powerful moment of connection, of family, community, and faith. As my parents laid hands on me and the dean spoke a blessing over the graduates, suddenly I felt the power of being sent forth into the world to serve. I really hope I'm up to the challenge. God, give me strength.
I served communion for the service, so I got to wear a robe and share the body of Christ with my friends. One of my favorite professors, a man who has inspired, challenged, and guided me in incredible ways over the last three years, came up to receive the sacrament, and I almost cried as I held out the chalice to him. I almost cried when my several of my friends came up and hugged me after receiving. But then my father, a devout Catholic who never takes communion in Protestant services, came up to allow me to serve him communion, and my composure cracked. As I looked into my father's eyes and held the chalice out to him, as I glanced at my mother's tear-streaked face while she watched our interchange, the tears began to flow. And in that moment, it finally started feeling real. The fact that I'm graduating, leaving my beloved seminary community, and becoming a pastor finally began to click. It was a powerful moment of connection, of family, community, and faith. As my parents laid hands on me and the dean spoke a blessing over the graduates, suddenly I felt the power of being sent forth into the world to serve. I really hope I'm up to the challenge. God, give me strength.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Completely Classless
Me: I went to my last class today. I mean, my last class possibly EVER. It's weird.
Dad: So, you're classless?
Me: Yes. I'm totally classless. I have no class.
Dad: Wow.
For the first time in my memory, there are not classes on the horizon. After two decades of education, I'm done with going to classes. I'm done with lectures, group presentations, discussion groups, colloquies, and seminar groups. I'm done taking notes, cramming, and taking exams. And, to tell you the truth, I'm not really excited about that fact. Sure, there's relief at not having to worry about attendance points or participation grades. But I love school. I love learning and discussing ideas. And I love the academic setting of growing with classmates and being guided by teachers and professors. I love being in a place where the main purpose of the work is sharing ideas. I will miss those things. I'm tired of worrying about grades and assignments, but I'm going to miss learning in a classroom context.
At this point, leaving the school community and my friends is too surreal to contemplate. For now, I'll just keep humming, "School's out for summer. School's out forever..."
Dad: So, you're classless?
Me: Yes. I'm totally classless. I have no class.
Dad: Wow.
For the first time in my memory, there are not classes on the horizon. After two decades of education, I'm done with going to classes. I'm done with lectures, group presentations, discussion groups, colloquies, and seminar groups. I'm done taking notes, cramming, and taking exams. And, to tell you the truth, I'm not really excited about that fact. Sure, there's relief at not having to worry about attendance points or participation grades. But I love school. I love learning and discussing ideas. And I love the academic setting of growing with classmates and being guided by teachers and professors. I love being in a place where the main purpose of the work is sharing ideas. I will miss those things. I'm tired of worrying about grades and assignments, but I'm going to miss learning in a classroom context.
At this point, leaving the school community and my friends is too surreal to contemplate. For now, I'll just keep humming, "School's out for summer. School's out forever..."
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
Beginning of the End
Papers, books, TV shows, and movies all have specific beginning and ending points. Life is not quite so well defined. The end of my term in seminary is nearing its end, but the endings are already beginning. On Friday, I went to the last Student Council meeting under the current administration. I watched my classmates hand over their posts of leadership and representation to the newly-elected folks. I represented my fellow third-years for the last time. And somewhere in my guts, I felt the familiar farewell sensation beginning to build. Suddenly, I have the urge to take my camera with me wherever I go, just in case I need to capture the last time that *insert significant event here* happens. The last girls' breakfast, the last Thursday night out, the last church choir practice, the last lunch in the student commons... I don't know when these events will occur, and I'm afraid that one day I'll realize that the last one is already over and I somehow didn't capture the memory well enough.
Some of the farewells are exciting. For instance, on Sunday afternoon, I sent in my thesis for grading. It was an exciting moment, a farewell to a large project and bit of stress. But some of the farewells are so frightening, so sad, that I'm dreading them already, even though they are at least a month away. I don't even want to think about the last time I'll drop by friends' apartments, the last time we all eat together or play games. And, strange as this may seem, I don't want to go to my last class ever. It's utterly bizarre to imagine the day after I finish my last class; I can't fathom a moment when I'm not anticipating another class, another semester. I've been in school for twenty years...I'm not going to know what to do when I no longer have to worry about classes and papers.
I'm trying to mentally prepare for the endings without becoming so focused on the finality of them that I no longer just enjoy them for the moments that they are. I'm trying to look forward to the future, but that's a bit difficult when I still don't know what that future will look like. (Waiting for an appointment is rough that way.) This, perhaps, is why we need rituals so much. We need the demarcation to distinguish between the past and the future. We need a time of communal recognition to say, "That was then, this is now." But how do you ritualize parting when the departures aren't synchronized? I feel a bit like an iceberg, like bits and pieces of my life as I know it are breaking off and floating away. I suppose that's the danger of long, lingering goodbyes.
But life really happens in the liminal spaces. It's in the in-between moments that we learn to cherish one another, to recognize the beauty and value in things we used to think were ordinary. We learn to live the moments-not-taken-for-granted. Too bad it's all tinged with goodbye.
Some of the farewells are exciting. For instance, on Sunday afternoon, I sent in my thesis for grading. It was an exciting moment, a farewell to a large project and bit of stress. But some of the farewells are so frightening, so sad, that I'm dreading them already, even though they are at least a month away. I don't even want to think about the last time I'll drop by friends' apartments, the last time we all eat together or play games. And, strange as this may seem, I don't want to go to my last class ever. It's utterly bizarre to imagine the day after I finish my last class; I can't fathom a moment when I'm not anticipating another class, another semester. I've been in school for twenty years...I'm not going to know what to do when I no longer have to worry about classes and papers.
I'm trying to mentally prepare for the endings without becoming so focused on the finality of them that I no longer just enjoy them for the moments that they are. I'm trying to look forward to the future, but that's a bit difficult when I still don't know what that future will look like. (Waiting for an appointment is rough that way.) This, perhaps, is why we need rituals so much. We need the demarcation to distinguish between the past and the future. We need a time of communal recognition to say, "That was then, this is now." But how do you ritualize parting when the departures aren't synchronized? I feel a bit like an iceberg, like bits and pieces of my life as I know it are breaking off and floating away. I suppose that's the danger of long, lingering goodbyes.
