This past week, I attended the 217^th Commencement of Pittsburgh Theological Seminary, along with many of my friends and colleagues. But I was not graduating. It was a strange feeling since those graduating were the very ones I entered Seminary with in 2010. Due to my middling academic abilities and the presence of young children in my family, I chose to complete Seminary in four years, rather than three, and I stand by my decision, but I was reminded of a friend of mine, a member of the Sisters of Saint Joseph while sitting at the ceremony. She is 88 years old and has six siblings, who all have children and grandchildren. She told me once that she had no regrets about her call to her vocation and that she knew, when she entered ministry, that she would be giving up having children. The one thing she didn’t think about, though, was that she would be giving up grandchildren. She choked up when she told me that and I felt like I understood her loss to a small degree. That is a bit how I felt watching my friends graduate. When I chose to take four years, I never thought how difficult it would be to say farewell after three years were done. I managed to keep myself sort of together during the ceremony and wish my dear friends and colleagues all the best in their post-Seminary life. But it was hard.

One of my favorite lines is from poet Mary Oliver, where she admonishes her readers to “Pay attention, be astonished, and tell about it.” As I reflect on the past three years, I can fondly remember the solid academic foundation we have been blessed with, the relationships built within student organizations, the recreation had through games of Frisbee and basketball (for those with athletic talent, that is), the ways we have cared for one another during difficult times, the times we have worshiped together in chapel services, the social times we have enjoyed with friends and children, and the meals we shared together in homes, restaurants, and the cafeteria. These were the foundations of our shared life together and were important in forming us as colleagues and leaders.  The times, though, that I think were even more important were those moments where eternity unexpectedly entered our midst. There were thousands of these moments, too many to share here, but I would like to share two such moments from my experience at PTS.

The first occurred near the beginning of our time together during our first round of midterms. I discovered early in my time at PTS that the majority of my colleagues were not only competent and intelligent, they were also academically-driven to such a degree that astonished me. I found exam periods to be very anxious as my friends prepared to master the material to perfection. I was quite impressed and found myself unable to relate in many ways, actually. After our first round of exams, most of us had picked up our papers and answer sheets from our mailboxes during our morning break and were examining the comments and grades, trying to figure out which answers we had missed. I always sat in the second row of the lecture hall surrounded by a group of amazing second-career students. These people not only held down full-time jobs, they also were here after being away from academics for what seemed like a lifetime. One of these students asked another, a mild-mannered woman, “How did you do on that exam?” And the student answered, “I got a D.” We both looked at her, waiting for her to elaborate, and she flashed a huge smile, lifted her arms in the air, and shouted, “I PASSED!!!!!!!!!!” For me, eternity snuck into that moment. God calls all of God’s children to participate in the work of the Kingdom and God always honors our best efforts, and what is even better, God honors our not-so-great efforts, too. I felt like, in the midst of the overwhelming urge among my colleagues to earn perfect scores (as great as those are), God reached in at that moment and revealed God’s vision for a ministry that includes all of us, regardless of class rank.

The second instance was just a short time ago and it stands in contrast to the story I just shared. This moment came at an occasion that most of us can hardly imagine: a memorial service for a stillborn baby boy. A dear colleague and friend lost her son about halfway through her pregnancy last year and held a memorial service this year in our chapel. Many of us gathered and shared in grieving this loss for our friend and her family. The entire service was somber and moving, but one moment will stay with me, and others I am sure, forever. In the middle of the service our friend, the mother of the baby boy, along with another friend, offered a stringed duet of “Lullaby” as a praise and tribute to the short life of her son. Eternity snuck in again. The Kingdom of God is truly near when we can offer our best gifts in our times of greatest pain. I felt as if I had been permitted to listen to her private lamentation to God. I was reminded, once again, how Christ suffers with us and redeems our suffering for the glory of God.

One of my favorite authors is Willa Cather, who gained fame by writing stories set primarily in Nebraska. Early in her career, though, she struggled to find her voice. She spent a long time merely copying prominent East Coast writers because she admired them. At some point, though, she decided to write from her experiences. She said of this turning point, “Life began for me when I ceased to admire and began to remember.” My hope, in sharing these two stories, is to remind us of the art of remembering. I think remembering is at the core of our lives and our ministries. In remembering, we become more and more aware of God’s faithfulness. I started this piece with Mary Oliver’s admonition and I think it goes well with Cather’s observation about her own life. I hope that we will all, whether we are leaving this place or holding down the fort a bit longer, practice the arts of paying attention and being astonished.  Miracles happen every single day. When they happen, tell the stories. And then take the time, often, to remember them. These things, I firmly believe, will sustain us all well in life and ministry. Congratulations, graduates! Thanks be to God!

