The Last Day Lament

I led this prayer on the last day of our worship course (the day that we sang all the hymns that the students had written, hence the thematic transition at the end).

Source

A Seminary Psalm: The Last Day Lament

O God of Time, infinitely and intimately ours,
We are students and faculty facing the end of another semester;
Some of us the end of our journey at Drew.

We are buried beneath literal and digital stacks of paperwork,
Crunching out reports, and recuperating from computer crashes.
We are following guidelines and looking toward deadlines
And yet, despite so many straightforward lines,
We lose ourselves in a whirlwind of expectations.

O God of Grace, whose Book of Life has no column for grades,
We are students and faculty facing constant measurement:
Our mistakes and retakes, our credits and diplomas.
Our publish-or-perish publications, our tenure and evaluations.
We see A's and B's and C's and I's, NR's, and Z's,
And we wonder what they say about us;
About our learning and about our teaching.
We absorb letters on transcripts
As though they spell who we are and what we do.
But our identity is in You, O God:
You call us Beloved.
And our purpose is in You, O God:
You call us to Live, to Learn, and to Love.

Deliver us, O God!
Deliver us from the finality of our finals,
The pressure of our presentations,
The stress of our tests,
And the insidious voice inside us
Insisting that we've come to Drew
For any other reward or reason
Than the one for which You've led us here.

And thank You, God of Song,
That in the midst of our reading and writing,
We can claim this sacred time and space
To give You glory and praise.
Let all that we are and do be a song to You!

Amen.

An Open Letter to My Classmates in Prison

A letter written to the inside students in a course that I'm taking as part of my Master's degree. The course emphasizes that students from Drew and those within the Correctional Facility are all classmates, studying together. It is not traditional "prison ministry" but in fact a partnership.

Image Source

Dear Inside Students,

I am an Outside Student who may never know what it is to be an Inside Student, or even what it is to be on the inside. Studying in a prison setting is a new experience for me, and I admit that it was just a little bit easier to do it because I was going in the company of friends I already knew and faculty I already trusted.

Maybe you didn't know anybody when you first went in. I imagine it might have been difficult not only to be sentenced but also to be sent somewhere without a familiar face, especially the kind of loved one who knows who you are so well that they can remind you from time to time when you're down and out. For better or for worse, my identity is wrapped up in the relationships I have, the jobs I do, the clothing I wear to portray a certain image of myself—professional or casual or colorful or quiet. So much about these parts of your life might have changed when you got to the premises—old relationships reshaped by new circumstances, new relationships forged, new jobs assigned, personal fashion minimized. Individual identity as we know it in the contemporary western world is difficult to express under such limited parameters. This, at least, is my understanding so far, though I would rather hear your experience from your perspective, and I hope to do so over the next few months.

It's just that, as you began to talk about some of these things, even as briefly as we spoke before we moved on to discuss our actual course material for the term—music's role and expression in different world religions—I began to realize just how much certain elements of your current experience remind me, in some way, of my own. With that, I began to realize how much you could teach me and nurture me in even a few short hours. And lest you think I'm just getting sappy and waxing poetic here, let's just say the potency of the whole thing knocked me on my ass. So that's why I'm writing this. Because, sooner or later, potential energy turns kinetic. Sometimes.

You see, I had never been to prison before this week, but I've been locked up for about five years now.

The officials who give names to such things call my prison grounds Depression. I and others here have known it to be Hell.

Maybe you are locked up here, too. Maybe you know many prisons. As far as I can tell, knowing one is one too many.

Whatever built the walls around you, I can't possibly imagine that I know what you are experiencing. No two prisons are the same, nor are two people's dealings with depression. Incarceration and depression are not the same. But they share common ground. I think you and I may share common ground.

I may have shown signs of anxiety and depression in childhood, but I was what The Powers That Be consider high-functioning in most aspects—yes, I was (am) awkward and content to spend inordinate amounts of time alone, reading or writing or messing around with art supplies to no remarkable end except personal relaxation. But I had some extraordinary friends and high marks in school and a surprisingly positive attitude, which all mostly outweighed the low self-confidence and the phobias and the panic. So maybe that's why the first major lockdown five years ago still took me by utter surprise.

