From the Scriptorium
The first week of Seminary passes much like it did last year. It is a lot of work, and it seems my brain is already softening under the weight of so many facts and historical figures, but honestly, I am loving it here. Something about being at the Temple, at Seminary, in graduate studies, and with my professors and classmates just thrills me. Contrary to being a drain, I am energized by being here. In fact, I wish I was taking the Mission class, too (though I know that would have been too much work).
What is it about graduate study, or theology, or being a minister that excites me so? Is it weird? Is this how Luther felt? How Chrysostom felt? How Augustine felt? Did they get giddy at the prospect of reading a new book, or composing a contrarian opinion or attending a class? Did they look forward to putting out theories, even being shown to be wrong? Did they hold their books close, like little friends or allies against the darkness? Did they listen to lectures with two minds: one the historian, one the faithful adherent asking "what does this mean for me" and "where do I lay myself alongside this?" How many voices did they hear in their heads?
It is almost enough to make me believe in reincarnation - that I was in several previous lives some scholarly monk poring over parchment and scribbling my notes dreaming of writing my own treatise, over and over again, never tiring of it. (I may have tired of the disease, drafty monasteries, and lack of dental hygiene, however.) I wonder if they'd let me wear a robe and hood to class?