But life really happens in the liminal spaces. It's in the in-between moments that we learn to cherish one another, to recognize the beauty and value in things we used to think were ordinary. We learn to live the moments-not-taken-for-granted. Too bad it's all tinged with goodbye.
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
Borrowed Wisdom
I have been devoting whatever intelligence and good writing I've been able to muster lately to trying to finish my thesis. (Today I reached the minimum requirement of sixty pages, which, when you print it out, looks and feels really impressive.) As a result, I have very little of good substance to say. Instead, I'll share with you three pieces of great wisdom that I have picked up in my classes in the last couple of weeks:
1) "Living in Boston, there were a whole lot of times that I shoveled six inches of partly cloudy."
-Rex Matthews
2) "An amateur is someone who doesn't know what can't be done, so he does it."
-John August Swanson
3) "God did not call an outfit. God called you and who you are."
-Theresa Fry Brown
1) "Living in Boston, there were a whole lot of times that I shoveled six inches of partly cloudy."
-Rex Matthews
2) "An amateur is someone who doesn't know what can't be done, so he does it."
-John August Swanson
3) "God did not call an outfit. God called you and who you are."
-Theresa Fry Brown
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Dating Nightmare
I was sitting in my favorite coffee shop today, and I heard the people in the next booth have the following dialogue:
1: "So, is she attractive?"
2: "Yeah."
1: "So what's the problem?"
2: "Well... she goes to seminary school."
1: "Oh. Enough said. Seriously?"
2: "Yeah. I mean, she seems really sweet and really cool. But I don't buy that Christianity thing. I mean, I'm really interested in it."
1: "But you can't date her just because you're interested in Christianity. I mean, I'm interested in disco, but that doesn't mean I'm going to date my disco dancing instructor. I mean, is she going to be a preacher?"
2: "No, she's just studying Christianity, she's not going to be a pastor."
1: "Oh. But still!"
2: "Right. Well, I mean, she's really sweet and I like her."
1: "But clearly it won't work."
2: "Obviously. So, I'll just break her heart and break her faith. (laughs)"
It was at this point that person #2 stood up and started getting ready to leave. Despite my attempts to demonstrate restraint, I just couldn't resist this one. So, I spoke up:
L: "Out of curiosity, which seminary does she go to?"
1: "Oh, watch, this is her friend, and now you're really in trouble."
L: "No, no. I'm just curious because I'm in seminary."
2: "That one in Decatur. I don't remember the name."
L: "Columbia?"
2: "Yeah, that's it. It's not that I don't respect Christianity. I do. I just don't buy it..." And he proceeded to explain that, based on the grammar of Elohim, he thinks that Christianity is misreading its own sacred texts to embrace monotheism when, in reality, the texts imply multiple divinities. Then he beat a hasty retreat.
In all reality, this is the sort of conversation and reaction that I usually get when I tell people that I'm in seminary. The usual responses are:
a) Oh, so you're going to be a pastor? Right. *silence* Well, I've got to go...
b) I go to church sometimes... *guilty look* I was raised Presbyterian/Catholic/Methodist/Episcopal. *awkward silence* Oh, I think that my friends just walked in...
c) How can you believe that stuff? I think... (Insert theological treatise here)
It's a real conversation killer. And I'm a little nervous that introducing myself as a pastor might actually get worse responses. I may never date again.
1: "So, is she attractive?"
2: "Yeah."
1: "So what's the problem?"
2: "Well... she goes to seminary school."
1: "Oh. Enough said. Seriously?"
2: "Yeah. I mean, she seems really sweet and really cool. But I don't buy that Christianity thing. I mean, I'm really interested in it."
1: "But you can't date her just because you're interested in Christianity. I mean, I'm interested in disco, but that doesn't mean I'm going to date my disco dancing instructor. I mean, is she going to be a preacher?"
2: "No, she's just studying Christianity, she's not going to be a pastor."
1: "Oh. But still!"
2: "Right. Well, I mean, she's really sweet and I like her."
1: "But clearly it won't work."
2: "Obviously. So, I'll just break her heart and break her faith. (laughs)"
It was at this point that person #2 stood up and started getting ready to leave. Despite my attempts to demonstrate restraint, I just couldn't resist this one. So, I spoke up:
L: "Out of curiosity, which seminary does she go to?"
1: "Oh, watch, this is her friend, and now you're really in trouble."
L: "No, no. I'm just curious because I'm in seminary."
2: "That one in Decatur. I don't remember the name."
L: "Columbia?"
2: "Yeah, that's it. It's not that I don't respect Christianity. I do. I just don't buy it..." And he proceeded to explain that, based on the grammar of Elohim, he thinks that Christianity is misreading its own sacred texts to embrace monotheism when, in reality, the texts imply multiple divinities. Then he beat a hasty retreat.
In all reality, this is the sort of conversation and reaction that I usually get when I tell people that I'm in seminary. The usual responses are:
a) Oh, so you're going to be a pastor? Right. *silence* Well, I've got to go...
b) I go to church sometimes... *guilty look* I was raised Presbyterian/Catholic/Methodist/Episcopal. *awkward silence* Oh, I think that my friends just walked in...
c) How can you believe that stuff? I think... (Insert theological treatise here)
It's a real conversation killer. And I'm a little nervous that introducing myself as a pastor might actually get worse responses. I may never date again.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Con Ed I
On my first day of seminary orientation, I gathered in a classroom with ten other first-year students and a new professor for a brief discussion of the expectations for "contextual education", a program that combines practical ministry experience with group reflection. I didn't know any of the other students there, and I was more than a little nervous. I had heard that Con Ed was often unpleasant and unpopular, fillwed with difficult work, personality clashes, and useless "reflection". My experience, however, was the opposite.
The point of the program was to give us preparation for ministry through practical experience. It did, I guess, but the main purpose it served for me was to introduce me to the people in the class, people I now treasure. Over the course of that first year, our group met once a week for two hours. We discussed our classes, our lives, our work at the hospital, and our other ministry experiences. We spent time together outside that class, celebrating weekends and studying for exams in other classes. We commiserated about tough experiences at the hospital, from discussions about theodicy to sexual harassment by patients. We shared snacks, Capri-Sun, and ourselves. Many of the people in that Con Ed class became my friends. We've supported each other through weddings, break-ups, job searches, and other classes. I looked forward to seeing them on campus and I learned from their insights. I've loved watching them grow theologically and personally through three years of study and ministry.
