Recently in Seminary Life Category

I've moved around a bit.

When I was born, my immediate family lived with my grandmother in a three story grey slate Victorian.

When I was seven years old, my family moved to a house in the suburbs.

As an adult, I have lived in a dorm, two relatives' houses, a relative's hotel, two friends' houses, a rented townhouse shared with a roommate, eight apartments, and two houses I have owned.

Of all these places, my grandmother's house is the only one to which I had any real attachment. Perhaps it was the age of the building that touched me, or perhaps it was the architecture. Or maybe it was a symbol of my early childhood.

Yes, buildings can be symbols.

A church had a piece of property on which they intended to build a large building as they became a megachurch. Years later, they released the land and moved into a rented space. For some, letting go of the land meant letting go of the dream of being a megachurch. While that dream had actually died some time before, it was hard to let go of the symbol.

And so it is with the seminary I attend.

In 1999, I visited the school as part of a conference. I fell in love with the spirit of the school, and with the building that housed it. I looked forward to staying in the dormitory.

While I worked part time toward my undergraduate degree, I periodically visited the school for various reasons. I met graduates of the school, including one who was present when a bookstore coop was founded and took residence in the basement of the building. Long before being accepted in the MDiv program, I had built a relationship with the school and its history.

By the time I began attending classes, the dormitory was rented out to a university for office space. I regretted not having the opportunity to spend nights in the space, but was grateful for the opportunity to be part of the community and to study in a space where so many had done so before.

And then the building was sold.

The sale made perfect sense. In exchange for the building, the seminary received compensation in many ways, not the least of which was a lease on a new building built largely to the specifications of the seminary. The new building is more energy efficient, more spacious, has better technological infrastructure, and none of the maintenance problems that had afflicted the old building.

I visited the new building on Tuesday. The left side of my brain thinks it makes perfect sense. The right side of my brain isn't sure whether the beauty of the new building meets or exceeds that of the old building. And deep within the emotional core, my amygdala says

"Mommy, I want to go home!"

For me, this building had come to symbolize more than just the current community we call the seminary. It symbolized decades of students and faculty and a tradition that reached back long before I was born.

I don't dislike the new building, but some nights I wake up realizing I will never again walk the old building's cloisters, where so many had walked before. Sometimes I even cry.

Yes, I know it's just a building. But for me, it's also a symbol, and it's going to take a while for me to accept a new symbol.

First I have to release the old symbol.



Extra credit to those who can name the artist and album that contains a song with the same title as this post.

If you're in seminary or divinity school, and especially if you're in a Master of Divinity program, you're probably responding to a call to ministry.

There are lots of kinds of ministry - preaching, teaching, music, chaplaincy... and, along the way, you will probably settle on one sort of ministry or another - or several, perhaps changing your mind.

I'm not going to ask what sort of ministry it is.

Instead, I want you to imagine yourself serving the people you're called to serve. If you're thinking of parish ministry, imagine the congregation. If it's in a hospital, imagine the patients, families, and friends. If it's in the military, imagine the soldiers. If it's on the street, imagine the people you will serve there.

Spend at least a minute in this, if not longer.

Now I want you to think about a few things about these people you imagine you will serve.

I want you to answer this honestly.

Answer it to yourself.

If you're brave, go to this post on trans-cendental, or talk with your friends, and share the answers with others.

• How much are these people like you?
• How much are these people different from you?
• How much diversity is there among the people?
• Are there people with different skin colors?
• Are there people with different ethnic backgrounds?
• Are there people who speak different languages?
• Are there people who are gay? Lesbian? Bisexual?
• Are there people who cross over or through gender boundaries? How so?
• What ages are the people?
• Are they rich? Poor?
  
• Do they work? Are they retired? Independently wealthy? Or do they have public financial support?
  
• Where do they live? Do they own? Rent?
• Are they comfortable in the space where they meet you, or uncomfortable?
• Do they have any physical challenges?
• Do they have any developmental challenges?
• Do they have psychological or emotional challenges?
• How well can they see?
• How well can they hear?
• Do they have an illness?
• Do they have family that loves them?
• Do they have friends?
• Do people avoid them?

