The gift of discomfort

seminaryI spoke at Hartford Seminary’s graduation last night, and said this (it’s quite long and there’s no quiz at the end so if you’ve other things to do…):

Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished faculty, administrators, friends, family, and — of course — relieved graduates:

I am honored to be here on several levels. I once sat where you graduates are sitting and never in a million years would I have thought to have considered the possibility of my being up here, speaking.

I trust next year you can find a real speaker, and my apologies in advance for my deficits at the microphone. I will say right now that I’m a writer, and not much of a public speaker so that when I am finished, you don’t need to turn to the person next to you and say, “You know what? She’s not much of a public speaker.” She knows that already.

I collected my Hartford Seminary degree in the fall of 2001, post 9-11, an interesting time about which I still don’t know what to think, save for this: While all around me people were telling me to be fearful, to be cautious, even to hate, I couldn’t. I’d just come off of six years sitting in classrooms with people who physically resembled me only slightly, who hadn’t grown up reading my sacred text, as I hadn’t grown up reading theirs, yet with whom I shared the most basic commonalities to the point that during some breaks in my classes — most of which were at night — I would wander outside and stare up at the stars and think about what just happened.

Who knew a little boy growing up in Pakistan would have the same questions as a little girl growing up in the Missouri Ozarks? Who knew we all shared so much?

If you look at the percentages of faith groups represented here, Congregationalists are about neck and neck with Muslims. You have to run your finger far, far down the list to find people like me, non-denominational, fundamentalist Christians, and yet at no point in my time here was I made to feel like an outsider. If anything my — let’s call it “unique” — religious perspective felt even more welcome because I was coming from a theology many in my class hadn’t experienced, or even seen from a distance.

So while all around us in 2001 I read and heard and saw the message to crouch down and be fearful, I couldn’t and wouldn’t. I had just completed a course of study at a school with the country’s oldest center for the study of Islam and Muslim-Christian relations. I had taken an eye-opening course on Jewish-Christian misunderstandings through the centuries. I’d read the sacred text of other religons until I could read no more. And then I kept reading.

My experience at Hartford Seminary taught me there’s shockingly little to fear — save for silence. If we don’t talk to one another, we will be fearful. And if we don’t get each other’s perspective, we’re sunk, because while that little Pakistani boy and that little Missouri girl may be pondering the same life questions, we only know that if we share that.

I also learned that you have to be brave enough to risk asking stupid questions. The seminary taught me to go ahead and ask. We’re all friends here.

I don’t know what brought you to the seminary, but I came for context. I’d grown up in a strict Christian religion and the vestiges of that, for me, were the afore-mentioned fear, and a freakish ability to quote the Christian scriptures. I knew my Bible backward and forward — or, rather, I knew how to quote scriptures from my Bible, but what I wanted — ached for, really — was some context of what I thought I knew. To be honest, I wanted to come to the seminary and have someone tell me what to think of all that Bible study, those Sunday school lessons, those church camp Bible bowls. I wanted, frankly, to have my theology spoon-fed to me, and it wasn’t until somewhat deep into my career here on Sherman Street that I realized that just wasn’t going to happen. I trust you came here with a more mature faith. I was only looking to get comfortable.

How very young was my faith, that I expected it to make me comfortable. The faith I found in the white building behind me made me most uncomfortable — deliciously so. The Hartford Seminary gave me the gift of discomfort and I shall be forever grateful.

As it turns out, I didn’t get comforted and I didn’t get the context I sought, though I was shown how to find it for myself. No one was going to tell me how to think or interpret sacred text. I was, instead, going to learn how to do that on my own.

Ah, but I am hard-headed and it took me a while. I’ve told this story before. Let me tell it one more time and then maybe I’ll retire it: I signed up first for a New Testament class because, well, I wrote the New Testament and I figured it would be an easy A. I walked into my first class taught by a then-new teacher, Efrain Agosto — now the dean. I was pretty sure I would impress him with my mad Bible skills and I was wrong. He dove right in and within 15 minutes I suspected I’d do us all a favor if I quietly left the room.

But I didn’t leave. I grew to love the classes and the readings. I drank in the lectures and even enjoyed writing the papers — and yes, I know how weird that sounds.

I don’t know the mechanism for learning — how the brain absorbs and retains information — but over time the seminary kicked the doors open for me and made me think for myself in a way I hadn’t thought possible. I will be forever grateful for that, too.