Last night we met again for supper to reflect on our three years of seminary and to talk about moving on after graduation. Over pizza, we told stories about how we'd been scared, frustrated, and fulfilled by our work at the hospital. We shared complaints and joys about the school we attend. But most of all, we laughed and shared again in the community we had built together in that group. Several students mentioned that they now use gender-inclusive language because of the influence the professor and I had on them. (I'm so pleased!) Others mentioned that it was the skills learned in that group and in other classes taught by that professor that had helped them in their ministry since that time.
As I looked around the table, I marveled at how much we have all grown over these three years. Through challenging each other, we have all gained new theological insights and perspectives on understanding the world around us. In a few weeks, we'll all finish school and go in our separate directions. Even our professor, one of the best professors I've encountered in seven years of higher education, is going on to new and different things. But we will be different, and better, for having known each other.
The point of the program was to give us preparation for ministry through practical experience. It did, I guess, but the main purpose it served for me was to introduce me to the people in the class, people I now treasure. Over the course of that first year, our group met once a week for two hours. We discussed our classes, our lives, our work at the hospital, and our other ministry experiences. We spent time together outside that class, celebrating weekends and studying for exams in other classes. We commiserated about tough experiences at the hospital, from discussions about theodicy to sexual harassment by patients. We shared snacks, Capri-Sun, and ourselves. Many of the people in that Con Ed class became my friends. We've supported each other through weddings, break-ups, job searches, and other classes. I looked forward to seeing them on campus and I learned from their insights. I've loved watching them grow theologically and personally through three years of study and ministry.
Last night we met again for supper to reflect on our three years of seminary and to talk about moving on after graduation. Over pizza, we told stories about how we'd been scared, frustrated, and fulfilled by our work at the hospital. We shared complaints and joys about the school we attend. But most of all, we laughed and shared again in the community we had built together in that group. Several students mentioned that they now use gender-inclusive language because of the influence the professor and I had on them. (I'm so pleased!) Others mentioned that it was the skills learned in that group and in other classes taught by that professor that had helped them in their ministry since that time.
As I looked around the table, I marveled at how much we have all grown over these three years. Through challenging each other, we have all gained new theological insights and perspectives on understanding the world around us. In a few weeks, we'll all finish school and go in our separate directions. Even our professor, one of the best professors I've encountered in seven years of higher education, is going on to new and different things. But we will be different, and better, for having known each other.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Study Gimmick
I am writing a thesis, it is due in 20 days, and I have 42 pages to go, plus editing. This is putting a bit of a crunch on things, and I'm struggling to find new ways to get focused on writing.
This dire situation has forced me to give in and break out the thinking cap:
For the record, yes, I have worn the hat in public. I wore it to my favorite coffee shop and no one commented on it. I guess I'm not the only one who refrains from saying things about my observations...
This dire situation has forced me to give in and break out the thinking cap:
For the record, yes, I have worn the hat in public. I wore it to my favorite coffee shop and no one commented on it. I guess I'm not the only one who refrains from saying things about my observations...
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
Newbies
My school is hosting finalists for its biggest scholarships this week, so chapel was full of strange faces today. As I looked at the potential students in their suits and heels, with traces of nervousness in their eyes, I felt a pang of jealousy. Not, obviously, jealous for their interviews, but because they have so much to look forward to! They have three years of community, deep conversations, engaging lectures, and moving worship services ahead of them. They will be absorbing wisdom from complex texts and brilliant professors. They'll be laughing and joking in the Commons and debating theology over drinks late into the night. They'll have transformative, existential crises in the wee hours of the morning and share semi-coherent online chats with fellow procrastinators. They'll have Halloween parties, bowling parties, girls' or guys' nights out, and Spring Banquets.
Of course, they don't know that yet. Right now they're struggling with difficult decisions and anxiety-inducing interviews. But great things are coming. And I won't be here to share that with them.
They're our replacements. They'll take our places in classrooms and chapel, in the courtyard and in the commons. Their energy and enthusiasm will replace our weary senioritis. I hope that we've prepared a place for them, and made the school even better for their experience. But mostly, I hope they enjoy it and find their time here as fulfilling as mine has been.
And, selfishly, I hope that somewhere in my conference, someone is thinking the same thing about my commissioning class as we prepare to take our place as the next generation in the conference.
Of course, they don't know that yet. Right now they're struggling with difficult decisions and anxiety-inducing interviews. But great things are coming. And I won't be here to share that with them.
They're our replacements. They'll take our places in classrooms and chapel, in the courtyard and in the commons. Their energy and enthusiasm will replace our weary senioritis. I hope that we've prepared a place for them, and made the school even better for their experience. But mostly, I hope they enjoy it and find their time here as fulfilling as mine has been.
And, selfishly, I hope that somewhere in my conference, someone is thinking the same thing about my commissioning class as we prepare to take our place as the next generation in the conference.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
I Think Because I Thought
Today is the first Saturday of 2009 that I have not spent attending a wedding. And, while the ceremonies were beautiful, and I'm happy for my friends, it's a relief to be able to sit in a coffee shop this evening and NOT worry about being one of few single women at the reception. Instead, I'm sipping a mocha and preparing to crack open Descartes' Meditations.
It's funny, I encountered Descartes for the first time during my very first week of college. I had never read philosophy before, and I was thrown into the deep end right away, reading Descartes, Kant, and Hume in back-to-back weeks. I remember being confused and frustrated by the language and the abstractness of his discussions. I couldn't understand why it mattered how we know things, thinking it was just silly for anyone to sit around all day trying to doubt everything around them. In short, I hated philosophical inquiry.
Now, seven years later, I see things slightly differently. I'm still not a huge fan of reading philosophy, but now I can see the connections to psychology and theology. But I have a more patience for it now, and I find it much easier to read.
