One down, five to go

It's probably too soon to really reflect on my first semester of divinity school. After all, I did just take my last final yesterday and slept until 11:00 this morning. What I can tell you is that I'm having the time of my life! Even with the craziness of four final papers and five final exams (this is where taking five classes gets to be a little insane), I am so filled with gratitude for all I've learned and the friends I've made, that I not only have no complaints, I can't think of even a downside. Well, maybe being apart from Tim during the week, but his business has grown so busy and he travels so much that we wouldn't see each other that much more anyway! So I can safely say that missing the dogs is the worst of it, but the greeting I get when I go home almost makes up for it!

For those of you wondering just what it is that one learns in seminary, I can tell you that it's most definitely NOT how to be a priest or pastor in a church, at least, not yet. This first semester has been all about content:

• What do the Hebrew scriptures really say, at least through the Pentateuch and Deuteronomistic History?
• How do we translate those Hebrew scriptures from the original language?
• What were the worship practices in the early church and how have they developed over two millennia?
• How did theologians explain the meaning of this Jesus person in the first 500 years or so of the church which pretty much established orthodoxy for the rest of history for the western church?
• How did we go from house churches meeting in secret in the 1st century to an overblown church that needed reforming in a bad way by the 16th century?

It was in the out-of-class time that we really learned about church, if by 'church' we mean a community of the faithful. Morning prayer and Eucharist every day, spiritual direction groups, dinners with friends, chatting over coffee, supporting one another in our struggles with new life as grad students, mourning with those who lost family over these last months, celebrating with those being ordained or having their children baptized, commiserating with those catching the flu just as exams are looming - it's been a microcosm of the world here in our little New Haven community on the hill. What we don't generally deal with is the part of the real world that will become our ministry when we leave here. Yes, some students volunteer at the soup kitchen and some at the food pantry. Others who are doing their field work as interns are facing issues of pastoral crises and people in all kinds of physical, emotional and spiritual need. But for those of us in our first semester, we get to sort of ease into it, concentrating on learning to be a divinity student. The world will be there, just as much in need when we're done as it is now.

One other thing that we do as first year seminarians is pray, a lot. Maybe we don't have the time to sit in quiet reflection or journal or meditate as much as we once might have, but with chapel two times a day every day and, quite frankly, learning about God all day every day, it all feels like an act of prayer. How very Benedictine, don't you think? Ora et labora. But for the next three weeks, my labora is complete and I can rest for a while and really reflect on these past months before the craziness starts up again. Such joy awaits!

Let the madness begin!

I think there is a reason most people don't take five classes in seminary: it means lots of papers and (gulp) five final exams. In three of the classes, we had midterms so got a pretty good idea of what the expectations are, but in those two classes with no midterms, I've got pages and pages and still more pages of class notes and readings from which I have to somehow decide what's important. This should be interesting.

I'm feeling very relieved today to say that I have completed the last of four final papers. Woohoo! While I miss Tim, I'm glad he was in California this weekend for Davis' adoption ceremony (Gotcha Day) so that I could stay here in my cozy New Haven nest and write. Sadly, I was not able to prove that Arius was not a heretic, but I did conclude that, given the context of his times, he wasn't as far off the rails as his opponents would have us believe. That makes me feel better.

And on top of all of this, it's Advent, my favorite season in the church year. It's a time to get ready, not so much for the craziness that has become Christmas but for the inbreaking of God into the world. We're in that in-between time when Christ has come and just as surely will come again. We had John the Baptist yelling at us from Matthew's gospel this morning - REPENT! What's that? No happy holidays and ho,ho,ho? As a priest friend of mine says, there's a reason you won't find John on any holiday cards. But he is, all the same, a necessary part of this season. Someone's got to break through the madness in our world and get our attention. Repent! Turn around! There is something bigger and better and more enduring than the things we grasp so tightly in our closed fists. What's more important than welcoming the stranger, or feeding the poor, or clothing the cold, or housing the homeless, or caring for the sick, or visiting the prisoner, or loving the mentally ill? What's more important than ridding ourselves of the hate that separates us from our brothers and sisters next door and on the other side of the planet? What's more important than proclaiming that our lives are abundantly full and there is enough for everyone? What's more important than saying that it's time for the killing to stop? What's more important than making sure that all of God's children have the opportunity to grow up in warmth and safety? What's more important than setting a table and saying to all who will listen, "Come, you are welcome here?"

Maranatha! Come, Lord Jesus!

A marathon

Tim and I have had many excellent adventures during our years together - an Ohio State-Michigan game at the Big House in Ann Arbor, a hot air balloon ride, and travels around the globe. One thing we never would have expected to find ourselves doing is standing along Kelly Drive on a chilly November day cheering on thousands of people we don't even know as they ran in the Philadelphia Marathon. That is just where we found ourselves today, waiting for one runner in particular: our girl, Rachel. Funny thing is, she's never been a runner. When she wasn't swimming long distances, she could always be found with the more physical sports pursuits like water polo, heaving a shot put, or throwing a javelin. But last spring, she decided that she would take up running and followed a plan that would train her for a marathon. Through persistence and long hours running in San Diego and every other city in which she found herself for work (including New Haven), she was ready. She finished in a very respectable 4:37:21, not that her time really mattered. It was the running and finishing that were the point.

What made this marathon day even more special is that it would have been Seth's 26th birthday. Rachel ran 26 miles, one for every year since his birth, even if he only made it to 24. These significant dates and milestones are difficult for us, but today was a day to celebrate Rachel and her life while remembering Seth through her big day and her accomplishment. Such a bittersweet day it was. Our grieving will continue to be a marathon of its own, but for today, we are grateful for a wonderful daughter and are so proud of her.

