Creating Sacred Space for Social Justice

We were called into silence and asked to say the words from texts, songs, or leaders that keep us going in our justice work. My eyes were closed and a busy morning rush of hanging direction signs and helping lost guests navigate the building quickly dropped from my mind and body.

The sacred space we entered was a gift I gladly received. Voices called out Biblical verses, well-known lines from ballots and hymns, poetry, and lines from public addresses. We were 110 faith leaders from thirteen different traditions hosted at United for a day to learn about storytelling, effective listening, and organizing within our faith communities to defeat a constitutional amendment restricting marriage to one man and one woman in MN. That powerful opening reminded of what happens when people of faith come together to work for justice and equality. I was reminded of why I chose to be in seminary instead of other places of higher education such as a school of public policy or law school where I could also work for justice.

I was proud to share more about United as participants of who knew I was a seminary student asked me more about the school. There were many reasons to feel proud. The night before the training an interfaith group of leaders hosted a worship service at a local synagogue. United alumni were among 29 clergy who lit candles in remembrance of the 29 states where we have lost similar ballot measures; two United students raised their voices in powerful words of reflection and reconciliation; I had the distinct honor of asking for financial contributions to support the faith work; and another classmate opened the service. The day after at the faith leader’s training the United chapel’s beauty comforted and held us as we heard the somber news of where we stand today in terms of polling numbers. I can feel my connection with United deepen and I move from a student in the classroom to a faith leader out in the world.

It inspires me to see other United colleagues actively engaged in the world. There are seven Center for Public Ministry interns working on faith organizing to defeat the constitutional amendment in November 2012. The Center launched last year and is dedicated to equipping the church to be a powerful and sustained force for social justice. I am grateful for the opportunity to weave together my classroom learning, my love of prayer and ritual, and my desire to actively work to create a more just world supported by United. Framing this work in a faith perspective pushes all of us to do this work from a deeper place focused on connection, healing and love.

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,

There is a field.  I'll meet you there.

When the soul lies down in that grass,

The world is too full to talk about.

Ideas, language, even the phrase each other

doesn't make any sense.

-Rumi-

- Laura Smidzik, MDiv student

Creating Spaces

We’re in the last two weeks of the semester, when the tension over papers and projects due comes on us in earnest. The greetings and responses we give as we pass each other in the hall bear the same themes: anxiety, commiseration, encouragement. Sometimes we stop and tick off the list of our projects for each other: “Two long papers, one shorter paper, and a final.” It is a way of relieving anxiety, at least for a moment: if we are all similarly burdened, it must be because what we have been assigned is in the realm of the possible, and we will get through it, right? Somehow?

In the middle of my own anxiety this week, a memory came to me unbidden from my internship last year at a local church. I was assisting my field instructor in serving communion. A line of parishioners gathered at the altar rail. As I stood before each individual, citing the words, “Take and drink from the cup of life,” I was struck by the vulnerability in their raised faces, expressions of solemnity and tenderness, expressions that seemed universal in this moment, common to all.

My readings in Constructive Theology for the next day were on the sacraments – I didn’t know that was the topic; I was writing a paper and waited until the last minute, I admit, to read them -- so my remembrance of the communion service the day before seemed apt. Eucharist theology usually centers on the ways that the bread and wine are transformed during the sacrament (or not). But what happens to us during the sacrament, I wonder? What was the beauty that came into each face as the parishioners waited by the altar rail? And how can we give life to that expression beyond this moment?

My sentiments toward our common humanity are not always so charitable. Earlier in the week I was reading the news, which often turns out to be a day’s tally of our common inhumanity. At the same time, I was musing over thoughts for a theological paper which has, as its purpose, a scope I think of in the words of the Dishwalla song: “Tell me all your thoughts on God, and tell me am I very far.”  The litany of destructive human behavior in the news collided with my own thoughts on God and I blurted out the words: “Really? God just loves everybody?” My partner, who is used to sudden bursts of theology on my part, answered, “No.” (This is why he is a good foil for my musings.) “Well, I can’t believe it at the moment,” I said, “Regardless of how much we talk about God as love at seminary.”

