Contributors to our blogs are faculty, alumni, and students of Seminary of the Southwest sharing their reflections from the context of a community of faith. We hope you enjoy reading, and we invite your comments.
If you’ve read Ursula Le Guin’s classic “Earthsea” trilogy, you will know this story. If you’ve not read the Earthsea trilogy, why not? Put down Moltmann and the New Interpreter’s Bible, quit worrying about GOEs—they’re still three months away—and pick up Le Guin! She’s the best thing you’ll read this year (unless you read Schleiermacher; nothing is better than Schleiermacher).
In book three of the trilogy, The Farthest Shore, something has gone terribly wrong in the island-dotted, mythical world of Earthsea. An alternating malaise and terror encroaches across the globe. As his home island succumbs to the illness, but before his own wits are stolen from him, a young nobleman named Arren travels to the island of Roke, home of wizards, to seek the help of the Archmage Ged. With Ged, the world’s most powerful wizard, Arren travels on a swift boat across the sea, in search of the source of the world’s madness.
John Hines, among other things, was a great opportunist. The story goes that the Rather and Villavaso family wanted a denomination to take over their property as a memorial to the only offspring of the two couples. The much-loved young man had died from injuries sustained in an accident in a local swimming pool.
The Rather daughters’ father had moved to Austin from Gonzales, Texas to build the wonderful house at Duval and 32nd Street as a place for them to live while attending the University of Texas. Both married UT professors and they lived in that great house together. With the boy dead, there was no one to inherit the house.
When Hines heard about the offer, he called to say he was planning to build a seminary and would be interested in the property. Some say he only had a vague idea about a seminary, but the chance to have property so near the UT campus was too tempting to pass up, and so he invented the project in response.
On September 15th, I noticed a tweet in my feed with the hashtag: #WhatLatinoMeansToMe. I was intrigued and clicked the link included. It led me to a post written by a group of Latinos on the BuzzFeed staff, that introduced the hashtag as a way for Latinos across the nation to share what it means to them personally.
I was inspired by the direct, to-the-point and authentic way Latinos could participate in Hispanic Heritage Month by using social media to tell their story. I immediately began scrolling through the hundreds of tweets and felt a connection, a sense of unity, with the Latinos sharing their stories.
I’ve been asked to write on the theme of homecoming. At first, the topic of homecoming seems sort of like a bunny rabbit. It’s light, fluffy, and soft. It brings you comfort and makes you smile. The very idea of it makes you all warm and tingly. Homecoming. It’s totally harmless. Right?
Not always. Take your average Texas high school football homecoming, for example. Anyone who has experienced this phenomenon knows how complicated and sometimes painful it can be. The gargantuan mums alone, festooned with streamers, candy, trinkets, and full-sized toys, can give a girl a backache.1 Even worse is not receiving a mum at all, or having more degrees of separation from the members of the homecoming court than you do from Kevin Bacon. Either of these things can mark you as a social pariah or, more tragically, make you believe you’re one.
“And being found in human form,
he humbled himself
and became obedient to the point of death—
even death on a cross.”
On this feast of the Holy Cross, I return to a wonderful book by Barbara E. Reid, OP, Taking Up the Cross: New Testament Interpretations through Latina and Feminist Eyes (Minneapolis, Fortress, 2007). With clarity, charity, and compassion the author, vice president and academic dean and professor of New Testament Studies at the Catholic Theological Union, walks through the different images that interpret Jesus’ death in the New Testament and for each of them explores what “taking up the cross” might mean for people of faith.
Tonight we gather to welcome newcomers into our midst, to offer them membership in this community, to cast our gaze over the year that is ahead of us, and to remind ourselves of what we do and why we do it.
So first, a warm welcome to our students and families, to faculty, staff, and board members as we begin a new academic year. Welcome especially to our new students, who embark today on a journey of learning and formation. Welcome also to Dan Joslyn-Siemiatkoski, our new faculty member, who embarks on his own journey with a new community of colleagues, students, and friends. Welcome to Irit Umani, whose remarkable journey we celebrate this evening.
As I was preparing for this event I made a typo in an email, referring to this evening as “ma-tribulation” rather than “matriculation.” I assume this newly coined word was some mash-up of “my tribulation” or, perhaps, “more tribulation”—and, though Freud might think otherwise, I am convinced that my typo is no harbinger of apocalyptic doom. Exam anxiety, workload worries, relationship drama, soul-searching—yes; but all-things-coming-to-an-end kind of suffering—very unlikely.
It has been a pleasure to read all the various blog posts welcoming me to Southwest and offering advice on how to deal with the summer heat. As a former doctoral student noted, it really is a very warm and hospitable welcome that I think speaks well of Southwest’s core values.
Given that at the moment we are currently a one-car family, I have been taking the bus to work from where we live in Brentwood. No matter which route I take, I generally have to walk just under a mile either on the way to the school or back home. This has given me a lot of time to walk in the Texas heat. And as it happens when one walks, the mind tends to wander. Here I offer a Top Ten list of random thoughts about transitioning from cool, foggy summers of Berkeley to the blast furnace that is Austin.
Pausing for the Labor Day holiday gives us a chance to reflect on what this special day means for our seminary community. Labor Day traditionally symbolizes the end of summer. The day we commit to sweat out of our bodily systems all that barbecue consumed over the summer. The time we rise up from our prone and immobile positions to pray and read the Bible again in an upright manner. Labor Day presents an occasion for bemoaning or exulting the kickoff of the all-consuming college and professional football seasons. It’s the last moment we can enjoy our freedom from systemic discipline before a higher authority imposes on us a more regimented structure of classes, chapel, meals, study, and prayer.
Our Dean has said: “The Jesus Prayer may be said while immobile.”
Anyone who has studied the Prayer Book knows the difference between a permissive rubric and a strict rubric. The Jesus Prayer may - or may not - be said while immobile. The important thing in the summer in Austin is to remain immobile some of the time. The Jesus Prayer is optional. Other things you could do while immobile: someone could bring you a Shiner in a CamelBak, so you could suck your favorite cold beverage through a straw, without moving. Icees work, too. Just lie there and let someone bring it to you. Mmmmm.
Luckily for everyone, the prone position has fallen out of fashion in liturgical observance save for a few rare moments on Good Friday. Whew! But I think perhaps “reading the epistles in a prone position” is the Dean’s way of recommending an afternoon siesta. The siesta is a fantastic way to avoid the sweltering heat of the afternoon – unless you have a three hour post-lunch elective. Then it is sweet torture to fight against the drooping eyelids as you daydream about that quiet and cool basement corner of Booher library.