Memories to build on

I know what you've been saying about me. "Aww, boo-hoo. The Packers lost, and now he doesn't blog anymore." But, although the NFC Championship game was nothing to blog about, it was the death of my computer's hard drive (yes, again) a day later that really knocked me off the blogwagon. And the subsequent study of Paul's letters in my J-Term course, the writing of several articles for the seminary's Communication Office, the shaving of my beard, the preaching of a sermon at my Teaching Parish and a delightful post-preaching fling with the flu all contributed to my e-absence. So, really, it wasn't about the Packers.

Now, if I really wanted to talk about what's on my mind, I'd be writing about the season premiere of "Lost" that airs tomorrow, but a reader recently rebuked me for not writing enough about what's happening at seminary. With that in mind, I will indeed write about what's been happening on campus—more specifically, what's been happening on campus for the last 30 years.

One day earlier this month while I was at work in Northwestern Hall, my parents, Sandie and Don (I call them Mom and Dad), stopped by. The picture of them above was taken in front of the Ping-Pong Room. What's that you say? "There's not a Ping-Pong Room in Northwestern Hall"? Well, there was when my mom and dad went to seminary.

Thirty years ago, my folks were students at Northwestern Lutheran Theological Seminary, a Lutheran Church in America facility that was wisely built kitty-corner from Luther Theological Seminary, an institution of the American Lutheran Church. In those days, Luther and Northwestern were in the early stages of merging into what would become Luther-Northwestern Theological Seminary and eventually, after an auspicious eight-syllable surgery, Luther Seminary. The two Lutheran churches would also merge in 1988 into the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America.

From the moment I first set foot on campus for a tour two years ago, Northwestern Hall has had a special place in my heart. I have often imagined younger versions of my mom, then studying Christian Education, and my dad, then a pastor-in-training, walking the same hallways, sitting in the same classrooms, studying in the same alcoves or worshiping in the same Chapel of the Cross. Their visit this month was my first chance to actually walk through the building with them.

Now, any student who spent several years at a seminary is bound to have memories of the building, but my dad has an especially close bond with Northwestern Hall. He was also a janitor there. His thorough explanation of how the Northwestern auditorium used to be laid out as a theater was just the beginning. "These classroom floors were a nightmare to clean back when they weren't carpeted." "That was Lloyd Svendsbye's office as president, too—I vacuumed it many times." "There's the door to the incinerator where we actually brought the garbage." "There's the bathroom where I had to change the paper towels when they called me out of class on the day that the Minneapolis bishop visited."

Along the way, my folks made sense of a number of Northwestern's oddities. The book depository slot? That's where the library was. The old mailboxes lurking inconspicuously behind newer furnishings? Students actually used to use those. Those goofy coat racks? They were there in the '70s—and so was at least some of the furniture in the study alcoves.

Of course, there was at least as much conversation about the people who were there with my parents as there was about the building itself. My dad pointed out the room where Walter, the German custodian whom he considered as important as anyone in his theological education, lived with his wife (the space is now part of the Communication Office). He also recalled the places where Walter, who was too stubborn to learn that my dad's name was Don and not Dan, made some of his most uproariously snarky comments. And he pointed out the classroom in which he had his foundational course with Jim Nestingen, recently retired professor of Church History. My mom, one of few female students at the time, shared how some of her male classmates made her a personalized paddle for the Ping-Pong Room. One of the guys actually put a goldfish in the chapel's baptismal font on a dare, she told me.

The most unforgettable moment of the tour came when I asked my folks if the metal apparatuses attached to the overhangs above the Northwestern commons were ever used for anything. Those, my dad said, were where the seminary placed the unique seasonal banners—Walter called them "the holy flags"—when they weren't in use in the Chapel of the Cross. (To my parents' surprise, they're still on display in the chapel.) In fact, my dad began to explain with a laugh, a classmate once took his bed sheet that was decorated with National Football League teams, wrapped it around one of the banners and made a special banner for the Super Bowl. The administration, as with the goldfish incident, was not amused.