Lest I am misunderstood, we don’t, as a rule, spend our class time simply talking about God as love. If we did, these papers I’m struggling to write would be done in a snap. But I think that, as a rule, we do believe it. How does belief become action? How does bread become a body? How can love overcome the merciless marks of our destruction in the world?

What was the beauty that came into each face?

I may try to answer that question in my paper. Or, I may not be able to answer it. Not yet; maybe not ever. I have seen it, is all I can say. Even if we don’t know how to say what it is, we can make spaces for it to happen in the world. In our Worship class, we are learning how to create such spaces, and for a chapel service planned with my small group in the class we chose a theme of centering, rest and silence for this last rush of the semester. What could be more incongruous? But the space worked, at least for a time; I saw expressions of calm in the faces of those around me.

And now, I must write, and fast. I have one long paper due, one shorter paper, a reflection, and a project. We will get through it, right? I thought so.    

- Kathryn Price, MDiv student

First Deconstruct, then Reconstruct

Every semester here seems to get harder as it goes on.  There’s the workload, of course, but I have come to think it’s also due to something else.  

For most courses I’ve taken at United, earlier on in the semester students are asked to read books and understand what other people have said.  For many classes, as the semester progresses, we are eventually asked to read less and write more.  I’ve come to realize that – at least for me – writing takes more oomph than reading does.  It takes more effort to get myself to sit down and focus.  I’m not being asked to consume but to create or at least to synthesize. 

 

But then there are different kinds of papers.  Right now, I am working on two.  One you might call a research paper – that’s not quite the right word but it’s close enough.  From the books I have read this semester, I have set myself the task (it’s an independent study course) of closely stating what Karl Barth, Rudolph Bultmann, and Reinhold Niebuhr each have to say – and why each cares  – about the freedom of humanity and then to state my own reaction.  Not so bad.  The only catch is that in order to do that I have to read them a bit more closely than I would John Steinbeck or John Sanford!   

Early on in my seminary career, I came to feel that the other kind paper was much easier.  Here we call it a reflection paper.  I don’t have to state my understanding of the function of the word “house” in Nathan’s prophecy to David or articulate the polity and ethos of the United Church of Christ with meticulous footnotes for everything.  I just organize my thoughts. “How did your faith journey lead you to seminary” might be an example.

In the paper I am writing right now for another class we are being asked to state – essentially – “knowing what you know now, how would you formulate your theology and the church’s role in fulfilling it?”  My task is to construct something coherent that will pull together the years of reading I have done and the many components of my view of religious life.  That would include, among other things, how I make sense of God and evil, the role of the church, scripture, and the sacraments, the creation and the Second Coming.  You could say I am being asked to articulate my beliefs, make sure they all fit together, and express them all in a way that is inspiring for someone else.  Maybe it’s just me but papers seem more difficult than they used to!  

But in a way, it’s a chance to do what I have always dreamed of but never taken the time to do.  I’m being asked to sit down and make sense of life – okay, not all of life, just the eternal aspects!  Yes, it’s huge but, if I can come up with something that satisfies me, it will be worth it.  Will I come up with something to give Paul Tillich a run for his money?  Most likely not.  I may just come out knowing myself and my God a bit better.

Stick a Fork in Me…I’m Done

I’ve been a student in one way shape of form for four decades. I don’t just mean, I’m an avid reader, or I’m a student of humanity. I mean, I’ve gone through the public education system, graduated, and have shelled out many thousands of dollars and collected any number of degrees, certificates, licenses and certifications.  To be sure, I love to learn, but the other thing is that I couldn’t quite figure out what I wanted to do with my life and kept trying on new careers and skills, hoping something would stick. 

With just a few weeks left to go of my clinical pastoral education (CPE) unit in a large teaching hospital, I can finally say, I think I’ve figured it out. I think some sort of chaplaincy work is in my future. Here’s the kicker—I have a lot of schooling to finish up before I can even begin doing a year-long residency to get me closer what I believe may be my future vocation.  A lot of schooling. 

