Kierkegaard & the Christian Faith | Karen Wright Marsh
In order to prepare us for our upcoming Capps Lecture with Stanley Hauerwas on Kierkegaard, we thought it appropriate to remind us a little about who he was and what he said.
Christ never asks for admirers, worshipers, or adherents. No, he calls disciples. It is not adherents of a teaching but followers of a life Christ is looking for. Christ claimed to be the way and the truth and the life (Jn. 14:6). For this reason, he could never be satisfied with adherents who accepted his teaching – especially with those who in their lives ignored it or let things take their usual course. His whole life on earth, from beginning to end, was destined solely to have followers and to make admirers impossible.
What then, is the difference between an admirer and a follower? A follower is or strives to be what he admires. An admirer, however, keeps himself personally detached. He fails to see that what is admired involves a claim upon him, and thus he fails to be or strive to be what he admires.
-Søren Kierkegaard (1813-1855)
Søren Kierkegaard, best known as the founder of existentialist philosophy, was familiar to everyone in his home town of Copenhagen. Denmark--a spindly, comical figure with hair that stuck up nearly six inches from his forehead. He walked for many hours each day, stopping to talk with random folks along the way, entertaining them with is caustic wit. But inside he suffered greatly.
Søren was the youngest of Michael Kierkegaard’s seven children. His pietistic father was convinced that their family was cursed and took his kids on treks to the cemetery to dwell on their own horrific sins.
No wonder Søren described himself as an intense boy in the power of a “monstrously brooding temperament.”
As a teenager he was both repelled by and attracted to his father’s fierce religion. He wrestled with faith as a theology student at the University of Copenhagen and turned to philosophy in his intense quest for meaning.
Søren couldn’t shake his suspicion there actually was a divine reality: the person of Jesus who would demand a startling commitment of him. At 25 years old, Søren had a decisive spiritual experience, a feeling of “indescribable joy” that he couldn’t understand with his rational mind. He arrived at his life’s central truth at last—the realization that, at his core, he was a person found by God. He threw himself into an inward, ardent Christianity—and gave us that expression “leap of faith. “
But Søren continued to reject the way of the “parsons’ trash” peddled by his own state church, the jaded institution that counted all Danish citizens as automatic Christians from birth. Don’t just be a Christian, he said, as if “Christian” is some assigned identity that means nothing to you. No, take all of your life to become a Christian: choose, again and again with each new day to live a wholehearted life of faith in Christ.
Once Søren experienced the faith that reached beyond abstract knowledge, it was the practice of prayer that kindled his inner transformation. Søren’s daily encounters with the eternal became as essential to him as breathing. He recorded his prayers in a journal, writing out his his questions, confidence, doubts, joys, pains, con- solation, suffering, love, longing, depression—and gratitude. “The function of prayer is not to influence God,” he said, “but rather to change the nature of the one who prays.”
Jubilee Year, Where a White, Middle-Aged, Relatively Rich, Overweight American Woman Tries to Live Out Some Sort of Biblical Jubilee | Cary Umhau
This blog post originally appeared on the Spacious blog. Cary will be sharing about her work and unlikely friendship with Joey Katona at Vintage Lunch on Oct. 6th. All are welcome. More info here.
“And from each man, too, I will demand an accounting for the life of his fellow man,” reads Genesis 9:5b.
How responsible are we? How seriously do we need to take this? Pretty much so, I’d imagine.
I heard a quote recently and like many good things I read and hear, I am not able to attribute it accurately. If you know the source, please tell me, and I’ll update. I think it could have been Rob Bell or Francis Chan. I listened to books of each of theirs on the same day on a LONG road trip (my favorite kind). Anyway, the quote was something to the effect that “When we feed someone, it means that we want him to go on living another day.” It’s an investment in them, a statement of the value of their life.
Here in Big Mac Land, we aren’t talking about sustenance for living or life-and-death calorie counts. But it still applies in the sense of desiring to nourish someone, provide something “life-giving.”
So when Genesis admonishes that we are going to be held accountable for the “life” of fellow man, certainly it includes actual life. So why, when I see someone sprawled out on the sidewalk or on a staircase in the more visibly hurting parts of my city (there is as much pain of a different sort in homes with manicured lawns), looking as if they are dead, do I not go see if they are in fact dead — or living but desperate? I shudder to think why I don’t.
And C.S. Lewis famously talks about our encounters with each glorious person (full of the glory of being God’s image-bearers) that we meet, and how it is incumbent on each of us to treat the other that way.
