Graduation!

The first picture I took of my seminary career.
My goodness I was a fool!

 On September 8^th, 2010 I wrote these words:

tomorrow at 10 am i will walk into my 'first' seminary class, hebrew. for over an hour tonight in my favorite coffee shop, i have written, memorized, and wrote some more, the hebrew alphabet over and over. i kind of get it but that is what school is for, right? to equip and train and help educate me in this ancient language…. so here we go, right? tomorrow, this is it. i'm on my way and in 3 short years, i'll be done. a minister of word and sacrament, collar wearing, stole draped over my white alb, and i will be a man of the cloth. scary as hell yet exciting because that is where i know i'm supposed to be.

On our way to baccalaureate   

[oh the excitement...and the arrogance!  That voice from which I wrote those words from make me cringe.  If you get a chance, read this entry too.  After reading these first few entries of my first few weeks in seminary, I have realized just how much I have changed...thank goodness!  I can't help but apologize for my ridiculous and often asinine commentary on this adventure.]

Today it is Wednesday, May 22, 2013—and I have been an official Master of both Spirituality and Divinity now for 3 whole days.  The receiving of these two diplomas means that I have come to the end of my academic endeavors and I now have proof that I am able to change the world!

Alright, everything about this blog so far has been quite dramatic.  But that is where I currently dwell.  So much change has happened, especially within myself.  As I begin to be consumed with boxes and engaging in the spiritual practice of moving [yet again], I wanted to share with you all the joyful event that was my graduation from Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary that took place this past Sunday.

And by ‘share with you all’ I mean provide some pictures, a few words that were spoken from our baccalaureate service, a video from our commencement speaker, Barbara Brown Taylor, and a link to LPTS’s President, Michael Jenkins, blog. 

But before I do all that fun stuff, I wanted to say thank you to you—whoever ‘you’ may be.  You know this seminary experience has been a journey; one that had many moments of celebration and a few that caused great anxiety.  I have been filled with both joy and discomfort as I entered deeper into the theological mysteries of my faith.  Along the way I have found pools of encouragement and wisdom.  When I’ve left those pools, on some occasions I’ve wandered out into the wilderness where loneliness was my friend and fear was the blanket I slept under.  Yet, in spite of all this, the good, the bad, and even the ugly, and especially the beautiful, I made it; I graduated; and the process that is seminary has transformed me—for the better. 

At least I think so.

Completion.  LPTS's hood.

So thank you to those of you who sent cards, messages on facebook, and offered words of encouragement to me along the way.  I appreciate your patience with my annoying, over spiritualized facebook statuses and the many dramatic theological insights I often put up:  both the ones done in sincerity and sarcastically.  If at anytime I had offended you, I do apologize and I hope to one day extend my hand to you in an act of reconciliation.  Regardless though, whether you pushed back or were enthusiastically supportive of these endeavors of mine, know that you have also had a hand in my formation. 

Again I say, thank you!

With that said, here is what you have waited for.

The benediction that was offered to our class at our baccalaureate mass comes from the Christian mystic, St. Teresa of Avila.  These words offer an excellent summation of what the address was about: 

"Christ has no body now, but yours.No hands, no feet on earth, but yours.Yours are the eyes through whichChrist looks compassion into the world.Yours are the feetwith which Christ walks to do good.Yours are the handswith which Christ blesses the world." 

Our commencement ceremony was beautiful.  The highlight of the ceremony, in addition to my dear friends winning awards, was the commencement address by Barbara Brown Taylor.  Her address is only 12 minutes long, a lesson I think all future commencement speakers should learn, and it is quite beautiful, a nice mixture of humor and theological reflection.

Finally here is a link to the charge given by the president of LPTS, Michael Jenkins. 

[Actually, his blog is down.  So I am copying the last portion of his charge.  When the blog is up again, I’ll post the link.]

The 2013 graduating class of Louisville
Presbyterian Theological Seminary.  I'm
grateful for their companionship along the way!

Today I charge you to be stewards of the mystery. I charge you to be mindful of what happens when we invoke holy things. I charge you to take seriously the sacred mysteries we handle.
There are two mysteries in particular I charge you to reflect on and to handle with reverence: the mystery of God, and the human mystery, both of which are subject to reductionism in our time, to caricature and desecration.

Concerning the human mystery: Do not allow the powers and principalities of this present age to lead you to reduce a person to something less than a human being, created in love in the likeness and image of God. The people among whom you will serve are not consumers, or customers, or giving units. They are not even parishioners. They are human beings, children of God. And each and every one stands uniquely in the presence of a God who loves him or her. You are a steward of this great mystery.

