seminary.

The house is quiet.

In the next room, my duplex-mate is on the phone with wedding vendors. There’s someone staying with us right now, a girl from my Life Group. Her stuff is all over the living room.

I had lunch with a friend today—the sarcastic guy of the town square conversation I wrote about last week. We sat in the restaurant, across the table from one another, and face to face, he told me about how he feels that he is more valuable than others because of his intelligence. I still don’t know exactly what that means. He was too busy watching the cooking show behind my head to define “valuable”.

He told me that he felt as though I have multiple personality disorder because sometimes I pretend to be humble, and other times, just come across as narcissistic—who I really am. I suggested that since I strive to be humble, but often miss the mark, maybe what he’s seeing is my attempt to grow in humility. He said he didn’t think that humility was a positive goal. He fell in with a Christian “cult” a few years back, and told me that he was once the “most humble person you’d ever meet.” I replied that if you self-designate such a title, it’s probably not true. He thinks humility means pretending like you don’t have skills or worth. I think it means knowing that your skills and worth don’t make you more or less than others in the love of God.

I was sad when I left the restaurant. I was already up on North Glenstone, so, to cheer myself up, I went to AGTS to peruse the books. I’ll tell you a secret. I’m tired enough not to care what people think. I want to go to seminary. I have for a couple of years. But now, I have less than a year to decide what to do next. Seminary is back on the table.

I can’t go, though. I always feel like seminary is one of those things that should have a definite call. Even on the academic end. I know that I’d never be called into practical ministry. I am way not good enough for that. I was thinking about that last week when a pastor pushed the new believer ministries volunteer opportunities. I imagined myself with a new believer. “Are you sure? I mean, are you really, really sure? Because this is big. Like, really, really big…” Yeah, they don’t want me within 50 feet of a new believer. Unless that person is a skeptic. In which case, my particular skill set (doubt, skepticism, an impressive collection of John Shelby Spong lit) is in order.

But even on the academic end, I feel there’s something hallowed about seminary. Like I need permission. Maybe a sort of second coming, where God comes down and, identifying me by name and social security number, gives me a paper copy of the seminary application. Preferably with a “pre-acceptance” stamp on it. In gold, glitter, star dust.

I felt silly even asking for the AGTS view book. Not only seminary, but an Assemblies of God seminary. I thought I heard Jesus for a second, coughing incredulously and saying, “Excuse me?” Probably not, right? Yeah, no. Jesus doesn’t cough.

Thinking about what happens after Springfield has made me think about what’s happening in Springfield. How God is using this guy to show me the logical end of my own arrogance. How He’s dangling me in loneliness to push me past my prejudices. And how hard it’s going to be, despite my frustrations, to walk out of the sanctuary at JRA for the last time.

I’m thankful when things hurt—it’s then I know I’ve loved.