Even a year ago, it didn’t bother me greatly that I was on the slow road to a Master of Divinity. I mean, it’s not like it’s my first master’s degree. The diploma would simply join the collection on my living room wall. Now, I’m finding myself growing ever-more impatient as I consider my future, which currently looks like this: Continue working full-time in my office job while cobbling together my classes, graduate in a couple of years, cool my heels until the next time a residency program opens up (typically in the fall), do a year of residency and finally be ready to search for a chaplaincy gig. We’re talking 2015 or thereabouts.

Good things may come to those who wait, but I think I may have reached a point where I’d like to see the good things happen sooner. I’m seriously considering cutting my hours at work to take on more classes and try to wrap things up (except one straggler of a requirement) in about a year. Cutting work hours would do nothing for my already impressive sleep deficit; it does, however act as a way to rob Peter to pay Paul – I’m trying to tip the scales enough in work hours to up my course load. 

No, we can’t afford this “solution” from a monetary stand point, but I’m not sure my soul can afford to keep going like I have in the last year. My family and I have made so many sacrifices to get me this far in my United experience. While I feel like a zombie—albeit a well-learned zombie—some of the most fulfilling experiences in my educational and personal life have happened this year.

There’s no way United could describe the intensity of what some of its students will go through on their way to completing their program. I’ve been told mothers often forget the agony of childbirth almost immediately after cradling their children in their arms, and that if they didn’t, the world would be devoid of humanity. 

I sometimes wonder if there’s a kernel of truth in the childbirth analogy for those seeking a Master of Divinity—if we were to remember the harshest hours of writing papers, walking with patients or congregants in their darkest hours during our internships, trying to keep our heads above a tsunami of books that never seem to stop flowing—if we were to remember these things, would any of us ever graduate and live out our ministry in the world? I don’t know. 

What I do know is that the semester is winding down, my lease is almost up, there is still a pile of unread books, papers and final projects to complete, a handful of clinical hours to finish up, and there’s no time to really process. But then, maybe like a newborn, keeping busy keeps us from dwelling too long.  By the time we look back, the pains have subsided and all we’re left with are snapshots of moments where we can see our hard work from the perspective of the new life in our midst. That’s all flowery talk for now. If you asked me today how I feel about school, I’d have to say, “Stick a fork in me. I’m done.”
- Jayne Helgevold, MDiv student

Caution: Deconstruction in Process

We were warned.  Last fall during the new student orientation, we were told that during seminary we will be going through a process called deconstruction.  This is how I understand it: It is a process where our theology and faith will be stretched, poked, torn apart and thrown against the wall, broken into pieces and left on the ground. (ok, maybe I’m being a bit dramatic)  After this happens, then reconstruction takes its place.  This, I have heard, is where we, the students, will slowly walk out to where our pieces have been scattered, pick them up one by one and then attempt to put them back together resulting in a cohesive theology.  Hard to believe, you say? Nah, all in the lifecycle of a seminarian.

It is now the middle of my second semester and the deconstruction process is well underway. I feel like I’ve been poked, pulled, and torn apart and this is just the beginning.  I have been learning things that have shaken my identity as a Christian, struggling with concepts that affect the very foundation of my faith, and engaging in discussions that often times gracefully nurture and deeply challenge my spirit simultaneously.  However, I am having the time of my life, seriously.  Even though the process sounds utterly devastating. . .and it is, it is happening in a community where the process is coupled with an outpouring of support coming from professors and students alike.  As I journey through this semester, I know I am in good company and rely on the interaction I receive when I am on campus.

To update you, the courses I am taking are, New Testament Texts in Context, American Religious Histories, and the second of the integrative theology courses that consists of volunteering in a community setting as well as class hours commonly known as “IS 152.”  Needless to say, I am a busy bee this spring.  I still have the challenge of balancing my family life with UTS and know that it is ongoing and sometimes takes more patience than I expect.  Pulling myself together after an intense day of classes is not always a smooth transition.  The contrast from the seminary classroom to being the mom of two growing boys sometimes requires more patience than I think I have.   

