Too Much

Yesterday the Huffington Post published a piece they'd invited me to write in response to a TED talk about suicide.  I decided to write about things I thought might help survivors -- not a religious post, not a post filled with pastoral reflections or exhortations - just a post about some of what I've learned, written by a mom survivor who happens to be a pastor.

Positive responses poured in.

Among them was a repost by a former teaching colleague on a memorial FB page for a former student of ours.  Unbeknownst to me, he had died of suicide two days previous.  Twenty-four years old.  What I remember is his relentless sense of humor as he failed, time and again, to turn in his work.   Jewish funerals take place within 24 hours of a death, so I missed that, but she and I will go over to the house together on Monday.

Another response came from a high school classmate, about a series of suicide-attempt related losses all those years ago.  I did not know about those events, but I recognized the emotional landscape of which she wrote.

Then, today, the wedding of our next-door neighbors' middle daughter.  I tried; I really did.  I do not want to be like the father who wrote the column a year or two ago about not having attended a wedding in the eleven years since his son died.  I want to help my friends celebrate the great events of their lives.  This was our fourth try.  We haven't made it all the way through a single reception.  Tonight's final straw came when the bride's two sisters and brother sang "Here, There, and Everywhere" to her.  Before dinner, I might add. The seven children of our combined families played together for years; both families were filled with joy and laughter.  Theirs still is.

A new friend is doing the Overnight Out of the Darkness Walk in Seattle tonight, in honor of her son who died just a year ago, on the morning of his high school graduation day.  I had toyed with the idea of going to that walk (in one of my favorite cities) - until I broke my ankle.  I wish I were there anyway.

I am completely depleted.  Whatever I wrote about finding hope, whatever courage people saw in that   piece . . .   . Not tonight.  I just want my son back. That's the only thing I ever really want.

I can't imagine how I am going to lead worship tomorrow morning.  One of these days I'm going to have to preach so far ahead of myself that I'm going to fall flat on my face.

Interlude

What with the new church and everything, I got behind.  Plus, you know, it's the holidays, and I basically could live without them, probably forever.  There is not a day when I don't feel the knife in the gut at least a dozen times.  My most hated Thanksgiving moments: when people complained that all their children wouldn't make it home for the holiday.  Really?  It's a problem that all your children are healthy and alive somewhere else?  I haven't decided yet what I think about Christmas this year.  I should know, shouldn't I?    But . . . it's hard.  It's really hard.  The music, the stores, the presents ~ they don't bother me (much) anymore.  We're even going to an Advent concert Friday night.  But sometimes I am doing . . . whatever . . .  and I realize that I am on the verge of bursting into tears. 

Anyway ~  we have decided to get a Christmas tree, and so there are piles of old lights from the basement and boxes of new lights from Target in the kitchen and sunroom and living room.   I decorated the mantle, and I meant it when I said that I was nearly incapacitated by that project.  It is only approximately a million times easier to churn out Advent sermons than it is to open boxes of decorations from years gone by. 

 

Meanwhile ~ I have been grading college papers for the past eight hours.  (Yes, I was really behind, and I suddenly decided to get it over with.)  I am trying to focus on the positive, which mostly has to do with my students' reflections on the course and on some of their "outside experiences."  Many of my Catholic students have been to Protestant worship services (one described a megachurch service as more akin to going to youth group than to mass, which I thought was pretty funny), and many of my Protestant and Jewish students have been to mass for the first time.  There has been at least one humorous moment there, too, involving communion.  Well, I found it  humorous.  I guess I should give better instructions.  The megachurch communion was just sad.  I am hearing a lot about ritual or lack thereof, with the assessments being quite varied.    Lots of the kids went to our fabulous Jewish history museum, and ~ my favorite so far ~ one young man ended up attending a Sikh service at his family's funeral home, where he usually works parking cars, but got roped into helping one day when another employee was sick. 

 

The comments that make me the happiest come from students who say how much they hated the idea of going outside their comfort zone and how glad they are that they did.  And the ones from students who have found real-life applications emerging from the class: the young Methodist man whose cousin brought a Muslim exchange student home for Thanksgiving, just as we had begun our introduction to Islam, and found the courage to ask her questions and respond to hers, and the young lady who said that for the first time the Mass readings meant something to her, and that she turned to her mom and said, "This is just what we've been learning about!"