Concerning the mystery of God:  We steward this great and fundamental mystery first by recognizing God's holiness, God's wholly otherness; and by recognizing that we are not God. But we also steward this mystery by recognizing that we belong (as the Heidelberg Catechism teaches us) body and soul, in life and in death, not to ourselves, but to our faithful savior, Jesus Christ.
...
I charge you now to redeem those moments in the name of Jesus of Nazareth. Every person we meet bears upon herself or himself the indelible stamp of God, and makes a claim upon our respect and love. And every moment in our lives is a gift from the most Holy God, who is always as near to us as our next breath. The steward of the human mystery and the mystery of God reflects on these mysteries and allows them to transform our life together.


May the grace and mercy of Jesus Christ be with you in your life and in your ministries;  AMEN.

It seems like yesterday I wrote those words at the top on what was the eve of my seminary career.  Now, in a different coffee shop, I ponder the words that were offered to me on what is the dawn of my new endeavor:  living into my vocational identity.

Here's to an ending and to a beginning of being where I'm supposed to be.

Sunrise on a Monday

Twentieth-century Presbyterian theologian and writer Frederick Buechner has written, “Who knows how the awareness of God’s love first hits -people? Every person has his/her own tale to tell, including the person who would not believe in God if you paid him/her. Some moment happens in your life that makes you say Yes right up to the roots of your hair, that makes it worth having been born just to have happen. Laughing with somebody till the tears run down your cheeks. Waking up to the first snow. Being in bed with somebody you love. Whether you thank God for such a moment or thank your lucky stars, it is a moment that is trying to open up your whole life. If you try to turn your back on such a moment and hurry along to Business as Usual, it may lose you the whole ball game. If you throw your arms around such a moment and hug it like crazy, it may save your soul. How about the person you know who as far as you can possibly tell has never had such a moment? Maybe for that person the moment that has to happen is you.”

A sunrise greets me as

it does every day, right?

I’m up, so is the world;

ordinary—well, not quite.

Commonly, morning light meant

class, coffee, conversations,

and for three years, conversions;

mini resurrections, daily.

Just before mid-day, on us

the sun will have already set .

Quickly, expected-ly, still

though it feels as if we just met.

Downward the tears, strong as

raindrops will fall.  Sunlight shines

through, penetrating the clouds of sadness;

birthing a  radiant rainbow of contentment.

Thundering sobs linger around, so

does the cloud of former things.

I relinquish this day to this season

of life.  Thanking God, reluctantly.

All of this before noon—these

goodbyes.  From them, an aurora,

I’ll see it soon.  Beauty in the friction

of time moving on—bursting with life.

Dawn ushers in a flood of

emotions.  And the mystery

of life not alone, but separate,

traveling together into the unknown.

Sun-up comes with the

gift of peace which comes only

from above.  Again, wisdom,

gleaned from incarnated love.

Daylight fades on life’s stage.

Now comes the night and the

whispers in the dark.  Still I stand

waving goodbye, knowing it’ll be

alright.  

Here's To You, Caterpillar

I went a got boxes the other day.  Lots of boxes.  Over 30 boxes.  Big boxes.  Little boxes.  Medium sized boxes.  Boxes and more boxes, lots of boxes everywhere.

Boxes because, it is another time of transition for me.  In a couple of weeks T and me, Silas and Chloe, will load up once again [our 5th move in 6 years] and head to our next destination.  This move from this place in our life to another means we get to go through our things again, boxing up that which we want, leaving behind in come capacity those items that we no longer need, and putting it all on a truck only to unload, settle in, and make a home again else where.  Moving is a pain, relocating is a process, and learning a new place, understanding a new people, is both exciting and nerve wracking.

Transition is hard, especially this one.

But something beautiful happened to me the other day when I went to pick up these boxes.  Something that caused me to stop and think, ponder what exactly is happening in this season of my life.  

As the person I bought the boxes from was throwing them over his fence at me, I was in the process of shuffling and organizing the boxes when I noticed something in one of them:

a beautiful, colorful, harry, good-sized 

caterpillar.

Tucked away in a box, having just been launched over a fence recklessly, came crawling this little guy [or gal].  Slowly and meticulously.  All those little legs working together, moving in one direction, moving in a straight line, while his middle raised in the air as his back caught up with the front.  So captivating was this insect.  Hidden away in a box.

Because I have a Masters of Arts in Spirituality [like my humility] I knew I need to channel my inmer St. Francis and rescue this little bug.  With boxes still flying over the fence like shrapnel from an explosion, I scooped up the caterpillar and moved it to a near by tree.  Her legs tickled; she was light; soft was her 'fur'; and she made me think.

About transitions.  

About life stages. 

Moving from one place to another. 

About seasons.  

About beauty.  

About the importance of moving on, going slowly through each stage, and doing so with a deliberate movement.  

Will her transformation, her transition from caterpillar to butterfly, hurt?  If it does, when she is floating in the warm summer breeze, will she remember?  Will she give thanks?  Does she know the color of her wings yet?  Has she prepared for that period when she will rest, by herself, in her cocoon?  When she finally emerges as something else, a winged insect, will she know how to fly?  

