10 letters

Full Disclosure: This blog post will delve into the very personal. It will also have the occasional four-letter-word in it.

I haven’t truly shared a deep blog post in a while, there are a few reasons for that;

I’ve always struggled with the practice of regular writing, it’s never something I’ve been particularly good at. So, it often falls by the wayside to other opportunities for engagement.

Seminary is busy and demanding. Sometimes I need to focus my energies on my assignments and living into the very life before me. This means that sometimes, writing doesn’t get done.

But the predominant reason I haven’t taken the time to write in a while is due to this: Depression. Ten letters.

Due to a series of events in my life, course content interacting in particularly triggering ways, and demands of my internship, I spiraled into depression. For those who haven’t experienced the dark wolf, let me simply say this, depression is fucking brutal. It is a constant exhaustion coupled with not being able to sleep. It’s isolating yourself from those around you while wishing someone would just give you a hug and tell you they love you. It’s needing to do laundry but finding yourself still sprawled across your bed three hours later, unable to move and unable to care. You feel like you’re listening to the world through a straw and viewing the landscape through the sides of a dirty pint glass, your brain is covered in cheesecloth which slows down the reception and processing of information. It hurts to breathe. It is exhausting and painful to do the very things which are meant to sustain you.

Gratefully, I had people in my life who I was able to reach out to. I had the people who took me to lunch and tried to encourage me to eat. I had the people who made it okay for me to sit in a nearly catatonic state or held silence as tears streamed silently down my face. I had the people who made me carry a card of names and phone numbers for three people I would call in an emergency. I had the people who sent text messages every day just to check in. People invited me into their homes and guest rooms simply so I didn’t have to spend the night alone. I called people and cried, they loved me from afar, suggested scripture to read, and prayed with me. I took medical incompletes in two classes so as not to be a detriment to myself academically and professionally.

Some might suggest that this platform, a blog, is not the place to share such information. It’s airing dirty laundry for everyone to see. While I can understand their concern, I respond with the question, “What about depression and concerns for mental health make them particularly ‘dirty’ to society?” I choose to share this information because I believe that the more we are transparent about mental health issues the stronger we become as people and a society. When we talk about it and acknowledge it, we remove some of the shame and guilt which keeps people in the closet. When we talk about mental health in everyday life without whispering in hushed tones behind closed doors, we make the prospect of seeking help attainable. When we don’t talk about mental health, those who do have experiences with mood disorders just continue to feel like isolated, fucked up freaks. We don’t need that. So, I choose to name my depression. I choose to do so because it is healthy for me in my own growth and awareness, and I choose to do so with the knowledge that someone else may be experiencing depression and they should know that they are not alone. There is a vulnerability to naming and claiming our needs in this world, it is a vulnerability which invites the sacred in to work in new and exciting ways.

Some people suggest that mental illness is a sign of weakness, that God never gives us more than we can handle. I think that’s bullshit. If you really believe that God never gives each of us more than we can handle, I call upon you to look into the eyes of a family grieving the loss of a loved one to suicide and say that. Because sometimes, for some people, life truly shovels more shit on us than we can handle.

I know some people who believe strongly in redemptive suffering and believe that all suffering serves a purpose. I don’t agree with them. I believe that this experience will better equip me to be a stronger pastor, but I’d rather it not have happened.

We talk frequently in theological circles about the concepts of wholeness and brokenness.  I cringe to when these terms are used because brokenness implies wrongness or defect. Wholeness implies that any brokenness we’ve ever experienced is erased from the slate and never leaves a mark; I think we can all agree that such an idea is bullshit. Perhaps I’m thinking in too literal or linear a framework; but I think we’re all simultaneously broken and whole. It is the beauty in our brokenness which allows us to see ourselves as whole human beings despite our faults. It is the duct tape over the crack which tells of the ability of the wounded heart. Challenges with mental illness does not mean that a person is broken and not whole, it merely means one is experiencing a level of identity which not everyone knows.

Where am I now? I’m still in the midst of my depression. Medication and therapy are helping me to regain a degree of normalcy over my emotional and mental state, I’m feeling more in control. But there are still days where it’s extremely hard to get out of bed and do anything “productive.” There are days I feel like a robot incapable of emotion, and there are days I’m a basket-case of tears or anger. It’s all part of the ride I guess.

I don’t know if this has a point beyond naming depression for the sake of transparency, I don’t know if anyone will find comfort or shared experience in what I’ve laid out. I know that for some, depression ends only when life ends. I know for some, medication and therapy are a lifelong necessity. For some, intentional treatment may be a short-term reality. We all walk our own journey with life, it’s not a one-size fits-all world. That’s part of the reason talking about mental health is necessary, we don’t all fit into a cookie cutter shape for living.