 

The more academic papers . . . well, I can't claim great success there.  But I decided last August that my real role this fall was to be a cheerleader for these students studying religion seriously for the very first time. I think that was a good goal that I have more or less achieved.  Most of them will take their second required religion course and that will be that, but most of them have also started considering matters they've never thought about before.  That's a good result for all of us.

I Love Teaching Intro to Religion!

I am procrastinating grading so . . .

 

From some college student reflections:

 

"At first I was not happy about the requirement to go to outside events, but now that I have been to a lecture and a mass, I feel that I have gone outside my little bubble and witnessed others' beliefs and thoughts."

 

"Learning about the history of the Bible is surprisingly interesting."

 

"Religion has not been a huge factor in my life in the past several years, but now I think I might go back to temple."

 

"I had never really thought about the possibility of multiple interpretations of a Biblical text."

 

"To be honest, I was not looking forward to this course at all . . . but now I am excited to take my next course next semester."

 

 

Yes . . . there was at least one very unhappy student ~ I'm afraid I was a bit sarcastic one day and my meaning got lost, but I was very glad that she raised her concerns so that I could address them.  (At least I hope I did.)

 

I have been a bit preoccupied with my old church-new church stuff this term, and sometimes I feel more behind and confused than my students do.  We cover way too much in this survey course -- from Ignatian spirituality to Tillich to Freud to Frankl to Biblical criticism and exegesis to interfaith dialogue to Islam to justice.    The instructors have a lot of leeway, as long as we cover some basic ideas foundational to discussing religion, address the Bible and interfaith dialogue, and deal with a religion assigned by the department -- that's where Islam came in this semester. 

 

I started with Ignatian spirituality -- something almost no other instructors do, but hey: we're in a Jesuit university and I think it's always a good idea to understand your heritage.  Whether they are Jewish or Christian (no Muslim students this term), Ignatius has become a part of their heritage by virtue of their presence at the school.  And I'm ending with a discussion of justice across traditions because soon it will be cold and dark and stressful all the time, and I think that's something they can sink their teeth into even when they've about reached the end of the semester.

 

The most fun?  Reading their reflections on their "outside experiences" ~ a Catholic-atheist debate, an apparently dynamite lecture on the theology of sports (I have a number of athletes in class), Jewish and Methodist students at mass, a Catholic student at my home Presby church, a martial arts class, an Otis Moss, Jr. sermon ~ I think they're having a good semester.

 

Saturday Night Musings

. . . A significant ten days lies behind me.  Chicago last week-end and the suicide prevention walk today.  What do I notice?  That no matter how hard we work, no matter how far we walk ~ eight miles all over Hyde Park, four miles in Cleveland ~ Josh does not come back. 

 

I do not understand this at all.  Where is he?  I need him to come back, right now.

 

I found myself wondering, off and on all day today: When I die, will he be there?  Will all be resolved?  Will none of this matter?  Or not? 

 

I have said it before and it remains the case: I have no particular kind of idea or sense of anything about life after death.  I guess I probably never will.  Until, you know, after death.

 

. . . I spent some time today talking with a good friend of whom I no longer see nearly enough.  The mother of one of Josh's best friends, her husband was seriously disabled when the boys were nine, I think.  A long time, twenty years.  My God, our lives have been difficult.  I told her that I think that sometime around the age of 50, we seem to break into two populations.  For some of us, as one of my seminary professors posted on FB a year or two ago, "life just gets better and better."  (Yes, I did resent that post.)  For others, not so much.  Deaths of spouses and children, strokes, cancer, unemployment, completely unbloggable trials . . . it would be unbelievable, how dramatically life can be altered in a matter of seconds, if it weren't so pervasively true.

 

. . .  I have been grading college papers this week.  My students are writing about all kinds of things in response to Paul Tillich's concept of "ultimate concern," but two topics stand out.  They are so innocently confident in the possibilities of romantic love.  I don't think that I was ever ever ever as hopeful and naïve as they are.  They are impossibly sweet.

 

At the same time, they are all profoundly aware of and concerned with jobs and material success.  They are all in college to prepare for careers.  (This might explain why I have not a single religion major in my intro class -- the vast majority of them are majoring in either the sciences or in fields like marketing and business and finance.  A class full of Mad Men wannabes.)  I was never ever ever as career focused as they are, either, at least not at their age.  Perhaps I should have been.  Perhaps if I had been I would not be making less money now than I have at any time since before I turned 30. 

