One last thing before I disappear into Christmas:
One of the ministers (from my childhood denomination, several of whom are secretly cheering me on) told me the other day that they were taught in theological school that when people like me resign, it is like the removal of dead wood from the tree.
My "death" in the church isn't a loss or a tragedy, it is a removal of dead wood.
How lovely.
That explains a great deal.
I know many women who are groaning in pain with the injustices and invisibility and dismissal, no longer content with the scraps under the table, and nobody seems to care! Nobody is listening in any way more than the politically correct, "It is good that you communicate," (barf) way. Not the leaders, anyway. The more fringe ministers have enough safety to support, if not too publicly, the dead and dying. But the closer to central leadership they are the less open and warm the men seem to be.
So when one girl friend finally resigned after years of struggle and trying to make it work, she got the equivalent of, "That's nice. Bye." From the pastor in her congregation.
No regrets. No good wishes. No ongoing support in her ongoing spiritual life. Nothing.
She died!
Hello?!
By that, I mean, this is like a death to her! Believe me, I know! The amount of investment and attachment some of us were raised to have borders on the cultic. It is ENORMOUS to step away. It is terrifying and lonely and very very hard. Extremely painful.
Then, some people treat you like you have leprosy, because they can't imagine why you would go where you have gone. And you don't want to tell them, because it's ugly and makes people they trust look bad, and no matter how lonely you are, you don't want other people to go through the same horrible pain.
But meanwhile, there you are, dead. And people are just stepping over your body and getting on with life and there's no outcry, no mourning the loss, no recognition of the dead having had any worth.
Dying is the fault of the one who died, I guess. Mourning would mean somebody did something wrong besides the corpse. If we don't notice, nothing is wrong. It couldn't possibly be like canaries in the mine. It couldn't possibly be a sign that there is disease in the system!
OUCH!
And here, I thought the church cared about her. Nope, if the work-horse stumbles, let it starve and die. We don't have time for the lame or stumbling. If shaming them into looking happy doesn't work, leave them behind. Don't waste food on the invalid.
Invalid. In-valid. No longer valid. No truth. Silenced. Dismissed. Feelings are invalidated. If my complaints aren't sanitized and polite enough, they are made wrong. If I make people uncomfortable, the faster I disappear, the better. It all makes sense now. I couldn't understand the complete non-reaction to the many complaints and increasing resignations.
A whole new meaning to "The religion that makes sense."
I just read a paper by a woman in the MARS program (masters in religious studies) attached to the all-male theological school of my childhood denomination. (The word is that the women aren't even allowed to take courses with the men. It's all separate. I guess the female thinking might contaminate the lofty "masculine wisdom." Someone correct me if I'm wrong.) Women get a pat on the head and a piece of paper saying they studied. But even what they have studied is not equivalent to what the men get.
I think I'm glad. I don't like the way the men are thinking who come out of there.
We would need a completely new curriculum designed by women.
Anyway, her paper is about trying to let women be ministers.
It just struck me as an attempt to sell pork to Hasidic Jews. Far more worthy a goal, actually, and about as viable. It's like trying to use only the teachings of Paul to convince men that women are on a level in every way with them. It's slaves asking for freedom, when the economy depends on them staying slaves.
My forehead is still scarred from banging against that wall.
Maybe somebody some day will get enough enlightenment, and have anough power to turn the Titanic around. Meanwhile, I'm far away, doing just fine in my life boat. And I'm moving steadily on. Up ahead are several big ships that turned around ages ago. . . . People on board are smiling and waving and reaching out hands in greeting, ready to help me climb aboard.
Friday, December 23, 2005
Winding Down
So my last paper is handed in, and I'm recovering from a subsequent stomach bug. I've been too busy to think straight, and very grumpy that I can't enjoy myself. And I was so looking forward to a break! (Of course, I could try to do eighteen fewer things.... But, but, but. . . !)
AND I'd rather try to do everything, and be exhausted and frazzled, than not try.
Having said that, I am dropping from 5 courses to 3 for winter semester. Phew!
My grades are coming in, and so far, they are very good.
Meanwhile, I am acutely aware of my inadequacies. I have already resolved to catch up on my reading and review tons of Greek over the break. Ha ha.
We'll see if that happens. I need to breathe!
I've been having lots of trouble sleeping. Not sure what that's about. I usually do, but it's much worse lately.
Isn't life complicated?
AND I'd rather try to do everything, and be exhausted and frazzled, than not try.
Having said that, I am dropping from 5 courses to 3 for winter semester. Phew!
My grades are coming in, and so far, they are very good.
Meanwhile, I am acutely aware of my inadequacies. I have already resolved to catch up on my reading and review tons of Greek over the break. Ha ha.
We'll see if that happens. I need to breathe!
I've been having lots of trouble sleeping. Not sure what that's about. I usually do, but it's much worse lately.
Isn't life complicated?
The Bossy Apostle
I was translating Greek a few weeks ago, and the sentences are all about the houses of sinners and the gospel of Christ and the good children. It's all good and evil and sinners and believers and churches and boats and wildernesses. And apostles and disciples.
You get the idea.
So in one sentence an apostle tells an angel to go out of the church.
Well, that's one bossy apostle, I thought! Telling angels where to go?
And then I thought what a fun phrase that is: "bossy apostle."
"The Bossy Apostle." It's like a favourite pub on campus.
Maybe if this minister-thing doesn't work out, I'll open a coffee pub at Pacific School of Religion and call it "The Bossy Apostle". . . .
You get the idea.
So in one sentence an apostle tells an angel to go out of the church.
Well, that's one bossy apostle, I thought! Telling angels where to go?
And then I thought what a fun phrase that is: "bossy apostle."
"The Bossy Apostle." It's like a favourite pub on campus.
Maybe if this minister-thing doesn't work out, I'll open a coffee pub at Pacific School of Religion and call it "The Bossy Apostle". . . .
Dream Two
I had another dream a few weeks ago.
It was a continuance of the last dream. I was married to that very rich son of the influential minister. But I'm living with my parents. My lesbian sister is moving in too. My mom is talking about skin---about clear, unblemished skin, and how to treat acne so as not to have it. My sister has a locket similar to mine, and wants to trade.
I want to talk about the "big pink elephants" in the room, and don't know where to begin. The more my sister and I try to conform to our parent's ideas of who we should be, the more pleased my parents are, but the less "real" we are. Actually, it's mostly my mom. My dad is hovering somewhere in the background. But it's my mom's face I am reading. Trying to find approval, and not finding it.
My sister gets smiles and pats, so long as she looks like she's playing the game. So, if she's leaving her life partner of over 15 years to move in with her parents, this is good. If I were to leave my husband, this would be bad.
I'm pondering the double standard.
It was a continuance of the last dream. I was married to that very rich son of the influential minister. But I'm living with my parents. My lesbian sister is moving in too. My mom is talking about skin---about clear, unblemished skin, and how to treat acne so as not to have it. My sister has a locket similar to mine, and wants to trade.
I want to talk about the "big pink elephants" in the room, and don't know where to begin. The more my sister and I try to conform to our parent's ideas of who we should be, the more pleased my parents are, but the less "real" we are. Actually, it's mostly my mom. My dad is hovering somewhere in the background. But it's my mom's face I am reading. Trying to find approval, and not finding it.
