Feels like home

"You guys, we LIVE here."

We have to remind ourselves of this fact when confronted with the beauty of boats, birds, and beaches on Lake Michigan, less than a mile from home and school.

It's been our refrain since Thursday, when our orientation program sent us out into the neighborhoods surrounding the seminary to observe the homes, apartments, brownfields, train depots, grocery stores, currency exchanges, bus stops, factoryesque high schools, cardboard shelters, and high gas prices.

We are nearly all white, nearly all in our mid-twenties, nearly all "not from around here," fanning out on Chicago's south side as if we have business there. How silly we must have looked clustering up at every corner to decide which way to walk next.

Most of us appreciate the chance to explore and reflect on what we see, but mostly we're anxious to get started with our main task here, which is to study theology in preparation for ministry. Of course we've all chosen to be in this context because we want to experience a real urban neighborhood, but other things are on our minds. We need our class schedules so we can go out and get jobs so we can go out and get groceries. However, it is also good to have this time of forced togetherness...or more positively, "intentional community."

Today we had impromptu community on the 57th street beach, throwing a frisbee around and eating cookies in honor of a classmate's birthday. It feels like the most natural thing in the world to say I live here, and knowing I get to stay here for two years puts me at ease although the details of that time remain hazy.

Goodbye. Hello. Goodbye. Hello

Berkeley, summer Greek, and I parted ways to the tune of Jack Johnson, G-Love, and the Animal Liberation Orchestra at the Cal's Greek Theater. Following a sleepless night of packing suitcases, I boarded a standby flight to Sioux Falls.

South Dakota teased me with sunshine and open spaces, much needed after the bay area's fog and crammed construction patterns. In addition to quality time with family and friends, I had several of those moments that remind me how remarkable my home state is.

As my dad and I pulled up to the departure end of our regional airport, we realized that the two men unloading the car ahead of us were his golf buddies from the weekend: two of his former students who I hadn't seen in a long while. Inside the terminal, I ran in to a middle school classmate and fellow member of the Happy Hearts 4-H club, on her way back to the southwest after visiting family. In line I met up with a pastor I've gotten to know a bit in my previous work, on his way to start a new adventure as was I. We discovered we were on the same flight to Chicago and I switched seats to chat with him.

Funny it should be him. Six years ago when I had my first really challenging weeks of counseling at camp, he was pastor to several of the girls in my cabin an helped us navigate the tricky issues that had come up. I recall it as the first time I looked at my campers crying because they had to leave on Friday, remembered the chaos of Tuesday, and thought how miraculous it was that God could make something out of this week.

He was also one of the pastors and development types with whom I had one of my first "pastors are people, too" moments. Think blues bar. Think St. Louis, MO. Think oyster shots.

Today we talked about beginning seminary, about some possibilities for summer ministries, about both of our new adventures. Some of his former parishoners were on the plane, too, apparently coming to Chicago for cancer treatment. Before we all parted ways, the patient in the group asked him to pray for them, and he did, right there in O'Hare, hand on her shoulder. So this is what it looks like.

What a send-off it was for me from my life in South Dakota, from the people who have formed me thus far. A good friend was on her way to pick me up and welcome me to my new home in Hyde Park.

I can only think in English

That's why today's Greek translations were frustrating.

The Greek word "ean" can mean either "if" or "when" in English. "When the Messiah comes again..." expresses a very different level of hope from this: "If the Messiah comes again..."

The distinction made me wish I knew some language other than English well enough to think, dream, even burp in it. I would translate the Greek into that language instead, in order to get around the limits imposed by choosing an equivalent English word or phrase.

As a Lutheran, I'm trained to ask, "What does this mean?" I'm not trained to expect that the answer is ever one single thing: "Therefore I ought to thank and praise, serve and obey him..." (Luther's explanation to the first article of the Apostle's Creed).

Yet I want the Greek text of the New Testament to mean just one thing. The better questions would be, "What does the writer mean?" or "What does God mean to say through this?" The best I can hope for is to find English-thinking word or phrase that convey the same sense as the Greek might have, not a literal, word-for-word, formulaic translations. It might just take a lifetime!

For better or worse, my reputation precedes me

I think I'm moved in to my apartment ... although from this distance, and with my parents not answering their cell phones, it's hard to know whether they have successfully shephereded my several dozen boxes, baskets, crates, and odd-shaped items up those three flights of stairs. If it's done, I suspect it wasn't done alone, thanks to a friend on the ground who called a few other friends who agreed to lend a hand. If it's not, well, I'm noting the time for use in my "Parents of the Year" nomination.

People tell me the fun thing about moving to a new place and being introduced to a whole new crew is that you get to decide what parts of yourself to bring along and carefully unpack. So from this California kitchen table, I am fretting over what my new neighbors might have already concluded about me based on my packing job, my possessions, and my progenitors. Were all those half-filled journals safely stowed, or are pages of secret rants blowing around Hyde Park? Which sweaters sit at the top of the crate, the stylish ones or I-could-teach-high-school-in-this ones? Which parent do I most resemble these days?

Looking over some course possibilities earlier today, I kept thinking that no matter what I wind up with, it will be an interesting semester. I guess I just need something to worry about!

Now I know my A-B-Cs

Augustana, Berkeley, and Chicago, that is.

It's the last weekend I will spend in Berkeley, California, before moving to Chicago to launch into life as a full-time, full-fledged seminarian. This comes after seven years at Augustana College (both as student and staff) a summer session at Luther Seminary, eight weeks of intensive Greek at Pacific Lutheran Seminary, and lots of encouragement by countless people.

This blog is for you. Many of you have no idea what seminary might be like; some of you have a good idea what seminary at the Minnesotan "mothership" is like and might appreciate another view. I am grateful for all of you and hope this turns out to be a good way of staying connected and keeping me mindful of the goal I'm working toward.

I also hope this blog turns out to be useful to people who are considering whether seminary and ministry are for them. I expect it to be a wonderful and challenging experience, and I'll do my best to help you get a sense of it by sharing some stories from my coursework, the seminary community, and the city of Chicago.

For now, however, the "alpha, beta, chi"s call my name.