When I started undergrad, I was amazed by the amount of reading and writing I was expected to do. I remember complaining to my parents that all I was going to do for the next four years was read and then write about what I read. That was a shockingly correct prediction, though it ended up stretching to seven years thanks to my masters program. But as I return to a text I haven't looked at since my first semester of college, I'm amazed at how much I've changed. I so frequently take what I've learned for granted, since I use the writing and reading skills every day. But when I have such an obvious comparison, I can't help but be thankful for the skills I've acquired. Unfortunately, I think I've finally developed these skills just in time to be done with school for a while. *Sigh*
It's funny, I encountered Descartes for the first time during my very first week of college. I had never read philosophy before, and I was thrown into the deep end right away, reading Descartes, Kant, and Hume in back-to-back weeks. I remember being confused and frustrated by the language and the abstractness of his discussions. I couldn't understand why it mattered how we know things, thinking it was just silly for anyone to sit around all day trying to doubt everything around them. In short, I hated philosophical inquiry.
Now, seven years later, I see things slightly differently. I'm still not a huge fan of reading philosophy, but now I can see the connections to psychology and theology. But I have a more patience for it now, and I find it much easier to read.
When I started undergrad, I was amazed by the amount of reading and writing I was expected to do. I remember complaining to my parents that all I was going to do for the next four years was read and then write about what I read. That was a shockingly correct prediction, though it ended up stretching to seven years thanks to my masters program. But as I return to a text I haven't looked at since my first semester of college, I'm amazed at how much I've changed. I so frequently take what I've learned for granted, since I use the writing and reading skills every day. But when I have such an obvious comparison, I can't help but be thankful for the skills I've acquired. Unfortunately, I think I've finally developed these skills just in time to be done with school for a while. *Sigh*
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Arrows 2008
It's the time of year again for making lists, for looking both forward and backward as we mark the passing of time. And so, as usual, I make my annual evaluation.
↑ Graduate School
I'm now just one semester away from the completion of my masters, and I can't believe how much this program has changed me. I've learned so much in the last two years about what faith and community mean, about how to read, think, write, and speak, and about how to understand myself and others as children of God. This year, in particular, I learned to preach. In the process, I discovered that I'm beginning to get over my old fears of public speaking. Despite its trials, this year has been the best yet. I'm going to miss this place when I leave.
↓ Thesis
The only downside of this semester was the fact that, while I volunteered to write a thesis and had every intention of starting on it, I made almost no progress on in this semester. That is going to make next semester a whole lot more stressful. I think that signing up to write a thesis while writing my commissioning papers was a bit of a mistake.
↑ Travel
This year I had the experience of a lifetime traveling to the Middle East on the Middle East Travel Seminar. As I explained in earlier posts, I got to travel through 5 countries in the course of three weeks, alongside seminarians and professionals from across the country. It was a blast. When I returned from that, I got to go on a road trip from Georgia to Iowa to visit old friends, which was a lot of fun as well.
↔ Weddings
This year marked the beginning of the year of weddings. I watched a friend and my sister walk down the aisle, and next year several more people who are important to me will gown- or suit-up and make lifetime commitments. For the most part, I'm happy for those getting married. On the other hand, it's difficult to watch so many friends and family members pair off when I'm single.
↑ Work
I continued to work as a tutor for international students in my program. It is sometimes frustrating work, especially when I have to explain strange rules in the English language (even I don't know why we ride "on" a bus, but "in" a car) but the students are wonderful. I learn just from reading their papers, and getting to talk with them about life in Korea and living as international students is fascinating.
? The Future
2009 will bring many changes for me. I'm going to finish graduate school and go on to the work world. I'll face an interview that will determine my future and, hopefully, get my first full-time non-summer job. I'll move away, not just to school, but in a much more permanent capacity. I might even have to change my residency and lose my swing-voter status. I don't know what that will be like. I don't know for sure where I'll be or what I'll be doing this time next year. I just go forward with a prayer for all of us to have a peaceful and blessed 2009.
↑ Graduate School
I'm now just one semester away from the completion of my masters, and I can't believe how much this program has changed me. I've learned so much in the last two years about what faith and community mean, about how to read, think, write, and speak, and about how to understand myself and others as children of God. This year, in particular, I learned to preach. In the process, I discovered that I'm beginning to get over my old fears of public speaking. Despite its trials, this year has been the best yet. I'm going to miss this place when I leave.
↓ Thesis
The only downside of this semester was the fact that, while I volunteered to write a thesis and had every intention of starting on it, I made almost no progress on in this semester. That is going to make next semester a whole lot more stressful. I think that signing up to write a thesis while writing my commissioning papers was a bit of a mistake.
↑ Travel
This year I had the experience of a lifetime traveling to the Middle East on the Middle East Travel Seminar. As I explained in earlier posts, I got to travel through 5 countries in the course of three weeks, alongside seminarians and professionals from across the country. It was a blast. When I returned from that, I got to go on a road trip from Georgia to Iowa to visit old friends, which was a lot of fun as well.
↔ Weddings
This year marked the beginning of the year of weddings. I watched a friend and my sister walk down the aisle, and next year several more people who are important to me will gown- or suit-up and make lifetime commitments. For the most part, I'm happy for those getting married. On the other hand, it's difficult to watch so many friends and family members pair off when I'm single.
↑ Work
I continued to work as a tutor for international students in my program. It is sometimes frustrating work, especially when I have to explain strange rules in the English language (even I don't know why we ride "on" a bus, but "in" a car) but the students are wonderful. I learn just from reading their papers, and getting to talk with them about life in Korea and living as international students is fascinating.
? The Future
2009 will bring many changes for me. I'm going to finish graduate school and go on to the work world. I'll face an interview that will determine my future and, hopefully, get my first full-time non-summer job. I'll move away, not just to school, but in a much more permanent capacity. I might even have to change my residency and lose my swing-voter status. I don't know what that will be like. I don't know for sure where I'll be or what I'll be doing this time next year. I just go forward with a prayer for all of us to have a peaceful and blessed 2009.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
The Rest of the (Call) Story
For the sometimes-enlightening, often-exasperating, and always-complicated commissioning process, I had to write my "call story". Through the course of seminary and the ministry process, you end up writing and telling this story again and again in various forms to a large number of people. Over time, it becomes streamlined into a brief tale that hits briefly on the highlights on the way to saying, "So, can and will you help me keep writing the story?". However, in that streamlining, important bits of the story are lost. There are small anecdotes, rabbit trails off the main path, that I have to bypass in getting to the main points. Yet, these rabbit trails helped me to get to the main points. Without them, I might never have had call story to tell. Not to mention that, while there was a required bibliography for that section of my papers, it was aimed at books; my call was as much shaped by films as books, but that part is harder to describe. So, since I had to leave these influences out of my papers, but I still want to get them out there, I'll include them here.
