Meadville Orientation Day 2

Quotes of the day:

"Love is not enough, but it is essential."  David Owen O'Quill during morning worship.

"Just because something is desired does not make it good, right, justifiable or wise.  That's why desires must be critically examined."  Mike Hogue presenting on the theological foundations of the Meadville educational model.

"Roots in motion."  Sharon Welch describing the kind of experience we hope to have as participants in the community studies signature course.

"I have the luxury of experiencing hope as a convenience.  These people experience hope as a necessity.  That's where you learn about hope."  Father Bruce Wellems, pastor of the Holy Cross/Immaculate Heart of Mary Church in the Back of the Yards community, talking about his work with people in need.

It was another very full and very informative day of activities.  I'm really starting to have a greater appreciation for the work of the faculty and staff in developing a unique vision for ministerial formation and for their commitment to making it work.

After a morning of lecture and discussion and and a very hot afternoon touring local Community Studies sites, we ended the day with a dinner that was graciously hosted by Lee and Kris Barker at their home near the school.

I am sometimes almost overwhelmed by a sense of gratitude for being here and having the opportunity to learn with these people.  Blessings.

Meadville Orientation Day 1-B

Mark Hicks presented after dinner tonight on the topic of critical pedagogy, which undergirds the Meadville Lombard Educational Model.  Essentially, it is a process of learning, unlearning and relearning.  The goal is to be aware of the power dynamic in learning--and that the dominant point of view which pervades most education is not necessarily the only view or the right one.

To illustrate different views of the same subject, we listened to five different versions of the national anthem ("Oh, say can you see . . .)--from a very traditional navy band and chorus version to Jimi Hendrix, hip hop artists, the Latin All Stars, and Whitney Houston at the Super Bowl.  We then divided ourselves into groups based on which rendition we felt best expressed the "American dream" to us.  We talked in small groups and then reported back to the larger group.

One of the themes that emerged was how much better we were able to appreciate other people's choices after we had a chance to listen to them discuss their thoughts and reasons for picking a particular version, rather than focusing on our own choice solely.

I liked the Latin All Stars version of the national anthem best--mostly because of the poetry, which, even in translation was beautiful:

In fierce combat, a symbol of victory
the glory of battle
(My people fight on)
the march toward liberty.
(The time has come to break the chains.)
Throughout the night they proclaimed:
"We will defend it!"
Tell me! Does its starry beauty still wave
above the land of the free,
the sacred flag?

I sense some similarities here to the famous Chicago poet, Carl Sandburg, from "The People, Yes":

In the darkness with a great bundle of grief
  the people march.

In the night, and overhead a shovel of stars for keeps, the people march:
  Where to? what next?

Meadville Orientation Day 1

It's great to be back in Chicago!  Despite being fuzzy-brained from getting up way too early this morning in order to catch a 6:00 a.m. flight here, I enjoyed the opening orientation session.

We got to hear some well-crafted and deftly delivered "sermonettes" from David Owen O'Quill and Qiyamah Rahman at our opening worship.  They both addressed the theme of darkness and light in life and what to do "when the lights go out."  David talked about his two-year-old's recognition of the necessity of darkness in order to fully experience light--flashlights aren't very fun to play with in well-lit spaces.

Mark Hicks led us through some experiential learning exercises centered on the theme of "who loved us into this place."  We wrote "six-word novels" that told the stories of ourselves and the people that helped bring us here.  And we created some clay artwork to represent what and/or who anchors us in our journeys.

I'm again finding myself very impressed by the creativity, openness and warmth of my classmates and the staff and faculty here.  And what a joy it is to see some of these people again after July intensives.

Sharon Welch and Mike Hogue walked us through all three years of the MDiv program, with an emphasis on the "signature courses" that are at the heart of the Meadville educational model.  And now I hope to get some rest before dinner and our evening session.

My main regret in life right now is that there's no air conditioning in our meeting space, but we're all hanging tough so far.

Sanctifiers of Souls, Aflame with Love

I came across a "Prayer for Seminarians" that I'm taking the liberty of revising for UU divinity school students as follows:
"May we become possessors of wisdom and sanctifiers of souls, steeped in humility and aflame with love for all of creation."

I especially love the "sanctifiers of souls" part.

As upholders of the inherent worth and dignity of every person and respect for the interdependent web of all existence, I do believe we are doing the work of sanctifying souls.  It's accomplished, I think, by holding up a mirror that reflects who we are and how the world is and reminding everyone that what they see in the mirror is sacred and that all who gather in front of that mirror are on holy ground.

And who does not want to be aflame with love?  When we burn in this way, we are not consumed but serve as beacons for all who are seeking to open themselves and the world to transformation.  Blessed be.

My first sermon as a seminarian

I've given a few sermons at my home congregation in the past, but this is the first one since I've officially become a seminarian.  I wanted to avoid giving the kind of sermon that just reeks of divinity school--like an extended treatise on James Fowler's stages of faith development or a contemporary reflection on Emerson's Harvard Divinity School Address--not that there's anything wrong with such things, of course.