So love each other. If you know someone who is depressed or suicidal, be present for them in any way that you can. Know your own limits in helping, but be available to the degree that you can. The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1-800-273-TALK.

Initial thoughts on India

My thoughts are disorganized. But I am enthralled in this experience!

We learned how to write our names in Tamil. 

Pg 1 of reflection on 1/2/16 at 6:15pm

Pg 2

Registration for my final semester...WHAT?!?!

I'm preparing to register for my final semester of seminary.
To date, I have earned 64 credits and am working on earning another 15 to grant me 79 credits. I need 96 for my degree.
My cumulative GPA at the end of last Spring was a 3.65, no grades from this semester have come in yet.

My final semester includes:
--A two week trip to India in January! I'll be studying conflict transformation in South India.  Our first session together is this Thursday morning!
--Introduction to Preaching - An introduction to the theology and practice of preaching within the context of Christian ministry and worship. Students develop skills necessary for preparation, composition, delivery, and critique of sermons. Required of all M.Div. students in the Pastoral Ministry track.
--Constructive Theology - This course introduces students to the major themes of Christian theology with the aim of providing them with a framework for effective and faithful theological reflection. Beginning with revelation and ending with eschatology, we follow a familiar progression in the study of systematic theology, examining modern and postmodern theological perspectives on God, creation, human nature, sin, Christology, ecclesiology and other doctrinal loci. The methodological approach is constructive, in that emphasis is placed on helping students integrate central issues of faith in response to contemporary issues.
--CPE continuing to work with residents exhibiting dementia symptoms related to Alzheimer's and other cognitive diseases.
--Seminary Singers (for credit, Singers is something I've always done as extracurricular). The Seminary Singers rehearse on Tuesday evenings and sing during our Wednesday Chapel service.  In May we're singing at the United Methodist General Conference!

I want to know what happened with the last 2+ years. It was a blur. I want it back!
I can't believe it's all coming to a close.

May 14, 2016.

Just a thought for the night

Today is October 26, 2015.

In fewer than seven months I will graduate from Boston University School of Theology with a Master of Divinity. 

I don't know what to think about this. 

On going to her wedding.

On going to her wedding.

The invitation came in the mail, I didn’t know how to respond.  We hadn’t exactly parted under the best of terms.  When our relationship ended we were both hurting, living over 300 miles apart, and quickly losing control of everything around us.  For myself, I was in my first year of seminary and was trying to make sense of my life and grasp at the remaining “truths” of my theology. 

I held the invitation, not knowing what I thought.  Did I really want to go? Did she really want me to come? Can I watch her marry someone I’m not totally convinced is right for her?  I sought counsel from a few trusted confidants.  Most actually told me I shouldn’t go, that it didn’t seem like I was certain I needed to be there.  I thought, I prayed, I prayed, I prayed some more.  In the end, I determined that I would go.  I RSVP’d “Yes” and entered my third and final year of seminary. 

As the weeks drew closer to the wedding, I still didn’t know if I was truly prepared to go.  I’d sorted through my feelings and knew that although I would always love her, that love had changed; I knew that she wasn’t the person I was meant to spend my life in partnership with.  When an internship looked like it might prevent my attending, I simultaneously breathed a sigh of relief and lamented possibly missing the event.  Clearly, I was conflicted.

In the week leading up to the wedding, I made the final determination to go and began working my schedule around the necessary departure time.  It was a several hour drive, so planning for traffic was necessary.  I awoke before the sun and was out the door before many other residents in my 18-member house were awake. 

As I arrived at the location, it became clear to me how much I really did want to be there.  It was an outdoor wedding at a state park, parking was in a lower lot and the pavilion sat up under and behind a grove of trees.  I talked briefly on the phone with the person who had been our campus chaplain in college; she asked, “Are you okay with this?”  She understood what it could mean to watch someone I had dated marry someone else.  I assured her of my resolve and departed from my car. 

I took a wrong turn when walking and ended up in the wrong direction.  I glanced hastily at my watch, it was seven minutes before the ceremony was to start and people were nowhere in sight.  I looked around me in a bit of panic and found myself thinking, “If I miss this event, I’ll never forgive myself.”  I ran back the way I’d come as fast as I could, I ran up the hill without stopping, I made it to the pavilion with three minutes to spare. 