Maybe in your time here, you had child-care issues. Or work issues, or trouble balancing your schedule to make it here on time for class. I had that. It was always on class night when one of my sons would pull up lame and my husband would be at work and the full weight of my family would fall on my reluctant shoulders. Maybe your spouse was a little nervous about you going off on this particular tangent. Mine certainly was. He grew up culturally Catholic; the weight of the old rugged cross rests only slightly on his back, and he feared I would become enmeshed in a cult, I suppose, or become a televangelist with big hair, as that was his only exposure to Prostestants in action.

As it turns out, he was right to be nervous. I did not become a televangelist and that’s not even on my long list of career goals. As it turns out, I came to learn to ask questions for myself and once you’re free to do that, you are a dangerous being, indeed. Once you understand that religion isn’t an easy chair into which you relax, you can accomplish amazing things.

I can’t guarantee you will remember all your classmates’ names, but I guarantee you that in the near future, you will be in a discussion with someone and you will harken back to some classroom discussion and you will be grateful that you had the opportunity to take a moment, sit a spell, and think hard about your approach to the holy. That, along with the discomfort, is the gift the seminary keeps on giving. Or you’ll read something in the news, or you’ll hear someone talk about something remotely religious and you’ll have much-needed perspective. We need people who can freely move between faith groups and help us understand one another. You just may be that precise ambassador to make all the difference.

To be honest, I’ve done shockingly little with my degree — if you measure using your degree by how you earn your living. I work at the same job I worked when I started as a seminary student. I wrote a book that came to me while I was a student here, but if you’ve ever written a book you know that unless you’re among a select few, you don’t earn a living from writing a book.

I didn’t get my answers here — at least, I didn’t get my answers the way I’d expected, in a thunderstorm with God reaching down to hand me a list of do’s and don’ts. I got, instead, the understanding that I will always have questions and the answers won’t always come easily. And that the answers might not make me comfortable.

And that’s O.K.

I found a new God here, a God that was more inclusive, a God that allowed me to be a sinner and fall short. I was exposed to a radical kind of theology here that demands your entire being. It was like feeling my heart open and for that, too, I am grateful.

I am also grateful for the gift that comes with knowing that neither I nor my theology has all the answers. For some of those answers, I just may have to come to you.

You are walking out of here with the highest kind of degree, a degree of the soul. Maybe you already know what you’re going to do with it. Maybe you, like me, are going to fold it into what you’re already doing. Whatever your choice — or whatever the job market forces upon you as a choice — I guarantee that your life will be fuller for the time you spent here.

I maintain that the will to connect with the holy is as basic as our need to eat. We ask, as did one writer: “When shall I come and behold the face of God?” Searching for the theology that drives our nation, we can at least comfort ourselves that its impetus is not entirely greed-based. Our need to connect with God — however we define God — is so great that we will find God, one way or another. The holy calls us and we must answer. We will connect, be it through our mosques, our temples, our churches, one another. In some way, we will connect.

Eileen Guder worte in her book, “God, But I’m Bored:”

 “You can live on bland food so as to avoid an ulcer, drink no tea, coffee or other stimulants in the name of health, go to bed early, avoid all controversial subjects so as to never give offense, mind your own business, avoid involvement in other people’s problems, spend money only on necessities, and save all you can.”

To which I would add: “And you can settle into a comfortable corner of your theology until you die and they say nice things about you at your wake.”

Back to Guder:

“You can do all those things [avoid stimulants, save your money, keep your hands to yourself, live a careful life] and you can still break your neck in your bathtub. And it will serve you right.”

I’d rather be uncomfortable. I hope you’ll join me.


22 responses to “The gift of discomfort

  1. THANK YOU for sharing this! This is beautiful. If I weren’t already in school, I’d consider the Seminary. On the other hand, you point out that we never stop learning so my Seminary classes will have to be here, at my church, among friends, amongs friends that I haven’t met yet…Thanks for feeding our souls here.

    • It was my love letter to the seminary. I flat-dab loved it but I think I needed to be there and I don’t think everyone has that same need. And thanks.

  2. It sounds as though it was a very special time for you – a gift that keeps on giving – and just when you needed it. Maybe that was a little personal miracle to be able to do that.