And what of all those thousands of runners for whom we cheered today? It was such a wonderful experience! Their running bibs had their names in big letters, so we could call them out by name as they went by and encourage them. I was particularly enthusiastic for the runners at and past middle age, marvelling at their courage and fortitude! Many of the runners thanked us as they passed, and many looked like they'd never make it. One guy was carrying a Yeungling to enjoy at the end, one was dressed as a gorilla. There was someone dressed as a can of Spam and a young man in a red dress and red shoes. There were two turkeys and one Wonder Woman. I saw one Yalie and two Oregon Ducks. Mostly, the runners looked like plain old people from all walks of life who, for whatever reason, somehow set on a goal of running a marathon. To us, it didn't matter who they were or what they looked like. This was a very egalitarian event - we cheered for everyone: fast, slow, tall, short, thin and not-so-thin, a host of ethnicities, constumed or not. For all of our excellent adventures, I've decided that I think the world would be a better place if everyone had a marathon experience, running or spectating.

Remembrance Day

I know that in this country, we refer to November 11th as Veteran's Day. I actually like the Commonwealth designation of 'remembrance,' though. Today we remember the wars and the dead soldiers and the lives immutably altered. It's also Armistice Day which is a day when peace was achieved. No, not permanent peace, but peace for 1918, such as it was. There are many ways to observe this day: fly a flag, wear a poppy, say prayers. I'm going to give you and update on Jay.
You may remember that Jay was my son's best friend growing up. He lost three limbs in Afghanistan back in August and, when last I wrote, he was in Bethesda Naval Hospital, destined for a long stint at Walter Reed for physical therapy. I, and many others, have been praying for him and his family everyday, sickened by what the war did to him and so many others, but loving him for his courage and for doing what he thought was right.

Today, just over three months later, Jay is not even in the hospital. He's in a hotel on the grounds of Walter Reed getting outpatient physical therapy twice a day. He walks on what they call 'shorty legs' for now until he gets used to them. Then he'll get regular length legs. He has a prosthetic left arm and manages pretty well with the thumb and forefinger on his right hand that survived the blast.

The pictures I've seen of him look just like the Jay I've known for over 20 years, but he's missing body parts that he used to have. That breaks my heart. But you know what he says? He says that he's thankful for the injuries he didn't receive - no head trauma, no internal injuries, no death. And now he's getting himself around on his own, refusing to let this beat him. It's an amazing act of courage. No one, and I mean no one, could have expected him to be doing so well so soon.

I hate what this war did to Jay, but I can honor him because I love him, just as we can honor all of those who fought for what they believed even if it meant death or dismemberment. I hate war and long for peace. That is my deepest prayer on this Remembrance Day.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

At our community worship this morning, we also observed Armistice Day (it was led by a British professor). As part of it, students from various countries seriously affected by past wars spoke of the impact on their countries - a Pole on the invasion on two fronts in WWII, a Greek telling of the 86% of Greek Jews that were exterminated, a Korean lamenting the invasion, the deaths and the subsequent division of her country. This, too, is why remembrance is so needed not just on this day but on all days. We remember the sacrifices of life, but we also need to remember the toll that it takes on our global community. Remember so that we can all work for peace and reconciliation in our world.

While there were no poppies to hand out today, we were given poppy-colored slips of paper with the name of someone lost in Iraq or Afghanistan so that we could pray for them throughout the day. So today, I am praying for Capt. Ryan A. Beaupre from Bloomington, IL and his family.

And I will remember.

On common prayer and other things

At Berkeley morning prayer and Eucharist this morning, our Dean, Joe Britton, spoke about 'common' prayer, pointing out that the beauty of this book that we Episcopalians use and read and love allows us to sit in a gathering with others whether we feel like praying or not, or sit in a cozy chair at home reading the daily office whether we feel like it or not, yet someone, somewhere is also praying those very words, and maybe that person feels like it and is able to sort of carry us along and lift us up when we are too tired or too sad or too worn out to feel like doing it ourselves. Then on those days when we are in a better place, our more in-tune prayer can similarly lift up someone else who just doesn't feel very connected at that time and in that place.

There's a real comfort in Dean Britton's words for everyone, I think, but especially for those of us to whom he actually spoke them. This time of year is stress-filled. Even with successful mid-terms behind me, there is no time to rest on those laurels because, with three weeks of class remaining (not counting reading week), there are 4 papers and 5 final exams looming on the not-too-distant horizon. Supposedly I'm doing all of this for God, but bringing myself to prayer with all the craziness of the seminary life is not always the easiest thing in the world. It's good to know that I don't have to be the one carrying the praying on any given day, but on those days that I can, it's also good to know that there might just be someone there who needs me to pray for us both.

Interestingly, in the Old Testament lesson from Haggai yesterday, God encourages the people to get to the work of rebuilding the temple. "Work," God says, "for I am with you" (Hag. 2:4). God promises to "shake the heavens and the earth and the sea and the dry land, and I will shake all the nations" so that the temple can be rebuilt. God is not asking anything of the Israelites except to work. God will take care of everything else.

So I will continue to work, trusting that God is taking care of everything else - Tim and Rachel and Yohann and the pups and friends and all the other people and things that I love. My job is to work at building this vocation, equipping myself for the life of an ordained person. I think this also means that God is taking care of the prayer part, too, as I pray in common with others in my immediate community as well as across the globe. That part isn't always up to me, either. Thanks be to God.

Amazing things

One of the great privileges of studying at a world-class university is the access to things I could not imagine seeing or even perhaps knowing about otherwise. This afternoon, some of us from patristics class went on a field trip over to Yale's West Campus to participate in a private viewing of ancient Christian art that is under restoration. Dura-Europos was a 3rd century C.E. garrison city on the eastern edge of the Roman Empire on the Euphrates in modern-day Syria. There was a house church there, the ruins of which were discovered in the 1920's and excavated in 1932. Yale partnered on the financing and excavation so has in its possession the fragment paintings from the baptistery in this house church. These paintings are the oldest surviving Christian monumental art known to historians. And we got to just walk around them and photograph them with our phones and talk with the curator and professors who know more than a little bit about this place. Go look in an art history book and you'll see Dura-Europos in there. It's staggering to the imagination!