Whether she knows the answers or not, I imagine she'll know how simply to be.

As I placed her on the tree, I thanked her for stopping me. Her tiny little body, her little existence made a huge impact on me.  She reflects the season I'm in.  She reminded me that though boxes surround me, brown boxes, beauty will emerge.

And like hers, life will soon transition from this place of uncertainty to a world full of beauty.

But it takes time.  It won't happen over night.  This is a journey, a movement...

like from being a caterpillar to being a beautiful butterfly.

I leave you with something that actually has depth to it, a poem by Wendell Berry

The Thought of Something Else 

1.
A spring wind blowing
the smell of the ground
through the intersections of traffic,
the mind turns, seeks a new
nativity--another place,
simpler, less weighted
by what has already been. 

Another place!
it's enough to grieve me--
that old dream of going,
of becoming a better man
just by getting up and going
to a better place.

05/16 Poem

Dark skies and heavy eyes
Tears on cheeks, dried
A lovely day well spent
With those I call friends
Night has settled in
So has transition
She has arrived tonight

Or Wisdom, is it your
Presence rising
As the sunlight waned
In our sadness, the pain
That comes with leaving
Deep breath, followed
By a long, unforeseen sigh
With it comes reality
Of no longer what is,
What was, mainly now
Of what will be
Never have I been
Loved like this, strange
Never have I ever
Loved like this, paradox
My heart is full of
This Love, Wisdoms'
Is making me rich
Soon though, even now,
My heart breaks,
Come to me ever so gently,
Holding and healing
Tenderly, Sweetly
The way their laughter
Did for this season
Patching me together,
Finally, entirely, wholly
My soul, my being, as
They let me be me
Which makes me smile
Knowing we loved
As best we could
Sharing life, here
While we could.
Nothing is left in this well
No tears, no sniffles
So just be, breathe
Let love dwell, coddle
And Wisdom whisper
Her thanksgiving
For what was, what is
And yup, for what will be

Graduation Recap

As I mentioned in a post on Saturday morning, this past weekend I graduated from Bellarmine University with a Masters of Arts in Spirituality.  I was a student in the dual degree program offered by Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary, where I will graduate this upcoming weekend with a Masters of Divinity, and Bellarmine University.  I have said this numerous times and I'll say it one more time here, the best decision I have made in my academic career was to enroll in this dual degree program.

Because I know you all are interested in the festivities of BU's graduation and my speech at the Baccalaureate mass, I'm posting two video's.  The first being my speech a good friend, the same friend that introduced me to the program, recorded with her phone; and the second a 2+ minute synopsis of Saturday's commencement.  If you look closely at the start of this video you will see my fellow MAS colleagues and me--we are wearing an orange, white, and green stole.

Enjoy.

To An Unintentional 2nd Degree

Bellarmine swag.  BU's hood & the stole is for
those who traveled to India.  Hey, I did that!

It is 6am, eastern time, and the world is stirring.  The birds have started to sing, though it is still dark.  Off in the distance the hum of the interstate is getting louder.  In my own house the two Golden Dogs are rising from their slumber, too.  Very slowly of course.

In less than two hours I will be making my way to St. Agnes Catholic Church where I will participate in my baccalaureate mass for my Masters of Arts in Spirituality degree.  What an unusual day, considering when I came to Louisville three years ago, I came with one goal in mind:  to graduate from LPTS in 3 years while becoming the best Presbyterian I can be!

6 hours from now when the sun is high overhead, I will be walking across the stage at Bellarmine University, donning a cap and gown, along with some other regalia, and receiving a degree that has taken me deep into the mystery of the Trinity, sat me in the middle of Thomas Merton's hermitage where my colleagues and I dissected Merton's poetry, and provided a transformative moment on top of Mt. St. Thomas in Kerala, India.  I literally came to Bellarmine by chance when I signed up for an interview to be a campus minister there three years ago and was hired, only because that year they decided to have 2 campus ministers instead of 1.  Now, I am hours away from becoming an alumni at this institution that has welcomed me with tremendous hospitality.

This degree means so much to me simply because of the people I have studied with while being there.  My cohort have been wonderful, supportive, and have taught me as much about spirituality as the books we have read.  They've inspired me with their own work and the implementation of their studies into their own lives.  More importantly, when the seminary world made my own world a bit unsettled, they were a gentle presence as I wade through the two worlds.  I have come to know more about the love of God simply by the way they have loved me.

I will indeed look back on these years with great fondness.  Never will I forget those late nights in the Merton Center studying Origen and Athanasius, Julian and Therese, Benedict and Sheldrake.  Nor will I ever forget how when I would be knee deep in Reformed Theology at the seminary, the MAS program provided me a space and a cohort, those who are graduating with me today, to discuss and reflect on how we might live out our own particular theologies.  Indeed, I will forever cherish those nights discussing spirituality with those I now call friends.