Add any other questions that come to mind.

In short, do you have a picture of the people you will serve, and how diverse is the group? And how would you respond if someone outside your vision were to show up one day?

This exercise came to my mind today as I was reflecting on how I don't feel called to a ministry with transgendered people, but a ministry that includes transgendered people among many others. I'm going to continue to challenge myself to broaden my vision of those I would serve. Others may want to restrict their vision for purposes of a deeper work with a particular population. Either way, I think it's important to be intentional about this.

A post on a denomination forum asked "Why do [people in this denomination] become clergy?"

I can't link to the post, because it disappeared within hours of being posted.

I'm hoping it was withdrawn by the person who posted it, rather than censored by the people who run the denomination's website, because the person made some good points which raise difficult questions.

The person linked to an NPR story: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=128957149 and said clergy burnout sounded awful and lonely, and that pastoral ministry seemed very difficult. The person went on to mention self-harm, abusive clergy and lay people.

Then this question was posed:

Do people tell seminarians "what's ahead" for this type of job?

That's a good point. No one should go into ministry without knowledge of what will be asked.

No one has told me yet, and I'm halfway through my MDiv program. Yet I have some idea, having seen the ways people can act. The church is made up of humans the same as th rest of society, and one only need read the epistles to see that the early church struggled with human issues as well.

As to why people go to seminary, why they feel called to pastoral ministry - I really believe it can be a God thing. We're not better, or smarter, or more holy than others. I hope we're not looking for power. Instead, I think it's a burden on the hearts of some people. Just as some will look at the homeless and feel moved to help, or look at the injured and feel moved to heal, those of us called to this ministry are moved to serve congregations - because the congregations need to be served.

In the parable, the Samaritan was moved to help the man beaten and left by the side of the road. In some interpretations, his guts were wrenched. When people are that moved to do something, it's a calling.

People are called to all sorts of things. There are people who risk their lives in the military, police, and fire fighting. There are people who work tirelessly for peace. There are people who work hard at building things, or answering phones, or writing.

Why do people go to seminary? Because it's a burden on our hearts that will not go away. It's a love for the people who need us. And - I believe - it is who God dreamed us to be.

Julie Holm has an excellent article on how going to seminary is ministry.

It was after being recommended for in care that I was asked to be on the leadership group (of 3) that supported 40 ministry teams. I was the only nominee for the vacant position. I was already serving on a number of our church's ~90 ministry teams. Churches have few people willing to take leadership roles (the 80/20 or 90/10 rule: 80% of the work is done by 20% of the people). Those few who will are expected to, because the alternative is empty leadership positions.

Financial support of seminarians is an interesting issue. The two congregations I've been with both struggle to pay their staff - one pays a full time pastor plus part time staff positions: youth minister, music minister, accompanist, facilities manager, church secretary, and cleaning staff. The other pays only a pastor (full time) and part time accompanist. There's no money left to try to help someone through seminary (despite what the MoM may say).

And why should they? It's not like they'll be the beneficiaries of the education. The seminarian will likely go pastor some other church or do some other ministry. Why give money to help someone else's ministry, especially when our own ministries are struggling?

Perhaps the fundamental problem is that, for many, the church has been relegated to an hour on Sunday morning. For some, this is clarified to "on days when none of the kids has an activity like skating or baseball Sunday morning and when we weren't out too late Saturday night" (I know a paid minister who has to skip even some large celebrations - read Christmas - due to conflicts with primary job, secondary job, and kids).

It should be no surprise that paid ministers, seminarians, and lay leaders are burning out. While 80% of the work is done by 20% of the people, the other 80% of the people are expecting more.

I don't have an answer to this problem.

I attempted to register for a class at Northern Baptist Seminary.