Here is an excerpt from Lewis’ Weight of Glory:
The load, or weight, or burden of my neighbour’s glory should be laid daily on my back, a load so heavy that only humility can carry it, and the backs of the proud will be broken. It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare. All day long we are, in some degree, helping each other to one or other of these destinations. It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilities, it is with the awe and the circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all our dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics. There are no ordinary people.
So when we read in Genesis, “And from each man, too, I will demand an accounting for the life of his fellow man,” we know that beyond doing anything we can to insure that our fellow man lives bodily, we are also charged with the privilege of taking their dignity and spiritual destiny seriously. And held accountable for such.
Reflections on the Horizons Fellows Retreat by Megan Helbling '18
In a Day in the Life of Megan Helbling, Fridays are happily chaotic. I start the day at the Theological Horizon’s office, fulfilling my intern duties—which range from emails and spreadsheets to snuggling with Ginger, the Marsh’s mutt. The Vintage lunch welcomes friends by the droves, filling the space with food and the hum of life. Later, I scurry from one errand to another, running between appointments and coffee chats. Last Friday, one of those errands was to quickly pack a bag full of sweatpants and t-shirts and my favorite pillow. Soon after, the twelve Horizons Fellows (plus our loving leader, Christy) piled into three cars, and we began a pilgrimage to Corhaven, a Christian retreat center in the Shenandoah Valley. As my car exited Charlottesville and turned towards the mountains, an Avett Brother’s playlist and the rhythm of trees whizzing by our moving vehicle drowned out the busy hum of school, and only quiet beauty remained in its place.
When we finally arrived at Corhaven, we were completely surrounded by pastoral serenity. My car dumped our belongings in the upstairs bedroom of the log-cabin retreat building, and were overcome with giddiness at the sight of cows and hay bales outside our window. As we waited for the rest of the cars to arrive, we shuffled puzzle pieces around downstairs and tripped through an enormous vegetable garden. My relationships with each of the individual Fellows are diverse: some are my best friends, some I barely knew by name: but there was a warmth of unadulterated hospitality that infused the entire scene as we converged that made even the newest friends seem like family.
Besides serving as a reprieve from schoolwork, the purpose of the Horizons Retreat was to learn about each other and establish a groundwork for our future semester-long discussions surrounding vocation. As the sun began to set, we huddled onto couches and curled under blankets and began to listen as one by one, we shared our ‘stories’ with one another. We reflected on the ways that our pasts impact our present circumstances, and mused about how our stories thus far will inform our plans for the future. It was such a blessing to listen to, laugh at, and learn from each Fellow’s story. We are used to getting to know one another through lived experience: we discern incremental amalgamations of life through getting meals with others and learning what they are allergic to; by watching a movie together and noticing what parts make them cry; by being with them when they embarrass themselves and seeing how they laugh at themselves. The type of sharing we experienced at the retreat was beautiful in a different way. We were each given the ability to compose our stories, complete with a beginning, middle and end, with promises of sequels that we will have a front-row view of throughout the upcoming year. Even the friends who I’ve known for years presented their stories to me in new and exciting ways.
In her book On Beauty and Being Just, Elaine Scarry describes how “beauty is bound up with truth”. An objectively beautiful thing inspires convictions towards both the infinite (or the immortal), and therefore, especially from our Horizon’s Fellows’ religious perspective, towards what is true. She says, “beauty…has been perceived to be bound up with the immortal, for it prompts a search for a precedent, which in turn prompts a search for a still earlier precedent, and the mind keeps tripping backward until it at last reaches something that has no precedent”. Call me a transcendentalist, but I really believe that the absolute serenity and beauty that surrounded us at Corhaven prompted us to inquire deeply into our own and one another’s stories, as well as into the nature of God’s own purposes and presence throughout our lives. Scarry writes, “beauty is a starting place for education”--and in this case, the pastoral charm of Corhaven provided the necessary and important backdrop to begin learning about one another’s lives and discerning our personal futures. Bill Haley, the co-founder of Corhaven, also provided us with a teaching on vocation and laid a groundwork for us to think about finding God’s purposes for the upcoming year. We talked about how discovering fundamental truths about God’s character will be an important key to discerning how to faithfully follow God’s will in the upcoming years.
