I’m A Seminary Graduate (But)

I'm a seminary graduate

I’m a seminary graduate. See? It’s right there, on that nice piece of paper hanging on the wall.

It means I’m a leader; I’m confident and I’m capable. I’m informed and I’m persuasive in conveying my (so-called) wisdom about God and life. I can preach and I can pastor; I can build a church and lead it forth.

But wait… Can I?

Because I am a seminary graduate. CS Lewis lives on my bedside table, and NT Wright is what I might call a kindred spirit. But, honestly, sometimes I don’t give a damn about my person quiet times.

I’m a seminary graduate, and I been moved to tears while translating the book of Revelation from its original Greek. But later that same week at church, I couldn’t pay attention because I was counting down to when the service would be over and I could check my fantasy football score. God knows what the pastor was saying (but Jamaal Charles had one hell of a day!).

I’m a seminary graduate and I yearn for the unity of the church. But a snide comment or subtle remark in a blog post is not beyond me. Even when it’s aimed at another Christian. Because although I am a seminary graduate, sometimes I care more about the “like” button than I do about the well-being of another’s soul. (If I’m being truly honest, then that’s most of the time.)

I’m a seminary graduate. You can sit in my office and you can tell me about your brokenness and cry and swear God could never love you. And I will tell you something about how Christ’s grace can heal whatever you’ve done or whatever’s been done to you. But when you leave, I’ll remember that I have scars and skeletons which- deep down- I’m not convinced this Jesus I like to reference can actually handle.

I’m a seminary graduate and I’ve preached a sermon on “do not store up for yourselves treasure on earth.” But last year I saved about twice as much money as I tithed. Granted, I am a seminary graduate, so that’s not saying much. But it is saying something.

I am a seminary graduate. I can parse all the Greek verbs in 1 Corinthians 13. But tonight I got into a fight with my wife over- and yes, I’m serious- who should do the dishes. We made up just in time for me to start another one over taking out the trash.

I’m a seminary graduate and when I say a prayer in public my words flow eloquently; they fall like poetry off the tongue. But last night, when the hour was dark and my heart cold, I couldn’t pray. No matter how hard I tried.

I’m a seminary graduate, dedicated to living a life of moral uprightness, purity and fear of God. But I have internet filters on my computer; when I’m angry, I swear like a sailor; and- let’s be honest- sometimes I’d just rather have a drink (or two…or three…).

I’m a seminary graduate. I mentor younger Christians. I formulate discipleship plans for college students. Numerous people call me their “accountability partner.” But if I’m mad at you then I have trouble telling you to your face. I’m more liable to talk behind your back, and spiritualize by placing it between the parentheses of a “prayer request”.

I’m a seminary graduate but I might as well be Job’s friends. I tend to be quick to speak, slow to listen and – why should I be the one saying sorry?

I’m a seminary graduate. I’ve taken counseling courses and read endless case studies. But still don’t know what to say when you ask me: “why did God allow my miscarriage?” If I say anything it’ll probably be something cliché, stupid or even hurtful. Because I’m a seminary graduate, but my daily bread tastes a little too much like my own foot in my mouth.

I’m a seminary graduate. I know God is beyond my reach- yeah, duh. And I know that I’m no wiser than the next guy. Still, I like to talk about God in absolute terms, in subtle ways to inform those around me that I have a direct line to the Almighty, one they haven’t been offered. They don’t have a Masters of Divinity, you see.

I’m a seminary graduate. But there are a few bottles of pills at my bedside. I need them to get through the day.

I’m a seminary graduate and I wrote my own Statement of Faith. It was fifteen pages (and that’s without the footnotes!) and had words like soteriology, eschatology and dispensationalism. But if a stranger on the subway asked me what I believe about God, I’m not sure what I would say.

I’m a seminary graduate. See? It’s there on my resume. But I’m scared to death that you might actually hire me, call me ‘pastor’ or (dear God!) ask me to preach.

When I started seminary I had a great deal of admiration for graduates. Sure they didn’t have it all figured out. But more so than me. Still, I was getting there. At the end of each semester, I crossed off the classes and eyed the remaining requirements with an executioner’s stare. And I looked forward to when I would finally ‘get there.’

And now I’m here.