My sister gets smiles and pats, so long as she looks like she's playing the game. So, if she's leaving her life partner of over 15 years to move in with her parents, this is good. If I were to leave my husband, this would be bad.
I'm pondering the double standard.
I Clean Up For Parties
My son is playing Christmas carols on the piano. From his memory. Arranging them as he goes. It's a little stop and start, but really quite pleasing. He paused and looked at me, and said, "I need to work on my piano playing."
Huh. If only I could play like he does!
I've sent out my 2005 Christmas letter, and feel a little squirmy. I think about who will read it, and how they might react. Do I sanitize everything, and put in smiles and serenity where there hasn't been any? Do I hide the ugly places? Or do I show the nuts and bolts of all the workings? There is a place for both.
My house looks very lived-in right now. Laundry waiting to be folded piled up in front of the TV, breakfast dishes scattered. Flotsam and jetsam of five people scattered around amidst papers and books and opened Christmas cards. . . . (Grammar aficionados---please just let me make my incomplete sentences. They WORK in this setting.)
This is what a house looks like when it is being used. A house is meant to be lived in. But it is messy. It looks messy. And yes, sometimes the mess gets to me and I become ballistic-mommy and yell and rampage for half a day and rally the troops and get things picked up a bit. . . .
But really, this is what the house really looks like 98% of the time.
I clean up for parties.
I like having parties because it gives me an excuse to really clean up! And decorate. And add nice little details.... It is a kindness to me as well as my guests to clear off the chairs and couch so there is somewhere to sit at least. I wonder if it isn't 90% for ME that I clean up? When I go to someone else's house, I go for the company, not for the cleanness or the decorations. . . .
Sometimes I'm relieved to visit a messy house! It reminds me that I'm normal.
All of this is a sort of metaphoric attempt to process my discomfort over the edginess of my blog content, and my Christmas letter content. . . .
Not sure what conclusion I'm coming too.
There's a place for being tidy and decorative, and a place for being raw and honest and in the process of life. I guess I see enough of the Martha Stewart presentation of life that I'll help balance the scale. I'll talk about the messy stuff.
But it IS nice to clean up for a party. I recently went out to a nice event, and decided to really put an effort into my appearance. Style my hair and hair spray and contacts and make-up, and a nice outfit that slimmed me down a bit (there's really no hope).
And a few people didn't recognize me....
It was pretty funny. Am I that grungy and goofy-looking the rest of the time? I can clean up pretty nice when I want to. (For a forty-something mother of three.)
"But it's not the point!" she said, screaming like Grover the muppet and waving her arms around wildly. I'm my insides! Not my outsides!
Maybe that is what is going on....
Will you still love me, when you see all of me, not just the party face---the pretty face, the cleaned up, made up, sprayed and shelacked and tucked in and zipped up Alison---but the no make-up, crumbs on my shirt, bags under my eyes, what-ever hair, absent-minded, tired and slightly sad Alison?
Huh. If only I could play like he does!
I've sent out my 2005 Christmas letter, and feel a little squirmy. I think about who will read it, and how they might react. Do I sanitize everything, and put in smiles and serenity where there hasn't been any? Do I hide the ugly places? Or do I show the nuts and bolts of all the workings? There is a place for both.
My house looks very lived-in right now. Laundry waiting to be folded piled up in front of the TV, breakfast dishes scattered. Flotsam and jetsam of five people scattered around amidst papers and books and opened Christmas cards. . . . (Grammar aficionados---please just let me make my incomplete sentences. They WORK in this setting.)
This is what a house looks like when it is being used. A house is meant to be lived in. But it is messy. It looks messy. And yes, sometimes the mess gets to me and I become ballistic-mommy and yell and rampage for half a day and rally the troops and get things picked up a bit. . . .
But really, this is what the house really looks like 98% of the time.
I clean up for parties.
I like having parties because it gives me an excuse to really clean up! And decorate. And add nice little details.... It is a kindness to me as well as my guests to clear off the chairs and couch so there is somewhere to sit at least. I wonder if it isn't 90% for ME that I clean up? When I go to someone else's house, I go for the company, not for the cleanness or the decorations. . . .
Sometimes I'm relieved to visit a messy house! It reminds me that I'm normal.
All of this is a sort of metaphoric attempt to process my discomfort over the edginess of my blog content, and my Christmas letter content. . . .
Not sure what conclusion I'm coming too.
There's a place for being tidy and decorative, and a place for being raw and honest and in the process of life. I guess I see enough of the Martha Stewart presentation of life that I'll help balance the scale. I'll talk about the messy stuff.
But it IS nice to clean up for a party. I recently went out to a nice event, and decided to really put an effort into my appearance. Style my hair and hair spray and contacts and make-up, and a nice outfit that slimmed me down a bit (there's really no hope).
And a few people didn't recognize me....
It was pretty funny. Am I that grungy and goofy-looking the rest of the time? I can clean up pretty nice when I want to. (For a forty-something mother of three.)
"But it's not the point!" she said, screaming like Grover the muppet and waving her arms around wildly. I'm my insides! Not my outsides!
Maybe that is what is going on....
Will you still love me, when you see all of me, not just the party face---the pretty face, the cleaned up, made up, sprayed and shelacked and tucked in and zipped up Alison---but the no make-up, crumbs on my shirt, bags under my eyes, what-ever hair, absent-minded, tired and slightly sad Alison?
Saturday, November 12, 2005
"What kind of Christmas music did Jesus listen to?"
Somehow this question came up with giggles in our house as we were listening to Lorena McKennit's "A Winter Garden." Her rendition of "God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen" is accompanied by all sorts of middle eastern instruments, making one envision camels and snake charmers, rather than snow or Christmas trees. My daughter said, making a comical face, "Merry Christmas...."
"Well, this is the sort of music Jesus would have heard," I observed, while our ears were writhing and squirming to the alien sounds. (Yes, our ears. Do you like that image?)
So this evolved into, "What kind of Christmas music did Jesus listen to?"
As we were laughing, we asked the 12 year old, "Why didn't Jesus listen to Christmas music?"
He smiled uncertainly. "Because they didn't have sound back then?"
"Well, this is the sort of music Jesus would have heard," I observed, while our ears were writhing and squirming to the alien sounds. (Yes, our ears. Do you like that image?)
So this evolved into, "What kind of Christmas music did Jesus listen to?"
As we were laughing, we asked the 12 year old, "Why didn't Jesus listen to Christmas music?"
He smiled uncertainly. "Because they didn't have sound back then?"
Friday, November 11, 2005
"Lego moi ego."
"Lego moi ego." I now know enough Greek to construct this questionable sentence. It says, roughly, "I am talking to myself."
It is aptly apropos of my mental condition by now. Way too many papers and assignments and required seminary events and family needs....
Hence, hardly any blog entries.
Still, I'm having a lot of fun.
So much to describe. So little time.
It turns out that one of the second years girls just found out she has a Swedenborgian ancestor from the states, last name Doering....
Her mom is going to see if she can dig up more details for me.
Yesterday, in NT, the Lutherans were talking about faith alone or "grace alone" and how, really, there's no such thing, because one has to live what the faith teaches . . . .
I like having my stereotypes blown out of the water.