The art contained in the baptistery - a separate room from the assembly because people were baptized in the nude - contained paintings on plaster of Jesus as the Good Shepherd, Peter going out to Jesus on the water, the healing of the paralytic, David and Goliath, and five women processing toward what looks like a sarcophagus. We (or the experts) don't know if this is actually the wise virgins who trim their lamps as they wait for the bridegroom (Matthew 25:1-13) or the women going to the tomb on Easter (Mark 16:1). There are no Gospel accounts of five women going to anoint Jesus' body, but who knows how biblical passages were interpreted on the edge of the empire? Some of the images are extremely vague and are awaiting the restorers touch. Some are clear and have already been restored. The painting of one of the virgins reveals a beautiful young woman with a veil, her lamp in her hand and some sort of bowl or vessel in the other. Her lips are painted, her eyes are deep, and her expression is one of placidness as well as expectation. And this painting is over 17 centuries old! It's humbling to see.

For a change, I am not on my way home on a Friday afternoon as Tim is bringing my car up to me. I flew home from a NC wedding last Sunday and have been happily carless all week. We'll be going to the Yale-Penn football game tomorrow, followed by watching the Phillies tomorrow night in Game 6. And of course, there will be more mid-term studying as all of this is happening.

It is fall in New England. The leaves are putting on quite a display and there is a nip in the air. It's a beautiful time of year here, and I am warmed by the friends I have met and the work we have all accomplished in this first semester of the year. It's flying by!

Midterm - only 5 1/2 to go!

This is called 'reading week.' It's supposedly the time divinity students catch up on all the reading they were supposed to have done and maybe, just maybe, get started on the next crop. At YDS, it's also convocation week, the week that classes hold reunions and the Beecher Lectures take place and all kinds of special events are planned such as a visit from the Presiding Bishop, Katharine Jefferts-Schori. While I hate to miss all the fun, I do believe the wise course for me was to come home (which I did) and write papers (which I did, although I had already finished one before this week) and study (which is next on the list). I have three exams, two next week, on the same day, Hebrew and Old Testament. The third exam isn't until the following Monday, so that gives me more time to study for that one. Hebrew continues to be a challenge, and I really want to do well on the exam, but I can't just ignore OT, either. Oh, what to do, what to do...

I've actually just completed my paper for patristics. It felt like a bit of a struggle which probably means it's not very good. I'll have Tim read it and I also plan to send it to a writing tutor that they very kindly provide at YDS. As much as I like to write, it's a whole different ballgame when you have to make an argument and back it up, especially since the professor knows all this stuff backwards and forwards and can probably shoot holes in my argument ten ways to Sunday. And what, you ask, was my argument? That no matter what the orders of ministry - bishop, priest and deacon - may have become in later years of the church, they were at least established in outline as ways of managing the fledgling church before end of the 1st century. Yeah, there are a lot of really smart people who would argue against that, including my beloved, but that's my story and I'm stickin' to it.

I'm very relieved that the paper is at least drafted before we leave for North Carolina on Wednesday with an overnight in D.C. so that Tim can conduct some business on Thursday morning. At least I'll only have to worry about exams while we're travelling, and I may need to take some time out from the wedding festivities of Kate and Bryan. But it will be so much fun to see the happy couple and Rachel & Yohann and my mom. You didn't expect reading week to be all work, now did you?

Life balance

Four weeks in, almost to midterm, and there is the rather stunning realization that keeping up with reading and assignments is great, as far as it goes, but it's now to find time to work in research and writing papers and studying for exams. Next week is Convocation Week during which alumni return and all kinds of special things happen here such as our presiding bishop visiting and honorary doctorates being conferred. It is also reading week, and I will be at home, spending half the week studying and writing papers and the second half travelling to North Carolina for the wedding of Kate Leavitt and Bryan Hunt. So, I'm thinking that this week, I'll need to get a lot of work done to allow me to balance next week between work and play.

A year ago on this date, Tim and I were in Aix-en-Provence in the south of France, a bit past midway through our 12-day tour of France in celebration of our 10th anniversary. Our son-in-law's parents live in Aix and treated us to a wonderful couple of days along the Mediterranean. This year, for our 11th anniversary, Tim came up to New Haven to his New England vacation home (aka my apartment) to celebrate the occasion. We only had from Friday to Sunday, and no, it ain't France, but we had a fantastic time together. Our anniversary dinner was Pepe's Pizza followed by pastry and gelato from Libby's. This may not sound like haute cuisine, but these places are New Haven landmarks, and Pepe's has the best pizza we've ever tasted.

Our anniversary dinner was only the beginning of an extravagant weekend. For breakfast on Saturday, we walked around the corner from where I live to Nica's Market which has delicious pastries and coffee and other gourmet foods. Tim can't believe that I've only been there twice, both times when he was here. Saturday's highlight was the Yale-Albany football game at the Yale Bowl. It's a good thing I don't have the Big 10 Network, or we'd have stayed home watching the Buckeyes struggle against Illinois. It was a spectacular day for fall football even though the Bulldogs lost. I was happy to get a look at Handsome Dan, the seventeenth incarnation of Yale's bulldog mascot.

After the game came the New Haven tour (with a detour to a Verizon store to get a phone charger or two for Tim. Don't ask.) We drove the steep, winding incline up to the top of East Rock (350 feet) for a magnificent view 0f the city and Long Island Sound. New Haven is flanked by two gigantic rock outcroppings, East Rock and West Rock which made it attractive to those who settled here in 1638. The 500 Puritans who left the Massachusetts Bay Colony seeking a new home in which to practice religious freedom recognized this safe port reminiscent of Psalm 18:

I love you, O Lord, my strength.
The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer,
my God, in whom I take refuge,
my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.