I’m a seminary graduate. I’ve got the letters by my name; I’ve got the classes under my belt. But I still look in the mirror and see the same puzzled, hurt, lonely, excited, wandering, arrogant, startled, and confused eyes staring right back.

Somehow I flew under the radar and I’m not the person I should be. I’m scared; I’m insecure; I’m arrogant; I’m greedy; I’m broken; I’m lustful; I’m stressed; I’m busy; I’m wrong; I’m right…all at the same time.

Because I’m a seminary graduate. But I’m not much different from you. Save for the fact that my ass is especially familiar with the cushion of a certain library chair. Save for the fact that I was called out of the world- like a toddler on ‘time-out’- to help me figure out how to then live within it. Save for the fact that I may be slightly more aware of how small I am because I’ve been granted a slightly longer glance at the vastness of the God we worship. Maybe I have sunglasses while you’re eyes are closed to protect them from the sun. But we’re both floating in the same lifeboat.

I’m a seminary graduate. And yes, you might hire me. And yes, you might listen to me preach. And yes, I might lead you and yes, you might pay me (…please?). But I’m a seminary graduate. No more though sometimes less.

I’m a seminary graduate. But I’m on the same road as you. So please, won’t you take my hand?

Let’s do this life together.

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Ithaka

            “Tonight,” the professor was saying, “I’m honored to speak to all of you who are on the verge of graduation. I don’t have much to say that is my own. Rather, I have the words of another that I’d like to share with you.”

            It was my senior banquet; I was sitting at a table with some of my dearest friends, eating a fine meal and preparing to listen to a speaker before heading to a formal dance. The only downside to the whole evening (apart, of course, from the prospect of dancing publically) was that I was wearing a suit and had realized, moments before when I’d slipped out to use the restroom, that my fly had been open for the previous three hours. Thoroughly embarrassed and a little insulted that no one had even said anything about my new briefs (they matched my tie, for goodness sakes!), I returned to the table right as the evening’s speaker took the stage. He was a theology professor at the college, greatly admired and respected within the community, and I was excited to hear what he had to say.

            “It’s a poem,” he continued, “and I think it speaks for itself.” Then, without another word, he began:

 

As you set out for Ithaka,

hope the voyage is a long one,

full of adventure, full of discovery…”

           

            A year ago I graduated from college. In front of my family, friends and fellow classmates, I paraded across the stage, shook a hand, took a small case I believed held my diploma (only to find out later it was actually a slip of paper saying something along the lines of “We are holding your real diploma hostage, ransom amount is your outstanding bill.”) and then concentrated four years of higher education on not tripping as I finished walking across the platform. Later, I swapped hugs with classmates, took pictures with family and then joined some of my best friends at a barbeque. 

            It was one of the best days of my life, but it was also a little terrifying. Truth be told, I had good reason to be scared.

            I was twenty-one years old and had just turned down the only career I’d been offered. I owned an old car, some books, an envelope of cash and some far off notions of adventure. I was moving across the country, green enough behind the ears to earn me a free beer on St. Patrick’s Day, had acquired only temporary employment but seemingly permanent loan payments and (just to complete this picture) 2012 was just around the corner.

            Yet here I am a year later, alive and well…against my best efforts.

 

“…Cyclops and angry Poseidon- don’t be afraid of them:

you’ll never find things like that on your way,

as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,

as long as a rare excitement

stirs your spirit and your body…”

 

            Granted, it hasn’t been the smoothest of roads. I’ve had high’s (like standing on top of a 14,000 foot mountain) and lows (like capsizing in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean). I’ve had a job I loved (“Hello, my name’s Bryn and I’ll be your kayak guide today…”) but even that was trying at times (“NO! For the last time! It’s Bryn! B-R-Y-freakin’-N!”).  I’ve been broke (“woops, that whole monthly payment on college loans thing starts now, you say?”), and I’ve found myself with, well, not excessive amounts of money, but enough to take my girlfriend out on dates (and “what the heck, let’s splurge and not order off the value menu!!”). I’ve been lost on the top of mountains, stranded and injured in the middle of the woods and exhausted by the side of the road. But I’ve also reached summits, finished races and, for the most part, emerged in one piece, better for the experience.

           

“…hope the voyage is a long one.