Again and again I find that it isn't about a church's official dogma, it isn't even about what words any given person expresses (often like a tape recorder from a Sunday school lesson) if they are asked about who God is and what is the path to salvation, it is in how a person lives, day by day, that shows their faith.
Anyway....
back to the books, and parenting, and books, and .....
It is aptly apropos of my mental condition by now. Way too many papers and assignments and required seminary events and family needs....
Hence, hardly any blog entries.
Still, I'm having a lot of fun.
So much to describe. So little time.
It turns out that one of the second years girls just found out she has a Swedenborgian ancestor from the states, last name Doering....
Her mom is going to see if she can dig up more details for me.
Yesterday, in NT, the Lutherans were talking about faith alone or "grace alone" and how, really, there's no such thing, because one has to live what the faith teaches . . . .
I like having my stereotypes blown out of the water.
Again and again I find that it isn't about a church's official dogma, it isn't even about what words any given person expresses (often like a tape recorder from a Sunday school lesson) if they are asked about who God is and what is the path to salvation, it is in how a person lives, day by day, that shows their faith.
Anyway....
back to the books, and parenting, and books, and .....
Monday, October 31, 2005
A Dream
I had a bizarre dream last night. I asked the son of a pivotally influential conservative minister to marry me (Even though I am married and he is married.) I was in my childhood home---I have had several vivid dreams set there lately---and I asked this person to marry me. We were not close. Politely cordial.
He said yes. We didn't touch or kiss or hang out together. I might have asked him if he agreed it was a nice day. We went our ways.
Then we got married. There was a brief moment on the chancel of the big cathedral from my childhood. No feelings. Very businesslike. Then I am back at my parents house, and I am trying to find my running shoes. He is nowhere around, and that is fine. I don't expect him. I'm frustrated. I can't find them anywhere. I'm sifting through piles of stuff, looking in all the closets and near the doors. My (lesbian) sister shows up to visit my parents. I'm looking through her stuff. In the back of my mind, I'm hoping I don't have to change my last name because I'm dead set against it. I'm wanting to be with Phil (my actual husband) and not with husband number two. I'm wondering why he said yes and what his wife is going to think....
Very strange.
So I'm trying to leave my parents' house but I can't find my shoes.... They are buried in all the stuff.
This isn't symbolic or anything....
What the heck was the weird marriage part about? There was no attraction. It was very business like. But suddenly there's this permanent legal tie, that I pursued and chose, that will now just be really hindering, annoying, and hard to explain.
And that was the dream.
Where's Joseph when you need him?
Huh. Well, off to school. Soon I will know what my Christian Doctrine teacher thought of my third essay. Dare I hope for a 12?
haha! I'm so sick. What a perfectionist. It's creepy. Will I be happy with anything less than eleven, now that I've gotten one? Sigh.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Inclusive orthopraxy and doneness
It is heavily overcast today. The wind is raw and penetrating. I sit at my computer feeling mildly off. Chills, low appetite, headache, and very little interest in anything to do with going outside or thinking hard. ---not the best recipe for graduate level studying. Ah well.
Greek has shifted from fun to scary. I'm hoping it will shift back once I shake this bug. I can't digest new thoughts easily. It gives me sympathy for students that struggle with learning more than I seem to.
It's funny how often, when I am sick, I cannot imagine feeling better. I am sure that THIS time, I will stay sick forever. So I have no idea how I will finish this term, let alone the whole four years....
Last Thursday, professor Hegedus handed out a sheaf of information on how to do our term papers. As he was going through it, he paused and made a firm statement about gender inclusive language. The seminary has a policy of reflecting complete inclusivity, and he will take marks off of our papers for not using inclusive language---even if we simply forget or don't realize our style is not inclusive. My eyes went wide with wonder.
This is SO cool. It gives me shivers. A gentle hero. The whole school not only allows me here, but fights on my behalf for my inclusion.
Somewhere around Friday I went into an emotional tailspin. I haven't quite regained my usual equilibrium since Thanksgiving stirred up all the spiritual losses. Huge, painful memories, and issues with my denomination of origin that continue to be re-injured. Nearly every contact with official representatives brings with it revictimization. Big clumsy arrogant idiots. They have no idea.
Thanksgiving service was yet another death blow. I had asked myself, "How bad can it be? It's a festival service." I looked forward to time in the beloved Chapel, seeing the faces of my former fellow congregants, and singing the favourite holiday hymns.
Well, the opening prayer, read from the new liturgy, was in the vein of "we are nothing but evil and only You are good and please make us pure so we come be with you in heaven...."
Our former pastor used to pray from his heart, without reading. Right there, straight and honest and true.
The "we are nothing but evil" emphasis that the new pastor favours makes me feel like vomiting. It is re-victimizing. I believe that we are not evil, nor are we good. Everything good is from God, everything evil from hell; that's straight from Swedenborg. And God's love is NOT conditional. He is present right here, right now, despite my impurities; which, by the way, I can never quite be free of, not being God and all.....
So closeness to God is not conditional based on being made pure! "When you are pure, then you can be close to me."
That's a parent who won't hug a child because the child needs a bath, or worse, has scrapes and scratches with ground in dirt! "Ew. Go get cleaned up, then I'll hug you."
Maybe God draws us into His lap and holds us and tends the wounds Himself! Hello?
Overemphasis on God's Divinity keeps Him remote, and keeps us as groveling, fearful, shame-filled serfs. Is that the relationship of a Father with his children?
(As an aside, I freely acknowledge my heavy use of the male pronoun here for God. And this, after my rant about using gender inclusive language. Here is my position. I grew up with "He" and "Him" for God, and the picture in my mind gives him a gentle father/brother face. I know and believe that God is all, that male and female are made in (his) image. But I am incapable of picturing an androgynous divine being at this time and I find the constant use of He/She cumbersome. Until we have a pronoun for God that keeps God human yet excludes gender, "he" is going to have to suffice.)
So there I am in the chapel, deep in. Six people would have to stand and twist to let me out. And I'm right up near the front. So I stay. So then I see that the brand new liturgy has gone back to Thee and Thy in the order of service! What is going on in our church head office? What ARE they thinking? How on earth is this new? Are we really back to thinking that King James peasant English contains some mysterious holiness in and of itself? In its original intent, that translation was meant to bring the Word down into intimate personal language for the common people. Thee and Thy were not formal, but intimate! The use is now utterly opposite its original intent. What is the deal about keeping God at arms length?
I am so done with that organization.
It may have been part of why I had such an emotional week. More loss. More reminders of loss.
New word: "orthopraxy"
It means, how you live your religion.
Greek has shifted from fun to scary. I'm hoping it will shift back once I shake this bug. I can't digest new thoughts easily. It gives me sympathy for students that struggle with learning more than I seem to.
It's funny how often, when I am sick, I cannot imagine feeling better. I am sure that THIS time, I will stay sick forever. So I have no idea how I will finish this term, let alone the whole four years....
Last Thursday, professor Hegedus handed out a sheaf of information on how to do our term papers. As he was going through it, he paused and made a firm statement about gender inclusive language. The seminary has a policy of reflecting complete inclusivity, and he will take marks off of our papers for not using inclusive language---even if we simply forget or don't realize our style is not inclusive. My eyes went wide with wonder.