By Shana Hutchings, Senior M.Div. Student

To all our 2013 graduates:

These are tough times for people of faith.  A recent Gallup poll reveals that 77% of Americans believe “religion is losing its influence on American life”—the highest negative number polled on this question since 1970, when 75% of Americans thought that this was true.  The Pew Research Institute has determined that 19.6% of Americans identify themselves as unaffiliated with any particular religion; 32% of those 18 to 29 are unaffiliated, making “none” the fastest growing religious affiliation among young adults. In such a climate, many would say that a seminary education is a poor investment. Some would say that we should be pulling back, discouraging new applicants, and cautioning our graduates that they have a long, hard road ahead. But we aren’t going to do that. We are sending you out today, not apologetically, not regretfully, but confidently, joyfully, and with enthusiasm! How dare we?

We dare, because the numbers do not tell a new story. Rather, they represent the stripping away of an illusion to which the church has clung for far too long: perhaps ever since the days of Constantine, when Christianity became legal! We had come to think that we Christians belong with the popular and powerful, rather than the shunned and the powerless. We had come to believe that we ought to be able to dictate our values to the world, rather than demonstrating our values through lives of engagement and service. We forgot that we serve a crucified Lord, whose only crown was a crown of thorns. Now that “Christendom” lies dead or dying, perhaps we can be the Church again, and seek the kingdom of God.

We dare to send you forth, because the numbers do not tell the whole story. You will find, in old dying mill towns, in struggling rural communities, in blighted inner city neighborhoods, that God’s Spirit is still on the move. People are still hungry for the gospel, thirsty for the living water, eager to find meaning and purpose for their lives.  Perhaps (to steal shamelessly from Martha Robbins’ baccalaureate sermon) the “growing edge” of the church in our day involves finding new ways to be the church, in new places. I am heartened that young adults—the very people who in the Pew study represent the largest movement away from faith commitment—have been, in my time here at PTS, a growing segment of our student body. Every year, our Miller Summer Youth Institute brings to this campus high school students from across the country, and in their enthusiasm and commitment I see real hope for the future: those youth are out there waiting for you. I am also heartened by a recent article from, of all places, the Wall Street Journal! This piece describes adults in mid-career who, realizing the sterility of a life devoted solely to success in the world’s terms, have returned to a life of faith to find new direction and meaning—some even winding up in seminary! Many of you come from that demographic, too—and there are many more out there in the world, seeking and hungry, whom we must reach!

How dare we send you out? How dare we not send you out? You came to us in the first place, not because you were looking for a stable career path, but because you were compelled to come, by the leading of God’s Spirit. We have seen the gifts of the Spirit in you through this time we have shared together, learning and growing in God’s grace.  With you we have discerned the shape of God’s call on your lives, and it is our prayer that we have helped to form you in the pursuit of that calling, grounding you in Scripture and in the tradition, helping you to grow intellectually and spiritually. Now, we too are compelled by that same Spirit to send you out, eager to see what God is going to do in and through your ministries. Go forth, sisters and brothers, in the joy of our Lord, and know that the blessing of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, goes with you!

The Rev. Dr. Steven Tuell, James A. Kelso Professor of Hebrew and Old Testament

After three years here at Pittsburgh Theological Seminary, the time has come to move on to the next step as I graduate.

Looking back over the last three years, the comment I heard most frequently from collogues and classmates is that seminary does not seem to prepare us for ministry in the “real world.”  The degree to which this comment is issued runs the gambit from simple frustration to outright dismissal of the entire seminary experience.

Yes, I too have felt the fatigue that comes from sitting through a lecture or completing an assignment that does not seem to have any application to what I am doing or will be doing in my ministry, but I am hesitant to move from there to proverbially throwing seminary education under the bus.

The PTS extended community of faculty, staff, students, alumni, and families is certainly a diverse group, yet we all probably sense some kind of higher calling, even if the contours of that calling are still being defined.  Rather than look at the seminary experience as somehow a pause in the journey to fulfilling that calling, we need realize that the call includes seminary.

Certainly not everything we learned will find neat application.  A United Methodist, I probably will not find myself in a discussion of the nuances of language in the Westminster Confession.  Walking down the street, no one is likely to run up to me asking for an emergency exegesis.  But what these things have provided are experiences of diversity, intellectual challenge, and opportunities for growth that I was able to choose to exploit or dismiss.

God has called us together for this time intentionally, knowing each of our gifts, talents, and flaws.  What this means is that yes, for some of us seminary has been a challenge, and for some of us it has been a breeze.  For some our length of stay is short, and for others it is a bit longer.

Our calls and our means of achieving those calls are as diverse of each of us.  Yet for all of us we were called to this place for the time we have been here, to experience exactly what we have experienced, and to be exposed to exactly what we have been exposed to.  Seminary is not vocational training, as much as it is a laboratory for growth—spiritual, intellectual, interpersonal, and personal.  It is not a hammer or screwdriver—a tool meant for a specific task—but rather a Swiss Army knife, a hodgepodge of seemingly unrelated things which we can carry around with us at all times to use in a variety of ways.

So, the road from here is very much like the road to here.  We continue to follow our calls from God, we continue to grow, but much like the seminary experience, which for me will end on May 31st, what we choose to do with it—whether it is wasted or useful—is very much up to us.

Anthony Hita, Senior M.Div Student