Enthused! \in-'thüzd\:

As my time at Candler end a lot of people have been asking me to reflect.  “Did you make the right choice?” “Did you get what you wanted out of this opportunity?”  I am very glad that I made the decision to attend Candler and in some ways it was exactly what I wanted and in other ways it was much more.  But the memories that come back to me are the ones from the first few weeks at Candler.  When I was so excited and nervous about being in a new place.  Having grown up living in a mid-size city in Louisiana – this thing called traffic was a whole new experience.  I had never visited a stranger in the hospital.  I had never had a class with more than 50 people in it.

I remember many times at Candler I have turned and given the “You want me to do what?!” look to professors, mentors, and friends.  Most recently, I have been interning at Stone Mountain First United Methodist.  I have been giving my mentor a lot of those looks.  Most recently, she asked me to preach at both services – in which I did not just give the look, I actually asked!  But that Sunday one of the members of the church commented to my wonderful mentor – “how wonderful for you to give Marissa this opportunity.”  Of course my mentor gave me a knowing look of “I know this does not quite feel like an opportunity and more like a stressful addition to your already busy week.”

But now that the sermon is all done and said – I can say it was a wonderful opportunity.  I was able to practice what I will be doing every Sunday next year with the knowledge that someone who cares about me was being my safety net.  At Candler, I have been given opportunity after opportunity to walk out onto the tightrope of ministry — okay sometimes people had to shove me out there!  And the best part was that my professors, my mentors, and my friends all had a knowing hand guiding me across — and a soft place to fall if need be.

What I realized yesterday was that those moments will probably never end.  I will always be doing things in ministry that I never imagined that I could do.  And in some ways facing “full time ministry” is very scary for me!  But in another way – it’s really pretty cool because it is in those moments that we learn who we are.  Right now I’m pretty excited about my upcoming identity: Candler Alum and United Methodist Pastor!  But don’t call me that in public yet – I am not so used to it that I’ll answer to it or anything!  So I ask you — who are you right now?  Who are you becoming?  Who has helped you get here?  Now go give those people a hug and get ready for your next adventure!

- Marissa Teauseau

Marissa is a third year MDiv student, a graduate of Centenary College of Louisiana, and will return to the Louisiana Annual Conference of the United Methodist Church upon graduation.

My discovery of the tenacity of the human heart began in 7th grade. I was asked if I wanted to care for a family at church’s foster baby who I had fallen in love with over the summer. I remember my mother looking at me and asking, “You know you’re going to get hurt right?” and I said yes and did it anyways. I didn’t realize then that this would be a returning question in my life. I just have to tell people that I’m going to be a chaplain in a children’s hospital and the usual response is, “That sounds so hard/miserable/sad. I would never do that.” Add in the clinical child psych piece and wanting to work with abused/neglected children and then people start telling me that it will only break my heart, and I should consider doing something else. I know this is not a unique response. I have talked to people who are hospice chaplains or nurses in children’s hospitals or who work in Children’s advocacy centers or are social workers, and the response is similar. They are frequently asked why they do something that pretty much guarantees a broken heart. But here’s the thing, hearts were made to be broken.

Before you write me off as a complete masochist, let me explain. I believe that our hearts were made to break at the things that break God’s heart. If I could be present at the death of a child and not have my heart break, that would be a problem. It would mean that there was something wrong with my heart. If hearts are made to be broken it means two things – 1. hearts should break instead of harden and 2. If God designed hearts to break, then they are also made to be mended.

So thing 1, are hearts were made to break not harden. A heart that can break is a very different thing than a heart that gets so hard and bitter that it ultimately shatters. Pain (as I’ve been told) is meant to send a message to one’s body to stop or change what it’s doing. If you touch a hot stove, the pain tell you to get your hand off the stove before you do further damage. In the same way, a broken heart tells you something is wrong. When you learn that there are still millions of children in slavery in the world working in making chocolate we eat all the time, your heart should break. That’s a sign that you’re not numb to the suffering in the world. People can take this knowledge in different amounts before they become overwhelmed, but this just means people need to take in difficult information at different speeds, not that some people get to tune out of the world’s suffering because they’re sensitive.

Also, I believe we are called to build the Kingdom in different ways. Just because I am willing to have my heart broken working in a children’s hospital does not mean that is the place for everyone. There are some who care for the places the earth is broken and those who work alongside different groups of people who have been marginalized or oppressed. There are some whose jobs they get paid for are their direct work for the Kingdom, and there are others for whom that is not the case. I do believe we all have a place though.