The seminary I attend, Chicago Theological Seminary (CTS), is part of the Association of Chicago Theological Schools (ACTS), which "was formed in 1984 by twelve theological schools located in the Chicago area to provide means for cooperation among the member institutions in the areas of student cross-registration, library access and acquisitions, interchange among faculty members in the disciplines of theological education, and communications between the schools."  - http://www.actschicago.org/index.html

Students at ACTS schools may register at other ACTS schools:

Available to the approximately 3,000 students currently enrolled at its member schools are 400 faculty, about 900 courses offered annually, and library collections of 1.7 million volumes and nearly 5,000 currently received periodical subscriptions.
   - http://www.actschicago.org/index.html

Except, in the case of at least one school, if you're gay.

Now, granted, there is a stated exception:

Exceptions to the process of cross-registration exist (1) during the summer term when tuition is normally paid to the school offering the course; (2) for D.Min. courses other than Pastoral Care and Counseling and for those students in the ACTS D.Min. in Preaching Program; and (3) in certain courses with limited enrollment. Each school in ACTS reserves the right to limit enrollment in certain courses for pedagogical reasons and to set its own policies for the admission of students from other schools to such courses.
 - http://www.actschicago.org/catalog2009/cat06.html#how, emphases mine.

I attempted to cross-register for a class at Northern Baptist Seminary (which has the awesome domain name of seminary.edu). I was aware that the seminary was more conservative, and I did not expect it to be easy to take a class there. But I was willing to sit with far more conservative students in a far more conservative school, in part to keep from having my graduation date from being pushed back another two years, and in part because I do not want to be estranged from my more conservative brothers and sisters in Christ.

I didn't want to go stealthily into the seminary for several reasons. First, I am not ashamed of who I am, nor the path taken to get here. While I don't advertise my sexual orientation or transgender history to everyone, I don't take steps to hide these parts of my life either. To do so is to walk in shadow, and I prefer to be in the light.

Second, to hide an aspect of one's life can result in feelings of betrayal should the secret be found out. It is damaging to a relationship when trust is broken: witness what happened with Ted Haggard.

Third, even if the secret is never found out (unlikely as a simple web search will find enough information about me), keeping a secret from those with whom one is in relationship creates an inauthentic, dysfunctional, and, dare I say it, sinful relationship.

So, to be as honest and authentic as possible in my relationship to the class, I sent e-mail to the professor teaching the class. I explained my background (Evangelical Free, Bible Students, Universal Fellowship of Metropolitan Community Churches, and United Church of Christ), my school affiliation (CTS), and my sexual orientation and transgender history. I asked for advice on what I could do to make the situation easier for everyone involved.

I did not expect the culture clash to be easy. I also did not expect, however, to be rejected from taking any classes whatsoever.

My e-mail to the instructor was apparently forwarded to the administration who, in a very polite but firm e-mail, explained to me that the school's admission policy is applied to cross-registered students. The seminary, in their catalog, under code of conduct, states:

In matters related to homosexuality:

1. Northern will not knowingly admit as a student any person having a homosexual lifestyle.

2. If, without the knowledge of the Admissions Committee, a person is admitted to the Seminary and is found not to be a practicing homosexual, but to be striving to overcome homosexual tendencies, such a person will, in Christian love, be counseled to obtain the best help available so that with the power of God such a person may overcome the problem.

3. If, without the knowledge of the Admissions Committee, a practicing homosexual is found to have been admitted to the Seminary, when such knowledge is discovered, such said practicing homosexual would be counseled to seek education elsewhere and to enter some other vocation, and failing voluntary withdrawal from Northern, would be disallowed to continue at the Seminary.

4. In no case would the Seminary recommend for ordination or for ministry any practicing homosexual or an advocate of a homosexual lifestyle.

5. Congruent with its policy of institutional integrity, Northern Baptist Seminary will not hire a practicing homosexual or an advocate of a homosexual lifestyle, and it reserves the right to dismiss from employment any such person on the grounds that it would conflict with the purpose of the institution.
- http://www.seminary.edu/about/PDFs/Seminary%20Catalog%202008-2009%20Revised.pdf

This means they are reinterpreting the ACTS policy to say:

Each school in ACTS reserves the right to limit enrollment in all courses for pedagogical reasons and to set its own policies for the admission of students from other schools to all courses.

This in order to prevent any homosexuals from taking any courses at their school, ever.