Since then, I was paroled a few times—had brighter days, months, seasons here and there. For a little while I thought I'd even gotten out for good. But somehow I keep finding myself in Depression. It's not always exactly the same as before; the way that the pain and the exhaustion and the loneliness manifest changes a little every time, I learn a new lesson now and then, and what exactly I am able to accomplish while in the thick of it varies, but it's just a different circle of Hell. It's just a different cell on the same old block.

It's a place where sometimes it doesn't even matter that I have relationships and work and clothing to identify myself; because my relationships become strained with heightened conflict or in my isolation, my work suffers in the midst of mutism and fatigue, and dressing myself becomes either a mindless ritual or a burden. These are just outward signs of the inward loss of identity, an inner hopelessness in the realization that I am not me, or at least I suspect that I am not me but I'm having trouble remembering who I was in the first place.

Even worse, I begin to wonder, what if? What if this is me now? What if I am stuck with this me for the rest of my life? What if signs of healing and hope aren't even real, like a mirage in desert heat? What if I'm only healing because I'm too scared of being broken, and in my haste, I'll put the pieces back together wrong?

Maybe I don't need to worry too much about being hasty. These days I am undergoing some sort of really long, drawn-out parole process. One step forward, two steps back, and a splurge of two steps forward when even I don't expect it—makes it hard to replicate it when I want to. I am not quite in but I am not quite out, either. I still haven't figured out how to earn my way out, how to prove myself worthy of freedom. It seems kind of arbitrary, if you ask me.

I imagine it may take longer than usual, because this last bout really threw me for a loop. I've never been so thoroughly stripped of what I thought made me who I am. I've never been so voiceless and vulnerable. I've never had so little concentration and common sense—utterly unable to retain information, picking up a hot baking pan with my bare hand, falling asleep and boiling off a whole pot of water, forgetting things and forgetting that I've forgotten things. I've never failed so damn perfectly to care for myself with the most basic tasks or to complete the coursework that I've had my heart set on doing ever since I discerned a call to ministry, a call which thus far refuses to go away in spite of my inabilities and failures. And I've never felt so scared of the next time I'm going to end up here; scared that someday I won't make it out.

When I first sought help, a school administrator asked me to paint a verbal image of what I was facing. It was no easy task since so much of my depression was and often still is a sort of mutism, a struggle for words.

One of us, whoever it was, eventually described the proverbial pit. In the midst of this metaphor, she talked about how hard it can be to climb the ladder and get out.

I looked at her in genuine awe, because the part of my brain that was visualizing the pit suddenly short-circuited: "There's a ladder?"

Not in my pit! At least, I didn't see one there, even while actively seeking help. I knew I needed to start talking to people about what was going on, but I still didn't see the way out.

I guess I wonder if no amount or type of treatment is going to get me entirely out of Depression. And even if I do get out, I'm always going to carry around this record. It's going to make people look at me differently. It's going to make it easier for some people to know and trust me, but it's going to make it harder for others. The more I try to bury it, the more persistently it will sow doubts in me about what I'm capable of doing and whether or not other people love the real me. The more openly I speak of it, the more authentic I will feel; but the more authentic I feel in that, the clearer it will become that this struggling, fragmented person is in fact who I am.

Before we left for the correctional facility to meet you, we heard from a former inside student who said she eventually realized: "I wasn't who people in Blue said I was. It was a bump in the road that didn't define who I am or could be." She said that we outside students would be gift-bearers, bringing hope; bringing your minds outside of the wall—to our everyday world, to the worlds of the texts we read and the music we hear. She said it's easy for a person's mind to become trapped along with her body and to become immersed in despair and loneliness and uncertainty because of where she is.