It's been a few weeks since this retreat, and each of us has returned to our weekly routines. As a fourth year, I’ve discovered that the victory lap of my college career is filled with ultimate familiarity of a place I’ve come to know and love so well, while also infused with the unpredictability and unknowableness of the future. Since our retreat, however, it’s been comforting to frame both my knowledge and lack thereof in the foundations of beautiful truth that I was reminded of while at Corhaven. Scarry writes, “Hymn and palinode—conviction and consciousness of error— reside inside most daily acts of encountering something beautiful”. My prayer is that each day, I would be able to recognize both the beauty of God’s immortal truths as well as her mortal creation, and that both of those things would convict me towards greater consciousness of God’s truth and promises regarding my lifelong vocation.
For more information on the Horizons Fellows program, a year-long vocation discipleship opportunity for 12 4th years, click here.
Paperwork and Eucharist | SK Doyle, Horizons Fellow '18
This post was originally posted on the Project on Lived Theology blog here as part of SK's summer internship.
Every week the residents of Magdalene fill out “Weekly Sheets.” These two-page packets are used to document the meetings they attend, to notify staff of upcoming appointments, and to request weekend passes. Every week, after appointments have been entered into the group calendar and passes have been reviewed, I file them. I organize them alphabetically and chronologically in a system I created in the first couple weeks of my work here. I also often file various paperwork and documentation into each of the residents’ individual files labelled with their names and entry dates. It isn’t the most glamorous or exciting of tasks, but as the weeks have gone by I’ve begun to feel the significance of organizing and attending to these individual narratives. In the practice of filing and organizing these documents that mark the past experiences of the residents and their progress as they move forward in their recovery, there is a great deal of beauty and weight. Completing these tasks has become somewhat of a ritual in my week.
As my site mentor Shelia has explained to me, accurate file-keeping is critical to tracking the progress of the women of Magdalene in their recovery. Another regular part of my internship has been observing staffings – individual meetings between a resident and staff to address issues and complications as they arise. As Shelia says, having accurate and complete files that document a particular resident’s past is critical to making in-the-moment decisions about how to move forward. Part of the significance in the seemingly tedious task of filing is in this confluence of past, present, and future. Consulting a resident’s meticulously organized file can allow staff to consult the past, comprehend the present, and plan for the future.
William T. Cavanaugh’s work Torture and Eucharist concerns the particular context of Chile under the military dictatorship of General Augusto Pinochet Ugarte. He asserts that the Eucharistic liturgy can function as resistance against state-sanctioned violence in the form of torture, which he sees as an “anti-liturgy” (206). He goes on to write that “Eucharist is the liturgical realization of Christ’s suffering and redemptive body in the bodies of his followers.” In Cavanaugh’s work, this simultaneous experience of past, present, and future is referred to as Eucharistic time that exists outside of historical, linear time in the liturgy of the Eucharist. He writes that when the sacrament of the Eucharist is performed and experienced, “past and future simultaneously converge, and the whole Christ, the eschatological church of all times and places, is present” (234). While the sharing of Christ’s body and blood is, on some level, deeply incomparable with hole-punching and filing papers, there is something of the “simultaneity of past and future in the present” that occurs in the moments that these files become necessary for decisions regarding care for the women at Magdalene (222).
In my practice of organizing and filing in the Magdalene office, I’ve found something in the imposition of order on the chaotic and traumatic histories of the residents that feels somehow liturgical. Rather than reducing the residents to a series of documents, this humble and conscientious filing functions in defiance to the chaos and turmoil of the traumatic histories the women of Magdalene have survived. Cavanaugh writes that Eucharistic liturgy resists the fact that “modern torture is predicated on invisibility, that is, the invisibility of the secret police apparatus and the disappearance of bodies” by making “the true body of Christ visible.” In a similar way, these files are resistant to trauma as predicated on chaos and disorder by intentionally organizing and giving form to documentation of deeply personal narratives.
There is something sacred and liturgical in the handling, organizing, and reorganizing of these files as assemblages of past, present, and future and as physical manifestations of a refusal to submit to chaos. This week in particular, as I’ve assembled the proper tabs in their proper order in empty folders for the two new women who have been welcomed into the community, and placed them–waiting to be filled with history, progress, and trajectory–on shelves with the rest of the files, I’ve felt the privilege of being part of this liturgy and catching glimpses of its power.
For updates about the PLT Summer Internship, click here.
