How seminary is ruining church

After putting such a shocker post title I should start out by saying this isn't an indictment of theological education in any way.  I'm just talking about how studying Bible and theology is affecting my experience of worship.

"Cognitive dissonance" would be a top contender for seminary phrase of the year, if such a distinction existed.  It's certainly one of theology instructor Malinda Berry's favorites.  For me, it's one of those buzzword phrases that I use with a frequency not warranted by my level of understanding of what it actually means--you know, kind of like "exegesis."

Until now, that is.  According to Wikipedia, "cognitive dissonance" is "an uncomfortable feeling caused by holding two contradictory ideas simultaneously."  Basically, theologically, it happens when we experience something contrary to our own truths.

I have a confession: I used to like praise music.  Actually, I used to love praise music.  It's why I learned to play the guitar.  Which I played in the praise band for Intercollegiate Ministries (ICM) at Manchester College.

Most praise music is now ruined for me, because I can't just sing and enjoy it.  No, now that I eat, sleep and breathe theology, I must deconstruct the theological claims present in the lyrics.  And I have to say, they do not nourish my theological intellect.  Most often it's just a lack of the song actually saying much, though there is the occasional bit of questionable theology.  Plus, at seminary I've become used to a lot of inclusive language type stuff (we're all "autumn wind" and "breath of giving" and such), and I get really distracted by songs that are loaded with "father" this and "lord" that.  In one way or another, though, I'm constantly finding myself evaluating the theology of our music.

The other distraction is that I now know too much.  This past weekend I was at a wedding in which both the pastor and the person reading the scripture identified Paul as the author of Colossians.  Now, while the authorship of Colossians is cautiously called "disputed," my understanding and belief is that it was written pseudonymously by one of Paul's later followers, not by Paul.

I squirmed in my seat.

I then picked up the pew Bible from in front of me and turned to the introduction to Colossians.  My Bible is a HarperCollins NRSV Study Bible and is chalk full of critique.  I sort of forgot that there were non-critical Bibles, and that pew Bibles were likely to fall into this category.  So I was surprised when I saw the introduction to Colossians uncritically discussing the circumstances under which Paul wrote it.

Okay, I told myself.  Maybe Colossians can be a gray area.  But what about the pastorals?  Scholarly consensus pretty much rejects Pauline authorship of the pastorals.

I turned to First Timothy.  Again, the introduction talked unquestionably about Paul as the author.  I felt some cognitive dissonance rumbling in me.

Why, though?  My personal faith favors speaking of things that may not be literally true, as if they are true.  I find it unlikely that Mary was a virgin, or even that Jesus turned water into wine.  Yet I have no problem telling these stories.

I think, for me, telling scripture is a statement of faith.  It is a story, and the truth it bears is inherent.  But when we talk about who wrote the letters that make up that scripture, we get into history and fact.  And it bothers me that we fudge over this in worship.  I do understand that for some--many--Pauline authorship, too, is a matter of faith, but I have to say that just isn't how I see it.  In fact, for me, talking critically about the Bible makes it all the richer and more valuable to me.

There has been some resistance, in our tradition, to theological higher education.  And I can understand the frustration of feeling like some priestly class (i.e. those with seminary education) is telling everyone else how to do church.  This is, after all, a Church that recognizes the priesthood of all believers.  Yet my solution wouldn't be to do away with seminary; it would be to open up the kind of discussion we have here to everyone.  Bring it more into our worship.  I was talking to a friend last weekend who noted that a year of seminary would be valuable to anyone who is the least bit interested in theology.

Rabbi Louis Finkelstein said, "When we pray, we talk to God.  When we study, God talks to us."  As I get deeper into theological study, I certainly find it to be where I can hear God.  And I won't go so far as to claim it's for everyone, but I would like to see more connection between those doing scholarship and those doing church.

Of course, then everyone would be distracted by having to evaluate the theology of our songs.  But I guess that's the price you pay.

-Nick Miller Kauffman

Anabaptist Fierce

...is what I'm trying to learn how to be at seminary right now.

In preparing for this friday's Voices of a People's History of Christianity joint worship service at Bethany and ESR (Earlham School of Religion), our professor Dawn Ottoni Wilhem gave some of us in her worship course feedback on our readings. We were preparing a service in which we would perform (in the best sense of the word) readings from Christoph Blumhardt, Meister Eckhart, Sojourner Truth, Martin Luther King Jr., and Mary Ann Tolbert, who were/are all notoriously controversial prophets of their times.