Purchasing land from the resident Quinnipiacs in exchange for protection from the threatening Pequots, the settlers renamed their new home New Haven. (No, I don't know if they actually protected the Quinnipiacs nor what they paid for the land.)

Then followed a walking tour of the campus, starting at the divinity school on the top of the hill, passing the bizarre Ingalls Rink, home of Yale hockey (it looks like a Portuguese explorer's helmet) and past the massive Payne-Whitney Gym (where I have worked out exactly once and swum laps also exactly once). Next came a trip to the Yale Bookstore, then across the quad on the old campus (where we met an adorable black lab puppy named Moose who had just arrived from South Carolina at 8 weeks), down Chapel Street along the New Haven Green, landing at Buffalo Wild Wings for dinner and more football. We ended our day with a stroll back to my apartment, full, tired, and happy.

This morning we forewent church (egads!) and slept in. We enjoyed a lazy walk to breakfast at Bruegger's, poring over the New Haven Register, strolling home so that Tim could get on the road by noon.

So why all the detail of a seemingly boring weekend visit from my husband? Because I kept thinking about our trip last year and realizing that I was just as content here in New Haven simply because Tim was here and we were together doing the things we like to do. It's really a remarkable gift to enjoy the company of someone else so thoroughly. It's also a good reminder for both of us that there is a time to work/study and a time to relax, and this was one of those times. Tim has his own consulting firm and burns the candle at both ends most of the time, especially since I'm not at home now. And I spend most of my time in class or studying (see above re: the gym). I don't believe God called me to seminary or the priesthood at the cost of my marriage, though, and spending time together is vital. Nightly Skype dates are one thing, but actually being present to each other in those times that we are together is good and necessary.

Relationships are important, none more so than a marriage. They take time and attention and nurturing, and the lovely thing is that it gives such joy to spend that time together. Tim is safely back in PA and I am catching up on the studying I ignored for the weekend (taking a break to write this). It will get done and all will be well, including my marriage. Thanks be to God.

On becoming community

Something quite interesting happened today. Well, it wasn't earth-shattering, I suppose, but it struck me by surprise and gave me a great burst of encouragement about what my time here at Yale will be about, at least in part. I had my first Annand group meeting this afternoon. The Annand Program for Spiritual Formation is sponsored by Berkeley Divinity School for the spiritual nurturing of divinity students here, both Berkeley and Yale. Spiritual direction is available (and required for middlers and seniors) and small group direction is highly recommended for juniors (first years like me).

So today was the first session of my small group. There were 9 people including myself and our facilitator, a former Roman Catholic UCC pastor (try figuring that one out). I knew all but one person in the group. Now mind you, classes haven't even been in session for three weeks. Some of us have been around campus for four weeks counting orientation. As each of us trickled in, we chatted and conversed and joked around and made fun of each other (where necessary). I watched the face of the facilitator, who seemed both shocked and amused that we already had formed something of a community.

And then it hit me - we had become a community! Somehow, we already knew each other well enough to know each other's foibles and personal characteristics well enough to laugh comfortably about them, all with an understanding of mutual love and support. How did this happen so quickly?

My first thought focused on how groups who have undergone some kind of trauma share an unshakable bond with each other. Okay, maybe trauma is a bit strong, but we have all come here from other lives, many having made great sacrifices to do so, and are faced with a rigorous academic program while at the same time trying to keep some sense of our spiritual moorings. And that, I believe, is where this community originated. We are all in an unfamiliar and sometimes scary place all because of our love for God and our feeble attempts at doing what our God would have us do.

It reminds me of an old hymn whose origin I can't recall that proclaims that we are one in the bond of love. I do love and admire and respect each of the persons in my Annand group, and, by extension, all the other pilgrims who have washed up on this distant shore in New Haven, perhaps still baffled and bewildered about how it all came about. But we are here, and we are together, and we are one. Thanks be to God.

Mid-September...already??!

Okay, so maybe I won't have as much blogging time as I had hoped. I've had a minor epiphany here - this is a lot of work!

Actually, the 'work' is mostly reading, and it ain't always the easiest texts in the world. I mean, how many letters did Ignatius of Antioch have to write and basically say the same thing over and over again? (The answer is 7.) However, I really love the subject matter, so it's not so bad. It's just that there's a lot of it.

I think four classes would be enough, but I'm really kind of stuck on Hebrew. It's actually fun! I told myself I'd give it two weeks and then make a decision about dropping it. We had our first quiz on Friday, and I think I did well on it. That's both good news and bad news. The thing about Hebrew is that it takes exponentially longer to study it than it does to read the required texts. But what a thrill is was to pass a synagogue in Hartford the other day and actually be able to read the inscription above the door! (Rachel was there on business, so the dogs and I went to see her!)

This travelling back and forth from New Haven to home and back, while it's taking a bit less time than anticipated, still takes a chunk out of study time. And of course, when I'm home, I want to spend time with Tim and putz around the house and run errands. I really hope to keep Saturday as my Sabbath day, although I allow myself to do school work when Tim is doing work-work, as we're doing right now - parallel play on our computers!

Last week, I had the dogs in New Haven with me since Tim had a few very long days and a trip to D.C. during the week. It was great having them there, even though I have to get up half an hour earlier and rush back and forth from campus to my apartment to take them out. It's not like I can let them out in the yard to run around on their own, so that takes time, too. And Satchel rather liked my bed, so tended to plop down in the middle of it to begin the night.

I continue to remind myself that I am doing this - leaving home and going to school - for a reason. It's a challenge to remember that it's not all about study and grades and earning a degree. It's about a vocation - a calling. It would be easy to lose sight of that which is why I've already met with a spiritual director and attend chapel twice a day every day. It keeps me grounded in prayer and is a constant reminder of my purpose. Let's see how that works out for me when the mid-terms and paper due dates roll around!

On your mark, get set...

