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 ...