The first person I saw was the groom.  He smiled and said, “She’s going to be so happy you’re here.  She’s getting ready in that RV.  I can’t go in, but you need to go and see her.  Just knock on the door.”  I walked to the RV and knocked.  As any good Maid of Honor would do just minutes before a wedding, the MOH tried to usher me away.  The groom hollered from 20 paces off, “She can go in, she’s okay.”  The MOH looked at me, “Okay, but she’s getting into her gown.”

I walked up the stairs of the RV and looked to the left.  Her back was to me, she didn’t know I was there.  She turned around, saw me, and her face lit up.  I burst into tears.  She looked beautiful.  Not just beautiful because she was in a wedding dress.  Not just beautiful because it was her wedding day.  She looked beautiful from the depths of her soul.  She radiated joy, it originated from her core.  She was the happiest I had ever seen her, ever.  We hugged and I said through the tears, “You Are Beautiful!”  She said, “Don’t start crying on me already.”

As we hugged, I felt a weight lift from my soul.  She and I used to talk every day; we’d had a constant connection of friendship and/or romance for nearly six years.  When our relationship ended, that connection had been severed.  We hardly talked anymore, and even if we did it was nowhere near what we used to have.  I had been carrying that loss with me.  I knew on some level it was there, but I hadn’t registered the gravity to which it had impacted me.  When we embraced in that RV, I felt the weight of that loss flow off me and pool onto the floor.  Roughly two years of pain and heartache were simply washed away.

I was shooed off by the MOH (who did a VERY fine job, let me tell you) and exited the RV.  I regained composure in time for the ceremony to start, only to promptly lose my composure again as she entered the pavilion during the processional.  It was as though I was truly seeing her for the first time; which in a way I was.  She was a new person, unlike the person I had previously known.  Certainly there were parts of her former identity which I could recognize, but now she was truly whole, she held nothing back. 

As far as I am aware, I was the only person from our college days who was able to make it to the wedding.  There was a core group of us those years ago, and we were very tight.  I watched the ceremony and snapped a few pictures with my phone.  I watched both the bride and groom express deep tears of joy at the new life they were embarking upon together.  I don’t think there was a dry eye in the place.  After the ceremony was over, I sent a picture to the others who were unable to be there.  “She’s married! :)” accompanied the image.  I received texts back almost instantly with exclamations of joy. 

I waited to go through the receiving line.  I had been asked to express love and congratulations on behalf of others who couldn’t be there.  One hug for one person, a second hug for another, and then a third for myself.  “I’ve missed you so much, I’m so happy for you!” I whispered to her.  The photographer offered to take a photo of us which had my face rather than the back of my head.  I can’t wait to see how we look with tears of healing and joy on our faces. 

I hugged the groom and we made a decision to get to know each other better.  I want to know the person who can make her as happy as she is; she deserves that happiness and he made it happen.  Any misgivings I had about him had disappeared the instant I saw her in the RV, and I look forward to a lifelong friendship with him as well as her. 

 So I went to the wedding.  I’m glad I did.  I know now that I wouldn’t have wanted to miss it for the world.  She gave me a gift in inviting me, and I believe it was a gift to both of us that I went.  I texted her that evening after the wedding with some photos and shared my experience about the weight being lifted; she responded that she knew exactly what I meant.  I don’t know what will happen next, but I’ll be honest in saying that I hope she and I can work toward rebuilding a solid friendship.  I believe that we are meant to be in each other’s lives. 

My soul feels lighter.  It feels like I’m taking a deep breath without pain for the first time in a long time.  I’ve been granted freedom from something which was holding me down.  I can’t exactly explain everything that happened, I don’t know if I really understand it.  I believe that attending the wedding was some kind of balm for me; it brought to the fore a realization of what had been suppressed, and it remove the damaged parts of me and replenished them anew. 

I am still processing and trying to wrap my limited brain around the magnificence of how God works in this world.  I am a firm believer that God uses us to call each other to life, and I believe that God was at work this weekend in a big way.  That I’ve cried three times while reflecting and writing this speaks to the magnitude of that truth.

If you have the type of relationship where you are invited to a former lover’s nuptials, my experience would suggest that you should go.  Definitely don’t just show up if you aren’t invited, there’s probably a reason for that.  But if you are invited, consider allowing yourself to be open to God’s transformative ways in this world.  I went to my ex’s wedding and I learned things about myself I didn’t know.  I went to my ex’s wedding and came away a changed person.  I went to my ex’s wedding and celebrated as she married the love of her life.  I went.

It's that time of year again!!

As of typing this sentence, I will begin my third and final year of study for my Master or Divinity at Boston University School of Theology in 1 day, 7 hours, 55 minutes, 25 seconds.
It seems a bit surreal that two years have come and gone and my final year is upon me.  I could tell you about all that I've learned.  I could share about my continued questions.  Instead, I'll share some experiences from my day.