You know you're in big trouble when, while checking you out with your 18 books for the semester, the bookstore manager, a Div. school alum, looks at you and says, "This is too much." And he wasn't talking about the cost. I smiled at him, but he looked at me very seriously and said, "No really, this is too much. You shouldn't take more than two of these particular classes at the same time." Uh-oh.

So, the Berkeley grid outlines semester by semester requirements and/or recommendations, and four of my classes I selected right of the grid - Old Testament, Church history, history of worship, and patristics (Christian theology up to 451CE). That's already a lot of reading (15 books, to be precise). On top of that, I added biblical Hebrew, not that I'm ever required to take it but because I really want to learn to read scriptural texts in the original languages. I am told that the language courses, whether Hebrew, Greek or some other obscure language, add exponentially to study time. It takes a lot of time to learn a whole language over the course of a year! So the deal I made with myself is this - try it out for a couple of weeks, and if it's too much, drop the Hebrew.

Ah, but there's the rub. Have I gotten beyond the tendency to drive myself to succeed at whatever I attempt, regardless of my health, sanity and well-being? This will be the first big test. Deep down, I really want to enjoy this experience, not constantly fret over the workload. I'll let you know how this pact with myself works out.

I'm on my way to the deans' picnic followed by opening convocation. Tomorrow starts with morning Eucharist and then my first class (which just so happens to be...Hebrew!). I don't think there's any turning back now. Carpe diem!

Home again, home again...

Ah, home! When I walked in the door Friday afternoon, greeted by wagging tails and a husband who missed me (I don't think his was one of the wagging tails, but I can't be sure), it was just what I needed after an exhausting week in New Haven. I'm convinced that the planners of orientation jam as much in as they possibly can in order to wear us out so that we'll actually be relieved by the time classes begin. All in all, it was a very good week, getting acclimated to the Div. School, learning where things are and meeting deans and faculty as well as all the other students.

One of the really great things about Berkeley at Yale is that there is Eucharist every morning except Friday when there is sung Morning Prayer and a later community Eucharist at Marquand Chapel, the Yale Divinity School worship space. Even in this first week, I can sense myself getting into a rhythm of going to St. Luke's Chapel in Berkeley House to start my day, girding myself for whatever the rest of the day will bring. The community worship at 10:30 every morning is as varied in style as the Berkeley ones are solidly Anglican in tradition. Sometimes raucous and always with a lot of loud singing, the whole community - students, faculty, and staff - gathers to worship God, further uniting us even though we come from many faith traditions. It's one of the remarkale things about YDS.

Not only is there a variety of denominations and faiths, the variety of people is equally diverse. There is a sizeable cohort of new students in the vicinity of my age and above. There are also a number of young people right out of undergraduate study. In between lie second-career young folk, Peace Corps veterans, Teach for America alums, and a variety of scholars, seekers, and future chaplains. I have met some fellow students whom I could already call my friends and others who surely will become so. This will undoubtedly be as much an adventure in relationship-building as it will be study.

Too soon, I head back up to New Haven tomorrow for the Berkeley picnic which I don't want to miss. Monday will be a day to do some exploring and meet with the director of the Annand Program for Spiritual Formation to sign up for a small spiritual direction group and private spiritual direction. I'll need both to keep me grounded! Tuesday is registration, the Deans' picnic and an opening convocation at Marquand.

Stay tuned for the class list!

Getting oriented

And so it begins. I arrived in New Haven last night, completed the setup of my apartment this morning, and registered for Before the Fall Orientation this afternoon (get the pun - before the fall?), meeting with a small group and enjoying a welcome ceremony and dinner. I can't figure out why I'm so exhausted - it isn't as if the day was that strenuous! However, meeting so many new people and still uncertain about what the coming week holds is enough to unnerve anybody, I suppose.

I still don't know when I meet with an advisor about classes. The Berkeley Divinity School curriculum requirements are fairly regimented, so it's not as if I have a lot of wiggle room on class selection. But the thought of not knowing until the day before classes begin just what I'll be doing when they do begin is unsettling. So my mantra for the week is 'don't worry; be happy' as Luke said in his 12th chapter.

Tim and I just finished our first Skype date. It's nice to be able to see him while I talk to him, although I think the dogs were very confused that they could hear me, but I wasn't around anywhere!

It's a busy week ahead with a dizzying array of activities. Fortunately, we aren't expected to do everything, so I plan to give myself some down time here at my nest. I wonder if I can front-load on rest and sleep to carry me through the late night Old Testament texts? I didn't think so...

In praise of vacations

He said to them, "Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves

and rest a while."

Mark 6:31

Contemporary society somehow got this part all wrong. Constant connection via cell phone and Blackberry (or, in my case, Droid) is not just the norm, it's expected. Good grief, people, even Jesus understood the need for time away!

And away we went to the beautiful Poconos in northeastern PA. We were delayed by a day so that I could go down to Bethesda to see my friends, so by the time we arrived, it was a desperately needed break. It never ceases to amaze me how hard Tim and I drive ourselves so that when we do slow down for a few days, we really slow down! Up at 9:30 or 10:00 in the morning, nap around 3:00, bed at 11:00. I think we did more sleeping in those 4 days than we have since I can remember.

I think we are pretty humble people. We know that the world will continue to spin without us. Yet somehow we have bought into our own indispensability. Maybe for Tim, this is sort of true. He does own his own business, after all. Me? I'm gainfully unemployed at the moment, almost a grad student. But when I finished with my work, we spent a busy moving-in weekend in New Haven and then got the news about Jay. By the time we drove up to the mountains, we were two weary souls.

This is something that Jesus understood all too well. People were constantly following, pleading, touching, trying to get a piece of him and the disciples. But he knew that we need refreshment and rest. "Come away," he says. You're of no use to anyone if you are exhausted and worn out. Take a minute or two to relax. Take a nap in a boat (Mark 4:38). Go to a quiet place. The world can spare you for a while. Hike in the mountains, play with Boudreau and Satchel, take naps. It's okay. Your work will wait for you.

Thanks. I needed that.