Reflections on Regent College Summer School by Isabella Hall, '19
The greatest challenge in reflecting upon my time at Regent College this past summer is articulating the depth of gratitude and transformation I feel in the wake of my experience. Regent College provided an excellent setting as a graduate institution committed to producing theological work accessible to and intended for the laity. It was the ideal environment for exploring questions of vocation and calling as well examining the relationship between the life of the mind and the life of the spirit. The diversity of the students within each class is a testament to Regent’s vision which, like Christ, cuts across boundaries and divisions in order to unite followers of Jesus in their seeking the Kingdom in their respective contexts. In the same vein, my own cohort reflected a beautifully diverse collection of individuals—from our ages, levels of study, academic disciplines, geographic locations, nationalities, ethnicities and cultures. However, each of us were attracted to the project because of a desire to use our intellect to deepen our understandings of Christ through academic study and group dialogue. I learned a tremendous amount in my classes under faculty members who made themselves available outside of class times and were passionate scholars who delighted to share their work with students; especially Dr. Soong-Chan Rah who took the time to familiarize himself with each student and speak with particularity to our various experiences. Furthermore, my professors were models of enduring devotion to Christ who balance the importance of theology and doxology with humility and wisdom. This was wildly affirming to me, as one who strives to understand my intellectual pursuits as service to the common good and worship to the Creator who designed the development of my interests, passions, and driving curiosities.
Outside of the classroom, I learned nearly as much in the conversations which unfolded with fellow students in the margins of class time, over coffee breaks, around the chapel, and especially doing life with the other cohort members. With so many different perspectives, each conversation was rich with complexity and insights of Truth which I never would had arrived at alone. It was a humbling reminder of the gracious gift community is and how vital personal formation within community is to a life of faith. Acts 4:32 reads that “all the believers were one in heart and mind” and despite our countless differences, I had everything in common with the people I encountered because of a shared pursuit of Truth in Christ. This was an important theme that arose throughout my time at Regent—that I maintain a posture “truth pursued” and come alongside others in that pursuit rather than employing a rhetoric that assumes I have “truth possessed.” This distinction invites me to appreciate and learn from the variety of traditions, worship practices, and even doctrines within the Christian faith. It fosters a sense of kinship with my fellow followers of Christ; that I might learn from them and in turn, they might learn from my journey and expressions of faith. Leaving the program, I was very surprised at how moved I was by every single person in my cohort. I could not have predicted how deep our affections for one another would have grown in such a short time. It was nothing short of spectacular movement of the spirit among us.
Additionally, Vancouver’s otherworldly beauty was a significant piece of my time at Regent. The impossible amount of sunlight each day had a way of obscuring time. Coupled with the formidable blue mountains to the North, the severe blue of the perpetually clear sky, the rocky beaches, and gentle summer warmth; the landscape was a source of nourishment. The environment invited me into a contemplative mindset as I spent most mornings running, reading, or sitting by the ocean. The hiking excursions arranged by the project were great fun and allowed me to see more of Vancouver’s distinctive character. I am so inexpressibly grateful for the unexpected moments of my trip, like jumping into the frigid natural springs of Lynn Canyon, sharing sushi and watching sailboats at the Deep Cove marina, or getting thrown from a mechanical bull at the Richmond night market. My time at Regent College summer school was an adventure that empowered me to be thankful and excited for the adventure that is a life with Christ.
Isabella Hall is a 3rd Year student at UVa who is a Perkins Fellow as well as a resident of the new Perkins House.
Honoring Civil Rights Hero, The Perkins House bridges UVA/Local Neighborhood
What does it mean to be a good neighbor?
That’s the question at the heart of a new initiative that University of Virginia students hope will deepen the connection between the UVA community and some of the Charlottesville neighborhoods closest to Grounds.
This year, five third-year students – Ameenah Elam, Dominique DeBose, Isabella Hall , Sade Akinbayo and Sarah Bland – are the first to live in The Perkins House, a house in Charlottesville’s 10th and Page neighborhood named in honor of civil rights activist John M. Perkins. Throughout the year, they will work to build relationships with their neighbors in big and small ways, whether by opening up their home for dinners or simply helping carry groceries. Some will also partner with different nonprofit organizations working in the community.
“This house will be a group of young people trying to live out an authentic faith, following the great commandment of loving God and loving each other,” Perkins said. “In this world today, there is so much division and violence, and it has been my life’s effort – and that of my wife and many others – to live a life of love.”
Read the full article at UVa Today.
What if we stopped being afraid? Reflections from Charlottesville
Nathan Walton is a Ph.D. Candidate in Religious Studies at the University of Virginia & Community Life Pastor at the Vineyard Church, Charlottesville.
A word from Karen Wright Marsh, executive director of Theological Horizons: Last weekend we witnessed, up close and face to face, a stunning, virulent hatred that dismayed the world. In two days we will receive students into this space for a new academic year. As we ponder God's call to us as a ministry in this place and at this time, we ask for your prayers. We seek to bear the light of Christ with courage and grace. We seek to listen to brothers and sisters with open, tender hearts. We begin with a reflection from Nathan Walton, generously shared here.