This is SO cool. It gives me shivers. A gentle hero. The whole school not only allows me here, but fights on my behalf for my inclusion.
Somewhere around Friday I went into an emotional tailspin. I haven't quite regained my usual equilibrium since Thanksgiving stirred up all the spiritual losses. Huge, painful memories, and issues with my denomination of origin that continue to be re-injured. Nearly every contact with official representatives brings with it revictimization. Big clumsy arrogant idiots. They have no idea.
Thanksgiving service was yet another death blow. I had asked myself, "How bad can it be? It's a festival service." I looked forward to time in the beloved Chapel, seeing the faces of my former fellow congregants, and singing the favourite holiday hymns.
Well, the opening prayer, read from the new liturgy, was in the vein of "we are nothing but evil and only You are good and please make us pure so we come be with you in heaven...."
Our former pastor used to pray from his heart, without reading. Right there, straight and honest and true.
The "we are nothing but evil" emphasis that the new pastor favours makes me feel like vomiting. It is re-victimizing. I believe that we are not evil, nor are we good. Everything good is from God, everything evil from hell; that's straight from Swedenborg. And God's love is NOT conditional. He is present right here, right now, despite my impurities; which, by the way, I can never quite be free of, not being God and all.....
So closeness to God is not conditional based on being made pure! "When you are pure, then you can be close to me."
That's a parent who won't hug a child because the child needs a bath, or worse, has scrapes and scratches with ground in dirt! "Ew. Go get cleaned up, then I'll hug you."
Maybe God draws us into His lap and holds us and tends the wounds Himself! Hello?
Overemphasis on God's Divinity keeps Him remote, and keeps us as groveling, fearful, shame-filled serfs. Is that the relationship of a Father with his children?
(As an aside, I freely acknowledge my heavy use of the male pronoun here for God. And this, after my rant about using gender inclusive language. Here is my position. I grew up with "He" and "Him" for God, and the picture in my mind gives him a gentle father/brother face. I know and believe that God is all, that male and female are made in (his) image. But I am incapable of picturing an androgynous divine being at this time and I find the constant use of He/She cumbersome. Until we have a pronoun for God that keeps God human yet excludes gender, "he" is going to have to suffice.)
So there I am in the chapel, deep in. Six people would have to stand and twist to let me out. And I'm right up near the front. So I stay. So then I see that the brand new liturgy has gone back to Thee and Thy in the order of service! What is going on in our church head office? What ARE they thinking? How on earth is this new? Are we really back to thinking that King James peasant English contains some mysterious holiness in and of itself? In its original intent, that translation was meant to bring the Word down into intimate personal language for the common people. Thee and Thy were not formal, but intimate! The use is now utterly opposite its original intent. What is the deal about keeping God at arms length?
I am so done with that organization.
It may have been part of why I had such an emotional week. More loss. More reminders of loss.
New word: "orthopraxy"
It means, how you live your religion.
Monday, October 17, 2005
A Good Day
I had a good day today, which I needed. I've just finished "reading week," and didn't get anywhere near the amount of work done which I'd hoped. On top of that, I've felt very cranky toward my husband for several days. Perhaps PMS is the reason women shouldn't be ministers!
So, today I got a quiz back, (100%) and my second essay, which received an 11 out of 12, and I felt much better. My Christian Doctrine teacher, Bob Kelly, was in rare form. He has a marvelous, dry sense of humour and does a lovely job of keeping the material interesting.
In the afternoon we had Old Testament which continues to be the most frustrating course for me. So much of the discussion seems to be around what the literal sense could be talking about. "So, why did God ask Abraham to sacrifice Isaac? How do you think Sarah felt about it? Why does it call Isaac Abraham's only son over and over again? He isn't his only son."
Because of my bias, these questions currently annoy me. Are they relevant when one is looking for the internal meaning? Maybe they are! I don't want to be closed minded. But I currently feel like they're a waste of time.
A nice development is that the OT teacher knows me well enough to see my tentatively raised hand and decide whether to call on me or not. She knows now that I rarely have a question. I usually have some Swedenborgian observation to make, "Well, I was taught that Abraham is our inner self and Jacob is our outer self, and Isaac is the rational ability that lets us look up and down and make decisions...."
Today she saw my nervous hand wavings and laughed. "How about you get to make three Swedenborgian statements per class?" she said to me.
I brightened right up. That was when I actually said that stuff about Isaac being our rational ability, and it is neat when I hear murmurs of interest in the class. I'm not there to convert people or get into theological arguments. It's just cool when something resonates for someone.
Overall, I continue to get friendly, affirmative responses to my odd beliefs. It makes a big difference to my days. My Christian Doctrine teacher isn't out to make us Lutherans, he's out to make us decent theologians. He wants us to present our thoughts well, that's his job. He's not there to tell us what to think.
I am very lucky.
Wanna hear my new big words?
Eponymous. Noetic. Epistemological. Docetic.
I think I know what eponymous means....
Today I raised my hand in Christian Doctrine and said, "I'm sorry to be so ignorant, but what is Post-Modernism? I assume there was a Modernism that it was Post to. I don't know what that is either...."
In his dry way, with that hint of a twinkle, he said, "Nobody really knows. It's just one of those big phrases us academics learn to say to impress everybody...."
He never did explain it! It has something to do with, well, Modernism had something to do with everything being able to be explained scientifically, and Post Modernism is when we realized that there will always be stuff we can't explain.... Well, that's what I've figured out so far. I think that's it. Anyway, how the world is viewing how life works at a given time affects the theologians of the day, so that's why he was talking about it.
I alternate between fascination, excitement and consequent loneliness; and frustration, boredom, and impatience.
But overall, this is still really fun.
It helps that my professors seem to like me and respect me.
It helps a LOT.
It is mutual.
Well, Greek tomorrow, bright and early.
"The disciples see the land." "The prophets give gifts to the children."
I haven't leaned the Greek for Dick or Jane or Spot.
All the vocabulary is about sin and truth and salvation and synagogues so far.
G'night!
So, today I got a quiz back, (100%) and my second essay, which received an 11 out of 12, and I felt much better. My Christian Doctrine teacher, Bob Kelly, was in rare form. He has a marvelous, dry sense of humour and does a lovely job of keeping the material interesting.
In the afternoon we had Old Testament which continues to be the most frustrating course for me. So much of the discussion seems to be around what the literal sense could be talking about. "So, why did God ask Abraham to sacrifice Isaac? How do you think Sarah felt about it? Why does it call Isaac Abraham's only son over and over again? He isn't his only son."
Because of my bias, these questions currently annoy me. Are they relevant when one is looking for the internal meaning? Maybe they are! I don't want to be closed minded. But I currently feel like they're a waste of time.
A nice development is that the OT teacher knows me well enough to see my tentatively raised hand and decide whether to call on me or not. She knows now that I rarely have a question. I usually have some Swedenborgian observation to make, "Well, I was taught that Abraham is our inner self and Jacob is our outer self, and Isaac is the rational ability that lets us look up and down and make decisions...."
Today she saw my nervous hand wavings and laughed. "How about you get to make three Swedenborgian statements per class?" she said to me.
I brightened right up. That was when I actually said that stuff about Isaac being our rational ability, and it is neat when I hear murmurs of interest in the class. I'm not there to convert people or get into theological arguments. It's just cool when something resonates for someone.