People have different physical pain tolerances and different emotional pain tolerances as well. We all have a different place where we’re pushing our hearts past the breaking point to the brink of shattering. It’s important to acknowledge that and to consider all the other sources of hurt in one’s life at a time. Our hearts can also be broken in ways that we do not run headlong into like serving the Kingdom, such as loss, broken relationships, and life’s challenges. I am not suggesting that we are to be open to that pain in the same way. We are to adventure into life with courage even in the face of inevitable pain, but only as the natural consequence of making our way in the world. We are not to be victims and doormats. We will face breakups and failures and losses without any desire to do so, but the good news is that all types of heartbreak can be included in the mending.

I jokingly told people when applying to grad school that I am getting my PhD in clinical child psych to have my heart broken and going to seminary to learn how God can put it back together. This only proved to show my naiveté at how much heartbreak is involved in the process of theological education. Despite that, it has only served to further strengthen my belief in redemption. I strongly believe that God does not put suffering or pain in our lives (see All Good Gifts) but that God can redeem all situations. Redemption does not mean that the pain disappears and everything is all better. It does not mean that it “was all part of God’s plan” as if God needs tornados and AIDS to bring about God’s Kingdom. Instead, it is the idea that God can bring growth and love and hope into and out of the darkest situations. I believe this because I have seen it in my life and the life of others. Just think, we serve a God who was and is willing to have his heart broken for us and with us. We serve a God of the crucifixion– there was no heart more broken, but we also serve a God of the resurrection, and there was and is no better redemption. With God’s grace and with time, our hearts come back together and we are able to venture back into the world with the understanding that they might be broken again.

I’m not a med student, but I remember being told that where broken bones come back together they are stronger in the broken places. To me, that is redemption, not that we are back to where we were or that we don’t have sore places or scars, but that there are new places of strength that came despite the pain. It is with this promise that I can venture into dark places, not of my own strength.  And to be perfectly honest, I think the alternative, to never have your heart break, is much much worse.

You know the cliche, “It is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all?” I think most people will acknowledge that as true in the area of relationships. Most people will agree that, in a majority of cases, even in relationships that ended poorly, hopefully we learned something or enjoyed part of it, or experienced some personal growth. The idea is that some pain is a part of the learning process in romantic relationships. Well, some heartbreak is required in living a life for the Kingdom as well. There are things to be learned and work to be done that cannot happen if we stay on the sidelines covered in bubble wrap. It is a much more painful idea to think that I missed a chance to grow the Kingdom, to serve my neighbor, to be a source of peace or hope, than to experience pain from doing any of those things. This is because when we are working for the Kingdom we are open to sources of hope and joy and peace that are not available elsewhere. I found that, even going into rooms and places I could not walk into on my own, when all I could say was “Holy Spirit come,” I was never left empty.

So, what are we to do? First, I think we are to open our eyes wide enough to actually see things or learn things that might hurt. Awareness is the first step, but really only the first. If we stay there then we’ve fallen into the hardened heart category. Next we pray and act and ultimately leap. We buy fair trade coffee even when it’s more expensive, maybe we become foster parents even though we don’t know what will happen, maybe we volunteer to tutor children who’s life stories make us want to cry, maybe we work with refugees. Whatever it is, we enter with open arms, with the honest understanding that we might get hurt. We do not tiptoe into the work of the Kingdom, I’m pretty sure you can’t get in that way. We jump, we dance, we fall, we might even crawl in, but we move forward boldly knowing that there is work to be done in a hurting world but that we do not do it alone, and that the God of redemption is always there to help us pick up the pieces. And at the end of the day, all I can ask is that I live my life with a heart that can always be broken, for a Lord who will always redeem it.

- Katie Sack

Katie is a second year MDiv student from Kentucky and a graduate of Birmingham-Southern College.  This post originally appeared on her blog Musings From a Tiny Chaplain.

This weekend, literally thousands of people connected with my alma mater, Samford University, will participate in a bizarre ritual known as “Step Sing.” Various groups – ranging from Greeks to independents to University Ministries – will dress themselves in shades of lycra I didn’t even know existed and then dance and sing an eight-minute show that revolves around a clever theme.

While I confess I’ve not always understood – or even liked – Step Sing, I cannot deny that I felt a profound desire to watch it this year, especially when my roommate (fellow Samford alum and Candler student Andrew Toney) suggested that we host a live-stream viewing in our living room. Aided by the twin perspectives of distance and nostalgia, I may be relearning something I always thought I knew: the profound power of ritual.

I’ve long considered myself to be a sacramental Christian. I’m used to the funny looks I get when I say words like “Eucharist,” or “chalice.” I’ve had a number of long, complicated conversations with my teetotaling Baptist brethren on the use of wine instead of watery grape juice. But it took Step Sing to teach me the real power of ritual.

