Diversity at the Top

I will try to write the following post without zeroing in too specifically on any one institution.  My experiences in thinking about returning to school seem to offer some larger societal insights.

Let me preface by saying that I'm no Luddite.  I've been incorporating online elements to my classes long before we had the tech infrastructure to make it easy.  I've been online for longer than most of my students have been alive.

I was surprised at how much trouble I had navigating the early stages of the ELCA candidacy process.  I couldn't find some documents, like the application, in the places where I expected to find them.  Finally I just clicked every place I could click; ignoring what made intuitive sense was what led me to the form I needed.  I went ahead and filled it all in, even though I hadn't intended to do it right then, because I was afraid I might never find the form again.

Along the way, I thought about the people who don't have the online experiences that I have, about the people who haven't been to grad school before (or who went so long ago that the online part of applying is new).  I thought about the people who might look at certain price tags and assume that doors are closed.

When we talk about leadership in our institutions--government, school, church, corporations--many of us wonder why the leadership is so white, so male, so rich, and in many cases so old.  I think I've found a reason why.

Many of us might have speculated that certain doors are closed to more diverse candidates, and that's traditionally been the case.  I've always thought about how many people are out there who never knock on the door at all.

This week, I'm wondering about all of those who never find their way to the door to knock.  Can we get rid of some of the roadblocks?

Hinge

 What a week it has been!  In future years, I might see this week as one of those hinge moments, the time when one part of life opens from another part of life, the one where I look back and say, "That's the week that led directly to where I am today."

Just a week ago, I was exploring Wesley Seminary's Arts and Theology program.  I was feeling thrilled, in part because of the week that had come before.  I had spent the last week of January looking at programs at other seminaries and feeling such a sense of despair.  I had just the opposite reaction to the program at Wesley:  I wanted to pack my bags and get started right away.

I wrote some blog posts, and early in the week, an Admissions rep from Wesley reached out to me.  We exchanged e-mails, and she put me in touch with the person who is in charge of the center for Theology and the Arts and in charge of the specialization track.  

By Monday, I decided it was time to reach out to the woman at Synod who is in charge of candidacy (candidacy is the process by which both the person and the Church determine what God is up to--and to be bluntly honest, to make sure that it's a good idea to have a person go to seminary and become a pastor).  By Thursday, I had a variety of candidacy documents to explore.  

By the end of the day on Friday, I had submitted the application for candidacy to the national church.  I've still got lots of documents to submit to the Synod office, but I've taken the first step.  I clicked that submit button at the end of the 7 screens of information/submission that make up the application online.  

Now to write the paper that explores my spiritual life.  That part won't be as hard for me as it might be for some.  In some ways, I write parts of that paper each and every week.  

I'll also need to do some other activities:  get a psychiatric evaluation, get 2 letters of recommendation, have an initial meeting with a member of the Synod candidacy committee.  But today it feels more doable than when I was first sifting through the materials on Thursday.

It's also been a week where I let people know what I'm thinking about:  friends and family, my pastor, my spiritual director, my small group that's part of the spiritual director certificate program.  Not a one has responded by asking if I'm sure, asking if I've lost my mind, asking if I've thought this through.  No one has told me that I'm crazy.  No one has suggested that I can't do it.

On the contrary, most people are happy for me and overwhelmingly supportive.  That, too, seems like a sign to me.

Here's one of my favorite responses (from a grad school friend):  "I think you're right to pay attention to the flashing signs that are clearly trying to catch your eye. Mepkin Abby, a seminary in a city where you have family, a pandemic that's altered the way we approach course work, and a Lutheran seminary right here in Columbia plus my guest room in case you need additional classes at the end! It's been your heart's yearning for decades now. The universe is saying go forth. Now is your time."

And here's a close runner up, from my atheist friend:  "even IF you sounded crazy, Kristin - the most important sound I hear is happiness. And crazy happiness is beautiful right now. NOT THAT I AM SAYING YOU ARE CRAZY!!!! of course you are - taking on this much work is insane. but if insane work makes you happy ... go for it."

I am going for it.

Desolation and Consolation, Discernment and Candidacy

I spent the week-end rapturously exploring the website of Wesley Theological Seminary.  Earlier this week, I decided it was time to be in touch with the Synod people in charge of candidacy.  Yesterday, I decided to explore seminary, more specifically the MDiv degree, through the lens of candidacy.

As I clicked my way through the Synod materials sent to me as e-mail attachments and the ELCA materials on the ELCA website.  I felt my stress and anxiety levels rising.  I noticed my frustration at how difficult it was to navigate it all:  was this form named this way actually that form referred to over there?  Did I need to sign up here or here and once I did this, why could I not log on again?  Did clicking here in this e-mail that I wasn't told would be coming mean that I could get back to the website where I could start to fill in forms?  For the record, clicking on the e-mail verification did get me access.