Here's to graduation #1; to two years of reading, writing, and discussing all things spiritual; and to an experience I would not have embarked on had those who mean so much to me not encouraged me to do so.

Unintentionally I made my way to Bellamrine with the thought I'd be there only a year.  Yet here I am three years later, grateful for the lessons, friendships, and deepened spirituality that I have found in this place.

Seasons Changing in the Moments

There are those moments in our lives when we unintentionally become aware to what is happening around us.

For some of us, those tiny hairs stand up.

For others, chills come over our bodies.

However it happens, when it does, we know something has just happened.

Lately, as I begin to transition from one chapter to another, I've tried to pay special attention to those moments.  As time draws nearer to my graduation, these moments are become more frequent, usually accompanied with tears--the joyful kind; but also the sad kind.

Up to this point though, I've done pretty well of channeling these emotions into my journal.  I'm not denying these emotions are 'bad,' quite the contrary actually.  I am well aware of how healthy it is to sit with and embrace whatever it is I may be feeling.

Just that when these moments happen and when these tears begin to gather, they are usually with people, in public, and the last thing I want is to make a scene.

My latest moment, when the world stood still and I found myself completely at peace, came yesterday when I worshipped in a new space, amidst new people. A friend of ours invited us to worship with her.  It would be one of the last times we could join her in the community she has called home for the last few years before we all go our separate ways.  When I walked in I knew it'd be a joyful experience as the congregation sang one of my favorite hymns, "All Are Welcome."  As we settled in our pew, I looked around and took notice of this old church that has turned its space into something else, something different, something quite beautiful actually.

Though things were noticeably different, the liturgy, parts of it, were quite the same.  Reminding me how universal the church can be.  As we stood to sing another song, I looked over at my wife who was talking with our friend, and I smiled--a beautiful sight, one I drank deeply from.  In just a few weeks we will find ourselves worshipping in different spaces, and yet, sharing in the same communal act in different communities.  I was overwhelmed with this realization--my smile turned to a giant grin.

About this time the ensemble began to pray a song I had never heard before.  They sang the chorus first:
From the corners of creation to the center where we stand,
let all things be blessed and holy, all is fashioned by your hand;
Brother wind and sister water, mother earth and father sky,
sacred plants and sacred creatures, sacred people in the land.

That is when I noticed the tears that were wanting to fall.

That is also when I noticed the community rising from their seats and bringing forth canned goods and putting them in baskets in front of the table.  My wife even got in on the fun, reflective of the deep compassion she has for the world, especially the poor.  She went with our friend, a reflection of the beautiful relationships that has blossomed between the two of them.

I smiled, not showing my teeth because it was the only way I could keep the tears back.  What a beautiful song, being sung in a beautiful space, by beautiful people.  The words as they were sung, and as I read them, provoked a joy I had been missing.  Then, I started to sing.  Loudly.  Gazing into the third heaven--or just the back of the persons head who sat in front me--grateful for the morning, for the song, for the life of the day.

Since yesterday morning I've had that song stuck in my head.  My friend sent a YouTube video of the song and I want to share it.  Also, I'm going to share the words to the song.  This morning as I have listened over and over to it, I realized why this song probably spoke so much to me:  it is about connection, how intricately connected we are to one another.  It reminds me of the seasons of life and the presence of one another during each season.  Despite our differences, there is beauty in our lives we all share.

I was reminded, that though things will soon change, some things will always be the same.  While life will look different, we will have forever shared in this season of our life.

Currently, I sit in the south--growing more and more aware of the sacred ground beneath my feet.

May you, no matter the season you find yourself in, be mindful of those moments when the world stops and you are at peace.  May you take notice and smile, giving thanks for life.

Even if the moment is but only for a minute....

Here is the video.  Enjoy.

Verse 1
In the east, the place of dawning, there is beauty in the morn,
here the seeker finds new visions as each sacred day is born;
all who honor life around them, all who honor life within,
they shall shine with light and glory when the morning breaks again.
Verse2
In the south, the place of growing, there is wisdom in the earth,
both the painful song of dying and the joyful song of birth;
As the earth gives up her life blood so her children's hearts may beat,
we give back to her our reverence, holy ground beneath our feet.
Verse3
In the north, the place of wisdom, there is holy darkness deep,
here the silent song of mystery may awake you from your sleep;
Here the music still and holy sounds beneath the snow and night
in the ones who wait with patience for the coming of the light.
Verse 4
 In the west, the place of seeing, there is born a vision new
of the servant of the servants, who proclaimed a gospel true;
Let the creatures of creation echo back creation's prayer,
let the Spirit now breathe through us and restore the sacred there.