Seminary Cut Short: Grieving Yale Divinity School

I tell myself all the time that I will start a blog, or a journal, or something where I record my thoughts and musings. I actually started a journal this year, and have written in it every day (almost!). It seems a fitting time to start writing things down because the world is so abnormal at the moment and I have simultaneously so many feelings about it and nothing to say. But, I write because it’s something I know how to do. There are many people I want to talk to, many audiences I wish to write for… but, this musing is written for my peers. Yale Divinity School folks, this is for you. These words are intended for you, just as much as they are intended for me too. So, may the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be pleasing to God, and to you, my beloved classmates and friends.

I did not cry when I found out that graduation was cancelled. I did not cry when they told us that classes would move online. I did not even really cry when my flight back to the US needed to be rescheduled and I learned I would be in the UK for two weeks longer than I had originally planned. It wasn’t until my cap and gown order was refunded that it hit me. My graduation was cancelled. I would likely not enter Sterling Divinity Quadrangle as a student again. I will never again receive the smile of the people I do not really know but pass in the corridor every day. The staff workers who supported me, the professors that inspired me and the friends who kept me going every single day… our journey was over. My seven years in New Haven will end with online goodbyes. It was then that it sank in. And, it was then that I cried.

Yesterday, I received an email asking for a check-in. How are you doing? Physically. Emotionally. Academically. I couldn’t reply right away because I didn’t know the answers to any of those questions. Sure, I don’t have COVID-19, but I’m fatigued and my body isn’t happy staying inside all day. I’m thankfully not experiencing my worst depressive episode, but I cannot really explain my other feelings. And, sure I got into a PhD program, but I can barely bring myself to open a book right now. I’m embarrassed to speak up and embarrassed to ask for help and embarrassed that I don’t have any clue how to handle this situation. I’m not necessarily asking for help in writing this. I’m writing this because we need to know that we’re not alone. I need to know that I’m not the only one who is struggling with this situation. I need to know that I’m not the only one desperately praying for a Universal Pass policy. We, as a community, need to know that it’s okay to not know what to do.

I am thankful that I do see some of you. But, when we check in with one another on Zoom at the beginning of a class meeting, most of us say that we’re fine. I say that I’m “fine.” We refer to our physical health as if it is the only intention behind the question “how are you?” And some of us are not fine in that regard, but we press on and say that we’re okay because of the way that Yale and the world has conditioned us to be self-sufficient and optimistically resilient. Though, while we say that we’re fine or okay, I know that, if the same is true for you, when the call ends and the crowd has logged off, I’m not well. I’m not well at all. I’m crying in silence even though the world is so noisy. I’m praying and praying even though I can’t confidently say that God is listening. I feel useless because there’s nothing that I can say or do that will stop the spread of this virus. I want to ask for help, but I’m not really sure what I’m asking for. And, everyone’s so busy and equally overwhelmed that I feel weirdly guilty asking for anyone’s time. 

The only way I made it through YDS was because of all of you, and now that we’re apart, I feel that loss. I need conversations in the Refectory to inspire me, I need smiles in the hallway to brighten my day, and I need a physical seat in a physical classroom to help me learn. I miss breathing the same air as all of you, and  I am utterly heartbroken that my time in the Quad was over before I got to say goodbye. To all of you, I am sorry that it had to end this way. I am grieving and I am mourning and it makes me really sad.

Maybe you feel this way too… but I don’t know how to make sense of this. As someone in seminary though, I feel a responsibility to my community to try and understand and to try and help. I’m doing the best that I can, but trying to do that and school work simply isn’t happening. My priority right now is the community, not the classroom. The vulnerable person down the street doesn’t need a theological exposition on doctrine. They need someone to pick groceries up for them. So, sure, I’ll say it. My work feels useless. COVID-19 will fundamentally change my theological project, but I’m not necessarily ready to open the book and read right now. I need to be writing and I need to be working. We spend so much of our time preparing for ministry, but no one could have prepared us for this. There was no “Pandemic 101” in Intro to Pastoral Care. We couldn’t anticipate the emotional strain of ministering to communities that are frightened to leave the house, the challenges of online worship and the pain of being apart from our own support systems.

And, I don’t know how to lead when I have so many questions. Psalm 42 reads, “my tears have been my food day and night, while people say to me continually, ‘Where is your God?'” (Psalm 42:4, NRSV) But it’s not just other people crying out “Where is your God?” It’s me too. God, where are you? Show up! Help us! I’m sad, but I’m also frustrated. In my preaching class last week, I preached about God making a way, but as the week has gone on, I’m finding it harder and harder to see that way and believe in that path. I know it’s all right there intellectually, but I’m struggling in my soul.

Dear friends, I don’t know why I write these things, but I feel as if I must because I know that I’m not alone. I know that. I just hope that you see in this that you have an ally and a friend. For those of you that cannot fathom why we need a Universal Pass system, I hope you read this and see the turmoil that is reigning in many of our hearts. I have been told that I have made a habit of being vulnerable, but I hope that this habit is a gift to you today. I pray that God will find a way to speak to you (and me) through my words. 

May the Lord bless you and keep you now and always. Amen.