 

. . .  Saturday night, Sunday morning worship only 12 hours away.  I should probably be having some profound thoughts about God.

 

This is as close as it gets.

 

 

Back in the Classroom and Glad Of It!

 

Tomorrow I begin teaching a section of Intro to Religion at John Carroll University, and I am SO looking forward to it.

 

The last time I agreed to take on this particular assignment, I discovered within a couple of weeks of getting started that I had been called to a church and would be ordained to ministry sometime during the semester, and that I had a breast cancer diagnosis.  The new call was a huge deal, the ordination service was a major project, and my version of breast cancer, while a minor blip in the grand scheme of my life of the past five years, still required three trips to the O.R. and many months of sleeping in the living room recliner while I waited for the pain (no, it was NOT discomfort!) to ease enough that I could actually lie down. 

 

Needless to say, that teaching semester was not one of the more successful of my life.  I actually raised all my students' grades 1/3 at the end of the semester, so fearful was I that my all-around bitchiness had affected them unfairly.

 

But tonight, after a rough couple of weeks on all counts, I am feeling pleasantly optimistic.   The campus looks beautiful, people are generally upbeat, and the students are full of energy.  Actually, mine will probably not be full of energy, at least not of academic energy -- my class will no doubt be the last one of their week and as, far as they are concerned, it will already be Friday night. 

 

Still: Really fun.  Some of them will be newbies considering a major in Theology and Religious Studies, and some of them will be juniors who have postponed this requirement for as long as they could.  Some will come with twelve years of Catholic education behind them and the confidence that, whatever there is to know about religion, they've got it down.  Others will have never given religion a second thought, and won't be much inclined to start now. 

 

One year, a lovely older student from Nigeria, if I recall correctly, wrote a reflection after we had waded through Tillich and Freud, commenting that she had expected something like her high school religion classes, in which they had read little stories about the saints.  Another year, a student emailed me the next semester to ask if I'd be the faculty advisor for a new Jewish culture club, which was flattering, but not within my job description.

 

Who knows what tomorrow will bring?

 

Made My Day

I've had a lot more energy in the just the past couple of days, and I've been able to give much more focused attention to my work in the last week ~ which has made me painfully aware of how spacey I was for most of the fall.  My poor religious studies students!  I did the best I could, but the ordination and church call would have spread me a bit thin all on their own.  Add a cancer diagnosis and at least one and up to four doctor visits pretty much every week, and then a mailbox that filled up and closed down and spewed student papers into the hinterlands while I was completely out of it ~ well, I was just hoping that they learned something.  Anything.

And then this arrived via email after today's final, from a thoughtful older student who is at a place in life where he is making decisions about his education with great care:

"Thank you for a wonderful class! This class was one of the main reasons I choose to transfer to this school, and it surpassed my expectations."

Phew!

Still Got It?

I met with my student today, was convinced that the plagiarism was unintentional, and offered another chance, along with some hefty instruction on the citation of sources.

"I see that this is what is expected," he concluded. 

"Believe me; I didn't make it up," I said.

As I was leaving, I stopped to chat with one of the graduate assistants.  "I guess I'm the biggest pushover on the planet," I remarked.  

"Oh, no," she said.  "I thought you handled it really well.  In fact, I was thinking that what you said to him, about how and why it matters, was really good ~ I should remember it."

I've been in quite a bit of pain today.  Nice to know that I can still pull off an unpleasant meeting, regardless of my own situation.

But I am still angry at my students' high school teachers, as I have been all semester.  These young people are so woefully unprepared for college.  How did it become my job to teach them sixth grade writing expectations?

Ups and Downs

Last night The Lovely Daughter drove me to my church-town, and this morning I preached.  A superb evening of conversation with the best woman in my life, and a welcoming congregation that seemed willing to overlook a few inevitable glitches.  I'm back home for the week, soaking up every opportunity to rest, as if I were a sponge soaking up water.  Now that I am pretty much pain-free (still sleeping in a recliner, though), my body seems determined to sleep and sleep and sleep.  I stand up and it says, "Sit."  So I do.