Unlike clicking my way through the Seminary site, my internet ramblings yesterday left me feeling deflated and a bit frightened.  I heard that familiar voice in my head, that voice that I have learned to ignore, saying, "Who do you think you are?  Why do you think you can do this?"  That voice quickly spirals down into all sorts of harsh criticism along the lines of too old, too late, too stupid, too fat, too female, not enough resources, not enough time, not enough, not enough, not enough.

I will ignore that voice.  I've gotten good at ignoring that voice.  But I wince a bit at how often I've had to ignore that voice, the one that told me I couldn't possibly get into grad school, the one who told me I couldn't write a dissertation, the one that told me to avoid tenure track jobs because I would surely perish in a publish-or-perish job, the one that told me an MFA after getting a PhD wouldn't be worth the effort, the one that told me going after this grant or that grant would be too much effort--I could go on and on.  Sometimes I ignored that voice and did the thing anyway.  Sometimes I ignored that voice and wished that I had explored an option.  

And what makes this all particularly painful is that sometimes, the voice was right, but I can't always be sure.  The road not taken remains the road not taken after all--the road that might have changed everything for the better or changed everything for the worse or might have changed nothing.

I think about the books I've been reading about Ignatian spirituality, about the idea of consolation and desolation.  To explain it in an overly simple way, if a decision/answer makes one feel inspired and fulfilled, like one is living into one's purpose for life, that one is moving closer to God, it's a decision/answer made in consolation.  If it makes one feel otherwise, it's a mark of desolation.

And here's where it gets tricky.  One can come to a decision/answer in consolation, but still feel some tinges of desolation as one goes on.  I feel like I am seeing that in real time in the past week.

Yesterday, as I started feeling extremely overwhelmed at the candidacy process, I felt this temptation to give up, to sink into my midlife comfort, to listen to that inner voice that hopes I can make it to retirement with a full-time salary and benefits package.

I reminded myself of the wisdom that I found in one of the books, that I can't find again right now, the wisdom that says not to let a decision made in a spirit of consolation come undone when one enters a period of desolation.  

I am familiar with this cycle, although I usually experience it over the course of months or years, not over just a few days.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

 The readings for Sunday, Feb. 7, 2021:

First Reading: Isaiah 40:21-31

Psalm: Psalm 147:1-12, 21c (Psalm 147:1-11, 20c NRSV)

Second Reading: 1 Corinthians 9:16-23

Gospel: Mark 1:29-39

Again we see Jesus early in his ministry, which at this point, seems to consist of healing and casting out demons. The issue of rest, or lack of it, speaks to me in the Gospel this week.

Notice that Jesus heals Simon's mother-in-law--and what is the first thing that she does? She gets up and serves them. Maybe she shows the appropriate response: what to do with a miraculous healing? Why, cook dinner, of course. But the story reminds me of many female friends I have who will get up from their sickbeds, even when they're burning with fever, to do things for the family, like cooking dinner or doing the laundry. What's behind this busyness?

Also this story faintly foreshadows the story of Mary and Martha. Martha can't stop her frantic rushing around, getting the meal ready. Mary takes time out of daily tasks to listen to Jesus.

Look at Jesus, later in the chapter. He's been on a whirlwind tour of preaching and healing. He gets up early in the morning, "a great while before day" (verse 35), and he retreats. He goes to a lonely place.

We could learn a lot from Jesus--turn off the TV, don't answer the phone, disconnect from the Internet, stop our busy chasing after we don't even know what anymore. In short, we need to go to a lonely place.

As we get close to the one year anniversary of COVID-19 affecting the U.S. so adversely, we might protest that we've been in a lonely place, a place of get togethers cancelled, travel canceled, reunions postponed, jobs vanished, people moving away.  That's one kind of lonely place, but it's not truly similar to the lonely place of Christ's retreat.

Jesus doesn't just flop on a rock and zone out. Jesus spends his down time praying. He uses this Sabbath Time to get in touch with God. We daydream about a lot of things to recharge our batteries: trips to a spa, a super vacation, early retirement. But the way Jesus shows us is simplicity incarnate.

God calls us to a servant's destiny. We are put on earth to be of service to others, doing the same things that Jesus did: preaching, feeding, teaching, healing. People who scoff at the idea of service often fail to understand what wonderful community can be formed during these times of service. Through our service and community building, we become more connected, which heals us—and the world—in all sorts of ways.

But God doesn't expect us to do these things without periods of rest. We need times of retreat, even if we can only schedule short times. We need times of prayer. We need time to listen for God, because the cries of the needy can drown out the still, small voice of God. We need time to refresh, and the easiest way to renew ourselves for the tasks ahead is to pray. The world, with all its aching yearning, will still be there after we emerge from our time of retreat.

The Feast Days of Simeon and Anna

Today we celebrate the lives of Simeon and Anna.  Yesterday was the feast day that celebrates the presentation of Jesus at the temple 40 days after his birth.  Simeon was the priest at the temple that day.  God had promised Simeon that he would not die without seeing the Messiah, and at the end of Simeon's life, God fulfills the promise.

