When I was in college, I was often the odd person out. Not realizing that Catholics are allowed to drink alcohol, I thought that going to a Catholic school for undergrad would mean less partying--I had always tied my faith to a straight-edge lifestyle. I remember one fellow student of mine confiding in me that she considered transferring because she, too, had expected her fellow classmates to be focused on Christ and study and therefore not on partying. I told her she could always talk to me because I also felt alone. Unfortunately, by the end of the year, she had become a party-goer herself, torn between her religious principles and the desire to fit in. I didn't much mind being alone, focused on learning and writing, during my college days. Going to seminary, though, I did look forward to sharing the same principles with most, if not all, my classmates.
Unfortunately, I was sorely mistaken about life at seminary. Truthfully, it is this fact, and this essay, that most motivated me to write this whole series and provide a behind-the-scenes look at a pastor's life at seminary. Prospective seminarians and those sitting in the pews need to know that the stereotype you may have life at seminary is probably false. The revelations of Jerry Falwell, Jr.'s life recently only make my speaking about seminary life and seminarians more relevant and important: Jerry Falwell, Jr. was and is not just one disappointing case. Whenever we expect rigid holiness of our leaders, far and beyond our own sense of righteousness, we will end disappointed.
Before I get to my main story, I want to clarify that it is only representative of the whole. Drinking alcohol is not in itself a sin nor is it, if it is a sin, the only sin imaginable. We know that. While at seminary I became a bit of a leader. One of my roles was welcoming (advertising) the school to prospective students. The best and the brightest who were considered for scholarships were offered a weekend tour of the school, with interviews being only a small interruption to the planned fun meant to convince those prospective seminarians that our school is the best. At one of these, I met and talked quite a bit to a young woman who happened to share the same name as the person I was dating at the time. When I learned that, I said, "Oh, it will be easy to remember your name." Well, that young woman decided to indeed attend our school and, on her first day, as I helped get her acclimated, I asked her name and she said, "That should be easy for you to remember." Well, I was no longer dating at the time, so I was completely baffled. Upon learning why, that new student barely talked to me... for the next two years. She had her reasons, I'm sure, but I can't help but think that one of those reasons was thinking that I was a jerk for dumping someone she liked. Maybe I was. In fact, I'm sure I was a jerk. But I'm not sure the silent treatment is what you would expect of seminarians. Indeed, there's a lot you don't know about seminary or seminarians--who later become pastors--so whether you're considering about going to seminary or wondering about the private life of your pastor, read on.
My seminary colleagues threw themselves with abandon into celebrating International Night. The basic idea was that each room would represent a different country or culture with music, food, drink, and decoration. I imagine that the annual observance began as a means of deepening understanding within the student body. Our school served a number of Koreans, Africans, Pacific Islanders, and Europeans. Having a night dedicated to sharing and experiencing one another's culture sounds like a great idea. It sounds that way.
Much of the probable intentions and purpose of International Night fell apart due to one simple fact: most of the Koreans and Europeans at the school lived in the apartment building on campus. While the apartment building shared a parking lot with the dormitory, it often operated like an impassable barrier, including on International Night. So what ended up happening on International Night, it seemed to me, was that students played pretend, representing countries and cultures they had no actual connection to. The room across the hall from me, Mexico, was played by two very white guys. Now, those two very white guys were some of my favorite people at the seminary but it was no less silly. You can imagine, then, that International Night devolved quickly from a clever idea to deepen understanding into a thinly veiled opportunity to get drunk testing out all the available fluids.
The first year, my roommate, Joel (the werewolf), and I represented North Korea. Maybe that was a little insensitive but we thought it was funny. We didn't want to participate in the self-justifying party so we closed our borders and didn't make our beds. We thought about fasting that night, too, but fasting as a joke doesn't motivate well.