All in all, I am struck with all the different points of view that I am exposed to at UTS and grateful for this unique experience.  For now, I am content with being deconstructed and not yet ready to begin reconstructing anytime soon.

Peace be with you.

- Sarah Kronkvist, MARL student

Signs of Fidelity

My courses this semester, which are American Religious Histories, Constructive Theology, and Worship, sometimes seem to be remarkably, synergistically related:  weaving together a comprehension of our faith traditions historically, building on what we know to construct what we are reaching towards theologically, and applying how we will give shape to these understandings liturgically. At other times, I look at the books for these courses and they seem like disparate chunks that only serve to threaten my efforts to concentrate on any one of them: how can I focus on all of these subjects at once? And at still other times (and there comes such a moment in every semester) I decide that my otherwise lovely teachers are mad, that they have lost all sense of proportion in terms of the amount of reading and writing that they assign, and that, incredibly, they persist under the illusion that their class is the only class their students are taking. (Such moments pass.)

           

One of my favorite parts of campus is the native prairie restoration area in front of the parking lot. When I pull into a parking space, I sometimes linger for a moment after shutting off the car. At sunrise and sunset especially, the long, arching grasses glow in the angled, golden light. If I were to put voice to my experience of those moments, it would translate largely as “Thank you.” I have heard that this same slice of prairie caused a resident of the neighborhood to wonder if the school, in fact, was still in operation, taking the long grasses for signs of neglect.  I take them as a sign of fidelity.

           

Once, when I was a hospice volunteer on the inpatient unit of a hospital, a doctor I had not previously met came to the nurses’ station, and seeing me there, he pretended to answer a nearby phone with this greeting: “Hi, I’m a hospice volunteer, I can’t tell you anything.” The truth is, as a hospice volunteer, I wasn’t allowed to give out patient information. His little pantomime seemed so belittling and outrageous that I decided I’d do him one better than deliver a scathing remark in response: I turned my face firmly, angrily away; not exactly the other cheek, but a resolute sign of dismissal. A nurse, seeing my expression, hurried over and whispered, “He’s a fabulous oncologist who used to be a comedian; his patients love him.” Before I could decipher the logic of this message, the doctor walked over to me and held out his hand, smiling. It turned out that he had worked as a standup comic in New York before becoming an oncologist. In explaining this unusual trajectory, he said that it was observing the caring manner of his father’s doctor when his father had cancer that made him want to become one. He wanted to know why I had become a hospice volunteer since nothing in my life at the time indicated an organic connection. My answer had something to do with the stories of people, that at a time in life when people most needed to tell their stories, I was afraid that no one might be listening. Such are the beginnings of vocations, the tracings that we may not perceive at the time as hints towards a different future. Some vocations declare themselves in whispers rather than calls. I am not entirely sure of my future goals, and sometimes this concerns me. I am investing so much of myself in seminary: where will it take me?  But just as I once signed up for hospice training without really knowing why, it seems that my response to this uncertainty can only be fidelity: a continued fidelity to the whisperings that I do hear. 

           

In the prairie restoration on campus, someone heard the call of the earth to be itself and they responded, even if in only this one small patch of ground. Sometimes that’s how I think of seminary, and vocation. I think I must do the same.  

- Kathryn Price, MDiv student

Erosion, Shifting - Holy, if not Wholly

My seminary experience has had a way of slowly shifting my theology.  Prior to seminary, I had come to develop a collection of what I once thought were original questions, home brewed on the premises!  But many a new encounter with a writer from the past erodes that sense of originality.  Most recently, I have been reading Rudolph Bultmann who – in 1941 – was struggling with how to reconcile the “modern”, scientific mindset with a New Testament which some had come to think as more akin to mythology.  How do you preserve Christianity with intellectual integrity?  Can you?  Bultmann’s answer is “yes.”  So, I read on, somewhat humbled to realize that one of my questions might be seventy years behind the times.