On the downside, after seeking some advice from colleagues over the week-end, I had to email a student tonight to explain the consequences of page-after-page plagiarism of a paper.  I am well aware, from my own experiences and those of my closest friends, that parents can withstand bad news over the holidays, but I still hate to be the one who sends the damning  missive.  I'm by no mean an easy grader, but I believe that in most circumstances, if a student shows up and turns in some semblance of all required work, no matter how dismal, he or she should get credit for the course.  It's difficult for a student to earn an A in one of my classes, and equally difficult to come up with an F ~ unfortunately this young person figured out one of the few ways to achieve the latter.

Wikipedia.  Sigh. 

P.S. There are still many of you to whom I owe much more desirable missives.  I appreciate your patience  ~ I'm working on this most pleasant of tasks!

Blogging Break

Despite having had a major experience of God's consolation over the past several days, my everyday life is one of deep discouragement.  It's filled with frustrations: the lack of employment means that much around the house that we had to neglect during my seminary years remains undone; the profusion of rain and cold means that the yard looks as if no one has lived here in a decade; my double vision means that almost everything I attempt takes twice as long as it should and that I have to depend entirely on others for transportation.

The hardest thing is the empty hole where the call process should be. RevGals today optimistically and joyfully  addresses the process for those just graduating from seminary.  It's been a year since I graduated, six months since I was certified ready to receive a call, and . . .  nada.  I remember how incredibly excited I was about the future on both of those occasions, but now I find myself baffled and bewildered.  I'm not alone; my best friend from seminary,  a remarkably gifted and accomplished woman, remains call-less, and I keep hearing stories of folks two and three years out, still hoping.  There is one church possibility at the moment for which I am both optimistic and enthusiastic, but possibility remains the key word there.

It's not as if I have nothing to do.  In fact, I have begun to receive enough invitations for spiritual direction, retreat work,  teaching, and community work that I am even more uncertain:  How is it that my own church can't come up with work for me, when other people and organizations and institutions seem interested in my contributions? and:  Am I being called into something else entirely? 

Among the many non-pastor items on my plate are a couple of writing projects which may turn into something.  And so I'm going to step back from blogging for awhile and head down that path with as much focus and discipline as I can muster.  I'll still be reading, and I have book reviews to post, but I'm going to start limiting my online time , dramatically, effective . . . NOW.

Image: Path through Atsena Otie, a tiny island off Cedar Key, Florida

Books, Books, Books - Your Suggestions?

"I had no idea," wrote one of my Intro to Religion students, a middle-aged man who works in information technology, "that there were entire fields of the history and philosophy of religion.  I thought either you believed in it or you didn't, and that was that."  He went on to ask for some reading suggestions and, realizing that he is far from alone, I'm working on a list today to send out tonight after the final exam.

Most of my students are considerably younger, typical college freshmen and sophomores.  About half are Catholic, some having been educated in Catholic schools all of their lives; one is Jewish; one, though Catholic herself, is from a predominantly Muslim majority country. Few of them arrived in the first class in possession of more than a passing acquaintance with the academic study of religion.  We've studied Freud and Tillich, the documentary hypothesis and gospel parallels, and the tiniest bit of Hinduism and Islam.  

I'd love some suggestions for my list, which I'm calling Reading for the Next Decade.  I have Dostoyevsky and C.S. Lewis and Shakepeare and Robert Barron and Heschel and Elizabeth Johnson and Dietrich Bonhoeffer and a list of poets.  I'm about to eyeball our own library and head over to the RevGals and to Quotidian Grace for more ideas.  

If you could make a few suggestions to a college student, what would they be?

Easter Sinking In (or Rising Up)

In the week or so after Josh died, I read a lot about Christian views on suicide over the past two millenia.  (Why not?  It wasn't as if sleep were an option.)

In the course of the next couple of years, I realized that, even today, we are some of the "lucky" ones.  I would hear stories, current stories, of families refused church funerals, of funeral services botched.  We, on the other hand, have never been on the receiving end of anything other than sympathy and reassurance, eloquence and encouragement,  from ministers, rabbis, and priests and, on the part of Christian clergy, confidence in resurrection.

"While we are crushed," preached our pastor in his funeral sermon, "Josh has now risen up.  While we are now in the dark, Josh is now in the light.  While we are pressed down in horror, Josh is living the mystery."