The first time I really showed any evidence of a call was in early elementary. My parents heard noises from my room one night after they'd put me to bed and turned out the light, and came into the room only to find me singing to my stuffed animals. I had my illustrated children's book of Bible stories, from which I had done a reading. I had explained the passage to my plush congregation, and I was going on to the closing hymn when my parents came in to check on me. They told me that I could continue the service in the morning, but I had to go to sleep. I don't think I got around to giving the benediction the next day, and the incident was forgotten for many years.
When I was in junior high, my two favorite movies were "Auntie Mame" and "The Trouble with Angels". Interestingly, both of these movies starred Rosalyn Russell, and both gave me an image of who I wanted to become. I loved the way Auntie Mame found the joy in situations and lived a life full of adventure, travel, and exciting people. I loved that her escapades were considered unacceptable by some, yet she was incredibly loving and compassionate, if in her strange, disorganized way. I wanted to be just like her. I particularly liked "The Trouble with Angels" because of the mischief that Mary and Rachel got into. I wanted to emulate their cool, trouble-making ways. I was always a bit saddened by the end, though. I couldn't understand how Mary could make the choice she made. I didn't see how she could be both troublemaker and devout religious servant. Only later, as I began to discern my own call, did I begin to understand how I could be both Mame and Mary at the same time.
High school brought participation in ASP, which was one of the most formative experiences in my faith development. In the mountains of Kentucky and Tennessee, I wrote about faith, sweat, and sawdust. I saw God in the faces of Appalachian teenagers and heard God's voice in the buzz of circular saws. I watched hopes come to fruition and I began to recognize that God was working in my heart and through my blistered hands. Most of all, I saw God in JB, a man whose house I worked on my first summer as a volunteer. JB was a carpenter by trade, and he could have done all the work we were doing both better and faster. But he had developed a rare lung disease and could no longer work. As we worked on his home, he explained things and guided our work with a patience and a humility that amazed me. He sat on the porch with his oxygen tank, encouraging me as I used a power drill for the first time. Through ASP, I learned that God uses all parts of us: our brokenness and our strength, our skills and our inexperience, for a glory that we often do not recognize or understand.
As strange as it might sound, performing in a competitive showchoir also prepared me for ministry in ways I never would have anticipated. I was never a particularly good singer or dancer, but performing helped me to gain a confidence in front of people that I would otherwise have lacked. I learned how to use my facial expressions and body language as communication tools. I learned to disguise my nervousness and have poise, even when wearing sequins and fake eyelashes.
In early college, I was fascinated by semi-religious movies. I watched Saved!, Keeping the Faith, and Dogma over and over again, pulling out themes of religious life. I was fascinated at the way the characters in Saved! managed to hold their faith and their questions in tension and I was challenged by the responsibilities of call and commitment to church in Keeping the Faith.
By odd coincidence (or divine providence, I don't know which) I picked up a copy of a book called Grace at a publisher's booth at the Earth Day festival my sophomore year of college. As a sometimes-pianist, the keyboard on the cover caught my eye, and I bought a copy. I then promptly put it on my shelf and forgot about it for a few months. By the time I picked it up again, I had begun to discern my call to ministry, but didn't really know what to do about it. As I read, I saw connections with my own life, and gained the courage to pursue my vocation.
When I went home for Thanksgiving, just after I recognized my call for the first time, I was terrified to tell my parents. My father is Catholic, and I had never thought to ask him what he thought of women in ministry. So, when I got home, I told my parents to sit down, and I told them a very abbreviated version of my call story. When I finished, my father replied with, "Of course. We knew." I was stunned. I hadn't told them anything. When I asked about it, he continued, "Well, it was revealed to me in meditation a few weeks ago. I told your mother (at this point, Mom nodded) but we didn't want to tell you and mess up your discernment." I didn't know how to respond. I've never been one to put a lot of stock in mystical experiences, but that gave me an affirmation that was very valuable to me.
Then a stranger gave me a great gift: a district superintendent from a conference other than my own, after some consultation with me, assigned me a candidacy mentor. In our process, candidacy mentors can be either helpful or exasperating, but mine was an incredible blessing for me. I looked up to that mentor, who seemed at times to be the person I wanted to grow into in a few years. I saw a woman who was close to my age working in ministry, which I had never seen before. She showed me that I could be in ministry and still be myself. She inspired me to make progress in an arduous process of bureaucracy, which has allowed me to get as far as I am by this point. If we could put people in our bibliographies, she'd be on mine.
I'm sad that I had to leave these bits out of my explanation of my call for commissioning. The page limits on my commissioning papers forced me to leave out several bits of myself, my story, and my beliefs that I think would give the church a more accurate picture of who I am. And in all the paperwork, I often lost track of the call and the passion that led me to writing them in the first place. These help me to remember that God was forming me long before I began the process, and God will continue to shape me through and after it. For now, I think it's enough that I know where I've been and I believe in the road I'm on (at least most days).
The first time I really showed any evidence of a call was in early elementary. My parents heard noises from my room one night after they'd put me to bed and turned out the light, and came into the room only to find me singing to my stuffed animals. I had my illustrated children's book of Bible stories, from which I had done a reading. I had explained the passage to my plush congregation, and I was going on to the closing hymn when my parents came in to check on me. They told me that I could continue the service in the morning, but I had to go to sleep. I don't think I got around to giving the benediction the next day, and the incident was forgotten for many years.
When I was in junior high, my two favorite movies were "Auntie Mame" and "The Trouble with Angels". Interestingly, both of these movies starred Rosalyn Russell, and both gave me an image of who I wanted to become. I loved the way Auntie Mame found the joy in situations and lived a life full of adventure, travel, and exciting people. I loved that her escapades were considered unacceptable by some, yet she was incredibly loving and compassionate, if in her strange, disorganized way. I wanted to be just like her. I particularly liked "The Trouble with Angels" because of the mischief that Mary and Rachel got into. I wanted to emulate their cool, trouble-making ways. I was always a bit saddened by the end, though. I couldn't understand how Mary could make the choice she made. I didn't see how she could be both troublemaker and devout religious servant. Only later, as I began to discern my own call, did I begin to understand how I could be both Mame and Mary at the same time.
