There's a film starring Martin Sheen called 'The Way', about a father whose son died walking the first stage of the 'El Camino de Santiago', the famous pilgrimage to the grand church of Santiago de Compostela. He (the father) decides to undertake the eight hundred kilometre walk himself in memory of his son, from whom he'd been largely estranged in the years before the accident. It's a film about journeys, new friendships and vulnerability, with milestones that need to be reached along the way to avoid being left sleeping out in the cold, and various obstacles to be overcome. Through the process, the father is changed from a grumpy git with a deep suspicion of others to someone who is a bit less hostile, having had some of his rough edges knocked off.
I was thinking about this today during the Holy Communion service that marked the conclusion of the induction period of my theological training, at Queen's College in Birmingham. This week has involved an intense period of introduction to college life, and this post is an attempt to make sense of this and where life is at.
I was thinking about this today during the Holy Communion service that marked the conclusion of the induction period of my theological training, at Queen's College in Birmingham. This week has involved an intense period of introduction to college life, and this post is an attempt to make sense of this and where life is at.
This time last week, I was on a train to Birmingham, having completed my final day at work in London, validating mathematical models for a bank. The next few days were spent moving our stuff from a temporary flat (the rain and a leaky roof conspired to damage the kitchen in our actual flat) to our new home, and building our new furniture. It turns out that making flat pack stuff isn't as hard as I thought it would be! Anyway, after that was all sorted, there was a gap of a few days, during which time the reality of becoming a student minister (student presbyter, to be precise and to use the correct Methodist wording - apparently I'm very much not an ordinand yet) stubbornly refused to begin to sink in.
On the Sunday, I went to Birmingham Cathedral for the morning Eucharist, looking for something familiar and reassuring, and found the interior covered in scaffolding, which summed up how I felt at that point: being propped up, goodness knows by what, in danger of falling down otherwise. My mum had a stroke on New Year's Day which has left her unable to communicate in any meaningful way, and since then I've really struggled to pray. To be honest, it's actually given my relationship with God quite a big knock, in that while I can happily give intellectual assent to the same doctrinal framework I've had for the past few years, the emotional/relationship side of things feels deadened. Preaching regularly has kept me engaging with the Bible, but otherwise it's been hard to keep up any real kind of spiritual discipline. With all that going on, I was dreading going into an environment full of Christians, and wondering how it would pan out.
The first few days have involved getting to know the other people, made up of fellow Methodist student ministers, Anglican ordinands, international students and independent students, and being bombarded with things to take in, about the academic work we'll be doing, ministerial formation, college life and so on. It's all been rather overwhelming, due to both the sheer volume of information to process and digest, and the things people kept saying about being Christian leaders, the milestones on the way to being ready to go into stationing (in English, the first appointment), and the Church's expectations. I felt increasingly like a fraud as time went on, given the dryness of my own prayer life at the moment.
One of the things that has helped me settle a bit is the regular pattern of worship, and community meals and time in the Common Room have been useful for getting to know people. However, the big question that keeps coming back is 'why on earth am I here?' This all came to a head during the Communion service, which brought up all sorts of unexpected feelings. As some of you may know, I was kicked out of the ordination process in the Church of England when I came out as gay (this was before I went through gender reassignment, so I still identified as a lesbian), meaning I didn't the chance to explore my vocation. While I have reconciled myself to having moved denominations, sometimes this is still painful. I wonder if there's an element of sacrificial service, maybe? Being in an environment where familiar and deeply meaningful language was being used, and knowing that having ended up in Methodism means that isn't now my tradition, is tough. Being able to express this to one of the others, someone I've known for a long time, really helped but I think it will all take time to settle down and make some sort of sense.
The main thing I've found useful, though, is the cross in the grounds of the college, which I've photographed:
For me, it's a really powerful symbol of brokenness and God making us whole through breaking us down and knocking off the rough edges. College will be a journey with milestones that need to be passed in a given time period, obstacles to be overcome, much to learn and community to embrace and negotiate. The thing that's stopping me running away at the moment is the thought that, however confusing and muddled it all feels (which is very!), God is somewhere in the mess and I'm not here at Queen's through coincidence or accident. John 15:16 is the text we had during the corporate silence today, which makes the point clearly.
So, now there's a few days to recover before it all gets going. I intend to keep posting as and when I get the time, as a way of journaling I might actually do, so watch this space...
On the Sunday, I went to Birmingham Cathedral for the morning Eucharist, looking for something familiar and reassuring, and found the interior covered in scaffolding, which summed up how I felt at that point: being propped up, goodness knows by what, in danger of falling down otherwise. My mum had a stroke on New Year's Day which has left her unable to communicate in any meaningful way, and since then I've really struggled to pray. To be honest, it's actually given my relationship with God quite a big knock, in that while I can happily give intellectual assent to the same doctrinal framework I've had for the past few years, the emotional/relationship side of things feels deadened. Preaching regularly has kept me engaging with the Bible, but otherwise it's been hard to keep up any real kind of spiritual discipline. With all that going on, I was dreading going into an environment full of Christians, and wondering how it would pan out.
The first few days have involved getting to know the other people, made up of fellow Methodist student ministers, Anglican ordinands, international students and independent students, and being bombarded with things to take in, about the academic work we'll be doing, ministerial formation, college life and so on. It's all been rather overwhelming, due to both the sheer volume of information to process and digest, and the things people kept saying about being Christian leaders, the milestones on the way to being ready to go into stationing (in English, the first appointment), and the Church's expectations. I felt increasingly like a fraud as time went on, given the dryness of my own prayer life at the moment.
One of the things that has helped me settle a bit is the regular pattern of worship, and community meals and time in the Common Room have been useful for getting to know people. However, the big question that keeps coming back is 'why on earth am I here?' This all came to a head during the Communion service, which brought up all sorts of unexpected feelings. As some of you may know, I was kicked out of the ordination process in the Church of England when I came out as gay (this was before I went through gender reassignment, so I still identified as a lesbian), meaning I didn't the chance to explore my vocation. While I have reconciled myself to having moved denominations, sometimes this is still painful. I wonder if there's an element of sacrificial service, maybe? Being in an environment where familiar and deeply meaningful language was being used, and knowing that having ended up in Methodism means that isn't now my tradition, is tough. Being able to express this to one of the others, someone I've known for a long time, really helped but I think it will all take time to settle down and make some sort of sense.
The main thing I've found useful, though, is the cross in the grounds of the college, which I've photographed:
For me, it's a really powerful symbol of brokenness and God making us whole through breaking us down and knocking off the rough edges. College will be a journey with milestones that need to be passed in a given time period, obstacles to be overcome, much to learn and community to embrace and negotiate. The thing that's stopping me running away at the moment is the thought that, however confusing and muddled it all feels (which is very!), God is somewhere in the mess and I'm not here at Queen's through coincidence or accident. John 15:16 is the text we had during the corporate silence today, which makes the point clearly.
So, now there's a few days to recover before it all gets going. I intend to keep posting as and when I get the time, as a way of journaling I might actually do, so watch this space...