Because Step Sing, despite the little changes in themes or the addition of a new group, is the same experience every year. Students involved in Step Sing disappear from more than few classrooms and generally droop around campus from mid-January to mid-February. I am irritated by this. Many professors are bewildered. Then, bam! Three nights of performance, the awards ceremony, and some lucky organization is bragging about how cool their moves are while others mumble, “next year.” It’s pretty much like clockwork, and somehow also like Eucharist.

Because the Eucharist is more or less the same every time. I know that, on most Tuesdays, someone will consecrate some bread and some wine on an altar in Canon Chapel. More often than not, I will be there, but it still happens, even when I cannot be present. Students will stream forth. Some practice intinction while others drink straight from the chalice. Many will cross themselves, but others will not. There will be a brief moment of holy chaos while everyone figures out exactly which station they wish to venture towards. Sure, there are small variations here and there, but it’s more or less like clockwork, and I’m finding that to be a beautiful thing.

When my week is dominated by the stress of paper writing (rather like this week, actually), when an incident at my Contextual Education site consumes my thought processes, when I’m trying to fit a new piece of text-critical information into my ever-broadening theological framework, the Eucharist is still there, and it’s still the same. Whatever chaos I’m dealing with as a minister and as a student, the bread and the cup represent a beautiful stability in the middle of a whirlwind.

I am eminently thankful for a place like Candler, a place that makes this beautiful ritual available on a weekly basis. I am thankful for a place that continues to stretch my conceptions of God, sacrament, and just about everything else while also maintaining a place where the beautiful, dogged faithfulness of God is made known in the constancy of the Eucharist.

Thanks be to God for these lessons, and, oddly enough, thanks be to God for Step Sing.

- Aaron Carr

Aaron is a first year MDiv student from Cumming, GA, a graduate of Samford University, and a Candler Student Ambassador.

Once upon a time there were two topics that were supposed to be off limits: politics and religion. These were the topics that were considered inappropriate to discuss around company. But then internet happened and brought with it facebook and twitter and thousand different ways to express our every opinion, and we decided to throw all that decorum out the window.

So now I’m learning to navigate facebook at my own risk, because my facebook can be angry place to be.  There are sweet church folk posting hateful statuses about the government, high school friends ranting about conspiracy theories, and old college friends angrily picking fights about religion.  At times it seems that all the internet is good for is showing me racist, ignorant, angry, awful things from all directions. So when I see statistics about how divided our country is, I’m not really surprised.  Because it appears to me that everyone’s angry, and no one seems to do know what to do about it.

My first thought is that maybe this social media experiment has failed. Maybe it was better when we didn’t know what everyone thought about everything. Before anyone would could find a blog post supporting their point view and offer it as “evidence.”  Before 140 characters became an acceptable way to share your religious views with the world.

Because, Lord knows, it was a lot easier to love our neighbors before they became our facebook friends.

Frankly, it seemed like too much of a mess for this seminarian to want to deal with it. But then my (wise) husband made an observation as I was ranting about pastors who post hateful things on Twitter and how I’d rather people just stick to posting pictures of their cute babies.

“That’s what’s both good and bad about it, I guess. It’s life without the filter. It’s the whole human experience right there for us to see.”

The whole human experience. What it means to be human somehow displayed on our computer screens. A whole mess of a world.

A world that God still loves.

And somewhere along the line, I’m pretty sure I’ve learned that as Christians we are called to love it too.  I’m not sure how as ministers we are supposed to speak love and truth on the internet. I’m not sure what it looks like to be a witness to Christ online, and unfortunately, Candler doesn’t offer a class on how to do pastoral care over Twitter.[1]

I’m not sure how to love facebook friends as they offer hate.  I’m not sure how to offer grace in the midst of frustration and anger.  Or when to comment on a post and when to just leave it alone.  Or what it looks to be an example of Christ in a hurting, messy, angry, lovely world.

But then again, I’m still figuring out how to do all that in real life too.

So maybe the only thing we can do is pray for grace as we figure out how to best love God with our digital selves.

And try to love our facebook friends as we love ourselves.

- Jennifer Wyant

Jennifer is a third year MDiv student from Atlanta, a graduate of The University of Evansville, and a Candler Student Ambassador.

Churches seem to fight over a lot of things that in the grand scheme of things don’t matter (or at least seem unimportant to outsiders). One fight that goes on in most every church is over buildings and how buildings should be set up, what renovations should be made, what paint color should be used to repaint the Sunday school rooms, etc. Some of these arguments revolve around practical concerns and they must, since resources and physical location limit the church. The thing we often forget however, is that all of these seemingly insignificant or unimportant modifications and changes are architectural decisions that have heavy  theological implications to conveying the beliefs of the church. What does it mean if the Pulpit is center behind and elevated over the altar? What does it mean if the Altar is center and the pulpit is off to the side? What does it mean if there is center aisle or a central section of pews?