That might seem like a fairly typical insight coming from a student at a liberal seminary like United.  But, as with parenting, how a student’s ideas mature isn’t always predictable.   Perhaps more surprising for me is to find my thinking about the Trinity changing.  Besides the in-depth (read: labyrinthine) analysis that Karl Barth gives of the Apostle’s Creed, I have also been reading (second hand) about Jurgen Moltmann.  Not only does he share my concern for preserving the physical environment but he frames his concerns in Trinitarian terms. 

Had enough talk of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost yet?  I have!  But, get this – though I’m a bit overwhelmed, I’m also starting to actually get a little interested and (dare I say) inspired by that way of looking at things!

My twice-weekly visits at the hospital continue and I find my theological views changing there too.  I have come to see my primary function during visits with patients as one of guaranteed listening – often following them whenever they want to go.  Conversations can range from high school hockey to intractable disagreements with siblings or children to fear of dying to a shared appreciation of the afternoon sun.  Of course, since I’m a chaplain intern, there is also a tacit acknowledgement that what matters most – something holy – may be at play in all that they are dealing with.  For some patients, they feel most complete with a visit when we close with prayer.  Rather than assuming, I always ask what they would like to pray for.  Not surprisingly, some of those requesting prayer are evangelical patients.  In those instances, I do my best to pray in a way that is natural for me and works for them.  After months of such visits, I have been surprised to discover a change in my own prayer life.  I have begun to think of the Spirit as actively moving among us all.  Something holy is expressed through the care we attempt to offer each other.  From time to time, we arrive at a peace that passes all understanding.

Imagine that!

-Karl Jones, MDiv student

A Labor of Love

I was recently a part of an exercise that can best be described as “speed dating.” Along with a couple dozen other UTS students, we rotated from room to room, trying to put our best face forward as representatives from area congregations did the same. It’s internship placement time at UTS.

Students in the Master of Divinity program are expected to do a minimum of two internships (well, three if you count the “mini-internship” the typical first-year student does in the mix). I am currently in the throes of my clinical pastoral education (CPE) unit at a large hospital. Next year I'll be doing my congregational internship with one of my speed dates.

It’s a combination of exciting and nerve-wracking to be in this position of entering a relationship with a congregation I’ve barely had a first date with, but I also have hope it will work out in the end. I wasn’t sure what to expect when I started my CPE experience and now can’t imagine how anything else can be more fulfilling than being present with people who are sometimes simultaneously at their best and at their worst in the life-or-death situations at the hospital. Now I’m looking at the specter of congregational ministry. I’m uncertain if I’m cut out to work in congregations, but that’s pretty much how I felt when I entered my chaplaincy internship. 

These degree requirements are extraordinarily difficult. They’re time-consuming and are a much different learning experience than sitting in a classroom. But they are also an opportunity to apply what we’ve learned in an academic setting and make a real difference in the lives of others. On the days when it seems unbearable to pick up one more book or write one more paper, I reflect on how I’ve touched the lives of others and how they’ve entered my heart, and I stretch and grab my highlighter and get back to my studies. It’s a labor of love, and it’s time to learn to get to know a new love in my life.

- Jayne Helgevold, MDiv student

Returning

As I sit quietly enough to reflect over the past two months I recall the rush of fall semester finals, followed by the holidays, a brief break, and then a frantic push to read as many books as I could before I left for the Global Justice Trip to Chiapas, Mexico.  I managed to turn my final reflection paper in before the semester began. I am taking Preaching, Worship in the Church, and Constructive Theology. The amount of reading and work described in the syllabi is overwhelming. I have my own neurotic system of creating index cards for each assignment and cluster them together by weeks. I try to envision the time, intellectual capability, and energy to commit to these classes. I work hard to focus on the voice of gratitude over that of fear and complaint. Each index card represents new learning and an opportunity to engage in dialogue with the writer, my professor, and my classmates about issues important to our denominations and personal faith. What an extraordinary gift.

