What I did for my Christmas vacation.

Yesterday, in the first class meeting of my Spiritual Writing class, the professor asked us to introduce ourselves and say what book we read over the winter break.  The first 14 students told their names and then rattled off the names of all sorts of intellectual-sounding titles about 11th century martyrdom between Franciscan monks, and sophisticated novels that I've never heard of.  I thought about reading something over the break, in fact, I was going to read The City of God, by Augustine, to get a head start in the class about Augustine I was planning to take this semester.  I went to one bookstore to find a copy, but they were out, which I took as a sign that I didn't need to read it during my free time anyway.  I've since decided to bag the class altogether, so it would have been to no end anyway.  When I first heard the professor ask us to recount our holiday read, I kind of panicked. "Oh, shit, what can I say that I read?" I thought.  My turn came.  "I'm Brin, a first-year MDiv student in the Berkeley program....ordination track.  I read the New York Times Cook Book, by Amanda Hesser, over my break, and I made salted butter caramels, lemon gumdrops, and a clementine-kumquat cordial from it, along with toasted coconut marshmallows, blueberry thumbprint cookies, chocolate chip cookies, molasses cookies, chili roasted almonds, and cranberry-almond biscotti."  I didn't read a single thing that didn't come out of a cookbook the entire recess.  My break was delicious!  I wasn't afraid to say it.

Christmas cookies and other goodies

Making cookies and candies for a couple of weeks was exactly what I needed my break to be.  The last semester flattened me like a steam-roller, and I needed a good dose of domestic bliss to re-inflate me before going back before the battering ram.  Here it is, the first week of classes, and I am ready for my beating.  After the end of last semester, especially final exam period, I felt like a shell of an individual.  I'm feeling a bit more optimistic now, but a lot has had to readjust to learn how to deal with this place, and my place in it.  I'm learning a lot about myself in the process.

I came here not knowing what to expect.  I'd heard the horror stories about seminarians' first semester melt-downs due to unrealized expectations and the like, and I was confident that since I didn't know what to expect, then my expectations couldn't be unmet, altered, or deflated.  Famous last words.  I know now what hidden expectations I had, or at least some of them, anyway.  I was especially surprised by some of them...maybe some of you who know me won't be, you be the judge.  I did know that I came here to do my best, but what I didn't realize is that I care A LOT about how other people judge me.  If you read the post prior to this one, I mentioned that I wrote a paper for my Patristics class that I didn't do as well on as I had hoped.  I obsessed over the paper, the grade, the grading system, and what ultimately became the most consuming thought was that I was really disappointed in myself for having such a negative response to this one grade.  It wasn't a bad grade, but it wasn't the best grade.  Apparently when I said I wanted to do my best, what I really meant was that I wanted to do the best.  Ouch.  This realization really stung on multiple levels.  It hurt my pride, for one thing, but it also threw me for a loop.  Why did I come here?  Did I come here to learn how to be a good priest and leader, or did I come here to stroke my ego?  Even the harsh question, as I look at it written on the screen, makes my stomach churn just a little bit.  I didn't know I had such an ego problem.  Abba Silvanus, a desert father from the 5th century said this about pride: "Woe to the person whose reputation is greater than his work."  I have worked harder here than I have ever worked in my entire life, and I have already learned more new information than I could have imagined, which is very satisfying, but apparently what I wanted wasn't just to learn, but to be recognized for it somehow.

A good friend asked me the other day what great epiphany I had had over the break.  Since the middle of the term, and my realization that I wasn't going to be the best at everything, but I was sure going to have to work myself to the bone, I have really struggled with the question of why I am here.  In my heart of hearts I believe that I am here to follow God's call to minister to His people, and to lead His church, and that going to seminary is first and foremost a requirement for the ministry to which I feel called.  Thus, I assumed that the reason I came here has been to gain some of the knowledge and skills to fulfill my call.  At a more shallow level, though, I realized that I came here thinking that this would be a lot of fun.  I love learning, and I love participating in the amazing process of acquiring and processing new knowledge--something I have done well, and for which I have been well-rewarded with accolades, scholarships, and my own satisfaction.  One of the things I learned over the break, and what I told my friends, was that I realize I am not here in order to do what I want to do, but to do what God wants me to do.  Not everything here is fun or enjoyable, but this work is important, and I have to do it, whether it makes me happy at all times or not.

I'm learning a hard lesson about pride, along with an important lesson about hard work.  No, I'm not having fun anymore, but I do still want to be here, and I am still going to try my very best even if it isn't the very best.  However, this is easier said than done, and you'll probably be hearing more about it as the semester picks up.  I have a lot of hope, though, that what I am doing here is important for me, and a definite sense that I am lucky to be here working through this challenge.  The challenges life gives us make the fabric of our lives so much richer.  My life, in all its complexities, is a good one, for which I am ever grateful.

The 5th century words of Amma Synctetica, a mother from the Egyptian desert, sum up my experience of formation here at Yale much more eloquently than I can.  She said, "In the beginning, there is struggle and a lot of work for those who come near to God.  But after that, there is indescribable joy.  It is just like building a fire: At first it's smoky and your eyes water, but later you get the desired result.  Thus we ought to light the divine fire in ourselves with tears and effort."