We interrupt your regularly scheduled blogging to bring you this special announcement.

For a moment, I need to write about someone besides myself. Someone I love very much. Someone in serious need of prayer. I want to tell you about a boy named Jay (we actually called him Jamie, but now that he is an adult, he prefers Jay).

I met Jay and his family at church. We started going there in about 1988 when Rachel was almost 6 and Seth was about 3. It wasn't too long before we became friends with a great couple with two boys, one a few years older than Rachel and one just younger. Jay was the younger of the two. Even though there was a 2-year and 3-month age difference, Jay and Seth became fastest of friends. They shared a deep and abiding interest in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Ghostbusters and all of the assorted weaponry that went along with those comics and cartoons. Jay, being older, actually owned a ninja bo and real nunchucks and assorted other weapons, much to Seth's extreme jealousy! These two were inseparable, sharing a fantasy-world with an intensity that others of their friends could not have understood. These were my boys, and I loved listening to them play and hearing them spin their stories!

Funny thing about these two sensitive little boys who played at such violent games - I think it was all a sham. Especially for Jay, I believe that living in a world of make-believe where he possessed super fighting skills was his way of getting by in a sometimes scary world where monsters and tough guys seemed to rule and gentle ones like himself were victims. He and Seth were kindred spirits that way, and maybe that's why they were so close during those years when make-believe is still an accepted form of play.

Because of the age difference, Jay discovered high school and girls way before Seth, so they began to drift apart as Jay made his way through adolescence. There were still occasional sleepovers and that road trip that I took them on to Red Bank, NJ to see where the film 'Clerks' was made. Yes, their movie sophistication (or lack thereof) had come a long way from TMNT! And we prevailed upon Jay to carry the cross in the wedding procession when Tim and I married in 1999. After that, contact was pretty limited. Rachel ran into Jay's brother a time or two and, while the adults continued to see each other from time to time, my news of the goings-on with Jay came through his parents.

Obviously, Jay grew up, and it took some time for him to figure out what he wanted to do with his life. I remember talk of Navy Seals or military intelligence, but he found his calling as a medic, joining the Marines and training as a corpsman. One thing you have to understand about a Marine corpsman - he'll do anything to take care of his marines, and they, in turn, do anything they can to take care of and protect him. It looked like Jay had finally discovered a way to battle the monsters in a productive and useful manner - to care for the wounded on the battlefield, doing whatever he needed to do to save his comrades.

Jay went to Afghanistan this spring. He came back to the States on August 8th, four days after stepping on an IED in Helmand Province. He lost both legs and an arm. The other arm is severely damaged and the hand has just a thumb and forefinger. Mercifully, there does not appear to be any brain damage and his internal organs are fine. He's at Bethesda Naval Medical Center where he has undergone surgery with more to come. When he's ready, he'll go to Walter Reed for rehab and prosthetics. This will be a long, long road for him and his young wife.

I lost a son to suicide. I continue to grieve and feel that loss with every waking minute. I've never been angry about it as is so common among survivors of suicide. I can only feel on overwhelming sorrow for the pain Seth must have experienced.

But Jay? This makes me angry. What is the point of this beautiful, gentle and kind young man getting blown to bits in a faraway land in a war that has lost its purpose? Oh, I understand that the Taliban are the bad guys and harbor the perpetrators of 9/11, but the US is not the first country to discover that winning a war in that country is not within the realm of possibility. And yet we continue to send our young people over to fight and die. And then, then one day it's not just some young soldier. It's Jay. And I'm heartbroken for him and for his family and hope that he and they will find the strength to do whatever it is they need to do to heal and recover and rebuild his life.

Please pray for him, my friends.

I love you, Jamie. I only wish you had stuck with the nunchucks.

Our New England "vacation home"

Many years ago, Tim sat down to write a personal goals list. Leadership development guru that he is, he understands that if you don't somehow make your goals clear and unambiguous, you won't know if actually reach them. Among his goals were a trip to Paris (check), an Ohio State-Michigan football game (check), and a trip to Australia (check). Also on that list was a vacation home in New England. Now the debate begins - does a tiny efficiency apartment in New Haven satisfy this goal?

We've spent the past three days dropping some change at IKEA and Bed, Bath & Beyond, spending hours assembling our purchases. This small little apartment in a lovely part of town less than half-mile from the divinity school is starting to look like a home. Funny thing, though. I was thinking about how odd it felt to have signed a lease on a place of my own when I have a beautiful house that I share with Tim and the furry kids. What on earth was I doing?

Well, with all the building and sweating and arranging and laughing and working, we created a new home...together. It's not just my apartment - it's ours. While I'll probably be coming home more often than he will schlep the dogs up to see me, it's still a home that we've established together, so even when I'm there on my own, part of Tim will be there with me, and that's a great comfort to me.

So honey, I'm afraid that the answer is 'yes' - you do have a second home in New England. For me, it's a work-home, but when you come to see me, it's your vacation spot. Congratulations on reaching another personal goal!

Of endings and new beginnings

Today was my last day at work at Episcopal Community Services. When I began there on April 24, 2000, I was a newlywed (not quite 8 months in), my children were in high school, and I was working as a part-time church musician. George W. Bush was elected (or should I say appointed) president that fall. September 11th took place in my second year on a vividly blue-skied Tuesday morning that I will never forget. Rachel went off to college and graduated in 4 years. Seth turned in some extraordinary performances, went off to NYU, and, sadly, began his struggle with depression. So much has changed in these 10 years.

One thing that hasn't changed is this vocational pursuit I've travelled for longer than I can remember. Even when I arrived at ECS, I felt as if this were simply the place God wanted me to be at that time, and I like to think that I've used my time well. The agency does wonderful work with the most vulnerable of the brothers and sisters in our community. I've learned so much about the social services environment and living out our baptismal covenant in our day-to-day lives. And mostly I've learned in a very real and tangible way that every person is necessary to the success of our community, whether at work or in the neighborhood and beyond. I think that one of the staff persons at ECS St. Barnabas Mission said it best at my farewell party today. He said that when he arrived, was so excited to come to the main office to see the 'big shots,' but when he got there he realized that we were just family. I think that's what Jesus meant by the one body in which we all have a part.