The other night, in the college Intro to Religion course which I teach, we were talking about holding differing personal viewpoints in the context of the church.  One young man mentioned that one of his friends believes that anyone who commits suicide (his verb, not mine) goes straight to hell, but he doesn't share that belief.

I don't bring my personal life into the classroom, at least not in that regard, but his comment did register.  A year ago, I might have turned pale and ended the class without explanation.  

This year, I just thought: What a small, and sad, understanding of God his friend has.

It's been a battleground for me, but I'm grateful to be in possession of a genuine, albeit hard-won, Easter faith.

Micellaneous Monday: The Good Stuff

Thank you all for listening to and commenting on my venting earlier today. I got some of it out of my system and then went on to some good, good things:

I got to do spiritual direction with two people today, one by phone and one in my home. (The driving problem.)  Both of them are making the Ignatian Exercises and really, it is one of the most wonderful things in the world to accompany someone on that particular journey.  One is near the end, which means that she is walking with Jesus through the last days of his earthly life in her daily prayer at exactly the most perfect time in the calendar and church year.  I am hopeful that she will experience Easter with more joy and amazement than ever before.

I got to meet with a friend and discuss some retreat work we are planning to do together.

A pastor friend and mentor called, so I got to bemoan my current state of affairs, long and loud.  That helped, too.  (Thanks, J!)

I got to prepare this week's college classes, which are mostly on inter-religious dialogue, one of my most favorite topics.  My students run much of the gamut of Judeo-Christian religious experience and faith, but they are all gentle and curious and open-hearted and lovely human beings.  Most of them seem to enjoy a class in which all questions are welcome and all viewpoints are addressed seriously.  I am really looking forward to this week.

Even though I can't actually "look" at much. I also had time for a long nap and I can go to bed soon ~ much needed, because the strain on my eyes is intense.

Our next topic in the class I'm teaching is Hinduism, in which much of the focus is on the visual as opposed to the linguistic apprehension of the Divine.  How ironic can life get ?!

Image: Sandy Frazier, Third Eye

Why I Don't Have a Call

I used to teach English and Social Studies in an Orthodox Jewish day school.  A few days ago I ran into my former department chair at Borders.  
 

I just received an email from her, telling me that:

"In reading my religion portfolios for AP this morning, it occurred to me that you might not have learned in seminary that the Second Great Awakening brought religious beliefs to the frontier areas through 'evangelism, revival preaching, and circus riding.' " 

Oh!  I skipped that circus riding course!

 

 Charles Marion Russell Drawing

Today-ness

I've realized this week that I've been spending very little time in the present.

The seminary venture quite naturally oriented me toward the future.  The hope of ordained ministry lay before me, and in the interim there were endless tests, exams, interviews, and evaluations to work toward.  (Believe me, there's a reason most people don't embark upon such a path once youth is over!)

Josh's death marked a re-orientation to the past.  Although it required me to do all kinds of things I'd never done before and hope never to do again, all of those tasks were accomplished in the shadow of a past once filled with delight and abruptly demolished.

Having been certified to receive a call and living at home full-time again  has created a sense of life lurching back and forth between past and present with rather remarkable speed.  Every time I've been invited to preach at a church in transition, I've been filled with hope ~ but they are all in stages of transition far too early for that hope to be realized in any of them, at least for now.  And at home I am surrounded by STUFF, all of which needs to be sorted into some form either usable or discardable.  Future and past - both treacherous places.

This past week, having received the world's speediest rejection ever from a church based on paperwork alone ~ paperwork which I had  thought indicated a huge potential for connection between their dreams and mine, but of which they apparently took a quite different view ~ I realized: I have to stop this.  I can't keep fantasizing about maybes.  I can't keep postponing household organization in the dual hope that some of the books could be transferred to a church study and that there will be some extra money to redecorate some of our dilapidated space.  I can't keep avoiding the boxes and folders filled with memories.

This is my present and I have to live it.  Parts of it are absolutely the fulfillment of hopes nurtured even in the face of disaster: I get to teach a religious studies class to college students and I get to do an ever-increasing amount of spiritual direction.  Parts of it are frustrating: preparing sermons for communities I don't know and earning almost nothing for a great deal of work.  And you know what?  Parts of it are luxurious: I have ample time for the things I'm doing, and after the occasional bad night, I can simply sleep in.