Overall, I continue to get friendly, affirmative responses to my odd beliefs. It makes a big difference to my days. My Christian Doctrine teacher isn't out to make us Lutherans, he's out to make us decent theologians. He wants us to present our thoughts well, that's his job. He's not there to tell us what to think.
I am very lucky.
Wanna hear my new big words?
Eponymous. Noetic. Epistemological. Docetic.
I think I know what eponymous means....
Today I raised my hand in Christian Doctrine and said, "I'm sorry to be so ignorant, but what is Post-Modernism? I assume there was a Modernism that it was Post to. I don't know what that is either...."
In his dry way, with that hint of a twinkle, he said, "Nobody really knows. It's just one of those big phrases us academics learn to say to impress everybody...."
He never did explain it! It has something to do with, well, Modernism had something to do with everything being able to be explained scientifically, and Post Modernism is when we realized that there will always be stuff we can't explain.... Well, that's what I've figured out so far. I think that's it. Anyway, how the world is viewing how life works at a given time affects the theologians of the day, so that's why he was talking about it.
I alternate between fascination, excitement and consequent loneliness; and frustration, boredom, and impatience.
But overall, this is still really fun.
It helps that my professors seem to like me and respect me.
It helps a LOT.
It is mutual.
Well, Greek tomorrow, bright and early.
"The disciples see the land." "The prophets give gifts to the children."
I haven't leaned the Greek for Dick or Jane or Spot.
All the vocabulary is about sin and truth and salvation and synagogues so far.
G'night!
Thursday, October 6, 2005
Road Kill
My eyes are a little swollen today.
I feel like a raccoon on the interstate after rush hour.
I had a good hard cry last night. It is approaching Canadian Thanksgiving, and holidays seem to stir up all the losses of friends and loved ones. First, I was crying for our lost pastor, who was an anchor and heart-healer; and for his precious family. It has been over three years since that family's departure, and nothing will ever be the same.
I suppose we all believe we have built our house upon a rock, until it is washed away.
We lost everything that year---the most painful of all was faith in our denomination.
But my faith in my denomination had to reach a huge a level of brokenness before I could ever conceive of entering ministry myself. For years and years it taught me that I was not capable---due to my gender---of serving in this capacity.
Personally that belief has long since been eroded by time, and evidence, and reading scriptures for myself, and the cry of my heart.
It took an enormous, final death-blow (personal betrayal, coldness and judgment from a high leader) to realize that there was nothing left for me. The cage door was open.
All that lacked was the courage to face the disapproval, contempt, and further loss of community that would inevitably occur once I took this step.
I am grateful to have been pushed this far, as painful as it has been.
So now I am flying, exhilarated by the delight and fascination and joy I am experiencing in seminary, and I am terribly lonely. There is no one to turn to to talk about it all with. My fellow students have a different paradigm. And while many are patient listeners and good-hearted, I have yet to find someone who will listen to and discuss with me my peculiar Swedenborgian spin at any length.
And I am lonely because my church of origin and family of origin are in judgment of my choice, and, I assume, threatened not only by my actions, but by my very existence.
It was inevitable that this day would come. I am not the first woman to seek ordination elsewhere, and I suspect I am the beginning of a wave of us.
One by one we will be cut off, and the validity of our cry of pain and ultimate heart-choice will be dismissed. It is the way of it.
But I am flying!
Yesterday I served in a small way on the chancel during the Eucharist. It was my first time to wear "albs" (white robe). I processed with the others and sat on the left side with the fellow who would be delivering the talk. I was teary and so deeply grateful to be wanted and welcome and allowed to serve. It was my job to read the scriptures. I did fine.
During Eucharist, the congregation sang this amazing meditative song. It was profound to be kneeling at the rail while the voices rose around me. I got goose bumps.
I am slowly attaching to these people and their worship culture. As a recent convert said to me yesterday, "Who would have thought I would find a home in such high ritual?"
But it is the gentleness and humour to which I am attaching. Pomp without pompousness, I guess. The professors and students are very respectful of my different perspective. There is no aggressive or acquisitive energy from them. It is peaceful and comfortable. I feel the welcome and good will, and I am deeply grateful that SOMEBODY has given me a home that welcomes my pursuit of ministry.
I still feel such pain at the polite coolness and withdrawal of my parents' affection, and the dead silence from my former fellow congregants.
Each of the two main families that left the church when we did, (there were more than three) are experiencing deep family crises. They need prayers---BIG prayers. The moms, my two dearest friends here, are not available to me. Their families come first.
I find myself so angry and resentful, and I don't even know who with! It's nobody's fault. It is as it should be. But I feel more alone today than I have ever felt before.
My husband is a wonderful listener, bless his heart.
But he works very hard. His commute takes over an hour, and with me in school, we are both so tired when we see each other that we rarely have the energy to talk.
I feel like Gideon in the Bible, who had resource after resource taken from him, until all that was left him was a tiny group. God stripped him of everything that represented Gideon's own strength, so that the victory clearly belonged to God.
Lately, that's how it feels. If I survive this and complete this, it will have been from some strength that is beyond me.
And, let's see, three people now have questioned my motherly love, wifely duty, and parental responsibility, implying that I am being selfish to be going to school.
Ahhhhh. We can be so amazingly horrible to each other.
I feel like a raccoon on the interstate after rush hour.
I had a good hard cry last night. It is approaching Canadian Thanksgiving, and holidays seem to stir up all the losses of friends and loved ones. First, I was crying for our lost pastor, who was an anchor and heart-healer; and for his precious family. It has been over three years since that family's departure, and nothing will ever be the same.
I suppose we all believe we have built our house upon a rock, until it is washed away.
We lost everything that year---the most painful of all was faith in our denomination.
But my faith in my denomination had to reach a huge a level of brokenness before I could ever conceive of entering ministry myself. For years and years it taught me that I was not capable---due to my gender---of serving in this capacity.
Personally that belief has long since been eroded by time, and evidence, and reading scriptures for myself, and the cry of my heart.
It took an enormous, final death-blow (personal betrayal, coldness and judgment from a high leader) to realize that there was nothing left for me. The cage door was open.
All that lacked was the courage to face the disapproval, contempt, and further loss of community that would inevitably occur once I took this step.
I am grateful to have been pushed this far, as painful as it has been.
So now I am flying, exhilarated by the delight and fascination and joy I am experiencing in seminary, and I am terribly lonely. There is no one to turn to to talk about it all with. My fellow students have a different paradigm. And while many are patient listeners and good-hearted, I have yet to find someone who will listen to and discuss with me my peculiar Swedenborgian spin at any length.
And I am lonely because my church of origin and family of origin are in judgment of my choice, and, I assume, threatened not only by my actions, but by my very existence.
It was inevitable that this day would come. I am not the first woman to seek ordination elsewhere, and I suspect I am the beginning of a wave of us.
One by one we will be cut off, and the validity of our cry of pain and ultimate heart-choice will be dismissed. It is the way of it.
But I am flying!
Yesterday I served in a small way on the chancel during the Eucharist. It was my first time to wear "albs" (white robe). I processed with the others and sat on the left side with the fellow who would be delivering the talk. I was teary and so deeply grateful to be wanted and welcome and allowed to serve. It was my job to read the scriptures. I did fine.