And now, the new adventure begins. This weekend, Tim will help me set up my New Haven apartment, and we'll take a week in the Poconos with the dogs. Before I know it, classes will begin at Yale Divinity School, and ECS and all its people will fade into the fabric of my life. This isn't a bad thing, though. Every strand of that fabric, beautiful and ugly alike, helped to create the person I am, and if I wanted to pull out those threads that were shameful or painful or difficult, it would ruin the pattern that God has wrought in me. The pattern may not be perfect, but then, neither am I.

50 years and 2 days

I think birthdays are to be celebrated, even my own. Even my (gulp) 50th! It's a pretty miraculous thing for us to even come into being from a bunch of random cells. For us to then survive and, hopefully, thrive is an achievement worth acknowledging. In my case, I can honestly say that, with every year, my life becomes more fulfilling and more meaningful. If I could somehow disregard that my son died at 24, my life would be just about as perfect as it could be. That's an impossible "if," I'm afraid.

I had long planned that for my 50th birthday, Tim and I would take my children Rachel and Seth and their significant others and/or spouses to Disneyworld for a week. I love that happiest place on earth and have been known to open the gates in the morning and lock them up at night. So this was something that I looked forward to with great anticipation. Seth's death changed all of that. There would be no going to Disney to celebrate my birthday, nor would Seth be around for any other celebrations at which his absence looms overwhelmingly large.

My husband, Tim, knew that he could not possibly replace Seth or my birthday plans. What he could do is to make sure I would be surrounded by those who love me on this momentous occasion, so he threw me a wildly surprising party and invited people that I love and that love me, and we ate and drank and many said some very, very nice things about me, and my tears of joy mixed with my tears of sadness. And best of all, Rachel flew home from San Diego to surprise me, too, and my joy was complete, or at least as complete as it will ever be on this side of heaven.

This may not sound much like church to you, but to me, this is what church is all about - people supporting each other and loving each other through thick and thin, helping to celebrate through the loss and finding joy in the presence of each other. If you want to know why I want to serve the church, this is why. At its best, the church is the kind of place where tears of joy mix with tears of sorrow, and we are all uplifted in love and a holy friendship.

The $64,000 Question

"So, why do you want to be a priest?" This question actually has a corollary that goes something like, "What makes you think you're called to be a priest?" I guess we really have two $32,000 questions, neither of which has an easy, elevator speech answer.

As to the first, I want to be a priest because I love God and I love the Church. I know, there are an awful lot of people out there who share these loves, so I suppose the real question is: what is it about my love for God and the Church that goes beyond being satisfied with engaging in the wide range of ministries in which I have been active for years? That answer gets into the whole 'call' business.

In the Episcopal Church, the role of the priest is to be a pastor, priest and teacher, to bless, absolve and administer the sacraments, and to participate in the counsels of the Church. It's not a particularly detailed job description. However, knowing what the expectations are requires the suspension of self-effacement and the ability to state my strengths - a good preacher and teacher, administrative competence, and the ability to identify with people in all states of their life - birth to death and everything that falls in between.

But the real answer to this 'call' question flows from what I believe the Church to be. It's not a place. It's not a building. The location is simply where the Church gathers. And we gather there in community, just as Jesus' first act of ministry was to call together his community. We do this to hear the Word proclaimed, to learn, to worship, and to be strengthened for our service as the Church in the world. A central part of this takes place when we gather at the holy table and celebrate the Eucharist with our brothers and sisters. It is here that we partake of the mystical body and blood of Christ, an act of remembrance as well as a celebration of Christ's presence with us here and now. And it is from here that we are sent "out to do the work you have given us to do, to love and serve you as faithful witnesses of Christ our Lord" (BCP p. 366).

It is the priestly function to preside at this table, to baptize, to bless, and to pronounce the forgiveness of sins. My greatest desire, which I believe God has placed within me, is to be the one who holds this sacred story, proclaims it, lives it, and passes it on. It's not easy to actually say that because it is an awesome responsibility in the grandest sense of that word - it inspires awe in me.

Fortunately, this priestly call is not just up to me to identify. The traditions of the church require that this 'call' also be identified by the community in which I work and worship. I am blessed to have two parishes that are sending me forth into this ordination process, even though only one of them can be the official sponsoring parish. I am humbled to have so many believe that I am, indeed, called by God into service in the church. Thankfully, my bishop and his commission on ministry are also affirming of me, that I continue in the discernment process, attending seminary and continuing to meet with them as I move forward.

So, as difficult as it is to publicly talk about all of this (and believe me, I didn't let Tim even mention it for years as I was just beginning to think maybe I might be called into ministry!), don't let anyone tell you that there isn't some ego involved in this whole process. No one could possibility think that she is suitable for holy orders without having an inordinate amount of confidence in her abilities. The balance to this is that awe-struck humility that constantly whispers in my soul of the solemn and sacred obligation that comes with this calling. I still wrestle with all of this everyday and imagine that I will for the rest of my life. But for now, I am moving forward, heading off to my postulancy conference with the bishop and commission on ministry next week and then seminary in another month.

$64,000? That doesn't even come close to the value of this, so I'll steal a line from MasterCard: priceless.

The grass withers and the flower fades

When I was 9 years old, my dad gave me a bible for Christmas. It was a white leather-bound King James Version in which he inscribed "May the meaning of this book be dear to you always." I think his own father, a Southern Baptist pastor, had inscribed those exact words in his childhood bible. This bible still sits on my bookshelf, a special connection between my dad, who died in 1997, and me.

