oh my god three blogs in like a week and a half does this mean Colleen is actually blogging again?!?!
Sorry, not really. Grad school kind of takes the blogging out of you, and also, I’m now in a position where I’m preaching regularly so most of my energy goes there. I’m still unsure how I feel about the “posting sermons online” thing, because it feels odd to me to take the sermons out of the context where they’re preached, though I’m happy to share individually with anyone who asks.
So this blog continues as it has in the past couple of years: mildly, and primarily as a place for processing, or talking about things that I might not be able to speak to from a pulpit.
And, of course, the Thanksgiving post I’ve been doing in recent years, as a way of public acknowledgement of gratitude. So of the many many things I have to be thankful for, here’s what I’m going to acknowledge today:
Field education.
BLESS THE LORD O MY SOUL AND BLESS THE HOLY NAME OF GOD WHO HAS SEEN FIT TO BLESS US WITH THE GREAT GIFT OF FIELD EDUCATION
My undergrad was many things. My undergrad was intense. My undergrad was busy. My undergrad involved going through the emotional ringer on a near-daily basis. One of my semesters of undergrad I pulled an all-nighter every week. My undergrad was physically difficult, my undergrad was rigorous, my undergrad was crazy, but the one thing my undergrad was not… was academic.
Sure, we had “general education requirements” and “academic theater classes”. Those “general education requirements” were two semesters of “Writing the Essay” (NOT “Writing the Research Paper”, mind you), two courses in “sciences” (mine were Community Psychology and a linguistics intro course), two in “humanities” and two in either science or humanities. Most of my general education requirements were taken in Ghana and were definitely not rigorous. We had to take a handful of “academic” theater classes as well, classes like “History of Directing” and “Intro to Greek Theater”, most of which allowed us to do more creative projects for our finals. Even with those, however, most of my time was spent in hands-on training at my studio (PHTS), in rehearsal and in tech for shows. I started working professionally in NY theater starting during my 3rd year of undergrad. In fact, I took it a step farther and specifically designed my final semester to allow me to do a lot of professional work, so the transition out of undergrad was very smooth—I just kept doing what I was already doing.
This kind of education means that you learn a lot of wonderful, practical things and I would not change it for the WORLD.
This also means that spending all your time in classes, reading, writing papers or studying is COMPLETELY FOREIGN to those of us who went through this program. I had not heard of a blue book before coming to Princeton. I almost forgot to put my name on my first Hebrew quiz because I had barely had a quiz since high school and had therefore fallen out of the habit.
And when you are so used to processing things on your feet, in the world, rather than in papers or exams, you run up against these frustrations of not having the space to do the exploration you need to do, unless you are extremely intentional about carving it out for yourself, which you probably don’t have time for.
ENTER FIELD EDUCATION: WHERE THINGS GET REAL
(I mean that in every sense of the phrase. One, it’s going out in the real world, and two, I feel like I get a more realistic perspective. I get a sanitized, slightly-cautionary version in seminary, and then I sit down with my supervisor who will give me the no-holds-barred version that is incredibly useful for my education. And that is, I believe, part of the reason WHY we have field ed, because those issues are much more effective as one-on-one conversations rather than a large class discussion)
All of us in the MDiv program have to do at least two units of field education (either two year-long placements, or one year-long and one summer placement). One has to be in a church. The other could be with a non-profit, or a hospital, or a prison. PTS has some specialty programs, like the International Program or the Urban Ministry program. There are a lot of options, in NJ, in NYC, in Philly, all sorts of places to go. If you’re at a church, especially a Presbyterian one, in the greater Princeton area, it’s likely there’s a PTS intern there. (I think the most ridiculous thing that happened to me when I was looking for field ed sites was stopping by Judson Memorial Church’s booth at the recruitment night and being handed a postcard for the show playing there that was, of course, directed and designed by friends of mine from undergrad.)
I am doing field education at a small church here in NJ, a 15/20 minute drive from my house, depending on how long I’m waiting for the stoplight at Route 1. I’m working with a solo pastor, which means I’m doing a little bit of everything: lots of preaching/worship leadership, teaching Sunday School, learning administrative skills, getting involved with mission, committees, etc. This is one of the advantages of doing field education in a smaller church environment—you get a bigger picture of how the church functions as a whole and the breadth of a pastor’s job, rather than larger churches that tend towards more specialized placements. (Of course, seeing how multi-staff settings function is also very important. It’s all about balance, and I knew that I definitely wanted the broader perspective for a first field education placement, because it might help me figure out if and where I might want to specialize. Also because I’ve always been in larger churches in my life, so the small church experience is new for me.) So field education is about getting experience in doing all these things, and also having a place to process and get feedback, etc., through weekly meetings with your supervisor (PHTS folk, it’s like having conferences every week).
I’m coming up against a lot of things in field education, and it feels a lot more like theater school than it feels like seminary, which is beautiful and a bit scary but mostly thrilling. I might write on this concept a bit more later, but a major theme I’ve been noticing is the tension between what I know intellectually verses what I know experientially, and I’m realizing that there are a lot of assumptions that I carry within me that I would never admit to with my mind but rear their heads now that I’m experiencing them. It can be disconcerting at times, but I’m grateful to have a safe space where I can start this process of wrestling with all of these things.