What you may not realize is that I am in the opposite situation: my state of mind easily incapacitates my body, and I don't know how long I will live in this situation. I do know that partnering with you in this course that has everything and nothing to do with liberation—this foray into the music of the world's religions—is already helping to liberate me in some small way. That's because this program challenges the very definition of liberation.

In my case, my mind is locked up, and coming to see you and work alongside you means that my body is not imprisoned by the state of my mind.

It means that I have something meaningful to go and do; bright, friendly people to speak to and listen to, even when my inner consciousness tries to persuade me to shut down and shut people out.

It means that I will spend a few hours of the week with people who value freedom as much as I have come to.

It means that even my mind will be freed in a way I may not have known was possible; learning your insights and seeing the world anew through your lens, just as the outside students share our ideas and perspectives with you.

You may want the freedom of stepping off the premises more than anything else. Maybe a freed mind, as our orientation speaker called it, is just one small freedom you willingly accept for now. I want to step out of the grounds of Depression and free my mind as much as I want my next breath. But if it turns out that I reside here all my life, or if it follows me out the door like any complicated past that one would rather leave behind, it does not need to mean that I am lost to it.

That is what I have learned from you already. And I have learned that we are not so different, you and I, in at least this much: We are not who they say we are. And if someone has convinced us otherwise, then we must help each other to remember who we are and imagine who we will be.

See you in class,
The Outside Student Inside Different Walls

Shane Claiborne and The Simple Way

This is a chapel service at Drew (February 2011) in which the community welcomed activist and author Shane Claiborne to speak about his prophetic ministry, "The Simple Way."

I should have shared these videos in the first place, so please pretend that I'm not just posting them because I'm currently working on an assignment about Claiborne (and because I'm not signing into facebook during Lent, getting the codes to post these videos on AmenAbility was the best vaguely-facebookless way for me to review them!).

No, this service is worth sharing. I have mixed thoughts on Claiborne and his ministerial work, and I'm still struggling through this very short yet somehow agonizing assignment, but Claiborne has managed to work his way into several interesting conversations with colleagues and with others outside of Drew.

So see for yourself. What do you think?

And now excuse me while I go and write my pretend-letter homework.

Extreme Makeover: Campus Edition

The Extreme Makeover team scored big this season, completing their assignment in an all-time record of one month.

BEFORE: DECEMBER 2010



AFTER: FEBRUARY 2011



Unfortunately, despite its astounding record and choice of aesthetically-pleasing sparkly accents, the team lost points because the new design made it virtually impossible for everyone to navigate the campus without slipping on the path or being impaled by falling icicles.

Shame.

Religious Anti-Environmentalism at Its Worst

In the midst of working on my final papers for a course called The Spirituality of Ecology with the proficient Dr. Laurel Kearns, I found more than enough motivation - in fighting the myths offered under the guise of spirituality.

This video suffers from inordinate misinformation and lack of evidential support:



How many "false assertions" (as they would say) can you spot?

I'll start you off.

First major inaccuracy: supporting environmental justice means putting the wellbeing of nature ahead of that of people.



Fact: Ecological degradation disproportionately affects the poor, the indigenous, and minority populations.

Let's be clear.

The "environment" is not just wildlife or the Grand Canyon or Algonquin Park. It is also the plant in Newark, New Jersey, the site of the chemical accident of Agent Orange; it is a landfill; it is Chernobyl; it is the Ironbound District; it is the slaughterhouse; it is Doremus Avenue, the "Chemical Corridor." The environment is our surroundings, whether placid and flowery or a pit of squalor and waste. And people live in both settings.

In the Ironbound District of New Jersey, signs of environmental degradation and the risks it poses to the humans living there are evident. For just a few examples:

-A community pool had to be constructed on lifts to prevent contact with hazardous chemicals in the ground.

-There is approximately one half acre of green space per 1000 people, versus the average 7-8 acres per 1000 people.

-When the community implemented an Astroturf soccer field, it was eventually found to be poisoned with lead. Residents and environmental workers needed to fight hard for lead-testing for the children who had walked and played there, including preschool students whose teachers had often taken them across the field.

