If you
were in church this past Sunday for the 11:00 service you saw something pretty
rare. You saw me cry in church. And I’m not talking about getting a little
misty. Oh no! I’m talking about full-on waterworks! Why?
Because to my surprise—well, it wouldn't have been had I read the
bulletin—the choir sang General Seminary
as the hymn at Communion. And if you
know me, you know why this was a big deal and why I couldn't help but let my
emotions overwhelm me in that moment.
I won’t
rehash everything that has happened at The General Theological Seminary in the past
10 days or so here. There are plenty of
posts on Facebook and Episcopal Café that can get you up to speed. But the very abridged version is this: 80% of the faculty, all but two of which were
my professors, went on strike due to issues surrounding the seminary’s
leadership, and three days later those faculty were let go.
The saga
at General is not uncommon. It is a saga
of dysfunction and the inability to name problems and move beyond them through
the practice of holy listening and conversation. Plenty of churches and academic institutions go through this—if you have a connection to Transylvania University, you know
exactly what I’m talking about. But what
makes this saga so very painful?
It’s because
seminaries, in their purest form, represent everything that our parishes can
be. Yes, there are a bunch of
differences, not the least of which is the academic routine. However, what seminary teaches those of us
who are training for leadership in the Church—both lay and ordained—is how to
live in community. Folks at seminaries
come from all over and have a variety of stories. My class at General consisted of young, old,
gay, straight, married, single, divorced, and every area in-between. Yet we were there for a common purpose: to grow in our knowledge and love of
God. And, most importantly, to do it
together. We may have arrived there
individually, but we were never meant to undertake that journey alone. It took me a long time to figure that out. And when I did, as the community was going
through a change in its physical landscape, and as I was going through changes in
my own life, I discovered that this place, this community, was my home. It didn't mean that we always got along or
agreed on every theological matter. But
it meant we were there for each other.
We weren't alone.
In the
last several days members of my class have sent messages to one another via
Facebook and other social media to simply say, “I’m here.” Not offering solutions, simply offering an
ear. It’s the same thing that happened
on Sunday. As I sat in my chair by the
altar, crying like a small child, a verger simply placed some Kleenex in my
hand, and Deacon Paula put her arm around me.
No one said anything. No one
tried to make my pain go away. They were
just there. And that was enough.
There
are debates about whether the three-year residential model of seminary is
feasible in our ever-changing world. I’m
not going to get into a debate about that here.
But I will say that those three years showed me what community really
looks like. And you here at Christ Church
Cathedral have done the same thing. You
know that we’re not meant to go on this roller coaster ride of life completely
on our own. We need each other.
That is
the power of community. It’s not about
making everyone happy. It’s not about
fixing everyone’s problems. It’s about
being there for one another, offering a shoulder for crying or an ear for listening. I see this everyday in the way that the staff
on the third floor takes care of one another and listens to one another’s
problems. And I see it in this community
that rallies together when a person’s loved one passes away. I see it in the diligent prayers of the
Daughters of the King, Prayer Shawl Knitters, and those who come to the Wednesday
Healing Eucharist and pray, not for their own healing, but for the healing of
others. This place offers
community. It offers a place to call
home. It’s about relationships. And for that I thank you!
Many
have asked what’s next for General, and I honestly do not know. All I do know is that the Resurrection is
real! It has to be! And if the Resurrection is real, then new
life will come from this period of death.
Light will follow this period of darkness, as it always does when any
community experiences tremendous pain.
That is our hope in Christ Jesus, and it is my hope for a community I
love so dear, even if my idea of Resurrection doesn't look anything like God's. Thank you for your
support, brothers and sisters. And please
continue to pray for General. Seven whole days, not one in seven.
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