For the second year in a row, I went today and helped to orient incoming School of Theology students to Boston University and this, Our Fair City (Thanks Click and Clack for that one being stuck in my head).  The program was a bit different this year as we didn't hold the typical Day of Service, but I can sense, nonetheless, anxious and joyful anticipation.  After a community lunch, I assisted in leading a group of about ten students around some of the more well-known (and some lesser-known) spots of Boston.  I couldn't help but think back to my time as an incoming student during orientation and the anxieties I felt about meeting new people.  "Would I fit in and be accepted?  Will I be smart enough?  Will I handle the pressures? What in the hell am I doing here at seminary?!" Some of these questions have been answered.  Some remain.  I'm wise enough (read: experienced enough) to know now that all of those first years in my year felt that way, just as the first years last year did, and the first years this year did.  I guess it's part of the process when you make that giant leap to trusting in the calling of ministry and relocate to another part of the country, or town, or zip code.  Even if you don't really move geographically, seminary is a culture shock which requires movement and change. 

As we walked the streets of Boston (with my good friend and fellow third-year Lambert co-piloting with me) we answered questions of quite a variety.  As we gathered around drinks at a local bar, we shouted over the music and other voices to be heard as we shared our fears and dreams, our expectations for seminary and answering our callings from God, and what brought us to the point in time in which our paths intersected.  As the gathering moved from the bar to couches in Theo House, bonds were built and memories emblazoned forever in the minds of some.  It's a miraculous time, one I am honored to be a part of. 

I'm looking forward to my final year of seminary with joy and trepidation.  I don't want these experiences to end, yet at that same time, I recognize that I am being groomed for something beyond the bounds of seminary education.  I'm enjoying learning and am thriving upon it, and yet I recognize a yearning deep in my core, a yearning to begin ministering full-time to God's ministry and God's people in this world.  It is a delicate balance. 
In my first semester of my final year, I will undertake courses which will further challenge me and form me.



Below are the course descriptions for each of the courses, copied and pasted from the respective university's course catalogue.  I believe after you read a few you will understand why I am quite excited to be a part of these amazing courses!

The Spirit and the Art of Conflict Transformation: Creating a Culture of Just Peace
This course is a response to the experience of destructive conflict in the church and in the world, as well as the experience of religion as a source of conflict. More importantly, it is a response to the call to every Christian to be ministers of reconciliation and peace builders. The course will introduce students to the theology, theory and practice of faith-based conflict transformation, preparing students to become religious leaders equipped with fundamental tools and skills for engaging conflict and transforming conflict in a way that advances God's goal of shalom, a culture of just peace.

UCC History, Theology and Polity

An exploration of the history, theological understandings, structures, and practice of ministry in the United Church of Christ. This course is recommended for those seeking ordination or commissioning in the UCC, or for those seeking privilege of call; but is open to all. Generally, this course is to be taken in the last half of one’s seminary studies; exceptions, however, are possible.

Theology and Trauma 

 This course aims to bring the recent studies in the interdisciplinary study of trauma to bear on the field of theology. What unique challenges does the phenomenon of trauma pose to contemporary theology? The first part of the course explores recent studies in trauma, focusing on three areas of research: 1) neurobiology of trauma, 2) clinical/therapeutic studies, and 3) literary approaches to trauma. The second part of the course examines theological engagements with issues of radical suffering. The third part brings together the insights from the first two and focuses on the question of what it means to witness theologically to individual, societal, and global trauma. We will look at issues and contexts such as the criminal justice system, war, poverty, and racism. In this final part, students will be working towards constructive theological engagements with issues of trauma through interaction with a variety of mediums: art, literature, spiritual practices, and film. The course is not a counseling course. It aims to provide rich theological reflection around issues of suffering, violence, and trauma, both individual and global. 

CPE Equivalency Program
This course will be fulfilled in a community placement over the entirety of my academic year.  I have hopes of splitting my time between a nursing home/rehabilitation facility and a hospital location (I say this with the knowledge that my original placement in a hospital fell through last week and we are now seeking for a new location - but have no fear, we have opportunities and there is much to be determined).  The course will encompass 400 hours over two semesters (12 weeks in each semester equating to roughly 16 hours each week), weekly group meetings and a weekly supervision meeting, weekly (or bi-weekly) verbatims and weekly (or bi-weekly) written reflections, and roughly 12 hours each week is spent interacting with patients.