The worship service, planned by my husband Parker, was inspired by our admiration for the late Howard Zinn's project, Voices of a People's History of the United States, in which Zinn gathers together some of the great actors of our time to enact and embody the words of many great prophets from US History.

Dawn was exhorting one of us to drop the normally cheery disposition it is culturally acceptable to operate in and switch to a more serious and provocative tone.

"Don't be Anabaptist nice," she said. "Be Anabaptist fierce."

That's it! I thought. What a perfect term for what I've been trying to embody this semester! Maybe Dawn didn't invent the term and maybe lots of cradle Brethren and Mennonites will tell me they've heard it from birth--which seems to happen to me pretty often as a convert--but I'm still impressed.

It seems to me that while the shift from Anabaptist nice to Anabaptist fierce may appear small, it takes a lot of work and makes a lot of difference.

For me, this semester it has meant working hard to be more and more honest about who I am and what I am thinking and feeling, which might sort of sound innocuous--but try doing it! I will tell you it is no easy task to unlearn 25 years worth of habits of closeting my thoughts and feelings and of only letting squeeze out a thin, filtered version of myself, in favor of becoming a more honest and open me.

More than once this semester telling the truth about my feelings or thoughts especially when it comes to sexuality, sexism and our bodies, has alarmed and offended my classmates, some of whom have even approached me in private to try to shame me into shutting up.

But thanks to the support of great friends and mentors in this community and the great witness of our Anabaptist-Pietist heritage, I am not shutting up. I am trying to pick up where my adopted ancestors and mentors left off and trying to learn the fierceness required to stand strong on who I am and what I know.

How can we live and experience fully God's presence in this world if we don't develop the fierceness it takes to be authentic? And I don't mean being offensive for the sake of being offensive, but genuinely authentic.

I've been quoting Bob Hunter a lot lately, and I hope he doesn't mind if I do it again, but he planted a very helpful and related seed in me at Bethany's Presidential Forum. In our small (and I do mean small) group discussion on racism at the forum, we were discussing why many Evangelical Christian associations would have lots more people of color than our very pale, liberal-leaning forum did. Bob cited a weak (or rather antithetical) version of non-violent theory he often hears from seminarians as symptomatic of the problem. Concerning Jesus' Sermon on the Mount commandment to "love your enemies" these seminarians want to claim that we have no enemies, which as Bob cited is not really nonviolent theory at all.

Only someone at the top of the food chain, with all kinds of privilege, could claim that we have no enemies. People of color (and other oppressed peoples), who in this country are faced with messages every day that often demarcate them as the enemy to "American" culture, know the point of that old labor song "which side are you on?"

And a kind of "peace church people" who want to pretend those demarcations are not there and that no matter what someone believes they are not working in opposition to us, will always seem frighteningly and dangerously out of touch with reality.

To be clear, to stand up for and on your convictions does not mean you have to be unchanging, uncaring and infallibly correct. It means you have to have the fierceness to say what you mean and mean what you say.

It doesn't mean we can't be in community if we disagree--in fact it means we've got to learn to love each other across enemy lines!

But community is not real if we're all pretending to be Anabaptist nice when we really disagree with each other vehemently. That's not community. That's a lie. Now there's a careful balance to loving each other while speaking truth, but we'll never get good at it if we don't first try on some Anabaptist fierce.

I know it was those peace church people who tried this fierceness on that drew me to fall in love with Stone Church and the Church of the Brethren to begin with.

So, when I stood up to perform a reading from Mary Ann Tolbert in Friday's chapel service, in which I would talk about sex, sexuality, and then call, with Mary, for the church, "all of us straight and gay, to come out of the closet about our bodies," I was a little nervous because I knew that there were quite a few in the community (and probably some in that room) whose bodies scare them and who just plainly disagree.

But, I wasn't nearly as nervous as I would have been at the beginning of the semester, when I was still trying to hide behind a mask of nicety. I could take solace in the knowledge that for us to be truly the community of believers God calls us to be, we need to be honest about where we are and what we believe.