Many of the architectural features common to churches can be altered over the years. Pews can be moved, platforms added, altar position changed. One thing that will stand the test of time are the windows. Windows are often only redone when the walls themselves have to be moved. Even if stained glass windows are falling apart, a church will often choose to repair and maintain them as they always have been instead of altering them completely.

The windows in a Church stand as a permanent statement of the churches theology. Every time there is a reforming movement in the church, architecture and window style come under review.

Stained glass developed as a way to tell the stories of the Christian faith, and enliven and enhance the worship space. When light hits stained glass the result is often one of the most breathtaking views in the world. As the sun moves throughout the day the light in the sanctuary, chapel or cathedral moves with it, and the experience becomes new again. In each hour, we experience the light and the church in a whole new way. It is always the same, but it is always changing.

Some reformers saw the stained glass as a way that the church had gotten away from the fundamentals of the Christian faith. They see stained glass and the extravagant architectural often associated with it as a way to show off, as something done for the glory of humans and not for the glory of God. For this reason, several religious groups have constructed their churches with plain glass. They let the light stream into their places of worship unmolested by human creation or interpretation. Light is a sign of God, and does not need anything human added over it.

In some “modern” churches windows are excluded from the building plans all together, in order that the worship space might be completely controlled. If there is not natural light then screens, tvs, stage lights can be used to maximum effect. Darkness becomes darkness, and a single candle on the altar becomes a powerful symbol undimmed by an inflow of sunlight. But can humans every fully control God in this way? If there are no windows how do we understand God to be the creator of everything both outside and in? Can worship not become very insular?

What is interesting is that these viewpoints are absolutely valid. You can stand in a large cathedral and soak in the reds, blues, and purples of the stained glass and feel God, just as easily as you can experience the divine through clear panes of glass, or through the atmosphere created in a windowless church. None of these theological positions as demonstrated through architectural design choices prevents God from showing up in worship, or in the lives of the faithful. But these standpoints can be taken to an extreme where God is forgotten and pushed aside for human pride and posturing. The same is true of any theological doctrine or thought. What is the real difference between a high church Catholic with a view of transubstantiation of the Eucharist and a Baptist who sees communion as a remembrance that happens only in the hearts and minds of the faithful? They both believe that Christ has died, Christ has risen, and that Christ will come again. What is the difference between denominations that baptize infants vs. denominations that do not? They both believe that we are baptized by water and the Spirit.

What the argument of differences comes down to is conflicting emphasis. We choose what single aspect of the divine we find to be the most pivotal, and play it up. This division of focus is well and good, because there are so many aspects of the Christian faith and God that we would likely forget a part of our story if it were not for our brothers and sisters who believe differently from us. The shame of it is that we see these differences as making our ‘faiths’ incompatible, and we shut ourselves off to a whole section of our sisters and brothers. Maybe the issue is Eucharistic presence, architectural decisions, written vs. extemporaneous liturgy, the humanity or divinity of Christ, or Christianity’s response to the LGBTQ community.  What we see instead of our common beliefs are our differences on these issues and we stop talking, or worse we start yelling.

It is important that we as Christians, no matter our denomination, beliefs or background encourage an open dialogue on every issue. Behind every position and every stance that we don’t agree with, is a thought or idea that we hold about God and the church. When we speak to those we disagree with we might be infected by their passion, challenged to grow in our beliefs and/or reminded of an aspect of faith that we forgot about. Differences are good. We are not all the same person and We do serve the same God. A professor at Candler once said in a lecture that a peer stood up after he had given a presentation at a conference and before beginning to lambast this professor’s argument said “I completely disagree with what he has said, but I also recognize that there is a chance we will someday have to share heaven together….”

We have our differences, but we serve one God, a God who loves us despite our shortcomings and our inability to see the big picture. So the next time you encounter someone you do not agree with remind yourself that you serve the same God, and that there is a chance you will someday have to share heaven with people you disagree with. When it comes to the windows, remember that the same God gets in no matter what. That little reminder might just change things.

- Jonathan Gaylord

Jonathan is a third year MDiv student from Deland, Florida, a Student Ambassador, and the pastor at Providence United Methodist Church in Lavonia, Georgia as a part of Candler’s Teaching Parish Program.

This summer 14 Candler students are serving in ministry through Candler Advantage, a paid summer internship in conjunction with Candler’s Contextual Education Program.  Over the course of the summer many of these students will be sharing their experiences here on the blog.

Grace dances amidst Holy Chaos.