May there be many a summer morning when,

With what pleasure, what joy,

You come into harbors seen for the first time…”

                       

            And all this brings me to now. One year after graduation, after I walked across the stage and, with a sense of mystery, excitement and fear stepped out onto a road named “future”. Now, as I look back, I have to smile when I think of where that road has taken me.  Now, as I sit at my computer, typing away and banging my head against the desk, I arrive at the oh-so-familiar point of being at a loss of words.

 

“…Keep Ithaka always in your mind.

Arriving there is what you are destined for…”

 

            Then I think of how, just a couple days ago, I saw a movie about a young man who was diagnosed with cancer and given a few weeks to live. Distraught with the news of his impending doom, he decided to drop everything and drive across the country to the Pacific Ocean. I can’t really remember what happened at the end, though I’m sure it was touching, and I vaguely recall something about a surf board and a whale, but I remember having one thought as I watched: how sad.

            Because I don’t want to wait until my life is almost over to realize it’s an adventure. I don’t want to put off the things that are important for the ones that aren’t. I don’t want to sacrifice idealism for realism and find that somehow, my soul was slipped into the deal. I’m young, I get that, but if wisdom constitutes resignation to “the way things have to be”, then I find wisdom to be somewhat overrated or, perhaps, misunderstood.

           

“… do not hurry the journey at all.

Better if it lasts for years,

So you are old by the time you reach the island,

Wealthy with all you have gained on the way,

Not expecting Ithaka to make you rich…”

 

            Because when I really think about it, I realize that I’m not looking for security; I’m not searching for a future. The desire of my heart is not in a bank account, corporate building or even a spouse and family.

            What I’m looking for is God.

           It can be easy to conclude from the adventures I’ve had this year that the mountains, the oceans and everything in between are the true desires of my heart. But to say these are what I’m pursuing would be akin to declaring a love sonnet as the final aim for the poet. To some, adventure may be the ends, but for me, it’s a sonnet I’m crafting for a God I love because, frankly, I know no other way. Rest assured, there are other methods, of that I have no doubt. But, for the time being, adventure is the pen with which I craft my poem to God, and I will do so until I find another. With every mountain I climb, every ocean in which I paddle, every slope I descend and every race I run, I will seek to write that poem to Him. For these adventures are not my desires; they’re just the song I sing on my journey to Ithaka.

 

“…Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey.

Without her you would not have set out…

 

            I often receive the question, from friends and strangers alike, of “so you graduated from college a year ago? What are you up to now?” I’ve given up trying to explain. I’m a kayak guide; I’m bike shop mechanic. I’m a ski bum and I’m a mountaineer. I’m an administrative assistant and I’m an awful cook. I’m a boyfriend making long-distance calls and a limping thrill-seeker grateful for every second I’m alive.  I’m a sinner and I am, through grace, made a saint.

            I don’t know what exactly I am; I just know what I’m looking for.  

           

            “…if you find her poor, Ithaka

won’t have fooled you.

Wise as you will have become, so

Full of experience,

You will have understood by then

What these Ithakas mean.”

 

            With that, the professor finished the poem bowed his head slightly before thanking us and walking off the stage. I lowered my eyes from the podium and looked down at a candle in the middle of the table.

            “Wow,” a friend said next to me. “I really liked that,”

            I nodded but didn’t look up from the light of the candle dancing it’s own poetry across the table.

 

          So when people ask me that question “what are you doing now?” I don’t try to explain. Instead, I smile, doing my best to make the next line sound as authentic and heartfelt as possible. As I say it, I can only hope to sum up everything I’ve learned in one, six-word, sentence:

 

            “What I’m doing,” I tell them, “is finding Ithaka.”

 

           

 

Thus ends my first year of life in the real world.

For those of you who have been with me at any point this past year, I thank you so much. Your support and readership are my motivation for writing. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate you putting up with my antics on the paper (well, computer screen, I guess…you get the point).  

 I am currently in San Antonio (“deep in the heart of Texas…”) conducting training as part of my military obligation. Brace yourselves and even warrant a smile, because I’m excited to share some of that life with you (think Catch-22 meets M*A*S*H meets…a kayak guide wondering how the @#%! he wound up in Texas).  I will be in down south for a few short months, before returning to a summer of kayaking, hiking, adventuring and general shenanigans in, you guessed it, Maine. Also, not to get your hopes up or anything, but there may even be some lobster fishing thrown in the mix. In short: the journey is far from over.

 

And, just so you know, I’d love for you to tag along.