And that disagreement is not something to sweep under the rug, but rather a great opportunity for growth, if we can find the courage to be Anabaptist fierce.

-Katie Shaw Thompson

What does it mean to be Brethren? Demonations, movements, and identities

Last weekend saw a who's who of Brethren (and Quakers and Mennonites) descend on Richmond for Bethany's Presidential Forum, "When Strangers are Angels."  I didn't participate much in the conference due to a fat work schedule and a thin wallet, but I did make it to a panel session of Brethren, Mennonites and Quakers discussing what it is that makes us Brethren, Mennonite, or Quaker: how do we know who is in and who is out?  And what do these identities mean to us?

In some ways, these questions are becoming more critical in the face of declining church membership, budget cuts, and what I would argue is the rise of post-Christianity (can I say that?).

I'll drop the incriminating details at the expense of making this paragraph vague and uninteresting, but in a recent worship service, someone did something that came across as overly enthusiastic and, frankly, a bit lame.  A former professor of mine leaned over to me and said, "Our church is dying, Nick."

Maybe I'm too young to be wringing my hands and fretting about the future of our church, but that's what I'm doing.  In my own short lifetime I've seen a visible drop in membership in my home congregation.  I've seen district and regional events draw smaller and smaller crowds, or even get scrapped altogether.  I've seen our denomination cut program after program that gives us relevance outside our own little community.  And all that has made me wonder, what's going to happen to the Church of the Brethren?


Scott Holland, one of my professors here, doesn't like the word denomination.  He prefers movement.  Within Christianity, there are Brethren and Quaker movements, each bringing their own interpretations and contributions to the broader context, and interacting with each other to weave a bigger story.

I think this idea of movement might be key to the future of our identity as Brethren.  I hate to say it, but the Church of the Brethren may not be able to survive as the institution of programs and missions that we've known it to be.  It's just a financial reality.  But when we have so long defined ourselves by the presence of a visible church, what will happen to our identity as Brethren when that visible church folds?

Institutionally, I can see us moving in a direction of increased interdependence with other groups--maybe the Mennonites or the Quakers--in a way not unlike the interdependence between Bethany Theological Seminary and the Earlham School of Religion.  Maybe the net will be even broader.  Or maybe we'll just find ourself, one day, without a church to belong to.  In any of these circumstances, how will we continue to be Brethren? 

The radical pietist tradition from which the Brethren emerged did not see the need to have a visible church, and we may be forced to learn something from that.  I, for one, am unwilling to give up being Brethren, whatever being Brethren may mean.  Even if my membership is in the United Brethren/Mennonite Church (or something like that), I'll still be very clear in saying: I am Brethren.

-Nick Miller Kauffman

Theories on life, the universe, and everything

(Re-posted from my personal blog)

I'm actually not at all a fan of the Hitchhiker's Guide "trilogy."  But it is a good phrase.

I just saw this blog post passing along a brief lesson in life from Kurt Vonnegut.

I used to--and, to some extent, still do--seek the sort of life that would make a good movie.  Walking home from high school on a rainy night, after staying late to work on newspaper layout, I'd think how good my surroundings would be for some melodramatic montage, and I'd imagine the minor-key piano music and whining vocals that would accompany such a scene.

We all do this.  (By "we all," I mean "most of us, I think.")  We expect life to reflect entertainment.  After all, entertainment reflects life, right?  But entertainment reflects only the dramatic (and, at its best, the profound) in life.  It's a skewed look that uses semi-realistic people, relationships, events and themes to create unrealistic patterns and meanings.  We see this, and we expect our life to weave itself into natural plot lines; we expect people to exhibit the consistency and predictability of a well-developed character.

But people are not consistent, and life has meaning and story only through interpretation.  Out of this cognitive dissonance, we create the drama we expect to see.

Vonnegut:  "[B]ecause we grew up surrounded by big dramatic story arcs in books and movies, we think our lives are supposed to be filled with huge ups and downs.  So people pretend there is drama where there is none."

The blog author continues: "That's why people invent fights.  That's why we're drawn to sports.  That's why we act like everything that happens to us is such a big deal.  We're trying to make our life into a fairy tale."

as we forgive our debtors

Our Father, who art in heaven,

Hallowed be thy Name.

Thy kingdom come.