When he held Jesus, he said the words that many of us still use as part of our liturgies: "Lord, now you are letting your servant depart in peace, according to your word; 30 for my eyes have seen your salvation that you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and for glory to your people Israel."

On this day, we also celebrate Anna the Prophetess, who was also there for the presentation.  Like Simeon, she's at the end of her life, and she's spent much of her life in the temple, doing the support work that keeps religious work running smoothly.  It's interesting that I assume she did the support work--the text says she spent her days worshiping God and fasting and praying.  My brain filled in the rest:  that she did the sweeping and the care of the candles/lamps and the feeding of everyone.

We have the song of Simeon; I wonder if Anna sang a song?  I wonder what it would be?

I am fairly new to this pair of feast days; in fact, I only realized this morning that Anna's feast day is today too.  I love feast days that celebrate humans at the end of life, humans who haven't done anything particularly remarkable--although staying faithful for a lifetime is fairly remarkable.

The churches of my childhood didn't spend much time on the old people in any story. The lectionary readings focus on Jesus and the disciples, who are often presented as men in the youthful prime of their lives.

I'm forever grateful to feminist scholars who have returned to these texts and given them a new spin as they imagined what would happen if we moved women to the center of the narratives--or, if not the center, at least out of the marginal shadows.

I feel a need to do something similar with the stories of the old folks. Elizabeth, Simeon, and Anna are great places to start.

Today, let us remember that God makes us a similar promise to the one that Simeon receives. We need but open our eyes to see the presence of the Divine.  And if we're faithful to the best of our abilities, we may find out we've been holding the Divine in our hands all along.

Candlemas and Other Mid-Winter Holidays that Celebrate the Return of Light

We are at the halfway point of winter--halfway between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox.   It's also a morning where I'm scrolling through beautiful pictures of snow from a wide variety of places--a huge winter swarm has swirled its way across the country and up the Eastern seaboard.

And here we are at Groundhog's Day, when we long to know if we will have 6 more weeks of winter or if spring will come slipping in.  We're also almost a year into this pandemic; although the pandemic was on our radar screen if we were paying attention, many of us weren't personally affected until March, so that's why I say almost a year, not over a year.

We're at a crossroads of  holidays:  St. Brigid's Day yesterday, and today is Candlemas, also known as the Feast of the Presentation.  We also have some holidays associated with pre-Christian times:   Imbolc and Oimelc.  All of them show the human yearning for fire and light and warmth in these deeper days of winter.

Today, Candlemas, some churches and monasteries will bless the year's supply of candles. I love this tradition. Today would be a good day to light a candle and to think about our own lights. Are we dimly burning wicks? Take heart--the Bible promises that we can still be useful. Does our light burn pure and true? Take care to protect that flame.

Candlemas celebrates the presentation of Jesus at the temple. It's the last feast holiday that references Christmas. We could see it as the final festival of Christmas, even though most of us have had the decorations packed away since even before Epiphany.

For those of us who feel like it’s been too long since we saw sunlight, be of good cheer. The holidays of early February (Groundhog Day, Candlemas, St. Brigid's Day, Imbolc and Oimelc) remind us that the light hasn't really left us. Spring will be here soon.

The Feast Day of Saint Brigid

Today is the feast day of St. Brigid, one of the patron saints of Ireland. She is one of the early Christians who stood at the intersection of Christianity, Druidism and the other pagan religions of Ireland. She is also one of those extraordinary women who did amazing things, despite the patriarchal culture in which she lived.

Like so many of our early Christian church mothers, she felt called by God from a very early age. She resisted attempts to get her married: one account has her scooping out her diseased eye in protest of an impending marriage--and later, healing her dangling eyeball by putting it back in her head. When we go back to read about the lives of women in medieval times, it's amazing that more women didn't fight harder to go join the cloistered life.

St. Brigid founded some of the first Christian monasteries in Ireland, most famously the legendary one in Kildare. She also founded a school of art that focuses on metal working and illumination. The illustrated manuscript, the Book of Kildare, was created under her auspices. Unfortunately, it's been lost since the Reformation, so we know it by its reputation only.

She's also famous for her generosity, especially to the poor. She showed this compassion early on, giving away all of her mother's butter to a poor person--and then, by her prayers, the butter was restored.

There are so many ways we might celebrate her feast day. To celebrate her generosity, today would be a good day to give away some of our stockpile, secure in the knowledge that we'll find abundance as we need it.

To celebrate her miracles, which involved abundances of butter, milk, and beer, we could bake some bread and slather it with butter.

To celebrate her artistic tendencies, we could start an illuminated book of our own. How would our lives change if we kept a daily book that illustrated all the miraculous abundance that we found in the world?

But above all, today is a good day to consider our own lives. If centuries from now, a middle-aged woman read about your life as you’re living it, would she be inspired?

Across a space of centuries, Brigid inspires me. I'd like to be a similar inspiration.