During Eucharist, the congregation sang this amazing meditative song. It was profound to be kneeling at the rail while the voices rose around me. I got goose bumps.
I am slowly attaching to these people and their worship culture. As a recent convert said to me yesterday, "Who would have thought I would find a home in such high ritual?"
But it is the gentleness and humour to which I am attaching. Pomp without pompousness, I guess. The professors and students are very respectful of my different perspective. There is no aggressive or acquisitive energy from them. It is peaceful and comfortable. I feel the welcome and good will, and I am deeply grateful that SOMEBODY has given me a home that welcomes my pursuit of ministry.
I still feel such pain at the polite coolness and withdrawal of my parents' affection, and the dead silence from my former fellow congregants.
Each of the two main families that left the church when we did, (there were more than three) are experiencing deep family crises. They need prayers---BIG prayers. The moms, my two dearest friends here, are not available to me. Their families come first.
I find myself so angry and resentful, and I don't even know who with! It's nobody's fault. It is as it should be. But I feel more alone today than I have ever felt before.
My husband is a wonderful listener, bless his heart.
But he works very hard. His commute takes over an hour, and with me in school, we are both so tired when we see each other that we rarely have the energy to talk.
I feel like Gideon in the Bible, who had resource after resource taken from him, until all that was left him was a tiny group. God stripped him of everything that represented Gideon's own strength, so that the victory clearly belonged to God.
Lately, that's how it feels. If I survive this and complete this, it will have been from some strength that is beyond me.
And, let's see, three people now have questioned my motherly love, wifely duty, and parental responsibility, implying that I am being selfish to be going to school.
Ahhhhh. We can be so amazingly horrible to each other.
Saturday, October 1, 2005
Pick a Pericope
"To pick a pericope."
Ha-ha! I said that to my husband the other night, "I still have to pick a pericope."
And I started laughing at the tongue-twister. "To pick a pericope."
Now you must understand, pericope does NOT rhyme with periscope. It is from Greek, and, much like "Hermione" and "Socrates," it keeps its long ee sound at the end.
puh-RICK-oh-pee.
"Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled pericopes...."
I am learning so many strange and fancy words. I guess every area of study has them, but good grief. My Doctrine professor says that we have them just so we can trot them out from time to time and impress people.
Hermeneutics. Homiletics. Ontology. "Semi-Palagianism," which I tried to make a pun out of last week, but it was too early in the morning. It was something about how Palagianism is a big problem in universities these days.... The prof mmm-hmm-ed and blended it into his lecture.
Oh well.
Oh yeah, In Greek last week, I started humming "Hagios" (a hymn with Greek lyrics) toward the end of class. I couldn't help it. It was running through my mind. So I mentioned how my church had had Greek and Hebrew hymns when I was a kid.
The professor looked tickled, "No kidding?"
So I mumbled out a bar or two.
Professor Hegedus grinned and said something like, "That's kinda neat," and looked thoughtful. Then he said, "It shows a certain reverence for the ancient texts."
Suddenly I was rather proud of my strange heritage. How many other kids did I know who had learned the ten commandments by heart in Hebrew? I held my head up a little higher.
The next thing I know, I'm humming old Hebrew hymns I haven't thought of for years.
The last time one was hauled out and dusted off in church I thought it was the stupidest thing ever. Now, I'm actually feeling grateful some of my weird chilhood.
So, once I was home, I dug out our old litugies. Sure enough, there was the super purist edition that printed the music backwards so that it ran the same way as the Hebrew writing. No English pronunciation offered to help anyone either. I guess that's when they suddenly stopped using the Greek and Hebrew hymns. The Greek hymns went left to right at least, but was still written only in Greek script.
So much for purism.
I showed the music to the Hebrew professor just to see what she thought. She was curious about maybe showing one or two to her class.
Too bad I couldn't come sing some to them, she said.
Hah! Right.
"Sorry, Greek teacher, I won't be in class today. I'll be down the hall, assisting the Hebrew teacher...."
Still, it was nice to feel special.
Ha-ha! I said that to my husband the other night, "I still have to pick a pericope."
And I started laughing at the tongue-twister. "To pick a pericope."
Now you must understand, pericope does NOT rhyme with periscope. It is from Greek, and, much like "Hermione" and "Socrates," it keeps its long ee sound at the end.
puh-RICK-oh-pee.
"Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled pericopes...."
I am learning so many strange and fancy words. I guess every area of study has them, but good grief. My Doctrine professor says that we have them just so we can trot them out from time to time and impress people.
Hermeneutics. Homiletics. Ontology. "Semi-Palagianism," which I tried to make a pun out of last week, but it was too early in the morning. It was something about how Palagianism is a big problem in universities these days.... The prof mmm-hmm-ed and blended it into his lecture.
Oh well.
Oh yeah, In Greek last week, I started humming "Hagios" (a hymn with Greek lyrics) toward the end of class. I couldn't help it. It was running through my mind. So I mentioned how my church had had Greek and Hebrew hymns when I was a kid.
The professor looked tickled, "No kidding?"
So I mumbled out a bar or two.
Professor Hegedus grinned and said something like, "That's kinda neat," and looked thoughtful. Then he said, "It shows a certain reverence for the ancient texts."
Suddenly I was rather proud of my strange heritage. How many other kids did I know who had learned the ten commandments by heart in Hebrew? I held my head up a little higher.
The next thing I know, I'm humming old Hebrew hymns I haven't thought of for years.
The last time one was hauled out and dusted off in church I thought it was the stupidest thing ever. Now, I'm actually feeling grateful some of my weird chilhood.
So, once I was home, I dug out our old litugies. Sure enough, there was the super purist edition that printed the music backwards so that it ran the same way as the Hebrew writing. No English pronunciation offered to help anyone either. I guess that's when they suddenly stopped using the Greek and Hebrew hymns. The Greek hymns went left to right at least, but was still written only in Greek script.
So much for purism.
I showed the music to the Hebrew professor just to see what she thought. She was curious about maybe showing one or two to her class.
Too bad I couldn't come sing some to them, she said.
Hah! Right.
"Sorry, Greek teacher, I won't be in class today. I'll be down the hall, assisting the Hebrew teacher...."
Still, it was nice to feel special.
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
"Infallible revelation?" and "Aagh! No time!"
I had Greek today. (Tuesday.) The four of us, (three students and one teacher) paused in our struggle to chat. Professor Hegedus asked us how we were finding the work load. We all groaned. He then observed that Divinity professors tend to be overbooked workaholics, and wondered what sort of example they were setting for us in regard to balance and self-care. He said that pastors have a hard time with burn-out, and mused about if the seminary was reinforcing behaviours that lead to burn-out instead of helping us learn how to balance demands and say "no."
He is a very gentle man. He was being humorous and slightly wry, not critical.
He was funny and ironic, and supportive without actually giving us blatant permission to let some of the assigned reading slide....
I'm already having to do that.
I hope I'm not heading for a spectacular crash and burn.
Now it is 11:15 pm the following night. I have spent the day attending to basic needs and family care, and doing very little homework. YIKES.
However, I'm VERY excited about some of the stuff I'm reading for school, especially in my George Dole lectures.