Thy will be done,

On earth as it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread.

And forgive us our debts,

As we forgive our debtors.

And lead us not into temptation,

But deliver us from evil.

For thine is the kingdom,

and the power, and the glory,

forever.

Every once in a while, for lack of some other prayer or meditation, I recite the Lord's Prayer slowly and repetitively, contemplating each line and its implications. As I get into it, I realize it's complicated enough that I probably shouldn't be working on anything else until I've lived up to those sixty-four words.

The "debts and debtors" section has always intrigued me. As a Brethren, that's how I learned the prayer, and it's how it rolls off the tongue. But now and then I stop to wonder: why debts and debtors? Sure, "forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us" sounds weird and archaic (though what is "who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name" supposed to be?), but "forgive us our sins" makes some sense. Why choose something that seems to imply a monetary situation, when we simple living Brethren are supposed to be more concerned with the spiritual context?

But as a conflict unfolded recently between myself and another Brethren with whom I'd entered into a contractual arrangement, the full weight of those words became clear to me. Leave it to God to reveal best at those times we'd most like to be kept in the dark.

Forgiving a trespass--or a sin--is simple. No matter how hurtful the incident, it is almost immediately in the past. And though I'm quick to anger, I'm equally quick to calm. I know there is no undoing what has been done, and to indulge in negative feelings, while darkly satisfying, is ultimately self-defeating.

A debt, however, is much more difficult to forgive. A debt is not a one-time trespass; it is a trespass that, on its own, will continue as long as the debt exists. Feeling I was owed a debt, I was torn between conflicting desires for conciliation and restitution. After all, even if could afford to let it go, wouldn't forgiving the debt mean I was allowing myself to be a doormat? How can we give up our cloaks to those who sue for our coats without inviting our neighbors to take advantage of us? (To further complicate matters, the other party believed with equal conviction that it was I who owed him a debt.)

I struggle similarly with wrongs for which I never receive an apology. I guess that's another form of debt; I usually find it easy to grant forgiveness when someone apologizes to me, but the thought of doing so when the other party has acknowledged no wrong makes me sick to my stomach. I obsess over whether they even know they've wronged me. I wonder what will keep them from repeating the same behavior.

"Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors." The uncomfortable thing about the Message, and part of the reason we need preachers, is that it's most important when it's not easy. Jesus says, "If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? Even sinners love those who love them" (Luke 6:32). I can easily hear him saying, "If you forgive those who apologize, what credit is that to you?" The way of Jesus means looking past our pride, even when it means surrendering justice for the sake of grace. It means letting go of the need to make sure someone else "learns a lesson." It means forgiving our debtors, not just those who trespass against us once.

Ultimately, I gave up on my claim of debt. I can't really claim it was out of a conviction to forgive--it was mostly guilt and exhaustion--but maybe these thoughts played a small part. It will, at least, help me in my continuing struggle to truly forgive.

Maybe someone from Sallie Mae will read this and agree. But if not, I hope I have at least provided some food for thought.

-Nick Miller Kauffman
(My dad thought Stephen's post was written by me, so I suggest we use big obvious signatures like this.)

I SERRV-ed My Time, Now Here's My Reflection

As Fair Trade Month [October] approaches, I thought I’d take the time to reflect on my summer experience. I am a student at Manchester College and participated in a summer service project called Pathways. I was placed at SERRV in Madison, Wisconsin as a marketing intern. I was going to be living on my own in a big city where I knew no one. Little did I know how much I would actually appreciate this experience later.

Just a little history behind SERRV, for those of you who are not aware. SERRV was started in 1949 by members of the Church of the Brethren as a way to help refugees in Europe after the war. People bought products in Europe then brought them back to America and sold them in a little gift shop in New Windsor, Maryland. The store grew in popularity, and SERRV was started! SERRV remained under the church until about 10 years ago, when it split off into its own entity. Okay, so there’s more to the story, but that’s a long story cut real, real short. SERRV is a fair trade non-profit, and for those of you who are not aware of what fair trade is, it’s a way to support artisans and farmers around the world by creating a fair wage. That’s also a very short definition.