High school brought participation in ASP, which was one of the most formative experiences in my faith development. In the mountains of Kentucky and Tennessee, I wrote about faith, sweat, and sawdust. I saw God in the faces of Appalachian teenagers and heard God's voice in the buzz of circular saws. I watched hopes come to fruition and I began to recognize that God was working in my heart and through my blistered hands. Most of all, I saw God in JB, a man whose house I worked on my first summer as a volunteer. JB was a carpenter by trade, and he could have done all the work we were doing both better and faster. But he had developed a rare lung disease and could no longer work. As we worked on his home, he explained things and guided our work with a patience and a humility that amazed me. He sat on the porch with his oxygen tank, encouraging me as I used a power drill for the first time. Through ASP, I learned that God uses all parts of us: our brokenness and our strength, our skills and our inexperience, for a glory that we often do not recognize or understand.
As strange as it might sound, performing in a competitive showchoir also prepared me for ministry in ways I never would have anticipated. I was never a particularly good singer or dancer, but performing helped me to gain a confidence in front of people that I would otherwise have lacked. I learned how to use my facial expressions and body language as communication tools. I learned to disguise my nervousness and have poise, even when wearing sequins and fake eyelashes.
In early college, I was fascinated by semi-religious movies. I watched Saved!, Keeping the Faith, and Dogma over and over again, pulling out themes of religious life. I was fascinated at the way the characters in Saved! managed to hold their faith and their questions in tension and I was challenged by the responsibilities of call and commitment to church in Keeping the Faith.
By odd coincidence (or divine providence, I don't know which) I picked up a copy of a book called Grace at a publisher's booth at the Earth Day festival my sophomore year of college. As a sometimes-pianist, the keyboard on the cover caught my eye, and I bought a copy. I then promptly put it on my shelf and forgot about it for a few months. By the time I picked it up again, I had begun to discern my call to ministry, but didn't really know what to do about it. As I read, I saw connections with my own life, and gained the courage to pursue my vocation.
When I went home for Thanksgiving, just after I recognized my call for the first time, I was terrified to tell my parents. My father is Catholic, and I had never thought to ask him what he thought of women in ministry. So, when I got home, I told my parents to sit down, and I told them a very abbreviated version of my call story. When I finished, my father replied with, "Of course. We knew." I was stunned. I hadn't told them anything. When I asked about it, he continued, "Well, it was revealed to me in meditation a few weeks ago. I told your mother (at this point, Mom nodded) but we didn't want to tell you and mess up your discernment." I didn't know how to respond. I've never been one to put a lot of stock in mystical experiences, but that gave me an affirmation that was very valuable to me.
Then a stranger gave me a great gift: a district superintendent from a conference other than my own, after some consultation with me, assigned me a candidacy mentor. In our process, candidacy mentors can be either helpful or exasperating, but mine was an incredible blessing for me. I looked up to that mentor, who seemed at times to be the person I wanted to grow into in a few years. I saw a woman who was close to my age working in ministry, which I had never seen before. She showed me that I could be in ministry and still be myself. She inspired me to make progress in an arduous process of bureaucracy, which has allowed me to get as far as I am by this point. If we could put people in our bibliographies, she'd be on mine.
I'm sad that I had to leave these bits out of my explanation of my call for commissioning. The page limits on my commissioning papers forced me to leave out several bits of myself, my story, and my beliefs that I think would give the church a more accurate picture of who I am. And in all the paperwork, I often lost track of the call and the passion that led me to writing them in the first place. These help me to remember that God was forming me long before I began the process, and God will continue to shape me through and after it. For now, I think it's enough that I know where I've been and I believe in the road I'm on (at least most days).
Thursday, February 28, 2008
I love this...
At this moment I'm sitting in the student commons at school, and I feel I need to explain how much I love this place. So far this conversation has skipped through: the history of underwear, Bart Simpson's middle name, the current presidential election, Old Testament prophecy, Bret Favre, facial hair, John Wesley, antelope, religion, recessions, urination, and sermon-writing. Anything goes here. We can have serious conversations or we can goof around about almost anything. We gather around tables: people of all ages, races and backgrounds, eating, drinking, talking, studying, doing crossword puzzles, and creating the community I have longed for.
I look around as I sit here and think, "I love these people." These people give me hope for the future of our communities and churches. In 10 years, these people will be the leaders of our churches and non-profit organizations. They'll be transforming lives and spreading the love of Christ in the world. I love it.
In a little over a year, most of us will be leaving. Some of us only have a few months left in this community. I'm going to be very sad to leave this, very sad to see this community disperse into the world beyond. But, as much as I hate to think of us leaving this place, I know that in our departure, we're going out into the world to really make a difference. I believe in this, in these people. As much as I'm frustrated by many things in our church and frightened by the state of our society, these people give me hope. These are people who are passionate about God's word, passionate about bringing the kingdom of God on earth, who have the skills, attitude, and humor to face the problems out there and overcome them. God will work mighty things through these people.
I look around as I sit here and think, "I love these people." These people give me hope for the future of our communities and churches. In 10 years, these people will be the leaders of our churches and non-profit organizations. They'll be transforming lives and spreading the love of Christ in the world. I love it.
In a little over a year, most of us will be leaving. Some of us only have a few months left in this community. I'm going to be very sad to leave this, very sad to see this community disperse into the world beyond. But, as much as I hate to think of us leaving this place, I know that in our departure, we're going out into the world to really make a difference. I believe in this, in these people. As much as I'm frustrated by many things in our church and frightened by the state of our society, these people give me hope. These are people who are passionate about God's word, passionate about bringing the kingdom of God on earth, who have the skills, attitude, and humor to face the problems out there and overcome them. God will work mighty things through these people.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Arrows 2007
I love this Newsweek practice of rating events and people at the end of the year using arrows. So I'm copying it again this year.
↔ Graduate School Ever since I began my 3-year masters program, the other students have insisted that second year of the program, which I started this year, is the hardest, both academically and personally. In some ways, I can see what those students meant. Systematic Theology, which I took this semester, is one of the hardest classes I've taken in the program, but it is also one of the most rewarding. I really enjoyed getting to consider and begin to formulate my own theological beliefs. I also took two of the classes I've enjoyed least in this program, mostly due to the pedagogical style. All in all, I feel like I'm a lot better prepared for ministry than I was before, which, I suppose, is really the point.