So: The present.  I'm going to live as if this is it, because ~ it is.   I'm going to get the STUFF taken care of and do what I can about the house. I'm going to enjoy the work I have and the freedom I have. I have an opportunity to develop a retreat for grieving parents, and some people who could make a difference  have offered their help with another major project ~ all good, I think.

So.  Wherever you go, there you are.  Here I am.  In the present.

(Image: Light and Dark, Wernersville Jesuit Retreat Center.  October 2010.)

On a Brighter Note (Ecumenically Speaking)

I'm teaching a section of Intro to Religion at the local Jesuit university, where the spring scholar in residence in religious studies is offering a series of six presentations to the community at large.  Last night I ended class early so that my students could attend one of his talks, and decided that I would go as well.  

I've met this gentleman briefly, but was a bit preoccupied at the time.

At the end of the talk, I moved to a seat next to a Jesuit whom I know and said, "Am I right in presuming, from his name and from one of the references he just made, that he's Presbyterian?"

"He is."

"Then there are two of us in the department at the moment."

"We're blessed!"

So what did you do today?

I worshiped at my home church this morning.  It was very nice to sleep in and worry about nothing, and  I made it without incident through the choir singing an anthem (below) that I last heard them sing (per my selection) at my son's funeral service. 

The Lovely Daughter and I went to see Joseph and the TD at the local youth theatre, with which she once performed as a tiny street urchin in Oliver!  Unfortunately we had misread the information; the final performance was last night.  We missed a great show, according to two ladies who also showed up but, in their case, for an encore.  I've seen Joseph several times and had been driving around listening to the Broadway CD for two days, so I was very disappointed.

We then headed over to the university to see an exhibit of paintings based on Ignatian spirituality and discovered that the show hasn't been hung yet.  So we struck out all around ~ though I'm going to see it and hear the artist speak later this week.  On the right day and at the right time, I hope.

So as all turned out, I spent most of the afternoon and early evening wrestling Freud's The Future of an Illusion into something manageable for college freshmen.  It wasn't quite as simple as I had anticipated (How did we ever read that in high school?), but it's finished.  On to John Updike, thank God.

There's a wideness in God's mercy,
Like the wideness of the sea;
There's a kindness in His justice,
Which is more than liberty.

 There is no place where earth's sorrows
Are more felt than up in Heaven;
There is no place where earth's failings
Have such kindly judgment given.

 For the love of God is broader
Than the measure of our mind;
And the heart of the Eternal
Is most wonderfully kind.

But we make His love too narrow
By false limits of our own;
And we magnify His strictness
With a zeal He will not own.

There is plentiful redemption
In the blood that has been shed;
There is joy for all the members
In the sorrows of the Head.

There is grace enough for thousands
Of new worlds as great as this;
There is room for fresh creations
In that upper home of bliss. 

If our love were but more faithful,
we should take him at his word;
and our life would be thanksgiving
for the goodness of the Lord.

Saturday Morning Musings

Lotta snow out there.

After a full week, I completely crashed yesterday.  I still struggle with energy issues. But I came to around dinner time and went out for Mexican with The Lovely Daughter, whose insights into her life and mine continue to astound me with their maturity and wisdom.

Felt on top of things this morning and headed out into the blustery winter to the bakery, Target, Office Max, the grocery, and the dry cleaner.  Outlined my idea of what the answer to one of yesterday's ordination exam questions might be for a friend whom I've been helping to study.  Remembered to be grateful that those exams are behind me.  Looked at the RevGals discussion and wished  I were preaching tomorrow, but glad to be able to worship at my home church.

Full week ahead:

I'm starting a six week class (once a week) on John of the Cross through our fabulous local Ecumenical Institute.  I spent a lot of time last winter trying to sort out my own experience ~ depression? grief? spiritual desolation? dark night?  ~ and deal with it; now I'm ready for an academic approach. 

I'm teaching Freud's The Future of an Illusion to my college freshmen.  I love love love teaching college religious studies classes. 

I'm going to the information night for the program from which I earned my spiritual direction certificate to add my encouraging .02 to prospective students.  I'm going to a meeting of the advisory board for said program. I'm going to a continuing ed day sponsored by same on the topic of family systems.