I mostly kept it simple and personal and talked a little bit about my call to ministry.  Here's an excerpt:

The Calm Before the Storm

The school year is about to start--and, with it, the official beginning of my career as a seminarian.  I'm diving into the reading next week and will be journaling about what I'm reading.  Then, week after next is orientation in Chicago.  Then, the following week I will begin my community studies field placement at Club Nova, and will start my online Hebrew Scriptures class, along with the readings for my January intensive classes, including the somewhat daunting Liberal Theology course.

For now, I'm trying to remember simply to breathe.

Art That Is Made and Understood by Being Still

Sometimes magic happens when we are able to remain still.  Still and aware.

Andy Goldsworthy made this impression of himself (from the movie "Rivers and Tides") by lying motionless on the ground for several minutes just as it started to rain.

Cultivating this kind of openness and curiosity is key to developing an awareness of what is holy in every moment.

Woman with a Parasol

This painting, Woman with a Parasol, by Giovanni Boldini, was my "discovery" at the Art Institute of Chicago during our "double-parked at the Louvre" exercise as part of John Tolley's Arts and Aesthetics in Ministry class.

It struck me then, as it does now, because of the way wild nature seems to be triumphing over human contrivance. The bramble appears to be swallowing this elegant woman whole, with no regard for the niceties of high society.

In person, it's easier to see the contrasting techniques the painter used in this piece. The figure of the woman is rendered in great and beautiful detail--very fine, flat work. But the foliage all around her was created by laying the pigment on in great, thick blobs.

The painting hooked me in part because of the discussion we'd been having in our Contemporary Paganism class about Bron Taylor's "Dark Green Religion" and what it has to say about the place of humans in the natural world.

We might try to conquer nature--and we humans are certainly capable of a lot of destruction--but in the end the dark green goddesses and gods will prevail for we are all born of the earth and to it we will all return.

Reflections on Ritual and Art

Another connection that became clearer for me than ever before as a result of my seminary classes is the connection between art and ritual.  It it apparent to me that one of the primary purposes of both ritual and art is to connect us with each other and with that which is greater than us.  The best rituals are artistic, and most art has ritualistic elements--it's no coincidence, I think, that art museums and places of worship seem very much alike.

And it's not just "pretty" art that resembles religious rites.  The challenging, startling, sometimes suffocating pieces created by artists provide a means for connecting with the shadow side of ourselves and gives us an opportunity to reflect on the cruelty of life in a seemingly indifferent universe.  Those reflections are religious almost by definition.

"A voice says, 'Cry!' And I said, 'What shall I cry?'" (Isaiah)

Contained in that fragment is the whole of the artistic process and the whole of religious ritual writ small.  This verse, I think expresses succinctly and beautifully the concept of the artist and the religious celebrant as co-creators with the divine.  And what's created, ultimately, is almost always a statement about transience and permanence.

For implicit in the idea of creation is idea of death as well as the idea of joining together with everything that has been and everything that shall be.

"The grief you cry out from/draws you toward union." (Rumi)

Human existence is marked by grief and joy and isolation and coming together, both in joy and in grief, circling around, and going back to where we started but maybe on a slightly higher plane than before.

I love the "COEXIST" bumper stickers that have sprung up.  But I'd like to aim for something more like "CO-CREATE."  May it be so.

Why is any of this important?

One of my classmates asked this question during our arts and aesthetics class:  "Why is any of this important?"--meaning, how did our readings and discussions about art and art appreciation have any bearing on our work as ministers?

John Tolley had already answered that questions pretty well, I think.  Since approximately two-thirds of the people in the world process information primarily visually or kinesthetically, we're less likely to be able reach them if all we do is talk to them.  Finding ways to present religious ideas with art and movement can be a powerful tool for communication.

I'd like to go a bit further with that idea.

If we're serious about transforming people's lives--and I think that we'd better be--then we're fooling ourselves if we think that we're going to get the job done by giving folks a few interesting ideas to think about on Sunday mornings.  There's nothing wrong with interesting ideas --indeed, the world would be a much worse place without them.  But I believe meaningful change starts to occur when people are able to open their hearts, and this process of opening our hearts is the fundamental work of religious communities.

Mere words work around the edges of our consciousness, while art pierces the layers of armor that our minds have created and allows us to feel a profound connection to that which is Universal.  And those moments of connection, especially when shared in community, can make all the difference.

Meadville's current marketing motto is "Changing Lives to Change the World." Sometimes we have a tendency to give short shrift to the first part and concentrate more on the second part, which can be very discouraging, especially when we see all the tragedies and insanities that are featured prominently on the 24-hour news machine.

But real change is only possible when we know--when we really know--that we are connected to each other and to something greater than ourselves.  Art anchors us in this connection and shines a light on the here and now, illuminating and lifting up the only thing that we really and truly have--this moment, this fleeting Now.

Change starts to happen when the light is shining.