This lesson doesn’t come naturally after previously embracing the structure of Roman Catholic religious life (Benedictine and Franciscan) and spending two years as the seminary intern in a calm Episcopal parish.   It has been the most challenging and freeing lesson of the ten-week Candler Advantage summer internship at Haywood Street Congregation, a United Methodist mission church that primarily ministers with homeless people in Asheville, North Carolina, population 85,000 people.   Pastor Brian Combs, a 2006 Candler graduate, founded the congregation three years ago and ministers with Co-Pastor Shannon Spencer.

Our motto is “Come as you are.”   This might mean not having showered for several days, being drunk or high, or without medication that keeps psychosis at bay.   Many members of our community have been asked to leave other churches, which is interpreted as rejection by God.    We understand that God embraces everyone and that we are called as Christians to embrace Jesus in our midst.   Each of us has our own brokenness and it’s better to err on the side of grace, leaving room for God to do the work that we cannot possibly accomplish on our own.

Grace dances amidst Holy Chaos.

The Welcome Table is a huge meal serving 275 to 455 people every Wednesday, followed by an optional worship service.   The choice for liturgy on Wednesday is intentional after receiving feedback that the opportunity to attend church in the middle of the week gives the strength to carry on through Sunday.   It’s a chance to encounter Jesus in the sacrament of communion, to be surrounded by community, and to gain support to remain sober another day.

A cross-section of Asheville is present at worship: business people, who may have hidden addictions to alcohol or prescription medications, and homeless people with addictions that society judges with less forgiveness; people who meet survival needs through prostitution; church grandmothers, youth groups, and formerly homeless people – including many veterans – who return to encourage our sisters and brothers along the journey.    I recognize God working through the congregation when a man is welcomed back after being incarcerated in the county jail.   We shake rattles in response to prayers and concerns of the people: hopes for housing, rejoicing at receiving housing for the first time in 22 years, remembering brothers and sisters who are not with us today because they are in jail or a hospital psychiatric unit or are recently deceased.

Sermons are conversational, with the pastor asking the congregation for responses to the Scripture reading.   Sometimes people are ramble on in response or are argumentative.   Somehow the pastor is able to affirm all of these voices and connect them back to Scripture and how this speaks to us today.

Grace dances amidst Holy Chaos.

I spend little time in an office, joining our congregation where they are throughout the week.   On Monday I am at a day center for homeless people, followed by serving lunch in Pritchard Park with Be Loved House (a nondenominational house church), where people ask for prayers about jobs, housing, or reconciliation with estranged family members.   I have joined Pastor Brian at the local shelter, staying overnight in the men’s dorm following a chapel service.    On Sundays I participate in liturgy at the Church of the Advocate, an Episcopal worshipping community that is primarily attended by homeless people.   Here communion extends beyond church walls.   Two of us leave the church and take communion to our sisters and brothers on the stairway, under the trees, and on the sidewalk.   I participate in two homeless advocacy groups; one promoting a Homeless Bill of Rights similar to the one recently passed in Rhode Island.   Members of Haywood Street Congregation gather once a month at Habitat for Humanity.   I am humbled by the people who work on homes for people while they themselves are sleeping by the river or in the shelter.

I lead the offertory by calling out to Haywood Street Congregation, “What does God love?”    They respond with shouts and shaking rattles, “A cheerful giver!”   I describe how each of us is called to share our blessings, whether it’s the gift of patience and kindness, or praying for each other, or sharing a few coins, or boiling three hundred eggs to pass out at the Welcome Table, or writing to our friends in jail, or gathering trash in the parking lot.   People write on the service bulletin about how they share, coming forward to put notes and coins in a basket.   I hold the basket above my head and pray for God to bless and multiply the offerings so they may continue the ministry of Jesus in our congregation and the larger community.

Grace dances amidst Holy Chaos.    The Incarnate Jesus is present with us each day and I remain in awe of this blessing.

– Christopher Szarke

Christopher Szarke, a rising third year M.Div. student in the Episcopal Studies and Faith and Health Certificate Programs, is currently in the discernment process with the Episcopal Diocese of Atlanta.

During my last Thanksgiving at Candler and as I approach graduation in May, I couldn’t help but think of the diverse communities of friends that have touched me and shaped me during my time here.  My first year, I had the opportunity to travel to Dallas, Texas as a small group leader for Exploration 2009.  Through this trip, I became connected to all of the staff in the financial aid and registrar office, as well as some other student leaders within Candler.  Despite the fact that I knew no one on the trip prior to arriving at the airport, we were instant friends only a few hours into our weekend together.  We remained friends through the time that they graduated (as I was the youngest one on the trip), and still have lunch dates to this day!  Furthermore, I became involved with the Student Ambassador Program, which provided yet another community within which I found great friends and support.

