Last night we welcomed a guest speaker in our Theology, Ecumenism & Pluralism class, the vice president of an international aid organization. He is Dutch and Indonesian, and in a lilting accent, finishing his introduction, he said, “That’s some of what I do. But if you ask my kids, they’ll say I look at email and drink coffee all day. Which is also true.”
Back in the olden days when I worked at a local church, my young son hated for me to leave at bedtime for evening meetings. “But I don’t even know what a meeting is! I just think about grownups sitting around a table and drinking coffee, talk-talk-talking!” Accurate.
A year into this pandemic, I do not miss meetings, but I do miss the table. Zoom gatherings are tiresome, and I would love to have met all my classmates in person. They are the best part of this finishing-the-master’s-degree project so far. Because of plague, there can be no shooting of shit before and after class, no beer, no coffee, no chats on the way to the bus stop or parking lot. Wouldn’t you want to know more about these people?:
- A Korean nun who sits straight and tall wrapped in a pale blue shawl, her Zoom background a nighttime view of the Vatican. She apologizes for her poor English, yet is thoroughly engaging, thoughtful, and articulate.
- A young woman who was raised in a Pentecostal church and is now seeking ordination with the UCC. She has a master’s in philosophy and studied Russian literature as an undergrad, identifies as queer, and can use words like “ontological” and “Hegelian” in casual conversation, absolutely unironically.
- An older Carmelite, a woman who has a PhD in something or other, and WOW does she have an orderly mind. I overheard her talking with another student during a break, and evidently she keeps track of her notes and our readings in an Excel document. (!!!) So when she occasionally wears her hair in long silver braids with a kerchief, which was a popular look in the 1970s–I find that endearing somehow. As if hard-core brainiacs shouldn’t be allowed to look like our babysitters of yore.
They are all brilliant. I watch and listen, wondering if it might not be time to rename this blog. For accuracy. And to avoid false advertising.
My pal Wayne recently confessed in an email, “I honestly don’t understand why you would want to go back to school and study theology. Quick! What’s the difference between exegesis and hermeneutics?”
Good question. I just keep thinking of little Jeremiah. One summer when the boys were small, probably not long after my E complained about meetings and talking and coffee, several of us parents were sitting in the sunshine while the children played. Jeremiah had just gotten a fancy watch for his birthday.
“Wanna see my watch?”
Of course we did.
“Nice!”
“Hey, what time is it, buddy?”
He studied his wrist, then looked up, grinned, and cheerfully said, “No idea!” And then he scampered off.
He’s a firefighter now, and presumably knows how to tell time. Perhaps one day I’ll drop “hermeneutics” into casual conversation and keep a straight face while I’m at it. In our last paper, which was all bread and condiment and baloney, I actually wrote “in-breaking of the spirit,” in a bold and fruitless attempt to seem like I knew what I was talking about. I felt dirty.
Sure, I’ve enjoyed this experiment. But it’s been a lot, all those infinity pages of reading each week. And I’m anxious to write agin, my own stuff, less baloney sandwich.
The violas and pansies and daffodils are blooming, and the plum blossoms will burst open any minute. The forget-me-nots, too. The new arbor and fence are up in the back garden, and it’s still light out at dinnertime. Just one class session left, and one paper, “A Coherent Theology of Unity for 2021”—No idea!—and then I can scamper into the garden.
I can’t wait.