Running parallel to the school work are meetings with potential church-based internship sites for next year. I plan to do my full year internship in conjunction with the 15 hr./wk. internship required for the M.Div.  I’ve had the opportunity to preach in three Unitarian Universalist Churches this year and I am excited to enter into a deeper relationship with a congregation next year. I can already see how the courses I am taking this semester will feed directly into my leadership and skills in a church setting.  

My last area of focus is a 400/hr. spring and summer term internship with the Center for Public Ministry at United and Minnesota Unitarian Universalist Social Justice Alliance (MUUSJA). Several United students are doing internships within our own denominations as we work within faith communities to defeat the proposed constitutional amendment defining marriage as between one man and one woman in Nov. 2012. The long-term vision is a faith-based infrastructure that will work toward full relationship equality in Minnesota. My church, Unity Church Unitarian, has convened a multifaith group in St. Paul and I am excited to see what we can accomplish when we pool our passion, talents, and resources. As part of my internship I am chair of a committee which is planning a faith-based “Power Summit for key multifaith statewide leaders working to defeat the amendment.  I appreciate the mix of theoretical and applied learning that this semester offers.

During quiet times my thoughts return to Chiapas. On our last day a number of us hiked a steep trail in the cloud forest. The altitude added a layer of challenge as with each vertical step my lungs filled to what felt like half of their capacity. Our experience in Chiapas speaking and worshiping with indigenous communities and local leaders reminded me of how easy it is for me to walk through my life totally unaware of the unending list of privileges that my skin color, education, and socio-economic status affords me.  At the same time, I often feel my own marginalized status as a non-Christian in an ecumenical seminary and as a lesbian parent at a time in MN when it is open season on debating the value and validity of my primary relationship and family. Unitarian Universalists believe that faith is about the journey, not the destination. Without the hope of life beyond this one we need to look to this day and live it with integrity, service, and joy. I want build relationships across differences even though the air feels thinner and the steps are steeper than I ever imagined. United provides a place where I am pushed to keep climbing and where I can ask for time to rest when I need it. I’m not sure if there is a mountaintop I need to reach during my life time, but I can say for certain that the vistas along the way are breathtaking. 

- Laura Smidzik, MDiv student

"Do you see where I am?"

In the week before the start of spring semester, I am eager to get my hands on the books for the courses I’ll be taking: American Religious Histories, Constructive Theology and Worship.  I am roughly midway through my seminary studies and I’ve been looking back at where I’ve been and looking forward toward what is still to come. When I think about it, perhaps a theological education was always in my future. In elementary school I asked for a book on saints and martyrs for a birthday present, and after reading it, I presented my father with an ethical, if not theological question.  “Dad, suppose a person was about to be martyred for the faith and they realized they could do more good by staying alive, would it be wrong, then, to recant?” My father looked at me with a perplexed expression. I don’t remember his answer, but I remember his long, confounded gaze. We lived in Omaha, Nebraska, an ordinary family; we went to Mass on Sundays and our grandparents’ houses for dinner afterwards. There was nothing about our lives that suggested we were in danger of being martyred. Nor we were a family given to theological speculation: hearing adults ask each other what they thought of the new Pope was about as edgy as it got.

It was decades before I would understand the scope of my own question.  I went to El Salvador for a global justice course as part of my seminary studies. In one of the books for the course, Witnesses to the Kingdom: The Martyrs of El Salvador and the Crucified Peoples, Jon Sobrino writes about the interconnected theologies of liberation and martyrdom.  He notes: “For us – in contrast to most of the people in the first world – reality is a great hermeneutical aid.” There were things I could learn only by going to El Salvador and hearing people tell their stories. And there was something I could see only by walking with thousands of people through the streets of San Salvador with candles held aloft in the night to commemorate the assassination of Oscar Romero thirty years before.  It was in those streets that I witnessed the reality of resurrection.  Now I would be able to answer the question of my grade school self about refusing to recant vs. the pragmatic wisdom of staying alive: justice and love cannot be recanted. To refuse to recant them keeps them alive.