On Sunday, I left church after an extended time of corporate lament to grab groceries at Trader Joe’s, along with my wife and our 7-month old daughter. While we were shopping a white woman in her mid-fifties who we had never met came up to us and said “I hope you are not distressed by what happened this weekend.” I responded by saying that it was all very heavy – by which I meant that it all left me feeling emotionally drained, sorrowful, and even numb.
For the next minute or so, she acknowledged the events as “evil” and deplorable”, but disagreed with my use of the word “heavy.” She then attempted to convince us that the events of this past weekend were not representative of Charlottesville and that we should not allow these things to rattle us. In her words, these people are not us. Although I want to assume that this woman had good intentions (because counseling has taught me the importance of “assuming positive intent”), I found this stranger’s comments troubling.
The first thing I found troubling was that this stranger attempted to tell me how to feel. Perhaps she thought that what she said would be an encouragement, assuring me that this weekend was an anomaly. But in reality it amounted to a person of privilege both assuming that they had a better understanding of the situation and had permission to correct mine. In hindsight I’m not sure whether her decision to approach us had more to do with a conscious attempt to comfort (educate?) two people of color or a subconscious attempt to suppress white guilt – an attempt to distance herself and the city she loved from the evil she was convinced had invaded it from the outside. I’m not sure.
But perhaps a deeper issue that this brief encounter underscores is that we as a society have a really hard time being honest about who we are. It gave this woman great comfort to tell herself that all of these “evil” and “deplorable” people were from outside of Charlottesville and that our “progressive” town would never harbor views that echo theirs.
But this simply isn’t true. In this case, choosing to always point the finger at others who are the “real” problem is not only dishonest, but it is intellectually lazy. It is dishonest because my wife didn’t have to go out of our city to be called the N-word last year; she just had to drive around Pantops shopping center. For others of my friends, they just had to walk down Rugby Road or The Corner at night.
Opting to always assume the problem is “way out there” is intellectually lazy because it can lead us to avoid the hard work of introspection and asking ourselves about whether we are complicit in an unjust culture or an unjust system, and if so, how to actively fight against this. Too often we are simply too afraid: afraid of what we might find if we ask ourselves the hard question of whether we are part of the problem.
We saw this after the Charleston Massacre when Dylann Roof’s arrest made it all too easy for people to condemn his heinous acts without interrogating the culture that produced them….a culture that is far more pervasive (around, and even in us) than we are willing to admit. It’s scary to consider this, so we fight tooth and nail to prove to others, and to ourselves, that we are not like “them.”
We are deeply afraid of being a part of the problem.
But what if we stopped being afraid?
What if we realized that facing our fears and the reality of being broken and sinful was an opportunity to become healed? What if we surrendered our idol of perfectionism and laid it at Jesus’ feet? What if we realized that Jesus can handle it? What if acknowledging our brokenness as individuals and as a community was the path for God to mend our individual and collective wounds?
John’s first epistle tells us that perfect love drives out fear, so my prayer is that God would cultivate a love in us for our neighbor that would drive out the fear that keeps us from looking in the mirror; a love that convinces us that we must stand and fight against prejudice not only when it shows up in in a white hood, but when it shows up in our own hearts. In our own families. In our own city. Even in our own church.
May God heal me, and us, as we seek to invite others into that healing.
A prayer after the violence
As this weekend of hate and violence ends, our hearts are broken. Stand with us, friends. Come alongside us as we minister in the name of Christ here in Charlottesville and at UVa--as we seek to listen well, to speak the truth, to welcome each person with the abounding generosity of the One who laid down his life for all of us. There have been many words these recent days. So for now: a prayer.
"God, we are angry and frightened. We know you created us for peace, but our world is just so violent. ... We ask your comfort for those violated. We ask your justice for those whose souls are so numb they cannot feel the pain they inflict. They need you most of all. Violate them with your terrible grace, that they may feel again. And make us your peace; rob us of our privileges, that we may be a refuge so that such evil can come to an end."
- Stanley Hauerwas, Prayers Plainly Spoken
(Join us on October 12 for Stanley Hauwerwas's Capps Lecture here at UVa.)
A mentoring community at the heart of the University - Karen Wright Marsh
Reposted from The Presbyterian Outlook.
This is what the LORD says:
“Stand at the crossroads and look;
ask for the ancient paths,
ask where the good way is, and walk in it,
and you will find rest for your souls” (Jeremiah 6:16).