↑ Harry Potter 2007 marked the end of the waiting: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, the last book in J.K. Rowling's bestselling, history-making series, finally reached the shelves. Rowling brought her story to a phenomenal conclusion. In addition, I got to celebrate the publishing of her last book with some of my favorite people. My mom flew out to my city so that she could join me, my aunt, and my friends in buying copies of the book. My mom, my aunt, and I then spent the rest of the weekend reading the story aloud together, in keeping with our family tradition. I loved getting to share such a wonderful story with the people I care about. And, finally, nearly all of my questions about the wizarding world were answered. The only downside to the joy of finally getting the last book is that it is, sadly, the last book, and there are no more Harry Potter books to look forward to.
↑ Romance No details, I'll simply say that I'm extremely happy.
↔ Summer Work I spent my summer doing Clinical Pastoral Education, a program that trains people who are going into ministry to develop pastoral care skills, often working as chaplains. Thus, I worked as a hospital chaplain for ten weeks this summer, meanwhile taking part in individual and group supervision with other students preparing for ministry. Hospital chaplaincy wouldn't have been my first choice for how to spend my summer, but it was a good experience and excellent preparation for ministry. I had a really good group and my supervisor was fantastic, but I'm pretty sure now that I don't want to be a hospital chaplain. I'd like to serve in ministry in a way that I get to be part of lots of parts of people's lives, not just the disasters and crises.
↑ Friends It seems obvious to me that anything entitled friends should have an up arrow next to it, but this year was particularly good for such relationships. The longer I'm around my classmates, the more I like the vast majority of them. This year I got closer to my female friends, aided by the weekly girls' breakfasts many of us shared. I got to know several of the third years much better than last year, and I've found them to be wonderful people. At the same time, I managed to keep up with my friends from my hometown and from undergrad pretty well. One even came to visit me, which was great fun.
↓ Football I was VERY proud of my Missouri Tigers this year. They exceeded my expectations, defeated Nebraska and Kansas, and even spent a week as the number 1 team in the nation. However, because of two losses to Oklahoma, they were knocked out of the national championship race. My disappointment and anger are less with the Tigers, however, and more with the BCS system, which privileges teams from conferences without championship games. It's ridiculous that two teams that Mizzou defeated, Kansas and Illinois, were selected for BCS games, while Mizzou was relegated to the Cotton Bowl. And I won't even get started on my sadness about my beloved Denver Broncos. *sigh*
↑ Travel This was the first year in the last several that I haven't left the country. In fact, I hardly traveled at all. I did, however, get to visit Seattle. It was my first visit to either the Pacific northwest or Texas. It was also my first major trip with friends, rather than with family, by myself, or with a school trip. I had a BLAST! While it wasn't out of the country, it was still new, and still very fun.
? 2008 I can't believe how fast this year went, and I sincerely hope that next year won't fly by quite so quickly. May 2008 be filled with joys and blessings for you and yours.
↔ Graduate School Ever since I began my 3-year masters program, the other students have insisted that second year of the program, which I started this year, is the hardest, both academically and personally. In some ways, I can see what those students meant. Systematic Theology, which I took this semester, is one of the hardest classes I've taken in the program, but it is also one of the most rewarding. I really enjoyed getting to consider and begin to formulate my own theological beliefs. I also took two of the classes I've enjoyed least in this program, mostly due to the pedagogical style. All in all, I feel like I'm a lot better prepared for ministry than I was before, which, I suppose, is really the point.
↑ Harry Potter 2007 marked the end of the waiting: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, the last book in J.K. Rowling's bestselling, history-making series, finally reached the shelves. Rowling brought her story to a phenomenal conclusion. In addition, I got to celebrate the publishing of her last book with some of my favorite people. My mom flew out to my city so that she could join me, my aunt, and my friends in buying copies of the book. My mom, my aunt, and I then spent the rest of the weekend reading the story aloud together, in keeping with our family tradition. I loved getting to share such a wonderful story with the people I care about. And, finally, nearly all of my questions about the wizarding world were answered. The only downside to the joy of finally getting the last book is that it is, sadly, the last book, and there are no more Harry Potter books to look forward to.
↑ Romance No details, I'll simply say that I'm extremely happy.
↔ Summer Work I spent my summer doing Clinical Pastoral Education, a program that trains people who are going into ministry to develop pastoral care skills, often working as chaplains. Thus, I worked as a hospital chaplain for ten weeks this summer, meanwhile taking part in individual and group supervision with other students preparing for ministry. Hospital chaplaincy wouldn't have been my first choice for how to spend my summer, but it was a good experience and excellent preparation for ministry. I had a really good group and my supervisor was fantastic, but I'm pretty sure now that I don't want to be a hospital chaplain. I'd like to serve in ministry in a way that I get to be part of lots of parts of people's lives, not just the disasters and crises.
↑ Friends It seems obvious to me that anything entitled friends should have an up arrow next to it, but this year was particularly good for such relationships. The longer I'm around my classmates, the more I like the vast majority of them. This year I got closer to my female friends, aided by the weekly girls' breakfasts many of us shared. I got to know several of the third years much better than last year, and I've found them to be wonderful people. At the same time, I managed to keep up with my friends from my hometown and from undergrad pretty well. One even came to visit me, which was great fun.
↓ Football I was VERY proud of my Missouri Tigers this year. They exceeded my expectations, defeated Nebraska and Kansas, and even spent a week as the number 1 team in the nation. However, because of two losses to Oklahoma, they were knocked out of the national championship race. My disappointment and anger are less with the Tigers, however, and more with the BCS system, which privileges teams from conferences without championship games. It's ridiculous that two teams that Mizzou defeated, Kansas and Illinois, were selected for BCS games, while Mizzou was relegated to the Cotton Bowl. And I won't even get started on my sadness about my beloved Denver Broncos. *sigh*
↑ Travel This was the first year in the last several that I haven't left the country. In fact, I hardly traveled at all. I did, however, get to visit Seattle. It was my first visit to either the Pacific northwest or Texas. It was also my first major trip with friends, rather than with family, by myself, or with a school trip. I had a BLAST! While it wasn't out of the country, it was still new, and still very fun.
