So much has happened, structurally, in my first semester at seminary. Both in my academic world, and in my own mind. I had planned (and am still planning, but you know how that goes) to write a post about what I learned in each of my classes from last semester, but right now I want to talk about two experiences I've had in the past couple of days that really sum things up for me.
First of all, you should know that I've changed my program at Luther. I was excepted into the Children, Youth and Family Ministry program last fall, but as things went on I began to find that my heart was really in a slightly different place. Luther's programs are set up in such a way that, depending on what your concentration is, you are thought of as being on either the "ministry" track or the "academic" track. CYF, of course, is considered to be a ministry track concentration, which means that it's gearing you up for work in that particular field. What I found was what people have been telling me my whole life; I love academia. I love learning, and being in school, and research, and writing papers, and discussing big ideas with professors. BUT, at the same time, I love my job working for SpringHouse ministry center, teaching middle schoolers and working with young adults, and being part of a ministry team.
So, long story short(er), at the end of last semester I officially changed my concentration to "Old Testament," which means 1) that I can finally say my Hebrew class last semester was for fun AND relating to my field of study, and 2) that I will probably be going on to a PhD program after I graduate, and 3) that I successfully wrangled Luther into letting me change my concentration AND keep my job at SpringHouse, thereby smashing the two tracks into one. WOO!
And this is where the first story comes in, because ever since I changed my program, when people ask me what I'm in grad school for, I find myself totally out of words to describe what I'm doing. I used to say, "oh, I'm at Luther Seminary for children's education." People understood that. They always did the kind of "that's wonderful!" nod you do at people who work in community service, as if your job is so obviously worthwhile and fulfilling. Now, when I'm asked in the course of conversation by the person cutting my hair, I choke up because, let's be honest, what kind of reaction would YOU give someone who answered the question "what are you studying?" with "scripture!" It's like saying you're majoring in under-water-basket-weaving, except with loaded-gun potential, and you can see them immediately wondering "is this person about to tell me I'm going to hell??"
So, the point here is that for the last couple of weeks I haven't really told anybody the truth when they ask me what I do. And it's not because I'm ashamed; it's because I'm scared.
But. Tonight, at the coffee shop, the barista said "any big plans for the night?" and I said "homework. Grad school, you know?" and he said "yeah, I hear that. What are you studying?" and I said "Scripture, actually."
To which he replied, "oh, no way! What parts? I really like Job myself. That stuff is so weird and interesting. It really made me afraid of God."
And I grinned and said "oh yeah? Why, exactly?" and we went on to talk about what he thought about Job while he made my mocha. So. Crisis averted. And not only that, but I feel like it's a sign of encouragement. I walked away smiling like an idiot, and feeling so much less scared. Because I jumped and put myself in a place of sensitivity and discomfort, another person met me in the middle, and for a couple minutes we connected.
It was great.
The second story is related, in that it deals with my own inner dialogue and learning that, of course, it's not all about me. Last Sunday in church Pastor Jen, who is one of three supervising pastors for SpringHouse, was about to give communion, but realized she was out one assistant, so she asked me. I said yes without really thinking, and then realized that I've never assisted with communion before, and didn't really know what to do. When she signaled me up to the altar I picked up the two chalices of wine and followed her like I'd seen other assistants do. Then, we were in place, and she motioned people to come up to the front. Suddenly I thought, "oh my gosh, what's my line. What do I say??" It took me a couple of seconds to remember hearing "blood of Christ, shed for you" almost every Sunday for the last four years. I had remembered; I felt better.
But then I thought, "wow, what a weird thing to say to someone. I don't like this metaphor I don't even know how I feel or what I believe about communion! THIS IS SUDDENLY REALLY UNCOMFORTABLE FOR ME."
But people kept filing up to the front, and I kept saying it. I kept looking into the eyes of the ones I knew, and smiling at the ones I didn't, and bending down and saying the names of the children who came up. And I felt an incredible peace. It didn't matter what I believed about this wine. I was giving something to these people, but it was not ME giving it, and so I didn't matter in this equation. It was like being a drop of water disappearing into an ocean, but an ocean that understood the individuality of each atom of hydrogen, oxygen and saline. I have never felt so unsure of myself one minute, and then so absolutely certain the next.
And this is part of what ministry is, for me, right now. I have a lot of doubts and a lot of questions, and even though I can now write in another language and create lesson plans, I still don't
know anything. I look forward to another semester of searching for answers, but even more so to the moments when I realize my ability to do good in the world, despite myself.