It’s “Move In Day” here at the University of Virginia. Out on the teeming sidewalk, Jon, a newly arrived first year student, bids his family goodbye and steps out into four years of life at the crossroads. He stands there in front of his dorm, peering down the twisting campus paths, and wonders: Which way now?
This young traveler has left the stability of family, the only life he’s known. The beliefs he’s grown up with are about to be challenged on every level. Jon will encounter unfamiliar ideas in the classroom and negotiate tricky social dynamics on Friday nights down fraternity row. He will spend four years interacting with professors and classmates from diverse religious, moral and ethical points of view.
Jon will probably have some shipwreck experiences along the way. He might even face the unraveling of something that has held his world together — the loss of a romantic relationship, maybe a physical injury or illness, a failure, perhaps the discovery of intellectual concepts that call into question things as he has perceived them, or as they were taught to him, or as he has read, heard or assumed.
Rachel, an upperclassman, advises incoming students, “The start of college is a time to think about your faith, what it means and how it intersects with your academic and social lives. At college your faith will be challenged differently than in past years. You will ask harder questions. You might even face doubt at times.”
During these next years, will Jon ask for the ancient paths? And if he finds the good way, will he walk in it?
Jon is not likely to find guidance from his professors, for only one in five faculty members in public universities says that “colleges should be concerned with facilitating spiritual development” and far fewer personally engage in conversations about faith. Belief is considered to be a personal matter outside the sphere of academics. As students’ church attendance drops by almost half in college, chances are good that Jon will walk through this critical time without adult Christian companionship.
Rachel continues, “Theological Horizons provides a welcoming place for engaging faith, thought and life.” Since 2000, Theological Horizons has been creating a Christian mentoring community at the heart of the University of Virginia. The ministry is centered at the Bonhoeffer House, also the rambling home to our faculty family. My children, professor husband, Charles Marsh, and I share our home and our lives beyond the lecture hall.
While Theological Horizons serves an expansive network of faculty, scholars, graduate students and clergy, our daily ministry is enlivened by undergraduate students: the brilliant, energetic young adults who find a home away from home close to fraternity row. Students arrive for home-cooked food at our weekly “Vintage” lunch, house concerts and theology seminars. They read by our library fireplace and have discussions and Bible studies — all accompanied by a sociable dog named Ginger.
Kaylee studied religious studies and finance at the university and became a regular at the Bonhoeffer House. She explains why: “I fell in love with the way that Theological Horizons bridges the gap between the academy and faith communities that surround the University. I was looking for a place that I could come to with my faith tradition and ask questions and be skeptical. The Bonhoeffer House became that sacred space for me.”
As the executive director of Theological Horizons, my philosophy of campus ministry is shaped by the insights of Sharon Daloz Parks, a scholar on leadership. Parks identifies the essential work of the students we serve: “To become a young adult in faith is to discover the limits of inherited socially received assumptions about how life works — what is ultimately true and trustworthy, and what counts — and to recompose meaning and faith on the other side of that discovery.”
How will our young friends recompose meaning after shedding outgrown assumptions, especially in a public university environment where intellectual challenges and social crises can be hostile to Christian belief? Parks asserts that university students’ success in grounding a worthy adulthood depends upon the hospitality, commitment and courage of adult culture, through both individuals and institutions. As members of an adult culture, we’ve taken to heart the responsibility for university students’ journey towards worthy adulthood. To be hospitable, committed and courageous – this is our call to action.
A mentoring community meets young adults in their readiness for deep belonging and encourages worthy dreams of self and the world. All knowledge has a moral dimension. Learning that matters is ultimately a spiritual, transforming activity, intimately linked with the whole of life — knowledge enabled by the recognition, presence and faith of caring adults. Young adults need to feel recognized as who they really are and as who they are becoming. Through Theological Horizons, we offer a safe place for questions and yet challenge students in their fragile faith. We embrace students in their emerging strength, their ambivalence and their vulnerability.
At the Bonhoeffer House we invite folks from the “real world” to come and talk about how their faith is lived in many vocations and contexts. It has been said that God is always revising our boundaries outward. This has proved true for the mentoring community here. Our intensive Horizons Fellows Program serves 20 fellows during their final university year. Fellows and their adult mentors wrestle with concepts of calling through one-on-one relationships, small group conversations, lectures, readings and retreats.
Christen Borgman Yates, director of the Horizons Fellows Program, says, “Our faith and sense of vocation develop best when we’re exposed to differing viewpoints and serving in the ‘real world’. Staying in the college bubble, especially with students just like us, is much more comfortable, but usually reinforces our own point of view. Pulling students out of that bubble is, to me, one of the most exciting journeys to take.”