There was one special revelation that eclipsed that, however. My parents explained that the room that's now the main Seminary Relations office used to be the Northwestern cafeteria. That, they told me, is where my parents met. My mom was eating dinner, and my dad was cleaning the floor. At least that's how my mom remembered it. My dad said they had actually met at a party before that. With the male seminarians so outnumbering the women in those days, it's understandable that my mom wouldn't have noticed him—until she realized he was a happenin' janitor, of course.

What a great time it was with Mom and Dan. And what a great place. So many memories packed into a relatively small building. At least so many of my parents' memories. Come to think of it, I can't think of all that many especially unforgettable experiences that I have had in the place. Maybe I should do something to change that. Hmm ... you know, even though it wasn't the Packers' banner year, it is Super Bowl season ...

The 'M' Words

I caught myself doing it again on Friday. I was driving home from school through the dark streets of St. Paul thinking about Money. (Note: Ringing in the weekend by listing all the reasons you don't have enough, haven't saved enough, spend too much and put off scary expenses is a real bummer.)

I didn't realize that my mind was racing into Debbie-Downerville until I turned east onto Selby Avenue, and saw it shining brightly in the distance. The red "1st" blinked on and off atop the First National Bank, reading my mind. Sometimes Money slips into first place and convinces me to live deeply in the Myth of Scarcity.

Can you tell I am doing a Stewardship independent study this January term?

I pulled my car over where I could still see the beacon flashing and took a timeout. I know that we live in a culture of consumerism and convince ourselves that spending is good for the economy and that worrying about not having enough can sometimes be seen as responsible or entirely normal and trendy. I know this because we have TV shows like Deal or No Deal that illustrate the truth: that things of this world will never be enough. People walk onto that stage looking for a little cash to change their lives or to get back on track. They seem nice enough and remind us of the dreams in our own hearts and wallets.

But twenty minutes later, $125,000 isn't enough. No Deal! No Deal! It's not enough because the possibility of More still exists, however slim. I've felt this way when scholarship money or financial aid checks come in. I can fix my car! I can buy new glasses! I can pay my tuition or health insurance! I can splurge on that yummy 7 layer dip at Kowalskis today! Life is good...

Until I think of something else I want or need. Until I see someone else thriving in ways I want to thrive. It lives in all of us, this Myth of Scarcity, and beams out over my city in flashes of red.

I am passionate about the Gospel of Jesus Christ because it holds Promises beyond affluence and status, healthy IRAs and Coach purses. Jesus says I AM true water. I AM true bread. I AM the one thing that can fill you up without letting you down or requiring an upgrade. (Can you tell my other January Term class is the Gospel of John? He loves the I AMs!) I sat in my cold car on the dark street and thought about the Gospel of Abundance that the world so desperately needs to hear. I thought about my life, rich in friendships, family, love, education, health and faith.

It can be scary to talk about Money in church, but Jesus spoke about wealth, poverty and charity more often than anything we choose to bicker about. Money and More will continue to thrive with capital letters in our lives if we tuck Stewardship away as a one-Sunday sermon and campaign each year. Money and More will continue to haunt us if we fear Money talk and only speak about time and talents. Money and More will convince us that scarcity is Lord unless we start understanding Stewardship as Discipleship.

I will never have enough if I live as a servant to that blinking sign and trust in Money and More as though they are mine. God has entrusted us with this planet, our skills, our love, our words, our time and our resources making us each unique reflections of God's grace and abundance. May we give and share and love and trust in the Gospel of Jesus Christ, which fills us up with everything we never knew we needed. Deal, Howie.


Fun Fact: The bible speaks of 'tithe': a tenth of what is earned as a baseline for charitable giving to the church. This is meant to be the first fruits - before basic expenses and personal needs and wants as a symbol of trust in God to provide abundantly. (Weird. The bible is being counter cultural...again.)

Not-so-fun fact: The average ELCA parishioner gives less than 2%.

Great ways to meet other singles and look sensitive doing it Volume IV, or, How I learned to not leave seminary on internship being single.