I guess this is going to be a big John Carroll University week.  Oh yeah, it really is ~ I forgot; it's Ignatian Heritage Week there.  So I'm going to a couple of events for that, one of them a presentation by an artist who has an exhibit hanging there of her work based on the Spiritual Exercises, and one a presentation by former Wonderful Spiritual Director who's talking about vocation.  I've really pushed that one for my students, all of whom are thinking about big life decisions, but ~ here I am, in the call process, and I'm thinking about them, too!

When do I get to crash again???

 Image: Ignatius the Pilgrim at Wernersville Retreat Center (PA) ~

October 2010

How We Learn (or Don't)

 As I've mentioned, I'm teaching a college intro to religion class  next semester, and one of the books we'll be reading is Viktor Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning, which I first read in a high school religion elective class.  I don't remember our discussions with any specificity, but I know that we engaged in them, because for a year there were maybe twelve of us sitting in a circle, and that's what we did ~ discuss.  And we wrote lots of papers.

And, as I've also realized, that little book has had a huge impact upon my approach to life.  As I re-read it last month, it felt completely familiar.

I've read quite of bit of Holocaust literature in the years since, have heard a number of Holocaust survivors speak, and taught many of their grandchildren in my years as an educator in an Orthodox Jewish school.  With each such encounter, my understanding of how to survive trauma and find meaning in apparent meaninglessness has been strengthened.  

Much of that writing has been of help to me in the past two and one-half years.  Dietrich Bonheoffer, whom we also read in that long-ago high school class.  Alfred Delp, S.J., whom I discovered only a few years ago.

Discussion.  Reinforcement.  Application.

How we learn.

In seminary, my first required Old Testament course was presented entirely in a lecture format, and the assessment was entirely objective - multiple choice, fill in the blank, and . . . The Map.  Our professor is an archaeologist, and made an (important) point:  understanding the terrain makes a difference in our understanding of the story.  We had to memorize the map of ancient Israel which, for those of us of a certain age, was quite a challenge.  I put a xeroxed copy, which contained the 50 or so geographical and place names we needed to know, on my bathroom door, and learned about 5 a week.  Ten or so minutes a day most days.  Probably ten-fifteen hours over the course of the term  to learn the whole thing.

The lecturing was brilliantly done, and I have a thick binder of notes that will serve me well throughout my ministerial teaching and preaching life.  No doubt about that.  But did I retain anything?  In the absence of personal engagement of any kind?

No discussion; no essays.  No subsequent  encounter.  And I haven't been to Israel, which would no doubt make a difference.

I'm preaching on Jesus' baptism tomorrow, and I've decided to do a bit of Jordan River geography with the children.  

I realized this morning that I know no Jordan River geography.

So I googled "Jordan River map" and looked at a map of ancient Israel and realized:

Nothing.  No retention whatever.  I could not to save my life have identified a single thing on that map (other than the river running through it).  It was as if I'd never laid eyes on it before.

Memorization.  That's all we did.

NOT how we learn.

(I'm giving the kids messages from a bottle - slips of paper with different names for them to look up on a map so they can report their findings back to me next week.  I know they won't retain the facts for long.  But maybe one of two of them will remember the fun of geographical investigation.)

More Viktor Frankl

A week ago, FREEZING in Florida and therefore doing a lot of reading, I wrote about the book Man's Search for Meaning, which I'll be teaching in an Intro to Religion class in a few weeks.

Today, amazingly, a video of Viktor Frankl is linked on the Ignatian Spirituality blog; he's talking about the therapeutic principle that we must think of people as greater than they actually may be.

From the standpoint of personal reflection: I saw a grief counselor for awhile after Josh died, and she was certainly making use this principle. While she was interested in helping me address the reality that the terrible loss of Josh came in the context of other terrible losses in my life, it became apparent to me after some weeks that she was working hard to affirm strengths that were perhaps enabling me to survive.

And from the standpoint of work:  Maybe something to show or assign my students?

Good News for Me!

Assuming enrollment remains steady, I have a gig teaching a section of a college freshmen Intro to Religion course next semester!

I told the department chair that in my fantasy life, I pastor a church, do a little spiritual direction, and teach a college course once or twice a year.  Well . . . he said.

We're waiting for the church part to fall into place, I responded.  The big piece.

But I'm very excited about this.  Right up my alley, to usher college students into what for most of them will be their first experience with an academic approach to religion.

(And yes, Karen West, a Jesuit University.)