Anyway, while International Night wasn't the only time you might encounter a drunk seminarian, it did guarantee such encounters, not of one or a handful of classmates but of nearly everyone. What is wrong with drinking and getting drunk? Well, first of all, as I talked about in the "We Blew Stuff Up" essay, Methodists traditionally have been encouraged and taught not to drink. Historically, drinking often leads to feeling miserable and possibly ruining one's life. Plus, when we think of a holy person, we don't imagine someone who purposely drinks to the point of drunkenness. Doing so betrays a lack of self-control or a lack of trust in God to provide peace and joy. Besides, when I was working as editor of the school journal, I planned an article on International Night. I set up interviews with fellow seminarians to tell me all about their experience. One of my fellow seminarians angrily approached me when he found out, saying, "You can't write an article on this! It's a conflict of interest! You can't do this! You're morally corrupt!" He assumed--incorrectly--that the article would attack the faux festival. Even if his assumption were correct, however, his response proved how fearful he was of being found out, so to speak. Whether he or anyone else would admit it, the response displayed an inward sense of his/their own moral corruption, or at least of purposely falling short on holiness. For if I were to write an attack article, who would care if there was nothing wrong with such a party?
Herein we discover a crucial failing in the idea of seminary generally. Before I elucidate that failing, another brief Methodist history is in order. Back in the day, before seminaries, Methodist pastors (elders) took Jesus's words literally to go out two by two. Doing so allowed the younger, provisional pastors to receive instruction and guidance from older and more experienced pastors. We had what we still call Course of Study, but in contrast to today's version the Course was directed by the older pastor. This format enabled the elder pastor to become personally acquainted with the life, holiness, and spiritual calling of the provisional pastor; and for the provisional pastor to learn how to live a holy life consistent with the calling from God. I don't mean to suggest that we should expect any pastor to be entirely holy at all times for they are human like the rest of us. It does seem rather logical, though, that those planning on being or working as a pastor should strive to a certain form of holiness. What's wrong with our seminaries, then, is that we throw together a bunch of mostly young prospective pastors in training without any personal guiding hands. Making things worse, these seminarians then graduate from seminary and then move into their first appointment a month later.
No one is immune, of course. And, again, as I said, the drunkenness of International Night is only one symptom. All of us, on some level, go to seminary pretending to be what we are not.
A friend of mine started using Christian Mingle to find a wife. He was committed to having a partner when he entered pastoral ministry, perhaps knowing that the stresses of pastoral ministry are nearly impossible to deal with without strong support. As a side note, the girlfriends he met on Christian Mingle were all a bit crazy. One of them didn't even look real. His girlfriends became a running joke to everyone but him. My friend just didn't see what we saw. Eventually, his roommate, William, who seemed to get all the girls to love him simply by saying, "Hello," had to stage an intervention. "Dude, I didn't teach you all my moves for this. Find a real person." (I should point out that my friend did eventually find a real, good woman on Christian Mingle. It does work. He fell in love, they were about to get married before tragedy struck)
Unfortunately, I took my friend's comical struggles on Christian Mingle as evidence that I could find an on-line sex partner. I justified my intentions by the fact that I was meeting other Christians, so-called. If I found anyone equally depraved as me, then it was okay because we were both Christians. So you see, we can all pretend. I lived successfully as a Jekyll and Hyde for a few years.
Thankfully, pretending to be what we are not sometimes leads to personal and spiritual growth. It's like acting. Speaking of acting, I dreamed the other night that I was Sam Rockwell. Best dream ever. When we act, we essentially walk in someone else's shoes and can learn what makes that person tick. If you ever watch a behind-the-scenes documentary of TV or film production, the actors often talk about how they asked a bunch of questions to understand their character. When we live as a Jekyll and Hyde, pretending to be what we are not, while we may still be living in our own shoes we are walking in someone else's shoes. That can be good for us.
I don't recommend purposely living an unholy life as a form of research. Some friends of mine once were talking about Cosmopolitan. Originally, honestly, I wanted to know why any woman would read that magazine. Even after asking, I couldn't quite understand. So I bought a Cosmo for myself. I then unfortunately got into the habit of buying Cosmo for all the sexy pictures and stories.