Unfortunately, as a married dude with ninos, I no longer have certain pleasures: nights to myself where I may or may not elect to watch Elmo videos, early mornings where I simply refuse to get up and rather sleep till noon, the triple (three days with the same pair of scivvies [sp?]), and the uninterrupted melancholy of listening to Postal Service wondering if "she" is out there somewhere. Some single folks at seminary, however, desire to be coupled up prior to internship or at least first call for a variety of reasons. Some don't want old ladies offering up their nephews as dating fodder while they are serving their first call. Others know marriage can be a helpful way to alleviate Visions and Expectations pressure on singles. Still more have garnered the keen insight that couplage is the key to happiness and personal fulfillment.

Thanks to a grant from Thrivent, the seminary has developed a program with the state of Minnesota and the city of St. Paul. It's called the Minnesota Children's Museum. It's a great place where kids can learn while they play. It's also the place where sensitive, caring, supportive, though financially less-than-desirable seminarians can meet single moms and dads and make a love connection. Through the genius of sociological engineering and a daring partnership of church and state, the play edifice gives off the vibe of educational learning for tots and tweens even as its true purpose of thirty-something-meat-market hums along at full steam. No other Twin Cities hook-up locale offers the caliber of amenities MCM boasts: the pillow lined Habitot; the nook-and-cranny filled, exotic vacation vibe of Earth World; not to mention the journey back into one's childhood that is the current Sesame Street exhibit (I saw a couple couples making out in the Sesame Street theater just today while the Count counted David Robinson's consecutive dribbles on the 6 foot surround sound screen). No, not the Science Museum of Minnesota, not the Augsburg Fortress Publishing offices, not even the many offices of Thrivent Financial for Lutherans located throughout the Twin Cities can boast the successful coupling rate that MCM announces year after year.

So if you're coming to Luther as a single person, take courage...and get a year long pass. Look how happy the couples below are, pictured vacationing together in Paris. All but one are seminarian love matches made possible by MCM.

The First Sunday in the Season of DRAFT

Someone recently commented on this blog asking about the draft (a.k.a. assignment) and the call process that MDiv seniors face. As the token senior writer on this blog, I suppose I’m somewhat equipped to share what the assignment process is all about.

I will shamelessly admit that I don’t totally understand assignment. Chaos and confusion are all part of the fun on campus as seniors overanalyze and pray fervently about the future. The diaspora involves a lot of paperwork and bits of comprehension clouded by legendary horror stories about where former students have been sent or who fell through the cracks of the system.

In truth, the process is only as scary as we make it. First call is a crap shoot, but that crap can become the necessary fertilizer for a future in ministry if we trust God, buck up and remember that we’re called to serve the whole church. If you ask your professors or pastors where they served, you are likely to hear about adventures and random detours that made them who they are today.

I applied for a restriction to the Minneapolis and St. Paul Area Synods because my fiancé needs to finish his Masters program at the University of Minnesota before we leave the Twin Cities. Official restrictions to the cities are rare because they use up draft picks that also include the Dakotas and elsewhere in Minnesota. My request was not granted, along with a majority of applicants. We were given a few days to decide whether we wanted to go into the regular assignment process anyway, but few changed their minds. (Lifting my request for a restriction would likely mean a long distance or commuter marriage and that is not an option I’m willing to entertain. I know myself and I wouldn’t be truly serving a congregation or my marriage if I were constantly driving back and forth between the two – especially when I would be a beginner at both. No thanks, early burnout.)

In February the bishops will meet to draft students to each geographical region and my classmates will know more about where they are headed. Later this spring they will receive word about their new home synod and meet the bishop. While part of me grieves that I will not be able to take part in these rites and rituals of senior year, I’m excited for my classmates and those who will be pastors in mere months.

Spring semester without a restriction and the assignment process will be strange. God has prepared me with enthusiasm and passion for ordained ministry and waiting seems impossible. Still, I can smell the useful fertilizer in this crappy situation. I entered seminary with an outer call – other people telling me about my gifts and nudging me to ministry. On internship my outer call found harmony with an inner call that embraced the pastoral identity and God’s plan for my vocation. Now my inner call has a chance to flex her muscles, reminding me daily that I am absolutely called to pastoral ministry. Whether I’m ordained now or later and serve here or there, I sincerely trust that God has good things in store for those of us prayerfully opening synodical envelopes of destiny this spring.