And I love my placement. It feels strange to me to post too much specifically about the church on a blog, but what I will say is that they are a lovely, affirming, gracious congregation that is strange in its own magical way, and the next time you see me you should ask me about Floridian swampland. My supervisor is hilarious, extremely generous in her sharing of experiences, and on-par with the keenest theater teachers I've had as far as perceptiveness. I am also the first student who has been there in over ten years, the first student to be here while the church has been under her leadership, which is exciting because it allows me not only to truly shape this position into what I’m interested in but also watch the congregation go through the process of discovery of what having a student in their midst means. I feel incredibly lucky to be there.
The unexpected people on this journey with me.
When I arrived in Port Authority for this Thanksgiving break, I was immediately met by a dear friend and mentor of mine, and we spent certainly the most pleasant couple hours I have ever spent in Port Authority together as he waited for his bus. He asked a million wonderful questions (I swear when I’m studying for my ordination exams I’m just going to go to him so he can ask me questions), updated me on life and theatrical goings-on, I vomited many of my struggles and confusions and wrestlings (mostly summed up in, “oh my god I’m acting as a pastor right now I never expected this and it’s weird!”). He’s not someone who has gone through seminary. He’s not someone in the church. He’s someone whose very curious and who cares immensely.
Spending the last couple of days at home with friends in NYC was delightful. Beyond merely the relief of getting a break from work and expectations, it was a relief to be around people who know me and know where I come from, who have the same shorthand. Where I didn’t have to be seminarian or pastor or co-moderator of an organization. I think we all need spaces like that, no matter what we do. And as I was sitting there, giving my answer to the question, “What are the most violent parts of the Bible?” (I directed them to Nahum and Judges, if you’re curious) I realized that so often we isolate ourselves on this journey of seminary or ordination to only those literally taking classes with us, or members of our churches. But the truth is, all these people I know from my pre-seminary life are along for the ride as well. They may not have asked to be, but they’ve come along and I could not be more grateful. Both for them and the reminder that I’m not doing this alone.
I had the opportunity to worship at one of my NYC churches, Grace, on Thanksgiving Day. I unexpectedly saw Patrick, the choirmaster whom I’d sung under at that church for years. He told me that the choir was already rehearsing “Gaudete”, one of my favorite anthems that we sing on Gaudete Sunday (which is a name for the third Sunday of Advent in some more liturgical traditions, not just a nickname we give it because of our anthem). I told him that I wished I could be there, but I’m preaching on Gaudete Sunday. He said, “Then we’ll be singing for you!”
Allies.
The fact is, at least in some parts of the LGBT community, which is what I can speak for, people don’t trust people who call themselves “allies”. I’d imagine other marginalized groups experience something similar, but again, I can’t really speak to their experience. There has been a frustration inside the LGBT community, and I’d say, particularly in more liberal social environments, at people who call themselves allies and yet don’t challenge anything about themselves or the world, don’t listen, and think that their being “an ally” excuses any problematic behaviors. At worst, they’ll start to see themselves as oppressed, which kind of misses the point of being an ally—being an ally means you use your power and privilege to bring change, and then you get out of the way. (For a more detailed and articulate criticism of "allies", check out this article.) I say this, again, seems to happen in primarily moderate-to-liberal environments. In more conservative environments, I’ve seen the actual danger of being an ally.
The fact is: “ally” is not something you identify as. “Ally” is a term someone from a marginalized community might call you if you’re actively working towards justice and equality.
I have found myself in the position of being an advocate for the LGBT community on campus, which is wonderful and exhausting. I’ve met some incredible people, I’m participating in genuinely exciting initiatives, I’ve had incredible conversations, but the day to day of it is tiring and frustrating, repeatedly running into walls, and, particularly with the gender identity conversation, having to constantly defend and justify my own identity, and all of this in a system in which I have very little power.
But occasionally I DO find those people who I don’t think are even trying to be “Allies”, they just realize that these situations are wrong and they can and should do something to help fix it. And I usually find these people after I’ve been slamming my head against a wall for a long time, and it’s like some saying, “Oh, hey, I have the key to the door over here.” And that is… the greatest feeling.
Brave clergy.
I know a lot of pastors and am involved with a good number of churches, and I have been so heartened by the work I’ve seen done in response to the Ferguson verdict. From my friend Erin who moved out to St. Louis to accept her first call not too long before the shooting and has been involved in protests and pastoral care on a regular basis ever since, to the constant activism of Middle Collegiate Church, to the number of preachers I know who took huge risks standing in pulpits today and dealing with these issues instead of sweeping them under the rug. I am proud that almost all of the churches I’m associated with have actively responded to these events. I know that’s not universal. I know a lot of people who went to church today and found nothing that spoke to the tragedy and the confusion. There are many different opinions on “politics in the pulpit”, and I acknowledge that I come from a very liberal bias, but the church has too often perpetuated injustice and division through feigning ignorance. Preaching the gospel requires us to name and deal with these awful events and the systems that allow them to happen. What that looks like varies for every context, but it’s a deeply important part of living out the call that has been placed on our lives.
So often I have been disappointed in the church’s response to current events, usually because it’s a non-response. There is more we could be, and should be doing, but I have seen so many conversations starting and being embraced by the church, and that is a step.
The fact that my Presbyterian Worship project that’s due tomorrow asks us to plan a service for the third Sunday of Advent, year B in the lectionary, and I am actually planning a service for the third Sunday of Advent, year B in the lectionary, for my field ed.
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