Maddy, an architecture major from California and a recent graduate, came to faith in Christ during college and has joined the staff of a residential community of adults with intellectual disabilities. Maddy reflects, “Going to the Bonhoeffer House over my years as a student wasn’t an event on my schedule, it became a lifestyle; I have a home and a family there, they considered me their own from the first time I walked through the door.”
Purpose rather than Ambition | Reflections by Fellow Stephen Rooker, '16
Stephen (far left) with two buddies at the Bonhoeffer House.
The Kevin Durant quote “Hard work beats talent when talent fails to work hard” always helped motivate me throughout high school. A basketball player myself, I took to heart these words of my NBA role model. I set lofty goals for myself, and whether it was the colleges that I wanted to get into, the personal accolades I wanted to receive in basketball, or even the dream job I wanted to work towards, I put the pressure solely on my work habits. After all, we live in a society that tells us that by working hard we can live the “American Dream,” so why not set the bar high?
I took this mindset with me into my first year of college, but reality hit hard. My goal of a 4.0 proved disastrous, my attempts to make the UVa basketball team seemed like a joke after failing to do so twice, and my campaign for class president resulted in an 8th place finish. To make matters worse, I put countless hours into accomplishing these goals only to fall flat on my face. The work took a toll on me, as I woke up most mornings red-eyed from under five hours of sleep, and my advisor told me after my first semester of course work that I shouldn’t even bother with the pre-Commerce track since I already had just about ruined my odds of acceptance. I was deflated: Hadn’t I worked hard enough to earn at least one of my goals?
When, as part of my Fellows experience, I was asked to come up with a personal mission statement, I thought back to what my early college experience had taught me. I always had a diligent work ethic, but I didn’t always have an open mind to what the Lord was doing in my life. What I learned is that sometimes the Lord is going to close doors that might be a distraction from God's goals for me. My stubbornness to accept God's goals rather than mine often led to failure in my eyes.
By 3rd year, I finally learned to let go of my ambitions. As a result, I recognized that one of the main reasons the Lord wanted me at UVa was to build relationships and create a community with all different types of people, so I (reluctantly) learned to let go of my attachment to academic success by putting more time into intentional relationships. Surprisingly, my grades skyrocketed as well, and I found much more enjoyment in school.
During my time as a Fellow this past year, we have talked a lot about one’s calling and why we are motivated. As we discussed these topics, I found myself realizing how often I ignore what I might be called to do in order to satisfy a selfish motive. Going forward, I am trying to focus on what drives my decisions before I set out to accomplish certain goals. This past month, I finally pieced together my personal mission statement, and it is one that I hope reflects what I have learned from my struggle to come to these conclusions: “To work diligently yet humbly with purpose rather than ambition.”
Why Theological Horizons Matters | Camille Loomis '13
The Bonhoeffer House
I am, perhaps, an unusual case for Theological Horizons. I walked through the front doors of the Bonhoeffer House my first year as a UVA student with little exposure to traditional Christianity and no formal religious education. On the other hand, my experience within the welcoming and inclusive spirit of the Bonhoeffer House is precisely what makes the work of Theological Horizons so successful. A newcomer to the faith scene at UVA, I felt cherished, safe, and inspired. The challenge to explore faith has been eagerly accepted by students from all possible backgrounds. The integration and intersection of academic inquiry and faith is a unique and fruitful stage upon which to develop thoughtful friendships!
The work at Theological Horizons is growing broadly and deeply! Vintage lunches have grown to accommodate between 40 and 50 students each week. Evening Prayer and Morning Bible Study continue to grow to include the Charlottesville community, and we estimate about 650 individual students have walked through our doors in the past year alone.
Upon mentioning the Bonhoeffer House to my fellow students, I get one of two responses: “Oh, I love that place,” or “That sounds fascinating! Can I come?” Theological Horizons is recognized here, and expanding every day. We invite you to become part of our family! One way to stay in touch with the work of Theological Horizons is to become a financial supporter. Join our matching gift challenge campaign, or pledge your support for 2016! Help us feed students assembling for Vintage lunches to explore God’s great questions, support us in hosting our annual Capps Lecture, and partner with us to provide ministry! Thank you for your partnership --we are grateful!
Most importantly, we invite you inside! The doors at the Bonhoeffer House are always open.