And if that isn't enough to swallow, to help people to fathom one individual's impact, "ecological footprint" tests are available; they evaluate, based upon lifestyle, such a question as: "If everyone lived as you do, how many earths would be needed?" Even the most ecologically-minded are shocked to discover that their practices only go so far. When people who already live extraordinarily lightly on the earth are scoring two, three, four planets we know we are in dire trouble.

As for the claim that the environmentalist movement has become its own religion which threatens - I'm sorry, that is, "is deadly to" - the Gospel of Jesus and the good of the church...?



Not so.

There's "an elephant in the way," folks, but it isn't the environmental movement.

First of all, if we're going to argue the idolatry angle, then as Dr. Laurel Kearns has said, consumerism itself is a system of beliefs and values - not the least of which are low prices, budgeting, and possessing gadgets. Let's not forget that.

Second, the Bible is perhaps the most frequently misunderstood and misquoted source. This case is no exception.

According to Dr. Catherine Keller, natural science is a crucial ally to eco-theologians. And some non-religious authors have referred to creation as "divinely inspired," which is more scripturally accurate than many Christians' perspective of dictatorially imposed creation.

The often misinterpreted Genesis story does not claim creatio ex nihilo – creation from nothing, from a formless void – but rather from tohuvabohu – an uninhabitable mishmash, literally a word that cannot be translated except as what seems a sparingly-used rhyming colloquialism. Creation occurs at the edge of chaos. If there is too much chaos, there is disillusion; if there is too much order, nothing can emerge.

Possibly an even more commonly disputed interpretation of Genesis is that it grants humans "dominion" and the right to "subdue" nature to humans' own means, rather than describing a human role of steward and caretaker.

But this simply cannot mean exploitation; rather, it entails power with responsibility and wisdom, that humanity should view creation with love and awe. The Bible prohibits waste, the cause of extinction, and the cause of pain to living creations.

Humans have an emaciated understanding of the world – often using the dualistic terms "we" and "they" in all matters. "We" as a species claim superiority, deeming the rest of nature as inferior forms of life.

Nevertheless, "we" forget that, according to Christian principle, we are judged by the way that we treat the least powerful, and we continue to wreak destruction – actively and passively – on a creation which cannot restore itself.

This is only the tip of the (rapidly melting) iceberg. If this is at all new to you, as it was for me this past year, I hope you'll consider delving more deeply into the subject. Don't take my word for it, and don't take scare tactic videos like the above at face value, either. This issue is far too critical not to do one's own investigation.


Tipping my hat to Scotteriology on this one. Please read his blog post on the subject here.

The Course Registration Song

On a lighter note: a song parody!

I realize recent posts in particular would suggest that AmenAbility has become something of a Serious Blog (or at least a Bloglet that may one day grow up to be Serious). But I'd hate to abandon the whimsical nature that got me through the initial transition to grad school and, let's face it, is getting me through these last few weeks of term.

So please allow me a moment to surrender to the whim and break out into parody. The vaguely serious stuff will be back soon enough.

ALSO, perhaps the best and most educational realization from writing this parody: The Chipmunk Song is a waltz. Who knew?

(Of course, I've just discovered the new rocked-out version, which is decidedly not a waltz.)

Lyrics below are best read after this video (or this one from Look Who's Talking Now, despite that it runs too short):



Spoken:

All right you Drewids! Ready to sing your song?
-I'll say we are!
-Yeah! Let's sing it now!
Okay, Simon Peter?
-Okay!
Okay, Theodor Geisel?
-Okay!
Okay, John Calvin? Calvin? CALVIN!
-OKAY!

Registration time is near:
Time for stress yet time for cheer.
Can't believe Fall's almost done.
Five terms still after this one.
What to plan for Jan and spring?
Wish I could take everything!
Course list is now up to read...
Watch us cause a stampede!