I’m grieving and growing, but soon I’ll grow tired of my own dramatic response and start looking around. This process is not about me, but the hundreds of churches nationwide in need of pastors. I refuse to be manipulative or entirely desperate for a call because I want serve where I’m truly needed and useful, not where I can convince someone to take me in. I’m not disappointed because I want to secure a call in the Twin Cities, but because I can’t wait to be a pastor. That passion is a blessing in itself. Today I don’t feel like I have much freedom or many options, but there is plenty of time to start seeing things differently. The Holy Spirit will be blowing through my life and call this spring regardless of assignment.

I've had a week to reflect since my own envelope of destiny, so don't be fooled by the rose colored glasses I'm wearing. I’m trying to listen. I’m trying to be patient. But if you tell me to listen and be patient, I might explode. :)

The Academic Year Half-Time Show: Mid-Winter Convo

I was proud to be a student here last week during Luther Seminary's Mid-Winter Convocation. Hundreds of visitors - pastors, lay leaders, teachers, scholars and hardcore Lutherans - came to campus for three days of worship, speakers and workshops. The title of this event was Engaging Scripture in a Lutheran Key with Heart, Mind and Spirit. Students were welcome to drift in and out of this event free of cost (right?) and I took advantage of some of the activities.

January terms are a strange and wonderful change of pace during the school year. Some students are taking classes, some are taking a sanity sabbath and others are off on adventures or home with their families. Campus has a different feel and it was nice to be flooded with so many guests excited to learn.

As I made my way through the handsome sea of Norwegian ski sweaters, I would hear visitors raving about the presenters or the seminary at large. It was wonderful to see the chapel filled to the brim with people eager for the same learning I receive daily. I felt blessed to be a student with a mid-winter reminder that this time as a seminarian seedling is precious and blessed.

See video of the keynote speakers and chapel services.

Kudos to the Communications office for this great picture of Dr. Rolf Jacobson saying something undoubtedly important and probably funny. I didn't ask for permission to use it, but I found it on the website and I'm hoping this shout out will keep them from pressing charges.

The title game in Titletown!

I suppose that since I shared my excitement about the "Matlock" DVD release, I should at least mention how happy I am about my Green Bay Packers hosting the NFC Championship game next Sunday.

Saturday's snowy spectacular against the Seattle Seahawks—which I watched while shuttling in and out of the apartment to grill brats for Tracy, my Luther Seminary buddy, Chris, and me—was one of the greatest Packers games I've ever seen. (I would thank God for the unexpected escalation in snowfall at Lambeau Field, which coincided suspiciously with the Packers' remarkable comeback-turned-domination from a 14-0 deficit, but that would surely be bad theology.) And the beautiful collapse of the Dallas Cowboys just moments ago, which will bring the NFC title game to Green Bay, is the icing on the cake.

So, on behalf of the three Life at Luther bloggers who are Packers fans, congratulations to my man, Brett Favre, and the rest of the guys in the green and gold. (I would have included a photo of Favre throwing a snowball at wide receiver Donald Driver during Saturday's game, but I don't have the rights to such a photo, so I recreated the moment with my Packers toys.) Good luck against those New York Giants.

Also, congratulations to my hometown of Green Bay on the opportunity to host the NFC championship and the big-time boost to commerce that it will bring.

Finally, my heartfelt thanks go out to my birthplace of Burlington, Wis., for raising Cowboys quarterback Tony Romo in a manner that would give him the bright idea of preparing for today's game in Dallas by vacationing in Mexico with his latest high-profile girlfriend, Jessica Simpson, on bye weekend. Hooray for Burlington!

And go, Pack, go!

Matlock! Matlock!

