Sometimes I feel a little inadequate,
to say the least. Sitting on this board has been a stretch for me as
I wrap my mind around board governance, financial documents and
uncertain futures for small schools of theological education. I've
learned what a board does and doesn't do and I'm getting better at
asking good questions.
Board fellowship is also part of the
gig; we're supposed to bond. We spend time at social hour before
dinner, take meals together and stay in the same hotel. I'm slowly
getting to know board members, hearing their stories, sharing some of
mine and making connections with people who are amazing church men
and women but who did not, at first, feel like my peers.
The longer I serve on this board,
though, the more comfortable and connected I feel. I hope to make a
positive impact. I'm getting there and I try to contribute as best I
can.
What the other board members may not
know, though, is that sitting on this board may be giving me more
than I can ever offer to them. For me, it's as much a board of
redemption as a board of directors.
I came to this seminary on the Master
of Divinity track in the fall of 2001. I left behind my family and
friends in Iowa and took a chance on moving far away. My college
boyfriend was moving to California, too, and I'd hoped we'd share a
great adventure, get married and live happily ever after. About 10
days after I arrived in Berkeley, planes crashed into the World Trade
Center in New York City. The turmoil in our nation mirrored the
turmoil in my own heart as I tried to adjust to my new surroundings.
It was hard. Being in seminary is
unsettling and my adjustment was particularly tough. I was
desperately homesick for family and friends back home and I struggled
to connect with other students. I felt like I was too conservative
for Berkeley and I couldn't find the right place to share my
troubles.
The seminary had problems, too. Though
I didn't know for sure what was happening at the board level, rumors
swirled that the board wanted to sell our property and move the
school. My fellow students and I wondered if the place would still be
around to grant us a diploma. We knew money was tight and staff and
faculty were overworked. We all were there despite the fact that
scholarships were few and cost of living was high. I was sinking
deeply into debt. When I went to the financial aid office each year
to sign loan papers, I couldn't even look at the total I owed. I
relied too much on credit cards, debt that would haunt me for years
to come.
There were other problems at the
seminary. One professor was gravely ill and it negatively affected
our learning. I tried to confide in a member of the campus pastoral
care team about my doubts about the seminary and she responded by
venting about her own unhappiness there. Thankfully, both professor
and staff member are long gone from the school. There were other
staff and faculty transitions, too. Meanwhile, I sent off an
application to another seminary so I could transfer.
Then, my boyfriend broke up with me,
casting me into despair. A few months later, the seminary president,
beloved by us all, died suddenly of a blood clot in the lungs. There
was so much sorrow; I felt inconsolable. It seemed like absolutely
everything was falling apart. My time in seminary was easily the
spiritually lowest part of my life.
Though I had been accepted at another
seminary, for some reason, I decided to stay. Perhaps the effort to
leave was too much to bear in my miserable state. I decided to go on
internship and was assigned to Alaska. The rest, of course, is
history. I had a great internship, fell in love with Alaska, returned
there for first call and met and married the real love of my
life, Erik.
About three years ago, the president of
the seminary called to ask if I'd consider being on the board. They
needed someone from Alaska and I think they needed an ordained
person. I hesitated, then had a long talk with a clergywoman from
California who was going off the board. I told her some of my
experiences and fears. She told me things were different. The
seminary had undergone major changes with the new president. The
seminary budget was in the black. Staff and faculty changes were
positive and functional. The mood around campus was positive and
hopeful.
So though I wanted to say no, I said
yes. I nearly wept after the first board meeting. Or maybe I did. It
was so functional! Things had changed in the four short years since I
left. Things were very good. The spirit of forward-thinking and
optimism was unmistakable. While I knew the place well, in some ways
I didn't even recognize it.
For the second time in my life, I made
a commitment to the seminary and I'm slowly growing into my new role.
Now, things are in flux again, as our seminary considers a merger
with a Lutheran undergraduate school in Southern California. The
seminary would still be in Berkeley, but some things would, of
course, change.
But I think some things will stay the
same. There will always be challenges of living in a small Christian
community, full of Christians who sometimes miss the mark. But the
more time I spend here, the more I think that the heart of the
seminary will always remain. It's a seminary of the west. It's a
seminary in a secular world that still proclaims the heart of the
gospel. It's a seminary that is still preparing leaders who can be
creative and collaborative enough to face the changes in our church
and world.
So, I'm sticking with my seminary. I'm
sticking with a place that reminds me that God can bring new life
from any situation. I'm sticking with the board, my board of
redemption.
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