Another community that fully embraced me in my first year was my Contextual Education (ConEd) community.  The group of seven of us who worked four hours each week at the United Methodist Children’s Home was pretty much inseparable.  We shared “brother/sister”-type relationships with one another and had an incredible chemistry.  By the end of our first year, we were truly family to one another – we laughed together, cried together, and supported one another free of judgment, no matter what the situation.  We truly carried one another through a year full of both trials and celebrations.

I was anxious entering second year, because I knew that the people in my ConEd group would change and I would not see those from my first year group as much as we had the year before.  What did I have to fear, though?  Yet again, I grew incredibly close to a whole new group of people, while maintaining my previous friendships.  That year, we worked eight hours each week in an ecclesial setting.  I began to really wrestle with whether or not I wanted to continue with ordination in the UMC.  Hesitant to share these doubts with many others, my ConEd group embraced me and provided a safe space for me to continue my discernment process.  They challenged me as to what I would have to lose should I not follow through in the process, as well as what the Church could lose if I were to give up.  Having help in thinking through some of these things was really beneficial for me, and formational in my ministry.

Finally, outside of the small groups I was placed in as a result of my coursework, I developed a strong friendship with a group of five girls that I have no doubt will be lifelong friends.  During the stresses of second year, we became close, realizing we shared a lot of things in common as well as a similar sense of humor.  We spend a lot of time together both inside and outside of classes.  I have truly been greeted with open arms by each and every group I came into contact with at Candler.  I firmly believe that there is a wonderful and affirming place for everyone within this community.  I have no doubt that each individual who passes through this special place is touched and transformed in a way that will positively impact the future of their ministry, whether it be inside or outside the church, and for that I am very thankful.

- Mia Northington

Mia is a 3rd Year MDiv student from Tennessee and a Student Ambassador.

This summer 14 Candler students are serving in ministry through Candler Advantage, a paid summer internship in conjunction with Candler’s Contextual Education Program.  Over the course of the summer many of these students will be sharing their experiences here on the blog.

Photo courtesy Ken Howle – Lake Junaluska

There is a little gem of a hymn in The United Methodist Hymnal (p. 260) that features the poetry of Brian Wren, emeritus professor of worship and hymn writer from across Decatur at Columbia Theological Seminary. It is a beautiful and poetic song, albeit one set to a difficult tune, that intentionally forces the singer to face the majesty and terribleness of Christ’s divinity revealed to his disciples, Peter, James and John in Matthew 17. It is titled “Christ Upon the Mountain Peak” and features the refrain:

Christ upon the mountain peak stands alone in glory blazing;

let us, if we dare to speak, with the saints and angels praise him. Alleluia!

“Let us, if we dare to speak,” – this phrase gets at, what I think, is the heart of the Gospel story in Matthew’s Transfiguration – the inability of language to speak to that which is unspeakable. These unspeakable moments are those experiences in which we glimpse something greater than ourselves.

I thought I understood this hymn. I have even preached on it, but I am not sure I truly appreciated the imagery of “Christ Upon the Mountain Peak” until I experienced the brilliancy of the morning sunshine cutting through the early morning fog that had settled on the Smoky Mountains. Watching the sunshine pour into the valley and bounce off the waters of Lake Junaluska like a giant mirror, I think I truly appreciated the need for the disciples to tremble “at his feet.”

A friend of mine calls these occasions – “golden moments.” Golden moments are flashes of liminality, where you stand on the threshold between two different existential planes. This liminal existence can be located within sacred space, but I prefer to think of it as those experiences that occupy sacred time. In such a liminal space, the individual experiences the revelation of sacred knowledge where God imparts God’s knowledge on the person. So many of our stories in scripture feature the imparting of divine wisdom to humanity on top of a mountain. My summer internship at Lake Junaluska Conference and Retreat Center in western North Carolina as part of the Candler Advantage program has been filled with these “golden moments.”

I have spent the past two months working as the Summer Worship Coordinator for Lake Junaluska’s Summer Worship Series, a nine-week series featuring guest preachers from all over the world (www.lakejunaluska.com/summer-worship). As part of my job, I get to design and order worship and then reflect on the ways in which our community is being shaped as a Christian people through our liturgy, literally, “the work of the people.” All of this has taken place against the resplendent backdrop of the Smoky Mountains, in a place that has served for almost 100 years as sacred space to Christians, particularly, United Methodists in the Southeastern portion of the United States. Lake Junaluska seems to maintain this sense of liminality. I will always remember my Candler Advantage internship as an intense, hands on, real-world experience set within this sacred space where the threshold between reality and divinity seem to be blurred.