I can't remember if my 5 siblings also received bibles at some point in their young years. I suppose they probably did, but I've managed to imagine this as some unique aspect of my relationship with my father. He was not an especially faithful man, if by 'faithful' you mean going to church every Sunday and saying prayers every night. But I don't think he ever lost that memory of his upbringing of church twice on Sunday and on Wednesday night, to boot. He could still belt out old Gospel hymns when I'd sit at the piano to play, and he knew every word of every stanza.

His father, my grandfather, died just 20 days before I was born, but I feel a special connection with him, too. Several years ago, my Uncle Jack (dad's brother) put together a collection of sermons from a 3-ring binder Grandaddy kept that he labelled "My Best." Forty-three of these 'best' sermons were edited from his abysmal hand-typed manuscripts and bound into a beautiful black volume that was presented to each of the grandchildren. It is a book that I treasure.

Grandaddy was a scripture-based preacher but he was not what I'd call a fundamentalist. He preached against the Scopes trial in 1925 and condemned the 'heinous act' of the lynching of a black man in Sherman, Texas in 1930. His was a prophetic voice of which I am vicariously very proud! I'll never forget my first time in a pulpit and - I know this sounds cracked - felt as if his mantle were laid upon my shoulders like Elijah and Elisha. I told you it sounds cracked. All the same, that's how it felt and it was a humbling, transcendent moment for me.

I don't recall my dad talking much about his childhood. Maybe he got tired of talking about it by the time I came along as the youngest of 6! But there is a story about him in one of Granddaddy's sermons that I love. The text is from 1 Samuel 30:6 - David strengthened himself in the Lord his God and is a portion of the story of David's exile among the Philistines when Saul was threatening to kill him. He writes:

We were blessed with four children in our home, two girls and two boys. When the youngest one, a boy (my dad, Leland), was eight years old, the back yard was full of boys at their games. Of course they were making a lot of noise, as boys should do. But all of a sudden, there was a calm. Mrs. Ellis (my grandmother) suspected that something had gone wrong and she went immediately to investigate. When she arrived upon the scene she saw her baby boy standing in a belligerent attitude with a rock in his hand and one of his little playmates was making a hurried exit out the back gate. She soon calmed the storm and they were back at their games again as though nothing had happened. She said nothing to Leland at the time, but that night before she put him to bed she had a little heart-to-heart with him. She explained that she was so happy for him to have his friends over and play in the yard or in the house. It was just what she wanted him to do. But she suggested that he did not want to be losing his temper and throwing rocks at his little friends. She said that would hurt her and his father and said, "Do you think that will please the Lord?" He said, "Well, if one of these boys hits me, the Lord is not going to find me standing there doing nothing." So the Lord did not find David standing around there long, doing nothing.

Isn't that great? He refers to my dad as my grandmother's "baby boy" and uses this illustration to enflesh the story of David before he was king, fighting for his life. I wonder how Daddy felt hearing this story told about himself from the pulpit? I can just see him feeling the need to protect himself, not taking abuse from other kids, and I'd be very surprised if he had apologized. We youngest children have to learn how to take care of ourselves!

So does any of this have anything at all to do with my great love of scripture? I like to think that it's part of a common thread that runs through my spiritual genetic code. There was a time when I would not have believed that, having grown up in an Episcopal Church that did not see much need in emphasizing scripture in the formation of children. It was actually when I went to the Presbyterian Church as an organist and choirmaster in my 30s that I realized what a biblical illiterate I was, and I had a lot of catching up to do! I have been a student of the scriptures ever since, having fallen in love with the great story of God's love for his people which we Christian's believe was brought to fulfillment in Jesus the Christ. I hope to preach that word as faithfully as my grandfather did for so many years.

The grass withers, the flower fades; but the word of our God will stand forever. (Isaiah 40:8)

With gladness and singleness of heart

47 days and counting. That's how much time I have remaining before classes begin. Only 13 working days left at the place I've worked for the past 10 1/4 years. Just 7 days until my 50th birthday. I'd say I need to have my head examined, but I just took care of that for the bishop and have been pronounced sane.

Welcome to the world of my blog. This is for all of you who have loved and prayed for and supported me these past years - many, many years - as I've discerned and run into brick walls and persevered and grieved and loved and laughed, in short, lived a life much like most of you. And now, finally, I am on the verge of beginning the realization of the the vocation to which I believe that I am called, priesthood in the Episcopal Church, heading off to Berkeley at Yale Divinity School to begin studies in a 3-year Master of Divinity degree program.

The title of this entry is taken from a post-communion prayer in the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer. I've been planning to write a book by that title for a very long time, but, like my seminary studies, it's taking longer to get around to that than would seem reasonable, but I've discovered that there's really nothing very reasonable about matters of faith and the heart. This title, though, describes very well what my life, for all its twists and turns and detours, has been about. This is not a gladness that manifests itself as a perpetually cheery outlook, because any one who knows me could easily put the lie to that! Nor is the singleness of heart about having no other interests or outlets than a calling in the church. No, I'd say that gladness and singleness of heart are the overarching position of my heart and mind as this life has unfolded.

Some of you know a great deal about me and how this mid-life change of course has unfolded. Some of you may just know bit and pieces. As I prepare for my studies to begin, I will try to unpack some of how I came to this place by way of providing background for what is to come. When classes begin, I have no idea how much writing I'll be able to do amidst my studies, but I hope to provide updates, not that I think anyone will hang onto my every word, but because I know that many of you are interested and supportive and may just want to know how I'm doing from time to time.

And for that last bit, let me express my gratitude at the outset. So many of you have believed in me even when I wasn't sure that the light at the end of the tunnel wasn't an oncoming train. You mourned with me over the death of my son, Seth, and rejoice with me in the unfolding life of my beautiful Rachel and her husband, Yohann. When the way was blocked in one diocese, some of you had to bid me farewell while others have welcomed me with open arms and heaped grace upon grace on my life. So, before I forget, I will say thank you to all of you who have walked this walk with me and will continue to do so as this new adventure begins.