Midway Through the Beginning

We've reached Reading Week, the midpoint of the Fall 2020 semester. The middle of the very beginning, as it is. If seminary were a marathon, this would be mile 1.6. Hardly breaking a sweat.

The reality is that the sweat is pouring off this now 57-year-old seminarian's body, and my mind regularly tells me I won't make it to May 2024. Aiming to be a pastor when I should be starting to anticipate retirement is foolhardy. Taking master's classes online, two hours ahead of my classmates, is maddening. Attending seminary while a pandemic rages around us is preposterous. Doing all three is laughable, but it is where God called me to be. So, there we are. Milepoint 1.6. Gulping water and an energy gel as I repeat my mantra: "You can do this -- just keep moving."

The truth is, other than the time zone, there is no big difference. The pandemic has every first-year seminarian taking classes online. Honestly, living at home has its advantages over moving to a new place, being surrounded by new faces. Not everyone has her spouse beside her, her home congregation worshiping with her, getting preaching experience in front of a friendly audience, a BFF and spiritual mentor 15 minutes down the road. But I digress. All of that makes this comfortable, but hardly easy.

Taking master's classes at 57 is a challenge. I finished my bachelor's degree at 47, online, and it felt much easier than my MDiv (master of divinity) program. I was working 60+ hours a week and had a teenager at home. Why does this feel so much harder? I've had to reflect on that, and so far, here are some reasons:

• Let's face it -- I'm a decade older. Most things are a bit harder at 57. Sitting in a desk chair for two hours on Zoom is harder. Recovering from the occasional all-nighter, downright taxing.
  
• My bachelor's program was in Journalism and Mass Communications. I worked as a newspaper reporter for 15 years BEFORE I started my coursework. Honestly, I could have taught several of my classes. Every day in seminary classes, I find out how much I DON'T know.
• My bachelor's program was an accelerated, year-round program. One class every five weeks. Even the hardest class I had  -- ethics and social responsibility, perhaps, or logic -- finished in five weeks and it was on to something new. A laser-sharp focus on one subject for five weeks. Seminary is a slightly compacted traditional semester. Four classes in 12 weeks, with overlapping deadlines, competing priorities, and group meetings and projects, at a master's level -- not comparable at all. It requires time-management muscles I haven't had to exercise in years.
• My son has moved out of state; my husband has some physical limitations he didn't have 10 years ago, so I can't lean on him the way I did a decade ago.
• I undertook my bachelor's degree to finish what I started. It was a point of pride, but the consequences of failing were personal and subtle. I am in an MDiv program with the goal of becoming a pastor, something I feel God's call to do. If I don't finish, not only will it block this vocational change, but primarily, I will fail God and hundreds of people encouraging me.

I know, both innately, and from speaking to them, that the 22- to 30-year-old traditional students have some of the same fears, and others I don't experience. They are struggling with the rigor of a master's program without the maturity and coping skills. They have no fallback position, no first or second career to which they can return. For some, this is their first journey to a distant place, living with a roommate, without the support of a 35-year spouse. They can't imagine life ahead if this isn't a good fit.

So, at milepost 1.6, I look around and see several ahead, others at the same water stop, and others coming up the road. I yell encouragement to those trailing, give an appreciative look to those grabbing their water, and pace myself, knowing some may need lifting up when they reach their wall ahead. We're all in this together, no matter how we arrived, and no matter where we are headed from here.