- Kimberly K. Jenne

Kim is a third year MDiv student from St. Louis, MO and a member of the Missouri Annual Conference.

This summer 14 Candler students are serving in ministry through Candler Advantage, a paid summer internship in conjunction with Candler’s Contextual Education Program.  Over the course of the summer many of these students will be sharing their experiences here on the blog.

I was walking through the Tampa convention center hosting the United Church of Christ’s 28^th General Synod last Friday when an elderly gentleman asked me if I knew where he could get some coffee.  We set off in search of liquid caffeine and before I knew it, I was having a cup of joe with Avery Post, former General Minister and President of the UCC (1977-89).  I had just serendipitously wandered into a coffee date with a man whose leadership around racism and justice issues made him a really big deal in our denomination.  It was like a UCC celebrity sighting–I was so jazzed I called my mom and told her about it ASAP.

Amidst all the Six-Degrees-of-UCC connections I made with Rev. Post (it’s a small but mighty denomination, so almost everyone you meet knows someone you already know), I told him that I was about to enter my third year at Candler.  When I mentioned that Jan Love is our dean, Avery’s face lit up—“Oh, Jan!  She and I worked together for years on the World Council of Churches.  She’s brilliant…and may I say, beautiful!”  His passion for ecumenism shined through as he shared fond memories of WCC time spent with Dean Love.

I understood his enthusiasm.  Ecumenism is one reason I came to Candler—there are several excellent UCC-related seminaries out there, but I wanted to attend a school where I would not be in the majority, denominationally or theologically speaking.  And aside from all the good-natured jokes about “Unitarians Considering Christ” and the UCC being the denomination that will take anybody (okay, that part’s true!), I’ve found Candler to be a really rich blend of theological perspectives, faith traditions, and ministry outlooks.  It’s deeply satisfying to dig deep into such a fertile mix of experiences and viewpoints and let them help hone and define your own.

Leah serving communion to Praxis UCC members and fellow Candler students.

Candler is not only a place where I can practice the vital pastoral skill of dialoguing with people whose views are very different from my own; it’s also a place where I can follow in the footsteps of Rev. Post and try my hand at being a prophetic voice in the mainline church (which is why you’ll see Facebook photos of me participating in Candler’s protest against Westboro Baptist and in support of people of all sexual orientations, or, inspired by Beth Corrie’s class on Teaching Peace in Congregations, wearing sackcloth and ashes to repent for our part in American militarism and war violence).  Classes, professors, and students at Candler have all pushed me to sharpen that prophetic voice and develop those distinctive views.  And the Candler Advantage internship program has allowed me to work full time this summer for Praxis UCC, the new church my husband and I started last year.  That’s also how I was able to attend five days of a denominational conference and make it a key part of my internship—waitressing doesn’t give you that much vacation time!

When I met a fellow UCCer who is matriculating at Candler in the fall for drinks (yes, we drink!) at the young adult clergy group at Synod, I told him how much I love defining my faith in a context where most people don’t think like I do, and how excited I was to be interning with Praxis this summer.  How ecumenism, academic excellence, and on-the-ground ministry experience were what drew me to Candler.  How glad I am to be here.

I certainly needed that cup of coffee on Friday morning—between Praxis’ small group wrapping up its discussion on “ordinary radicals” and catching our flight to Tampa, I’d only slept 4 hours the night before.  So I felt truly grateful for the reinvigorating liquid, but I was also thankful to be able to brush elbows and swap stories with a living legend in the United Church of Christ.  And I recognize with gratitude that it is through Candler’s generosity, hands-on learning style, and ecumenical commitment that I get to dive into experiences like these and really get the most out of them.  Here’s to another year of theological and ministerial adventure—and thanks, Candler!

-Leah Lyman Waldron

Leah is a third year MDiv from Chicago and a graduate of Wellesley College.

“Where you go, I will go; where you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God…” Ruth 1:16

A few weeks ago, I got to read those words from the pulpit in Cannon Chapel at the wedding of Kate Floyd (’07) and Kyle Tau (‘10). I was one of six women sitting in the front in white albs – women who have gathered before to celebrate occasions like this, who stayed up all night together writing papers at Candler just a few years ago, who have consumed unearthly amounts of chocolate while watching overly dramatic television, who have laughed and cried together to the point of exhaustion, who have gathered yearly since we graduated to re-center and find rest.

At Lane Cotton Winn’s (’07) wedding a couple years ago, the same group of us who walked to the front in white robes were called “The Big Six” by a friend of her family. And so, adding Lane in, one of the names we call ourselves is The Big Seven.