This was not something I imagined would be addressed when I enrolled in seminary. I remember someone asking me then, a bit incredulously, “What are you going to study there…God?”  I suppose seminary brings to mind images of other worldliness, an endeavor removed from the jostle of life. I think people might be surprised at the this-worldliness of our studies, the spiritual life we try to give voice to together, coupled with life experiences in a hospital or prison, or parish internships, or global justice courses.  I love both aspects of my studies; I love trying to address a question as absurd as, Who is God? and I value trying to ascertain what that means in the world in practice.

As I turn toward the new semester with anticipation, I recall standing in the chapel of Divina Providencia in San Salvador before the altar where Archbishop Romero was assassinated. My father had passed away by then, not knowing the turn my life had taken towards seminary and I thought of how surprised he would be if he knew where I was. In the stillness of that moment, the question formed suddenly in my heart. “Dad, do you see where I am?” I asked.  It seemed to me that from somewhere in the world I heard him answer, “Yep.”
 

- Kathryn Price, MDiv student

An Ecumencial Impulse

As I was growing up, I was exposed to some pretty mixed religious influences.  My extended family is largely conservative evangelical.  My parents raised me in the Episcopal Church.  For the last twenty years or so, apart from dropping in on the occasional Quaker meeting, I have been a member of a Congregational church.

One thing that has been compelling for me about being in seminary is seeing what passions gave birth to those traditions.  My first course on the history of theology was thrilling because I began to see the layers of choice and chance that contributed to the practices and diversity of our present-day churches.  But it has always been mystifying to me how my very theologically savvy parents could make sense of moving from Nazarene to Episcopalian.

A year ago, as part of my American Religious Histories class, I did a paper on the origins of the Nazarene Church so I could get a better handle on how that came about.  Last summer I took a course in UCC History and Polity – which included the Congrega­tionalists in the mix.  This January, I am rounding it out with a course in the Anglican (Episcopal) Tradition.  With each pass, the path from Martin Luther to Phineas Bresee through John Wesley becomes clearer.  Call me a geek but I find that pretty exciting!

But I am reminded that the history of religion has its dark sides as well.  This month, I am preparing for a sermon about the relationship between scripture and slavery in America. In the process, I read about the struggle to end the slave trade in the British Empire.  One account made clear that the Anglican Church – the predecessor of the church I was brought up in – benefited from and was complicit in maintaining this brutal injustice in the Caribbean.  Pretty disturbing stuff!

Throughout seminary I have also been motivated to deepen my ecumenical and inter-faith awareness.  A number of my closest friends in junior high headed off to Hebrew school many afternoons.  I’ve gotten a taste of Judaism through taking a World Religions class, studying Hebrew a bit, and attending synagogue some.  (I certainly want to know more about Hinduism!)  As an adult, my first marriage was to an increasingly devout, conservative Catholic.  Next semester, I’m taking a class through the St. Paul Seminary to get a taste of how Catholics approach the Pauline epistles differently than Protestants.

For years, I have been claimed by an ecumenical impulse: “why can’t we all just get along?”   But while I love certain people and want to treasure their traditions, oftentimes, others who are also dear to me have clearly felt wounded by those very same faiths.

Still… I intend to somehow be part of healing those wounds while listening to those whose voices I have not yet fully heard.

-Karl Jones, MDiv student

Respite

Late last week my mother called to say she was going to cancel her trip to Laughlin, Nevada because my sister had injured her back and couldn't travel. On other occasions, my response would have been, "Oh bummer. Guess you'll have to reschedule."

This time, my response was, "Unacceptable!" The difference is the logistics needed for mom to get away. As I mentioned before, my dad is currently under in-home hospice care and the program allows one 5-day opportunity for respite care. For mom to get away took countless phone calls with healthcare providers and social workers. For me to accompany her took a weekend's worth of doing my day job, including going in to the office on the holiday, and getting my ducks in a row.