It usually takes the passing of at least several months in a given year before you can figure out what event will define that year most. Well, folks, it only took eight days to figure out what that event will be for 2008. That's because, just in case you live in a cave and haven't heard, "Matlock" is coming to DVD on April 8.

To the right, you'll see a photo of Tracy and me just moments after I made my daily check of headlines from TVShowsOnDVD.com, gasped, and said, "Tracy, look!" There it was—the news we have awaited for years: "From NBC to ABC to CBS ... Now Matlock comes to DVD!"

At this point, you're probably confused. Surely this is one of those tongue-in-cheek blog entries that Brian has popularized here at "Life at Luther." No, I'm serious. We are really excited about this. Well, Tracy is. I'm mostly excited for her. I'll explain.

When Tracy and I met almost six years ago, our first shared TV interest was "The X-Files," which, interestingly enough, was the first TV show to be released on DVD in season sets. Within a few months since we began dating, I learned that Tracy really liked another show about heroes in suits who solve mysteries. This show, however, tended to be enjoyed by an older audience. I was familiar with it because my Grandpa Don loved to watch it, and Grandpa Abe on "The Simpsons" did, too.

Tracy, it seemed, really had a thing for Ben Matlock, the feisty, banjo-picking, hot-dog-loving Georgian defense attorney played by the legendary Andy Griffith from 1986 to 1995. As Tracy would later tell the public in a brave article ("Case solved—Matlock's still No. 1") published in our final issue of the student newspaper at the University of Wisconsin-Green Bay, it began one day during the summer after her junior year of high school. Rather than watch soap operas while eating her bowl of SpaghettiO's, she decided to give the syndicated senior-sleuth series a try. And amid the allure of the courtroom drama, Tracy found herself guilty—guilty of loving "Matlock."

As the years passed, the demand from the TV-loving public caused countless shows, past and present, to be released on DVD. And, even as almost all her other favorite shows, from "Full House" to "Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman," eventually had their DVD-Day, Tracy still had her heart set on her knight in gray polyester. "Why isn't 'Matlock' coming out?" she would ask. I didn't want to tell her that it was because the show was mostly enjoyed by old people, and old people don't buy many DVD sets.

I would always keep my eyes peeled on the TV-on-DVD news site, and my Grandpa Don in the meantime would record episodes from the Hallmark Channel for her, but it seemed like the day would never come. And we started to move on. Last year, I even changed Tracy's ring tone on my cell phone from the brassy "Matlock" theme to the Milwaukee Brewers' 1980s jingle. Yet Tracy never gave up hope—just last night, I heard her tell her friend, Pam, over the phone how she longed for Ben Matlock's home-video parousia. (Well, she didn't use the word parousia. And I probably shouldn't have, either. That was the tackiest, most awful reference that a seminarian could ever make. I'm sorry.)

And now we have a date. April 8. Season 1 is finally coming. It's just a little pointless now that, even on our meager Basic 1 cable package, we have no fewer than three TV stations that air "Matlock" daily. What's the point of owning a show on DVD when you can already watch it three times a day? Well, when you love so greatly someone who loves that show so greatly, reason gets ... well, out of order.

How to Grocery Shop (According to My 22 Year Old Brother)

I told Gabe that I was thinking about sharing his 'skills' with all of you. He said, and I quote, "Go ahead. The world should know how it's done."

1. Go to the grocery store in the late afternoon when you're really hungry.
2. Never use a list. That would be cheating and too efficient.
3. Display total confidence in the produce section, but stop and admit before moving on into the aisles, deli, dairy and bakery: "Ooh. This is the part where I get really overwhelmed."
4. Buy anything that has a 4 for $10 deal.
   
5. Buy more frozen foods than you have room for in your freezer.
6. Buy skim milk to drink and 2% for everything else. ("A gallon of skim just goes down so easy and lets my food fill me up.")
7. Staples (frozen pizzas, frozen bagged dinners, pre-packaged oatmeal) should be stockpiled like they're going out of style.
8. Stand in the candy aisle staring awkwardly at the shelves until your sister catches you and has a flashback to when you were little and had to wear a Velcro harness attached to Mom in the grocery store.
9. Spend most of your time and money on meat and dairy.
10. Be surprised when your total at the register is your sister's monthly grocery budget.