Okay, fellas, get ready. That was very good, Simon Peter.
-Naturally.
Very good, Theodor Geisel.
-[laughter/nonsensical words]
Ah, Calvin, you were a little flat, watch it. Ah, Calvin. Calvin. CALVIN!
-OKAY!

Want Bib Lit: it speaks to me.
I don't! That's all Greek to me.
Course list is now up to read-
Which courses do I need?
What to plan for Jan and spring?
Think I'll take everything!

Very good, boys.
-Let's sing it again!
-Yeah, let's sing it again!
No, that's enough, let's not overdo it.
-What do you mean overdo it?
-We want to sing it again!
Now wait a minute, boys...
-Why can't we sing it again?
Calvin, cut that out... Theodor, just a minute. Simon, will you cut that out? Boys...!



Note: Simon Peter, Theodor Geisel, and John Calvin are not real Drew Theological students' names but are actually pseudonyms and in this context reflect little to nothing about the historical figures with which they might be associated.

Luau Luau

Because we had an annual luau (the fourth, in fact). Like ya do.


It was also a birthday party for a few people.
There was cake and much rejoicing.

Best read after this video... and a fine video it is:



I said Luau Luau, oh oh, I said we gotta go.
Ah yeah-yeah yeah-yeah-yeah!
Luau Luau, oh baby,
I said we gotta go.

My Green Villa friends, they wait for me.
It's quite a trip through all the trees.
The squirrels that try to stare me down
Can't stop me when I'm Luau-bound!

I said Luau Luau, oh oh, I said we gotta go.
Ah yeah-yeah yeah-yeah-yeah!
Luau Luau, oh baby,
I said we gotta go.

Alright now, yeah...

(guitar solo)

When students need some levity,
Our "Captain Sparrow" leads festivities.
Sadly, next year he'll be gone,
But Luau feasts always will live on!

I said Luau Luau, oh oh, I said we gotta go.
Ah yeah-yeah yeah-yeah-yeah!
Luau Luau, oh baby,
I said we gotta go.

I said we gotta go now.





Thank you all for great food, great company, and a great time!
We'll miss you, Captain!

Study and Pay (Be Matriculated)

In honor of our matriculation service on Thursday, Sept. 9th, which you can see here.

With apologies to the Offspring... both the band and my own (hypothetical offspring), who may be scarred upon learning of their mother's parody-writing past.

Best read after this video:



You gotta be matriculated.

Economy is crashin'?
Save on residence fees:
The kids who camp out overnight in the classroom
Get diplomas with the greatest of ease.

The staff state their own school rationale -
That if they catch you skippin' then it's all over, pal.
Paid your tuition and you won't get it back.
They're gonna cash it in, cash it in, cash it in, cash it in...

Hey! Joined the university?
Sign the book!
You gotta be matriculated.

Hey! Now you're payin' mad money?
Sign the book!
You gotta be matriculated.

Hey, don't pay no mind.
Max out all your credits and you'll graduate on time.
Hey, study and pay.

By the time you find your passion
It's already too late.
Wrote your thesis on mating habits of quail;
You'd have rather studied Gregory the Great.

It goes down the same as the thousand before.
Now you're getting smarter;
That's what learning is for.
So for your next degree you've got it all figured out.
You're gonna write about Popes, write about Popes, write about...

Hey! Now you're payin' mad money?
Sign the book!
You gotta be matriculated.

Hey! Joined the university?
Sign the book!
You gotta be matriculated.

Hey, don't pay no mind.
Max out all your credits and you'll graduate on time.
Hey, study and pay.

It goes down the same as the thousand before.
Now you're getting smarter;
That's what learning is for.
So for your next degree you've got it all figured out.
You're gonna write about Popes, write about Popes, write about...

Hey! Joined the university?
Sign the book!
You gotta be matriculated.

Hey! Now you're payin' mad money?
Sign the book!
You gotta be matriculated.

Hey, don't pay no mind.
Max out all your credits and you'll graduate on time.
Hey, study and pay.