    • I think the seminary came along just when I needed it. Yeah. I hadn’t thought of it like that, but I was definitely seeking and the classes and the people there pointed me in the general direction.

  3. I left a career as a nurse when I was 52 and went back to school to earn a BA in American Studies. Returning to school after a 30 year hiatus from formal education was an experience that is hard for me to explain. You did a great job articulating it for all of us. Thanks

  4. Sherry, I am not quite 50, but I am back in school to enter a new career in nursing. My first degree was in Engineering and that never led me to fullfilling work. I’m hoping nursing will be the right move, but its forever evolving – this life journey, don’t you think?

  5. Thanks for sharing. What a wonderful speech.
    (…I will not forward to Rush…promise…)

    • I wonder how much of his email Rush actually sees? Or his snail mail. I won’t spend much time thinking about this.

      • I get strangely uncomfortable thinking about Rush reading.

        • Is it cheap of me to say that I think he probably gets read to? I mean that with love. Sort of.

          • Rush has published twice that I know of. Nothing since ’93. He dictates, (pun intended) and writers transcribe. His works have been best sellers, so I’m sure somebody reads his books. But lately I think he’s more into “undulating.”

  6. Going to college at 52… I loved being a nurse, I was good at it and even though I worked various forms of part time due to parenting responsibilities I know I made differences in people’s lives. Two things got me into school and out of nursing. Nursing changed and so did I. Nursing became a morass of paperwork, less time with patients and more charting to CYA. After the death of my father. (he was young, only 64) I lost an objective edge. I moved to office nursing which was unfullfilling beyond belief.

    My husband and son went to college on the traditonal time schedule, right out of high school. We’d go to reunions of my husband’s college friends and I’d find my self feeling somehow less than they. I know now that feeling was unwarranted. I was as smart then as I am now but I somehow longed to be on equal footing, I felt that they were dismissive of someone with no college degree. My nursing education was in a 3 year hospital-based program.

    I quit work at the doctor’s office and enrolled in Tunxis Community College taking 2 courses each semester for 4 semesters, Lo and behold I still had a brain! I also had a 4.0 average! I found out about a program at Trinity College that gave adult students a leg up in the admission process at that august school. Once enrolled you are thrown in the lion’s den with all the 18-22 year olds but you have lee way to take less than a full course load and take longer to finish. I transfered a few credits from Tunxis and plunged in. The first two classes I took were Brit Lit and a course on Venice. I was never more thrilled that when I slogged through Beowoulfe and then got to listen to a marvelous professor make it come alive. I was hooked. My professor in the Venice course became first a mentor and now a dear friend. She helped me along with other adult students find our passion. Mine ended up in American Studies with a concentration on 19th Century American women.

    I graduated in 4 years, 23rd out of 556 in my class with a Phi Beta Kappa key. I still take courses now and again and now work for Trinity as the coordinator of an adult non-credit program. Thus endeth a far too long answer!

    • Not too long and really interesting. Thanks, Sherry. I am always interested in what motivates others to change careers, go back to school, or both.

    • I think that’s a great story and not too long an answer. That’s fantastic! I think it’s just luck if you find a lifelong passion at 18 years old. It takes some time to find that out and so I’m not so sure that the traditional way, timing-wise, of going to college is better anyway. Good for you for doing that.
      I’m hoping that all of my efforts to become a nurse don’t lead me to a job of paperwork. I wouldn’t enjoy that either. I would love to become a nurse practitioner so that I could be more involved in direct care and diagnosis. I’ll take this one step at a time. We’ll see.

  7. Oh. My. God. Is your book like this speech? Because if it is I don’t think I can handle it without counseling and a good bottle of Scotch.

    So beautiful and so true, this speech.

    • Some of the book is well-written, yes, and some of it I wish I’d spent more time on. But isn’t that like life? All I can say is I heartily agree with most of the criticism I’ve seen on the web, and I’m fairly quick to yell and defend myself.

  8. Yeah, she’s pretty damned good at this writing thing. Just one of the many reasons we all love her and want to hang out here.

  9. Just finished DJ’s book. Enjoyed it immensely, and waiting for the next one.

    P.S. Enjoyed her graduation speech, too, and I’m very allergic to graduation ceremonies.

    • She’s right here! Save all this for my wake. And cry really hard, like a bright light has just been extinguished etc.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s