We like to name things, like each other (we all have nicknames). We also take great care to name the occasions in our lives, to mark them intentionally, to set the space and prepare our hearts – to channel our inner MEM (as we are influenced heavily by Mary Elizabeth Moore, who directed the Women in Theology and Ministry program in our day) or our inner BDM (as we create liturgy to bring into our celebrations in classic Barbara Day Miller style). We are, after all, Candler Women, scattered as we may be around the country.

I’m not sure how we became a group exactly. All of these women filtered into my life at different stages of my seminary career. Lane sauntered into the first day of CT501 wearing a pink “Mary is My Homegirl” tshirt, and I knew instantly that we’d be friends. Along with Lane, Kate and Nicole Christopher (’07) were in most of my classes first year and in the WTM program. I remember meeting Anjie Peek Woodworth (’08) first year during our orientation – all confident and cheerful and wearing overalls – but somehow we didn’t get to know each other until second year.

My second year at Candler was also when Sara Pugh (’08) moved into an apartment two floors above mine at the retirement community that had become a Candler outpost. Candace Hirsch (’08) danced in to my life soon after Sara, and they quickly became part of the crowd who usually hung out in my apartment.

We gathered to study, to put off studying, to celebrate being done studying… And in the midst of classes and papers and random adventures around the city, we built strong bonds. Several of us have taken mission trips together, particularly to Lane’s hometown, New Orleans, after Hurricane Katrina.  Some of us have traveled to other continents together. And all seven of us have lived with someone else in the group at some point, but Candace takes (and usually bakes) the cake, having lived with four of us.

By my last semester in spring of 2007, our relationships had cemented. We were a group by the time we arrived early in the morning (kind of a big deal for some of us) to Bishops 211 on the first day of Don Salier’s last Public Worship class to scope out the primo seats. And by the time some of us were packing up to move to our respective Conferences and varied ministry settings a couple years later, we decided to be intentional about remaining a group, staying connected, and continuing to be a sounding board and support system even when we unpacked our boxes in different states.

We had our first Sabbath Retreat in the spring of 2008. We’ve had four now, and they follow a pattern. We each spend time sharing about the craziness of our year, the curveballs of ministry and family and relationships. We eat far too much, but it’s all delicious. We stay up until we’re falling asleep, and then we sleep until we wake up. We each create something to remind us of that particular gathering. And we celebrate the milestones in our lives – birthdays, engagements, pregnancy, ordinations…  Although we keep in touch during the year, these Sabbath Retreats are like cramming a year’s worth of in-person friendship into a couple of days.

I can’t fully express what I’ve learned from these women, and what I miss most living so far flung – the empathy and energy that take Candace away from what she may want to do and place her where someone needs her; the care with which Sara attends to every word someone says to her; the precision and insight of Anjie’s questions, opening a conversation wider; the grace and thoughtfulness with which Kate points to deeper systemic issues; the bodaciousness of Lane’s prophetic voice, calling us to think bigger; the glint in Nicole’s eye when she’s just thought of something mischievous and awesome for us to do… and the living room dance parties that ensue whenever we gather together. Sometimes I turn up the music and dance alone on the hardwood in my living room in Miami, channeling Candace’s moves and Sara’s laughter and the presence of these delightful women.

My first year at Candler, I heard the 3^rd year students repeat over and over, “It’s all about relationship.” I kept waiting for the class where that phrase would be used. But that lesson wasn’t from a class. For me, that lesson came from the experience of Candler – the willingness of most everyone to be in relationship even when we disagreed vehemently in classes, talking theology wherever we were and whatever we were doing, the closeness of the community, the emphasis on lovingly engaging our brothers and sisters throughout the city and world, and the call to intentional devotion to God.

These friends, and so many others, shared and shaped my time at Candler. The strength of these relationships encourages me as I keep working to build myself a community in Miami, a city with an abundance of tropical fruit and adventure. It’s easy to find people, but difficult to make meaningful connections. But even as I find new friendships, those Candler relationships sustain me knowingly, as we all embrace the adventure that is ministry. Every day I discover something else I don’t know, and I’m still figuring out how to do campus ministry both faithfully and relevantly. The words and love of these women spur me on as I try to convey to my students that it really is all about relationship – our relationship with God and with each other.

Our Sabbath gatherings are like water in a parched land, as we regroup after another year of living out this rigorous call to love and serve.  A few months ago during this year’s Sabbath, I stood in Cannon Chapel with the rest of The Big Seven, and we sang “Blessed Be the Tie That Binds.” And when we part, it really does give me inward pain. But these people are my people, and their God is my God. Where I go, in some way, they go.

- Beth Bostrom

Beth is a 2007 graduate of the Candler School of Theology and currently serves as the chaplain/campus minister/director/goofy lady with the random ideas of the Wesley Foundation at the University of Miami.