He had me in stitches for the full hour we shopped. I thought I'd share his wisdom with you. And if you see an overwhelmed young man with a cart full of RC Cola and 4 of everything, be sure to tell him that his ten easy rules changed your life.

Goodbye

The Hellos have calmed down a bit and 2008 has introduced a few Goodbyes.

When my parents told me they were selling our cabin and buying a new place this month, I wanted to make time for a proper Goodbye and a trip down memory lane.

2008 brings me closer to a wild summer, filled with change. While so many things about this year fill me with excitement and energy, there is grief and loss in every transition. I happen to be running for Miss Transition 2008.

In June I’ll change my name. I’ll move and change my address. I’ll get married. I’ll cease my student status for the first time and graduate. I’ll find a job. I might be a pastor. I’ve been a transient nomad for all of my adult life, moving often and traveling the world. Still, this summer takes the cake for the most change I’ll encounter at once and this ship needs an anchor.

I packed Matt’s car for a weekend up north in the quiet of the cabin and winter. I left my keys with my brother in the city in case there was a snow emergency and drove toward a Goodbye and a weekend to think about the things to come.

By ten thirty last night we could be found with a small flashlight combing the area a spare key has been hiding for the past eleven years. I'd left my cabin key back in the cities with my car key and we were out of luck finding the misplaced spare. Oops. This was not the Goodbye I’d envisioned.

There are plenty of familiar and sacred places in my life, but none that span so many years, see me so often and know so many moods and characters in my story. Goodbye was important considering the other Goodbyes and Hellos on their way this year.

We walked down to the lake where my eyes filled with tears and I looked around at a familiar night. There was the floating dock my brother built two years ago and the trees that supported a hammock full of memories. I walked in circles through the snow telling myself stories out loud and wishing for a key to appear in my palm.

It was almost an hour before I realized I was cold and tired from trying to squeeze a weekend of Goodbyes into a dark night by the lake. I turned to the water and whispered a prayer that the breeze picked up and carried into the west and over the ice.

Today I realize that I sounded like a drippy Lifetime movie when I wandered around the shoreline retelling the children’s story Goodnight, Moon.

Goodnight, Lake.
Goodnight, Fish.
Goodnight, Tree.
Goodnight, Fire Pit.
Goodnight, Dock.
Goodnight, House.

With Goodbyes come tears, but also Hellos. Before we climbed back in the car for another long drive, I looked up at the stars. They were bright and perfect and follow me everywhere I go, even into a crazy and wonderfully strange June. Hours later, we were back in the city and I looked up to find them faithfully above. Their watch was clouded by Minneapolis and St. Paul, but I could make them out and I slept soundly knowing they were still with me.

Hello

Christmas break was full of Hellos.

Family and friends came into town for the holidays. My youngest brother introduced me to his girlfriend and my cousin brought her boyfriend to town for a whirlwind tour of her St. Paul life. Matt and I celebrated with both of our families, learning the shared Christmas dance and more about each other’s traditions. Most of vacation was spent meeting and greeting, eating and laughing, hugging and telling people that I love them.

In the chaos of the Christmas season, I found myself in total silence one late afternoon last week. I was saying hello to my goddaughter’s new sister while her family slept and rested from the new excitement and addition to their home. While everyone retreated to their rooms for a nap or went out for a few errands, Baby Advent cuddled with me on the couch.

She nestled her face right into my neck and lapsed quickly into a deep sleep that left me both alone and in total community with her. I sat reclined in front of their large picture window watching the light snow fall and light fade, enjoying a Hello and a little slice of the peace we’d been praying for all season.

When my phone buzzed and I answered softly, I heard a friend in Boston deep in the whirlwind of mall noise and music. “I’ll call you back later,” I whispered. “We’re napping.” While I didn’t fall asleep, the smell of newborn infant and the faint rising and falling of her chest on mine felt like a dream away from everything outside the window.

Hello, I thought. It’s nice to finally meet you.