Growing up, I was aware of SERRV. My grandmother would have me look at the catalog and tell her if there was anything I would like to have from it. I always thought the products were so beautiful, even though I didn’t know the full story behind where the products were made. It wasn’t until later that I realized that SERRV was religiously founded and I fully understood the concept of fair trade. There’s just something so rewarding when buying a fair trade product; each piece of jewelry, every basket, all musical instruments are different. They are like snowflakes, none are identical and that’s something you won’t find in the mass produced crafts. Not only are the products beautiful and unique, it also helps people that you have never met. Part of the enjoyment that I find in buying SERRV products is the knowledge that I am helping someone with my need for a new wallet or craving for some chocolate. The service aspect of fair trade is important to me.

I grew up in the Church of the Brethren. I was always taught to consider others around you, including folks you didn’t know. I think that ideal has an important play in why members of the denomination decided to start the International Gift Shop back in 1949. Service has always played a part in various projects supported by members of the Church of the Brethren. Dan West founded Heifer International to help feed the poor, volunteers spend their time cleaning up and building homes through Brethren Disaster Ministries, and many service projects throughout WWII and through today’s youth and young adults at conferences.

After interning at SERRV for a summer, I find myself immensely proud in the work these people do, and I am a proud member of the denomination that founded SERRV. I like to live the line “show Christ’s love through your actions,” and that is what these people are doing and what a consumer does when they purchase a fair trade product. So the next time you buy a Divine chocolate bar, even when you don’t really need one, smile and take pride in the fact that you just helped someone attend school, buy clothes or simply, live.

As a young adult in the church today and also in the world, I try my best to get the word of fair trade out there. I’m currently studying in Northern Ireland for the semester through BCA. I see fair trade everywhere! I was told this summer by my boss that Europe has caught the fair trade bug, and I just wonder why America hasn’t. The products are so beautiful, amazing, tasty and unique. So go ahead, buy that Divine chocolate bar; the people of Ghana greatly appreciate it.

SERRV has a facebook page. Become a fan today!

Hi, my name is Julia Largent. I'm a junior at Manchester College double majoring in Peace Studies and Communication Studies. I'm a member of the Church of the Brethren. =]

Confessions of a seminarian

You might think, being at Bethany Theological Seminary, that I would feel more inspired to think about, and then write about, things relevant to this blog. I can't say that's proven to be false; I probably have at least four ideas a day that interest me enough to write about them. The problem is my ADHD (and generally spaceyness) are so bad that I forget them within minutes. Yet tonight, though none of my past ideas have come jumping back into my head, I feel strangely motivated to write. Possibly because the alternative is actually doing an assigned reading.

In the absence of having anything leaping to the front of my mind for reflection or commentary, I will reflect on my experience as a student at Bethany.

Most of you who know about this blog probably also know about Bethany, but, just in case, it's the Church of the Brethren seminary located in Richmond, Indiana, on the campus of Earlham College (a Quaker school).

I came to seminary almost expecting to hate it. One might question the wisdom of taking a path that is expected to be unpleasant, but I really didn't feel like getting a job, and no other schools seemed to stand out. Besides, the people at Bethany put up with my waiting until July to tell them I'd be starting school here in August.

One might also wonder why someone who was interested enough in Brethrenism and spirituality to start a blog on it expected to hate seminary. I'll say firmly that I have no intention of being a pastor, and I half-expected a seminary, at which most of the students are pursuing their Master of Divinity, to be too ministerial, and frankly too Christian for me.

But I love it here. After just a month, passing judgment may seem premature, but I know when I love a place. The classes I'm in for my M.A. are taught from a sufficiently academic lens that I don't feel like a... whatever I am... in a pastor's academy, but like a student at a school. And while I am surrounded predominantly by MDiv students, I have experienced that environment as enriching rather than limiting. There is an underlying sense of spirituality and religious belonging, as evidenced by our twice-weekly worship services and opening classes with a moment of silence, but I find that to be fulfilling in a way that I can't imagine more secular graduate school would be.

Far be it from me to be a recruiter. I'm too averse to thinking I know what will be good for someone else. But I would certainly recommend young Brethren folks interested in ministry, theology, or even peace studies (like me) at least give Bethany a second glance. You could, like me, startledly find yourself an amazing home where you are supported, challenged, taught, and embraced.

Also, Elizabeth Keller just preached one of the best messages I've ever heard, and if you want to hang out with her, this is the place to be.