? 2008 I can't believe how fast this year went, and I sincerely hope that next year won't fly by quite so quickly. May 2008 be filled with joys and blessings for you and yours.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Systematics
At the beginning of the semester, I was terrified of Systematic Theology. It is in the curriculum area that is the hardest for me, and I was dreading another semester of classes from that area. But, as it's a required class, I signed up and started attending classes.
In Systematic theology, everything is connected. One cannot talk about creation without addressing the issue of theodicy, which leads to questions about evil and sin, which lead to discussions of Christology and Soteriology and, eventually, eschatology. Likewise, talking about the end of the world leads us back to questions about what the world is and whether it is good, or bad, or both, and about salvation, which is essential for discussions about the end of the world, anyway. Every question leads to another set of questions and, no matter how hard we work to define things, there's always the caveat of, "But it's all a mystery and, as much as we know, there are things that are incomprehensible for us."
In spite of the exhaustion and the circularity, though, I have really liked my Systematic Theology class this semester. Instead of just being required to memorize specific phrases from councils a thousand years ago, Systematics let me consider my own beliefs and consider the ideas of different theologians in conversation with each other. It finally gave me the opportunity to articulate my beliefs and questions in ways that make sense. I don't have all the answers, in fact, I'm not sure I have ANY of the answers, but at least now I know how to ask the questions. And I can begin to refine my beliefs, as incomplete as they may be.
In Systematic theology, everything is connected. One cannot talk about creation without addressing the issue of theodicy, which leads to questions about evil and sin, which lead to discussions of Christology and Soteriology and, eventually, eschatology. Likewise, talking about the end of the world leads us back to questions about what the world is and whether it is good, or bad, or both, and about salvation, which is essential for discussions about the end of the world, anyway. Every question leads to another set of questions and, no matter how hard we work to define things, there's always the caveat of, "But it's all a mystery and, as much as we know, there are things that are incomprehensible for us."
In spite of the exhaustion and the circularity, though, I have really liked my Systematic Theology class this semester. Instead of just being required to memorize specific phrases from councils a thousand years ago, Systematics let me consider my own beliefs and consider the ideas of different theologians in conversation with each other. It finally gave me the opportunity to articulate my beliefs and questions in ways that make sense. I don't have all the answers, in fact, I'm not sure I have ANY of the answers, but at least now I know how to ask the questions. And I can begin to refine my beliefs, as incomplete as they may be.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
And One to Grow On
I am the youngest cousin on one side of my family and, as a result, I inherited tons of clothes as a child. My closet and drawers were always filled with outfits from my older sister and two older cousins. The clothes always arrived with the same reassurance: "You'll grow into them."
It seems like my life lately has been all about growing into things. I spent the summer trying to grow into my pastoral presence and authority in the hospital. I've spent the last few years growing into my role as an adult, each year gaining more and more independence. Each day I do things I once would have handed off to the adults in my life to take care of. In the last two months, I've purchased a new computer, replaced my tires, and started taking on new responsibilities at my church. Each time I do one of these things, I feign confidence and try not to think about the changes going on in my life. But, every once in a while, my own adulthood surprises me.
For example, this past Sunday I preached my first sermon. I have not yet taken a preaching class and I have always hated public speaking. When I first began discerning my call to ministry, I was terrified at the thought of preaching every Sunday, and the terror didn't really fade, even as I took on other ministry tasks without too much difficulty. Preaching always seemed like the biggest hurdle. But when my pastor asked me to give the sermon, I stepped up and starting writing. On Sunday, I stood in front of a congregation and preached. It went well and afterward I thought, "Yes, I can do this. I can actually be a pastor." It was like tugging one of my cousins' shirts over my head and finding that it finally fit me.
I am now officially a twenty-something. I've reached the point where birthdays feel much less like milestones and more like another mileage sign beside the road. To other people, that might be disappointing. For me, it means that I'm developing another facet of my personality. I'm still not going to stop blowing bubbles and coloring with crayons when I need to, and deep down I still cling to some innocent idealism. But there's a new sense of confidence. I worry about what I'm about to do less and simply take action faster.
I am in no way saying that I have arrived. I still feel like a little kid playing dress-up with great regularity. But I have a nagging suspicion that it's not entirely fake, either. Maybe I can do this whole growing up thing.
It seems like my life lately has been all about growing into things. I spent the summer trying to grow into my pastoral presence and authority in the hospital. I've spent the last few years growing into my role as an adult, each year gaining more and more independence. Each day I do things I once would have handed off to the adults in my life to take care of. In the last two months, I've purchased a new computer, replaced my tires, and started taking on new responsibilities at my church. Each time I do one of these things, I feign confidence and try not to think about the changes going on in my life. But, every once in a while, my own adulthood surprises me.
For example, this past Sunday I preached my first sermon. I have not yet taken a preaching class and I have always hated public speaking. When I first began discerning my call to ministry, I was terrified at the thought of preaching every Sunday, and the terror didn't really fade, even as I took on other ministry tasks without too much difficulty. Preaching always seemed like the biggest hurdle. But when my pastor asked me to give the sermon, I stepped up and starting writing. On Sunday, I stood in front of a congregation and preached. It went well and afterward I thought, "Yes, I can do this. I can actually be a pastor." It was like tugging one of my cousins' shirts over my head and finding that it finally fit me.
I am now officially a twenty-something. I've reached the point where birthdays feel much less like milestones and more like another mileage sign beside the road. To other people, that might be disappointing. For me, it means that I'm developing another facet of my personality. I'm still not going to stop blowing bubbles and coloring with crayons when I need to, and deep down I still cling to some innocent idealism. But there's a new sense of confidence. I worry about what I'm about to do less and simply take action faster.
I am in no way saying that I have arrived. I still feel like a little kid playing dress-up with great regularity. But I have a nagging suspicion that it's not entirely fake, either. Maybe I can do this whole growing up thing.
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
If I had a comment card...
"You look like a chaplain. It's in your face."
"I don't mean to offend you, but aren't you kind of young for a chaplain?"
"There's something about you. It's like there's a little light inside you. That's how God is using you."
"Thanks for praying with me. I didn't hear most of what you said, but thanks."
"Are you a pharmacist? You don't belong here."
"I don't mean to offend you, but aren't you kind of young for a chaplain?"
"There's something about you. It's like there's a little light inside you. That's how God is using you."
"Thanks for praying with me. I didn't hear most of what you said, but thanks."
"Are you a pharmacist? You don't belong here."
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