However, I do recommend analyzing and praying about our moral excesses and failings, to ask the questions any good actor would ask. Why does my character buy Cosmo magazines? Why do they use Christian Mingle as a secret release to lust? Why do they drink so much at International Night? For the most part I've been speaking about people pretending to be holy without actually being so but the reverse works, too. We can actually live as holy people and figure out what makes such a person tick, to understand them, and increase the chances of being holy or approximating holiness all our lives. Either way, if we come to know our excesses, we'll know ourselves better and can then seek to be held accountable by other true disciples of Christ striving to live into Jesus's call to us to be holy.
For me, the greatest crisis in trying to understand and reconcile my actual self to my pretend self, and work out which was which, came when I developed what William called superhero powers. A couple of months into my second semester, a serious chest pain prevented me from enjoying my first D.C. cherry blossom festival. I came home thinking that I pulled a muscle. After a few nights of struggling to sleep, because I had to sleep in one position and one position only, the pain spread into my neck. Friends considered the possibility that I had indigestion or heart burn. I went to the hospital. No heartburn. Sleep worsened as I began to feel my heartbeat in my neck and in my wrists. Those were my superhero powers. Or at least, the introduction of them. William was certain that within a day or two I'd either shoot spider webs out of my wrists or have a heart attack. Perhaps the reason he was so good with women was that he actually cared about people. He could remember every conversation he ever had with you, it seemed, he was always asking questions about you and your life, and took it all humorously but seriously. Indeed, he was the only one to really take my condition seriously. It was because of him that I went to get myself checked out again and was first diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder.
The diagnosis crushed me. Jesus tells us to lay our burdens on him, that we have no reason to worry. Either God isn't real and couldn't take on my burdens, or I wasn't a faithful enough disciple. I couldn't handle either option.
Many weeks later, though, the spiritual darkness I experienced helped me see the light. I came to see, first, that sometimes our chemical dispositions are completely out of our control. It's the way I was born, created, and there's no shame in the person and being God gave me. Second, to the extent that I can control or cope with my anxiety, I learned what most triggers my mental and bodily stress and what forms of prayer or exercise that most put me in the presence and position to receive God's grace. The diagnosis and my journey through the desert wilderness led to my becoming an avid, and not just casual, cyclist.
Like me, you may be disappointed in the lives of prospective seminarians. Once we give our lives to Christ, and to lead others to Christ and further along the journey with Christ, we should strive to live accordingly. The good news, though, is that Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde were fully aware of his/their strange case. Some of my fellow seminarians attended "to find themselves," which, at the time, I thought to be a ridiculous waste of money. In the light of experience and reflection I see they had a good idea. Where better to learn about oneself than in a place trying to be holy and sacred? Unless we completely lose ourselves while at seminary, we are fully aware of our inmost souls, our darkest stains, our greatest lights, and our growing edges. Yes, seminary may be disappointing, but the hope and prayer is that, at the time of graduation, we will have seen the light because we lived in the darkness. A dark cave needs only a small light to guide us out.
Perhaps the journey to Christian perfection, as we Methodists say, will be longer by attending seminary versus going out in service under the leadership of an older elder, but with the necessary self-reflection and prayer seminary is no less a part of the holy journey. What I'd say, then, is that we should ask our pastors what embarrassing, sinful, unholy, and dark things they did in seminary. Most importantly, ask what they have learned from those experiences about themselves and about how they can use those experiences to better relate to and serve their churches. Current pastors and seminarians should ask the same questions because if we seek to keep our darkness in the dark, then a stain remains on our hearts and we can't drag all of who are towards God's light.
Indeed, all of us should ask those questions of ourselves. Do we show the world a holy self when, actually, we are still hiding our sin away in a corner? Past or present unholiness needs to be addressed and learned from so that we can walk the journey. Our journey is lifelong. At some point we need to stop pretending and be the people God has called us to be. To do that, we need to put our pretending to work.
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