I also love the stuff near the end of a book called "What They Don't Tell You - A Survivor's guide to Biblical Studies," which professor Hegedus assigned. There is a section that says, "Living Tradition is Changing Tradition" and another called "When it comes to asking questions, God is a 'big boy,' God can handle it." It has quotes like: "A man I knew believed he needed to accept so-called 'creation biology' because the Bible gave him an anchor in life. . . . To people like this man, there are just two opposite ways and only these two ways to understand revelation: (1) there is an absolutely infallible---yet humanly accessible---special source of knowledge in religion, or (2) there is no source whatsoever of knowledge deserving any trust or confidence. This view is strange to me because we do not require this kind of absolute knowledge in any other area of life. For example, scientists do not claim any result of science as absolutely certain as it stands, yet our engineers apply many scientific results with confidence. . . . The choice is not between absolutely certain and reliable revelation on the one hand and no revelation on the other. There can be many degrees in between." (excerpts from pp 145-147)
Taking any revelation at face value---as the complete and bald truth without any broader meaning---is an enormous mistake. And while applying our fallible human understanding makes people nervous, for we are by definition going to make mistakes, NOT applying our understanding is abdicating our spiritual responsibility. It is the equivalent of burying our "talents" in the sand.
Putting away soap box and heading to bed.
He is a very gentle man. He was being humorous and slightly wry, not critical.
He was funny and ironic, and supportive without actually giving us blatant permission to let some of the assigned reading slide....
I'm already having to do that.
I hope I'm not heading for a spectacular crash and burn.
Now it is 11:15 pm the following night. I have spent the day attending to basic needs and family care, and doing very little homework. YIKES.
However, I'm VERY excited about some of the stuff I'm reading for school, especially in my George Dole lectures.
I also love the stuff near the end of a book called "What They Don't Tell You - A Survivor's guide to Biblical Studies," which professor Hegedus assigned. There is a section that says, "Living Tradition is Changing Tradition" and another called "When it comes to asking questions, God is a 'big boy,' God can handle it." It has quotes like: "A man I knew believed he needed to accept so-called 'creation biology' because the Bible gave him an anchor in life. . . . To people like this man, there are just two opposite ways and only these two ways to understand revelation: (1) there is an absolutely infallible---yet humanly accessible---special source of knowledge in religion, or (2) there is no source whatsoever of knowledge deserving any trust or confidence. This view is strange to me because we do not require this kind of absolute knowledge in any other area of life. For example, scientists do not claim any result of science as absolutely certain as it stands, yet our engineers apply many scientific results with confidence. . . . The choice is not between absolutely certain and reliable revelation on the one hand and no revelation on the other. There can be many degrees in between." (excerpts from pp 145-147)
Taking any revelation at face value---as the complete and bald truth without any broader meaning---is an enormous mistake. And while applying our fallible human understanding makes people nervous, for we are by definition going to make mistakes, NOT applying our understanding is abdicating our spiritual responsibility. It is the equivalent of burying our "talents" in the sand.
Putting away soap box and heading to bed.
Monday, September 26, 2005
Fun and Frustration
Today, my cell phone went off in chapel.
Right at the end, as the officiating student was sending us off, there was the happy, loud noise of bird calls. The professors and students near me all looked up into the rafters, as did I....
Oops. I clapped my hand over my hip pocket and scooted out of the chapel.
It was my daughter. I had forgotten to set my cell phone to vibrate.
Thank goodness I had chosen the bird song over the neighing horse or the "One! Two! Three! Four!" (followed by loud music), for my ring tone.
All the people were grinning as they filed quietly out of the chapel and passed me in the hall.
I was looking sheepish with my little flip-phone mashed to my ear.
Hey, I've only had it a week.
My Christian Doctrine teacher is a blast. Very self-effacing. He's always got chalk on his hands and on his back. He leans on the blackboard and leaves a clean spot.
I enjoy his teaching style.
I got my first essay back and got a 10 out of 12. Not bad! The prof didn't notice any of the things I thought were flaws. He seemed to think I did just fine. A very nice start for me after 20 years out of the saddle.
One of the second-year MDiv students called a lunch meeting to support the first years. She had struggled and felt very alone her first year and wanted to be sure that that didn't happen to us.
The second years all seem young compared to our class. Most of the first years are easily over 40. The second years appear to be all under 30. So there is some difference in how intimidated we may be of the professors. But I was really glad for the opportunity to get to know the class ahead of us a little better. There are about 4 of us and six of them(?). It's hard to keep everybody sorted out, because there are so many different programs and levels.
My Old Testament course is deeply frustrating. The content is all about who wrote the Old Testament and when and all the latest theories. Maybe I should care, but I don't. I DON"T CARE!
The discussion is about the dual versions of the stories and all the inconsistencies---mostly stuff I've heard before, and any discussion of why the Bible might be written this way seems so . . . misguided!
I know that's very ethno-centric of me, but I can't help it. I see a similar frustration in the Greek orthodox student, though his spin is different from mine.
When I opened my mouth to say that maybe the creation story was a parable describing our personal spiritual awakening, the comment dropped dead. The professor just blinked, and went on with her lecture.
I don't care whether anybody sees things how I see them except that its so lonely and frustrating to have my view be SO different. I don't think my view is the truest and rightest, but it IS my view, and to have nobody in the class "get it" leaves me wanting to chew my leg off. The lectures drive me nuts. I am bursting to speak, but my remarks mostly go over like I spoke in swahili. Very frustrating.
However, one classmate who is in Greek with me, has heard my "Well, I was taught that there is a universal duality in nature that comes from God. It shows up as a sort of male/female split, like the right-brain, emotive, fluid, love-oriented, non-linear side of us, and the left-brain, intellectual, compartmentalizing, truth-oriented, linear side of us. The Bible is written to reflect and answer these apects of our dual nature, so "bread" and "wine" are reflecting the good and the truth, and the different accounts of creation are doing the same thing...."
Today, in Old Testament, SHE pointed out this possibility.... It was great. It is so cool when somebody else considers these things that I have believed for so long. It seems so self evident to me. Yet it isn't in this class. I was writhing in agony as the OT professor was saying, "I have no idea why the Bible has so many contradictions and inconsistencies. Who could possibly know why the people are said to have lived for so many hundreds of years? I believe it is symbolic rather than literal but . . . ."
Aaagh.....
This professor is notorious for getting off track and not covering the material, so I'm loathe to interupt in order to give my opinion. It's not my class. I'm not the teacher.
"I'm not the teacher. I'm not the teacher. I'm not the teacher."
As I'm stuffing my head into my backpack to muffle the sound of my head banging....
Good night.
Right at the end, as the officiating student was sending us off, there was the happy, loud noise of bird calls. The professors and students near me all looked up into the rafters, as did I....
Oops. I clapped my hand over my hip pocket and scooted out of the chapel.
It was my daughter. I had forgotten to set my cell phone to vibrate.
Thank goodness I had chosen the bird song over the neighing horse or the "One! Two! Three! Four!" (followed by loud music), for my ring tone.
All the people were grinning as they filed quietly out of the chapel and passed me in the hall.
I was looking sheepish with my little flip-phone mashed to my ear.
Hey, I've only had it a week.
My Christian Doctrine teacher is a blast. Very self-effacing. He's always got chalk on his hands and on his back. He leans on the blackboard and leaves a clean spot.