Northern Baptist may believe my twenty-one year relationship with my spouse to be sinful and unChristian. They may believe my transition, twenty-five years ago, to living as my identified gender to be a violation of Deuteronomy 22:5.

They may well object to my behavior off school grounds, but they were not going to change that by rejecting my cross-registration. They can't make me a straight white male again by denying me the chance to study with their professor and students.

So exactly what is sinful or harmful about my taking a class at their school? Exactly what is made worse by my presence there?

At their school, I'm certainly going to hear about their viewpoint on homosexuality and transgender issues - especially since the class I was going to take was on the Pentateuch, which includes Leviticus and Deuteronomy. Were they afraid that I would rebut the reading of the few verses applied to homosexuals as they were glossing over the dietary laws, mixing of fabrics, wearing of tassels, uncleanness of women during their periods and after giving birth, trimming of beards, and the Jubilee year? Were they concerned that I would point out that Levitical law says nothing about Lesbian relationships? Did they worry that I would point out that the word "know" in Genesis 19:5 is the same as the word "know" in Genesis 18:19? (I really wasn't planning on it.)

And, perhaps more to the point, how is this following Jesus' example? Did Jesus teach only the holy? Did Jesus not teach prostitutes, lepers, tax collectors, Samaritans, Syrophoenicians, Roman soldiers, and (at the cross) thieves and murderers?

I am disappointed that Northern Baptist Seminary chose to not honor its covenant with the Association of Chicago Theological Schools.

I am also sad that sixty faculty and staff are more afraid of me than I am of them.

Yes, you read that correctly.

April 23, there was a genderqueer celebration at Chicago Theological Seminary. There was also an auction - a fundraiser for "top surgery" for an FTM seminarian.

It was an evening of prayer, drag performances, music, and personal testimonies.

There were at least three trangender seminarians in attendance, and many other LGB seminarians and seminary faculty and staff, not to mention straight-but-supportive seminarians, faculty, and staff.

Most of the big-ticket (read $400-700) auction items went to faculty and staff.

For every heavily funded institution like Bob Jones University, there is a liberal seminary like CTS struggling to prepare progressive religious leaders.

They can use your support.

I'm in seminary because I have an irresistible, irrefusable call to ministry. Despite the fact that I would not choose myself for such a vocation, I cannot seem to resist the compelling force to walk this path. And, rather than telling me how foolish I am, many people who know me encourage me to persevere, saying they see in me something that tells them I have a true calling. Yet every time I try to follow this path, I hit insurmountable obstacles.

When I finally realize how impossible this is for me, a divorced, transsexual lesbian (now in my forties), with yet somewhat traditional and orthodox theology, I come to my senses and stop.

And then comes the intense feeling of loss. Some time later, perhaps six months or a year, I realize I cannot say no to this call. No matter how difficult, how impossible, how ridiculous it is, it is what I must do.


Now I have hit another immovable object. I have to stop. And yet the call is an unstoppable force.


I know the fault is in me. Either I am failing to understand how God is speaking to me, or I am failing in walking the path God has set before me.

And it makes me very sad.


I do not blame God. I blame myself for the failure - even for the failure to see where I have failed.

I cry out for help. I pray that God will grant me whatever I need to do God's will - whatever that will may be. I pray I will be made into the person God has dreamed me to be.

I pray for wisdom to know which way I should go - not the destination, but for the place to plant my next step.

I pray for the humility to accept whatever task to which I may be set.

I pray for the courage to do whatever I must do.

I pray for the strength to overcome the obstacles which I must overcome.

I pray for the acceptance that there are obstacles I was never meant to overcome.

And I pray that my love would always increase, to always care for the others I would find on my way, and for the grace to forgive those who I feel have harmed me, no matter how I felt I was harmed.


I don't know what to do, but at least I have the humility to admit that.

August 28, 2007 (Chicago)
I'm sitting in a small dorm room in University of Chicago's International House.

I'm officially a seminarian - albeit an unlikely one.

I'm a 45 year old Lesbian of transsexual experience with an ID card from Chicago Theological Seminary. I am enrolled in three courses this semester.

There are many who say I should not be here, for a variety of reasons. And yet, here I am.