I really do love what I do. I love the mixed-up nature of my day, which often involves interacting with people on multiple continents (thanks to Skype). I love the conversations. Just this morning, I was sitting with the president of a seminary in western Siberia, talking about the American church. A western Ukrainian sitting next to us told something of his experience with a large church in North Carolina. Listening to the story of this church's ministry to bikers, my Siberian brother asked the question "so what stands behind that? Why is that church doing that? What is the philosophy behind that?" I like these kinds of questions, just as I appreciated a long lunch conversation that rambled over the question of what it means for a seminary to be sustainable. Is it truly sustainable when it has just enough to just barely squeak by, with little left for long term development? As I prepare to leave Ukraine in a few hours, I am so very thankful for the conversations I've had this week. Some of them have been treasured catching up with old friends. Others have been profound discussions of the future of theological education, the church, and broader society in this region of the world. I feel blessed and stretched.
Why do we do invest time and resources in these kinds of gatherings? I think for the same reasons that seminary presidents, deans, and other leaders themselves invest their time and resources in them. It is through these kinds of gatherings of people attempting to do similar things in diverse places that the fabric of a community of practice is formed. While every situation is in a way unique, drawing on and fed by the local context, there is also much that is similar among seminaries and higher education institutions overall. While the presentations and plenary discussions are certainly of value, I am convinced at the end of my time here that the most valuable times are the meaningful discussions over coffee and tea, over meals, late in the evening. That, I sense, is where real learning takes place, learning that will continue within the fabric of ever-more-trusting communities. Life and ministry are a web of relationships, of trust, of openness to one another and to learning. I think that a few stitches were sewn this week.
I travel in a few hours to London, where I will participate in yet another conference, this time with participants coming predominantly from western Europe.
What I don't like about my work is its itinerate nature. I say a lot of goodbyes. There is a little bit of me in a lot of places. Sometimes goodbyes are harder. This is especially true in this part of the world, where there is a bit bigger bit of my heart.Yet I am thankful for those feelings, since I know that they are themselves evidence of the "woven" nature of relationships, forged over time. May they endure. May they contribute to something much bigger.
Why do we do invest time and resources in these kinds of gatherings? I think for the same reasons that seminary presidents, deans, and other leaders themselves invest their time and resources in them. It is through these kinds of gatherings of people attempting to do similar things in diverse places that the fabric of a community of practice is formed. While every situation is in a way unique, drawing on and fed by the local context, there is also much that is similar among seminaries and higher education institutions overall. While the presentations and plenary discussions are certainly of value, I am convinced at the end of my time here that the most valuable times are the meaningful discussions over coffee and tea, over meals, late in the evening. That, I sense, is where real learning takes place, learning that will continue within the fabric of ever-more-trusting communities. Life and ministry are a web of relationships, of trust, of openness to one another and to learning. I think that a few stitches were sewn this week.
I travel in a few hours to London, where I will participate in yet another conference, this time with participants coming predominantly from western Europe.
What I don't like about my work is its itinerate nature. I say a lot of goodbyes. There is a little bit of me in a lot of places. Sometimes goodbyes are harder. This is especially true in this part of the world, where there is a bit bigger bit of my heart.Yet I am thankful for those feelings, since I know that they are themselves evidence of the "woven" nature of relationships, forged over time. May they endure. May they contribute to something much bigger.
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