Coupled with all of these great courses is the realization that I will be traveling to India in January to engage closely with the practices of conflict transformation in multicultural and pluralistic societies of South India!  We'll spend two weeks traveling from city to city engaging in conversation and learning a bit of the Tamil language, and I am thrilled for this opportunity!  Life is good.  It's about to be very busy again, but life is good.

God in the dish room

During the Summer, I work at the Walker Center, a Bed and Breakfast in Auburndale, MA.  For those planning a trip to Boston, their website is walkerctr.org.  I also reside on campus in one of the student housing buildings.  This arrangement suits me well as I don't have a commute; waking at 5:45 for a 6am shift gives me time to dress, brush my teeth, beat my hair into a presentable fashion (or put on a hat), and walk, roll, or stumble across the lawn.

The Walker Center puts breakfast on seven days a week from 7:30 to 9am.  This also suits me quite fine as I am able to have a hearty breakfast each day before jumping into the tasks which await me.  In addition to the B&B guests having breakfast, the Walker Center frequently serves as host for retreat groups.  These retreat groups often have meals of lunch and supper, and groups range in size from smaller, like the group of fifteen we have arriving in a few days, to larger, like the group of sixty we had over the weekend.  As one can probably imagine when sixty people eat a meal, there are plenty of dishes to be cleaned afterward; and with each meal comes the dirty dishes which were used in food preparation.  When three meals are served for sixty, it seems an endless cycles of dishes; one no sooner completes the washing of dishes from breakfast and the dishes from lunch begin arriving.  I often joke that it's Groundhog Day (to reference the great movie starring Bill Murray) or that there is a lapse in the space-time continuum.  This is all to say that I have spent the majority of my time the last week working in the dish room. More specifically, my time has been spent with these nifty tools, the sprayer and the sanitizer.
Spending time in the dish room has afforded me time to think.  

 Dishes are rinsed with the pressure-sprayer, scrubbed, and placed on blue racks and sent through the santizer.  The sanitizer whirs with chemicals, hot water, and pressure to make sure that the dishes are super clean.

You'll notice in this image that there is a small ring on the spray handle which latches onto a hook as a means of securing the sprayer.  When I first started in the dish room, I struggled to hit the hook with the ring each time I wanted to secure the sprayer.  The hook swivels slightly, the ring wobbles around, and things are covered in soap; all are components for a less than swift execution.  For a while I would merely let the sprayer dangle before me, but this soon became annoying.

 I've now been a regular in the dish room for over a month.  And I noticed yesterday, amid the soap and water and chunks of food, that I was successfully securing that ring on that hook nine out of ten times that I made the attempt.  My experience in the dish room is not unlike that of a newborn calf, wobbly on its feet at first, but soon walking and running around.  I now know how to wash the dishes correctly from start to finish, I now know where the many and varied types of items belong. 

I believe that my experiences with the sprayer are similar to my experiences with God. 
At times in my life when I have been troubled or have had significant decisions to make, my college chaplain and now adopted mother would say, "Where do you hear God?  Where is God in all this?"  In the earliest parts of my developing faith, I didn't know what the heck she was talking about, or how I should answer.  I found myself thinking, "Vic, God can't talk!  I can't listen to what isn't there!"  Her questions perplexed me. 

Now, some years later, I have a slightly different understanding.  I've come to understand more about the movement of the Spirit, I've come to understand some of the varied ways in which God beckons us and calls us to a particular place and time, I've come to recognize that listening is the key. Still, I don't always know 100 percent that I'm making the "right" decision, sometimes our paths aren't quite that definitively clear.  Sometimes I still struggle with the aspect of hearing God, of discerning God's voice from the chaos of the world and the influences of others in the discerning process.

I have come to a place now, in my life, where I ask myself the questions originally posed to me by Vicki those years ago.  I ask them of myself when I am struggling with sermon writing and need a focused direction.  I ask them of myself when I can't sleep at night and something may be on my mind.  I ask them when faced with significant decisions.  Sometimes all I can muster as a response to the questions is, "I don't know where God is calling me, but I know God is with me, no matter what I decide to do."  I have become not only more familiar and comfortable with the questions, I have become more comfortable with the process of listening, reflecting, and following.  Admittedly, I still have an innate desire to forge ahead and make decisions at a rapid-fire pace, but I am working to curb that in favor of a more Spirit-filled decision-making process. 

After my first days in the dish room, I could have surrendered in frustration at the skills I seemingly lacked.  Instead, I continued to spray, scrub, and sanitize.  I dropped plates, knocked pitchers over, and nearly lost a spoon to the garbage disposal.  Instead of claiming defeat, I stuck it out and did my best, and I did improve.  And that's how I recognized God in the dish room.