DrewTube

This post is especially for those who are not able to view facebook videos (hi, Mama! <3) but would like to see Craig Chapel and the worship services there, as well as last week's matriculation service, which was very uniquely sort of worship/academia-mania all rolled into one. Just one more reason to love Theo School.

Also a special shout-out to Nehemiah and the Sarah Lawrence Gospel Choir/Res Miranda - I miss you all very much and hope you're rocking out the year! If you miss Nehemiah's voice as much as I do (or don't know yet what you're missing), check out the second video here.

If you prefer to see the true blue Drew Worship facebook page and see what else is new in the chapel, you can do so at this link.

But if you simply don't feel like moving any further than scrolling down... you're in luck!

Here is the celebration in which our incoming class signed The Book. My only regret is that you don't get to see our Church History professor deliver the address or the Korean Men's Choir sing "You Raise Me Up"... but at least there's The Book (oh, and the Dean):



And here's a service from Thursday, November 2... which I sadly missed while sick. Sarah Lawrence College's gospel choir's former director, the amazing Nehemiah Luckett, makes a guest appearance and sings a solo for one of the hymns in Part 1.








I probably will not post these often (not sure how well videos load for you all?), unless there is something in particular I'd like to share or address, but if you are interested in seeing more in the future, please let me know.

In Praise Of No Awkward Ice-Breaker Games

For our last bit of orientation on Friday morning, we were divided into groups to rotate between three rooms.

My group's first stop was good ol' Seminary Hall 101, where we learned this gem:

Critical thinking is "thinking about thinking."

Now if that isn't metaphysical enough, just imagine: we spent a half hour thinking about criticul thinking, i.e. thinking about thinking about thinking.

Surprisingly, it was not a particularly long half hour.

Dr. Melanie Johnson DeBaufre, "MJD", explained the rules of the game. She would put a quote on the board, and we would need to respond to it with only questions. We could additionally respond to other questions - but still only with more questions.

Sort of like this:



Only everyone playing at once, with no audience, no wages as big improvisation stars, and no Wayne Brady shaking his bum.

Shame.

But it was fun!

So MJD wrote this on the board: "You have all you need, if you just believe."

Ready? Go.

Questions poured out, punctuated with the natural rhythm of group collaboration and just a few lulls for silent thought.

Questions like

Believe in what?

What does it mean to have?

What is it to believe?

How will I know when I have it?

How will I know when I believe?

Why is it conditional?

Who is "you" - is it singular or plural?

MJD broke one silence with one of her own contributions:

Why are there quotation marks?

Instantaneously someone's interest was sparked -

Who said this?

- which began a conflagration of new ideas.

When was it said? Where? To whom?

Ultimately we discovered that the quote is a line from a Josh Groban song used in The Polar Express, which a number of us had never seen.



(This right here is the first I've heard/seen of it.)

The text took on still a new flavor when everyone in the room realized some had encountered it before and had some connotations of it, while others would never have known it was anything more than a Hallmark greeting. Even with a simple lyric, our impressions were different. It's certainly only a taste of what we'll discover as we discuss doctrine and history and philosophy.

After our own Questions Only and reviewing an amazing little handbook on Critical Thinking that I wish to God I'd had in undergrad, MJD wrote a new sentence on the board for us to discuss. This time, we were allowed to make statements as well.

Critical thinking is an important practice of ministry or a life of faith.

A hypothetical battle ensued in which we knew MJD was role-playing, but boy was her devil's advocate (no pun intended) going to be a tough nut to crack. It was a greatly informative exchange and it would be difficult to do it justice after the fact, but the most progress we made toward effective communication was one student's input in particular, giving a solid example of how love and kindness are sometimes not enough. She explained how U.S. American missionaries traveled to rebuild homes in Central America, and while they had the best of intentions, accepting the work in these struggling communities took away the wages from the people who lived there. They did not know it at the time, but if they had thought critically about the conditions and the actions they chose to take, they may have found an even more helpful option that would not only reflect their compassion but also a more informed decision.