I originally felt this sudden trip was one I was doing for my mother and, in the sense that I'm letting her drive the agenda, it is. But, despite the fact that I'm checking in with the office a couple of times a day, this is a good bit of respite for me, as well.

The seminary does a nice job of scheduling in respite times each semester -- it's called Reading Week. But for the large group of students who are holding down full-time jobs, that week becomes one of working overtime to catch up on neglected duties and taking what little time is left to attend to neglected family and school work. In short, there's very little rest for seminarians with families and jobs.

So, I'm taking a little time to reflect during this impromptu vacation on the craziness of the last semester -- one where I took a class, worked a job, did an intense internship on a cancer unit in a large hospital, provided assistance to my parents, loved my spouse, moved to a small room where I live for half of my week away from my home and family. While I think this is something I don't care to repeat (although I will be continuing this life until May), I can't think of which pieces I can cut out.

It's during these rare quiet times that I realize that, like many of my classmates, I am driven and encouraged by something greater than myself. Over the Christmas weekend, I woke up repeatedly thinking of the hymn "Spirit of the Living God, Fall Afresh on Me." I have to say, the Spirit has fallen on me so much during the past several months that the outside observer would think the Spirit may have imbibed in too many spirits.

I start my J-term 3-week intensive class on Monday. In 3 weeks' time, we accomplish the same amount of work as what is done in a regular semester. I'll be able to use a little vacation time (but less than I had planned because of my current detour), but the internship and family situation cannot be put on hold. Spirit, don't be too graceful. Fall as you may. I am ready.

- Jayne Helgevold, MDiv student

Discovering Your Work

It feels somewhat surreal to go from the last few weeks of the term with papers and exams for four classes to the unstructured days of holiday break. I assume I am not alone in being greeted with a major cold as the gift that keeps on giving. I am anxiously awaiting the day I wake up with a clear head. 

I have my syllabi from the last semester along with my papers and notebooks assembled and am preparing to write my Post-Course Reflections for my Integrated Notebook. Let me break that down a bit.  Post-Course Reflections ask questions about each course you have completed and include: major learnings; what you wrestled with in the course; what were personal breakthroughs; and what you discovered about yourself during the course. It takes some discipline to complete these after each semester but the reward is that you can capture important information about your journey through seminary and where certain insights, growth, and stumbling blocks occur. The Integrated Notebook serves as an archive with all of your past papers, reflections, faculty evaluations of your work, etc. It provides an opportunity for you and your faculty advisor to see where you have come from and where you are going.

For me, in my crazy-paced life which tends to focus solely on the present, it provides proof of my hard-earned past and my yearning for the future. In my second year of seminary I can see a major shift in my academic competence and self-perception. Despite my frequent questioning of myself as “minister in formation,” that is exactly what I am. My Christmas list this year took a drastic shift and included a Unitarian Universalist (UU) chalice necklace, The Peoples’ Bible, and a UU Standing on the Side of Love sweatshirt and bag. I am now confident enough to say that I am in seminary and working toward ordination without fear of someone shattering a delicate connection to my new identity. 

This week also includes: firming up logistics to secure a full-year (1548 hour) internship at a local UU church (which far exceeds the UTS internship requirement but is required by the Unitarian Universalist Association for ordination); preparation for sermons and services for several UU churches in MN this coming February; reading books to prepare for a 10-day UTS global justice trip to Chiapas, Mexico this January; making a calls for interfaith work in St. Paul to defeat the November 2012 ballot initiative which would enshrine discrimination in the MN constitution regarding the definition of marriage; and I am in discussion about a spiritual direction group with local women clergy this January in order to feed my own spiritual practice. 

A quote attributed to Buddha sits within view of my desk “Your work is to discover your work and then with all your heart to give yourself to it.” As unlikely as it seemed a few years ago—I feel like I am becoming a minister. What an incredible gift to be able to do so.

-Laura Smidzik, MDiv student