Fall Again

It wasn't the usual sort of emergency that would warrant a call in the middle of the night. By the time I heard the phone it was on it's last ring. Her voice on the recording was enough to break through the REM stupor and my head began to swim in thoughts of her suffering alone in the greying Seattle twilight while I tried to fall back asleep in my tiny DC apartment.

So I called her back. Instead of a real hello her voice was all gratitude that I had called until she couldn't help but let the questions tumble out in a rant-like succession: "What have I done? What am I doing? What was I thinking? Why did I come here? How did I leave my family and friends--for this! What am I going to do now that I can't go back..."

***

Every September students of all kinds return to schools in a flurry of paperwork, their parents' emotions, and maybe a few autumn leaves. If we were to compare it to a season from the liturgical calendar, August would be like a warmer version of Advent: riddled with expectant and nervous hoping, mounting expectations, families of all configurations wild with the spirit of preparation, shopping, evaluating the needs, checking the lists, more shopping... We can't possibly be ready but we prepare anyway for the big day that comes every year. The First Day of School is to August what Christmas is to Advent; and for some of us it's almost as hallowed.

In the US we are certain that the day is coming and as for our children, we are certain that they are going, ready or not. As a professional educator my job is to think through the reasons for all the buzz. I am well aware of all the reasons students go to school: the youngest students are delivered to their pre-schools, some at a mere six weeks old, because their parents have the privilege of access to programming that will prepare them for a lifetime of learning. The majority of students hit the books because the law requires and their families believe in the power of a formal education. Some go because they've been told they will make more money if they pursue another degree. Others go because they will be the first in their family to break the binds of the American caste system. You'll see them at the coffee shop or vending machine in the afternoon so they can suffer through night classes. They can be seen dragging around a five pound intro to biology text book or highlighting sections on the train ride to work. Some want to go, some don't. Some have a choice, some don't.

This year I have all access to students of a different ilk. They are an unknown quantity to most of society. Their friends and families are befuddled by their decision to return to school this year. They find their only compassionate supporters in the small pockets of men and women who have already been through it... They are those we may affectionately refer to as the seminarians.

They untangle themselves from hard won community ties and lucrative careers. Some move thousands of miles from support systems comprised of church ladies, gym buddies, softball teammates, devoted parents and older siblings. Or they choose to bring the support system (and all it requires) along: packing up two dogs, two children and a loving spouse only to deliver them to a tiny apartment in a strange college town where there is little they can do but replace family and friends with 20 something babysitters and great beer.

And then they call, in the middle of the night, to ask those of us who have been there and done that to answer to the hardest question.
What do I do now that I can't go back?
They call because they have suddenly realized that this time a return to school burns the bridge between the present and the past. They have been through the first day of school so many times but this catches them off guard. When the school is a seminary, the going back to school means you can never go back to the life you knew. What is worse: they prepared diligently. Many are candidates for ordination so they have passed a battery of psychological exams, taken numerous tests, written introspective essays and spent a year or more in discernment. And then they come home from the third night of New Student Orientation knowing only one thing, prepared for only this: it's time to confess I don't know what I'm doing.

They want to quit but they can't. They can't quit because its not a job or an addiction; its a call. And thank God it is. It is at the request of the very communities they left behind, at the urging of their best friends, with the support of their parents and siblings--most of whom have no idea they ever requested, urged or supported this endeavor--that they have come. Maybe the call was audible, spoken aloud by a mentor. Maybe the call was more like a surrender to fate. Either way it was an irresistible, insatiable and  unbelievable series of events that brought them here to the intersection of faith and knowledge. When the sun sets and the path goes dark it's all they can do to dial a familiar number--who cares what time it is wherever you are, as long as you are there for me when I need you.

I have my MDiv (obviously I didn't find my way out of this conundrum) which means all I have is empathy and habit to guide me. So I do what my days in seminary prepared me to do; I answer the call.

Hopefully you will answer more eloquently than I did (I have a tendency to swear when impassioned). It was late, I was exhausted but I remember telling her she is right where she needs to be. She is not crazy to feel lost and alone. She is not crazy to think she can't do this one minute only to be sure she has  to do this the next minute. She is right about one thing: she can not go back... but that is not nearly as big and bad a fact as her fear has led her to believe. "Is it me?" She wondered aloud as if to ask, am I offensive, is that why I feel so alone? I could almost swear I heard her sniff her armpits.

No, for the first time it's not about you. From now on it's not about your abilities or your goals; it's about a bigger picture and finding your place in it. This is a big task, you're not overreacting to the burden your choices have brought upon you. Your reaction is warning you that you are coming to the end of your comfort zone, closer to the edge of yourself and you will fall off the edge. You will fall in love with the new perspective you gain when you finally take flight into the future of the church, into the new view of God that this risk brings.

Soon it will be Fall again. Seminarians across the country will be back at school. They have been moving, preparing, coming closer to the end of the lives they have known. So when you hear the Convocation bells ringing like a midnight emergency, answer them: it's the future of the church calling and you have been here before. Fall again.