I enjoy his teaching style.
I got my first essay back and got a 10 out of 12. Not bad! The prof didn't notice any of the things I thought were flaws. He seemed to think I did just fine. A very nice start for me after 20 years out of the saddle.
One of the second-year MDiv students called a lunch meeting to support the first years. She had struggled and felt very alone her first year and wanted to be sure that that didn't happen to us.
The second years all seem young compared to our class. Most of the first years are easily over 40. The second years appear to be all under 30. So there is some difference in how intimidated we may be of the professors. But I was really glad for the opportunity to get to know the class ahead of us a little better. There are about 4 of us and six of them(?). It's hard to keep everybody sorted out, because there are so many different programs and levels.
My Old Testament course is deeply frustrating. The content is all about who wrote the Old Testament and when and all the latest theories. Maybe I should care, but I don't. I DON"T CARE!
The discussion is about the dual versions of the stories and all the inconsistencies---mostly stuff I've heard before, and any discussion of why the Bible might be written this way seems so . . . misguided!
I know that's very ethno-centric of me, but I can't help it. I see a similar frustration in the Greek orthodox student, though his spin is different from mine.
When I opened my mouth to say that maybe the creation story was a parable describing our personal spiritual awakening, the comment dropped dead. The professor just blinked, and went on with her lecture.
I don't care whether anybody sees things how I see them except that its so lonely and frustrating to have my view be SO different. I don't think my view is the truest and rightest, but it IS my view, and to have nobody in the class "get it" leaves me wanting to chew my leg off. The lectures drive me nuts. I am bursting to speak, but my remarks mostly go over like I spoke in swahili. Very frustrating.
However, one classmate who is in Greek with me, has heard my "Well, I was taught that there is a universal duality in nature that comes from God. It shows up as a sort of male/female split, like the right-brain, emotive, fluid, love-oriented, non-linear side of us, and the left-brain, intellectual, compartmentalizing, truth-oriented, linear side of us. The Bible is written to reflect and answer these apects of our dual nature, so "bread" and "wine" are reflecting the good and the truth, and the different accounts of creation are doing the same thing...."
Today, in Old Testament, SHE pointed out this possibility.... It was great. It is so cool when somebody else considers these things that I have believed for so long. It seems so self evident to me. Yet it isn't in this class. I was writhing in agony as the OT professor was saying, "I have no idea why the Bible has so many contradictions and inconsistencies. Who could possibly know why the people are said to have lived for so many hundreds of years? I believe it is symbolic rather than literal but . . . ."
Aaagh.....
This professor is notorious for getting off track and not covering the material, so I'm loathe to interupt in order to give my opinion. It's not my class. I'm not the teacher.
"I'm not the teacher. I'm not the teacher. I'm not the teacher."
As I'm stuffing my head into my backpack to muffle the sound of my head banging....
Good night.
Sunday, September 25, 2005
Sexual Abuse in the Ministerial Relationship
Clergy Misconduct: Sexual Abuse in the Ministerial Relationship.
---that was the name of an all day seminar which I attended yesterday. It is required by the seminary, and it is free. These seminars are run by the Center for the Prevention of Sexual and Domestic Violence, out of Seattle, Washington. www.cpsdv.org
It was powerful and useful and enlightening.
There was a lot of confrontational material.
I cried during some of it.
I kept wondering how many seminaries require this. I kept wondering if the General Church theological school does. (My religious heritage. They do not ordain women.)
They listed all the effects and outcomes of abuse on all the different parties and groups involved. They showed a continuum of abuse on a sliding scale from "wanderers" to "predators."
They listed the traits that are typical of sexual abusers in the ministry.
They are:
---that was the name of an all day seminar which I attended yesterday. It is required by the seminary, and it is free. These seminars are run by the Center for the Prevention of Sexual and Domestic Violence, out of Seattle, Washington. www.cpsdv.org
It was powerful and useful and enlightening.
There was a lot of confrontational material.
I cried during some of it.
I kept wondering how many seminaries require this. I kept wondering if the General Church theological school does. (My religious heritage. They do not ordain women.)
They listed all the effects and outcomes of abuse on all the different parties and groups involved. They showed a continuum of abuse on a sliding scale from "wanderers" to "predators."
They listed the traits that are typical of sexual abusers in the ministry.
They are:
- controlling or dominating personality
- limited self-awareness
- limited or no awareness of boundary issues
- no sense of damage caused by own behaviour
- poor judgment
- limited impulse control
- limited understanding of consequences of their actions
- often charismatic, sensitive, talented, inspirational and effective in ministry
- limited or no awareness of own power
- lack of recognition of own sexual feelings
- confusion of sex and affection
Then they listed behaviours common to all abusers which are:
- may seek out vulnerable people
- attract vulnerable people
- are secretive
- are manipulative
- will minimize, rationalize, deny, and blame
They said that Sexual abuse is about Power.
It is NEVER okay.
It is ALWAYS the responsibility of the perpetrator.
It is NEVER simple.
They talked about what to do WHEN, not IF we feel attraction to a parishioner. I was really impressed.
There was so much more. I was filled up, and frustrated to have so little time to assimilate all the information.
But I am SO grateful that there are people studying this and getting the word out.
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I have nowhere near enough time for all the required reading for my courses. I am really liking the feeling in the seminary. Despite some (profound) ideological differences, we are kindred spirits. The humour and energy is very familiar.
I'm enjoying my professor of Greek and New Testament. He seems as if he'll be the easiest to talk to about my Swedenborgian world view. It is nice to have someone who will let me chatter on about how I see things, and who acts genuinely interested.
I puzzle about personal energy and chemistry. I have been musing on why I feel uncomfortable with my OT professor. It's like a prejudice on my part. I assume she is not interested in what I have to say. I don't know why.
The same is true in my Christian Doctrine class.
The Christian Doctrine reading is driving me nuts. Pages and pages of stuff that is culturally interesting but not ideologically interesting or enlightening, due to my deep intrenchment in the Swedenborgian view of theology. I struggle every class to sit still and not take up too much class time with my thoughts and observations. ("Oh, Marilla. If only you knew how much there is I think of to say and don't!") Again, my NT and Greek professor is very encouraging and interested in what I have to say, so I say more in those classes. But the Christian Doctrine class is primarily LUTHERAN Christian doctrine, written as if it is the only Christian spin. I guess that is to be expected---it is a LUTHERAN seminary after all.
On the other hand, there are lots of generals about the Lutherans that feel very familiar---the rich musical culture in worship. Lots of singing---even chanting and antiphons!
They also stress the importance of baptism and the Holy supper---I've been offered Eucharist 4 times since starting seminary---the oneness of God in the form of Jesus Christ, and the importance of scripture. They also seem to be doing a terrific job of updating their ritual to meet the needs of the culture without sacrificing their doctrinal integrity.
But their doctrinal integrity isn't harnessed to the past and the rituals from the past. They seem to keep the antiphons and chants because they love them and do them well, not because "they have always done them."
I am LOVING my class with George Dole. When it starts, I feel like I can finally breathe. These people know what I'm talking about! The Swedenborgian context is a given. What a difference it makes.
It's all so interesting. So much to observe and ponder. SO much more to say.
instead, back to my homework!
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