"...Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind..." (Luke 10:27)

What I Like About You Drew

Best read after this video:



Hey, uh huh huh
Hey, uh huh huh

What I like about Drew -- you treat me right
House me in C204, nice big windows make it so bright, yeah

Students who have welcomed me here
Tell me all the things that I wanna hear... 'bout free food
That's what I like about Drew

What I like about Drew: you're gonna let me dance
And I'll go up, down, jump around, stumble like I'm stuck in a trance, yeah

Profs so great that they make me cheer
Tell me all the things that I wanna hear... work is due! (WHAT?!)
That's what I like about Drew
That's what I like about Drew
That's what I like about Drew

Wahh!

Hey!

What I like about Drew, your security's tight
Evans made us laugh and your lamps look like Narnia at night, yeah

Seminary staff allay all our fears
Tell us when we leave we MIGHT have careers... we say whew
(But please don't play like that, Drew)
That's what I like about Drew
That's what I like about Drew.....

Hey, uh huh huh, hey hey hey
Hey, uh huh huh, brrr
Hey, uh huh huh, hey

Can I Get An Amen?

It has seemed, throughout my own experience, that God teaches and shapes and transforms someone all the more not in times of great human brilliance but in moments of meekness, humility, and even confusion. If theology - religious discourse, God-talk - were solely a matter of intellect, what could a student of theology ultimately strive to attain but the omniscience of God alone?

And so it is in the spirit of not-knowing, of accepting the immense magnitude of an omniscient God, that I embark on my seminary career. Now at Drew Theological School, just a few days before the beginning of the semester, I realize that even as I seek knowledge, I do not seek concrete answers as much as I seek peace - the acceptance of not having them - and thus a balance between intellectual activity and all other growth.

This morning I seized the opportunity to take a writing exam using a computer. A child of the late twentieth century, my hands are seemingly incapable of handwritten decrees. Having come to accept this as both circumstance and personal identity, the thought of organizing an essay by hand strikes fear into my heart. It seems inevitable that many students planning to pursue ministry have certain roles and places to which they plead with God not to send them. As Dr. Westfield said earlier this week in advising students how best to select a cross-cultural program, sometimes we must go to the last place in which we envision ourselves. And though it may seem a weak comparison, for me, a handwritten exam is much that place. When my computer seemed less ready for the writing test than I was, and I watched as it processed, simply processed, I took out my pen.

I spoke the other day with Larry, an alumnus of Drew. Larry has worked in prison ministry for many years, a vocation he discovered through his wife, who had been set on this particular form of ministry long before it ever struck Larry himself as "suitable" for him - or rather before he believed himself suitable for prison ministry. He spoke about his reluctance and concerns, but also about the dismal place in which he found the inmates. The incredible crossroads that brought them together came out of something seemingly hopeless, and although many found it difficult to persevere, many lives were transformed entirely.

Larry and I discussed being grateful for times of concern because of the growth there. It is being thankful for the flood washing over the earth, for the despair beneath the juniper tree, for the agony of the cross, that in all these things there may be new life. It is the "amen" of assent and approval, the acknowledgment of truth and divine providence, shouted in times of apparent disorder and uncertainty and suffering; the faith that something great is happening beyond the grief, the hurt, the hopelessness, even if the greatness is yet unseen by human eyes. I pray that God will take who I am and do something despite the tohu vbohu, the mishmash, of who I would be - not without my knowledge of God but rather without the presence of God's own wisdom and peace.

Arriving at the threshold of theological education is rather like waiting for my computer to "wake up" beyond the point at which even the computer itself seems baffled. As I set out by hand, still eyeing the stagnant screen, I knew that eventually the computer would find focus and move on, but I knew, too, that I haven't all the necessary wisdom to understand how it works - or why it does not. And so I waited, and adjusted to a method of working that makes me incredibly and wonderfully uncomfortable, adjusted to the idea that perhaps it is easier to set about something along the best course one can find than to fear that the way is not familiar or safe or well-lit, and never take a step.

And when both I and the computer were ready, I began to type.