Camille Loomis, TH Alumnus, Spring 2013 Intern
Coracle: Getting in the Boat | Caitlin Montgomery, '16
No, it’s not a type of seashell, a magnifying lens, or a species of bird.. tempting as those definitions might be, “Coracle” is actually the name of the retreat center and ministry visited by the Horizons Fellows each fall. If you’re as bewildered by this word as I was, check out Executive Director Bill Haley’s description on the organization’s website:
“Often when [the old Celtic Christian pilgrims] set out on pilgrimage together, they would get into a small leather boat, hoist the sail, pull up the rudder, and go where God took them, by way of the wind. In those native tongues these small boats are called curraughs, in English they are a ‘coracle’, a small boat for wide seas. A coracle is a vehicle to take the journey with God to find God, together.”
So… it’s a type of boat? Easy enough- got it. Ok. Fast-forward. When we first turned the doorknob and stepped inside Coracle, I was initially struck by the relaxed, intimate atmosphere made apparent by the circle of cozy couches and the emanating smoky smell of the furnace. It looked like a family cabin! Hmm, I thought, this is wonderful, but what about this retreat center is supposed to resemble a boat? …Should I be worried?
A few minutes later, when Bill sat us down with a smile and recounted Coracle’s story, my question was answered. Here’s my not-so-eloquent summary: a boat is never really just a boat. That is to say, no boat exists for its own sake- a boat is most “boat-like” when it is fulfilling its reason for existence, its purpose- which is to take people somewhere.
Likewise, Coracle exists in order to stimulate spiritual formation in its retreatants - to mobilize us to discover what it means to be called by God for work in his Kingdom. Bill’s direction on Christian vocation this weekend taught me that so much of the work Christians are called to carry out in this world necessitates that we understand who we are in relation to God and the world. Humans are kind of like boats, I think. We are far more interesting than monuments or statues, created to look pretty or preserve a memory- we are going somewhere, always, whether we realize it or not. And in a way, we are “most human” when we realize where we are going and how we can intentionally orient ourselves toward God, others, and creation. When we exist for a purpose outside ourselves, only then do we find out who we really are. But first, we have to get moving.
These sentiments may best be expressed by the Prayer of St. Brendan the Navigator, on his own journey in his own coracle:
“Shall I abandon, O King of mysteries,
the soft comforts of home?
Shall I turn my back on my native land,
and turn my face toward the sea?”
Calling and Constraint - With Kate Harris
Calling is a complex and comprehensive word that speaks to how we faithfully steward all of life, yet we often tend to think of calling as primarily to do with our giftedness or potential. And while both are good and important, this view misses some of the more sustaining and redemptive aspects of calling which are borne of brokenness, finitude and frustration. Please listen to this unique discussion about vocation and be encouraged to see how even constraints and limitations can yield purpose in life and work.
Kate Harris is the author of Wonder Woman: Navigating the Challenges of Motherhood, Career, and Identity as part of the Barna Group Frames. She was the Executive Director of The Washington Institute for Faith, Vocation & Culture from 2011-2015 and the interim Executive Director of the Fellows Initiative from 2016-2017. Kate graduated from the University of Colorado at Boulder with a B.S. in Journalism and B.A in Political Science and is currently pursuing an MA in Culture Studies at George Mason University. She is wife to a very good man and mother to four young children and also a new board member of Theological Horizons! Welcome, Kate!
Listen to "Faith in the University"
What does a Christian need to know about faith in the university? What are the intellectual challenges to belief and the day to day realities in the classroom? In this one hour talk, religious studies professor Charles Marsh speaks in depth about thinking and living as a person of faith in an academic context. With an introduction by Billy Peebles, headmaster of Lovett School in Atlanta.
Listen to the lecture here.
Wholly Surrender | Reflections by Fellow Anna Cho '17
I have had seasons in my life where I have been in deep spiritual highs. But if I am being completely honest with myself, I sometimes find myself shifting my gears into neutral and losing my enthusiasm for the gospel slowly. There have been seasons where I’ve gotten completely lost in my work, have gone days without reading God’s word, and unknowingly have forgotten how many days it has been since I last prayed. This feeling of settling for average is the most deceptive. Your devotional life appears to be okay. Church life is average. Life is moving. It all seems normal and ordinary.
I normalized this kind of ‘average’ faith for portions of my college life, but the unforeseen circumstances and chaos of my spring semester of third year caused me to reassess everything around me. The truth is, I bought into the lie that the things of this world could offer me true contentment without realizing I had fallen into this trap. And if there is anything that scripture is clear about, it is that contentment transcends circumstances and is an act that comes solely through a lifestyle of wholly surrender.
God wants us. He wants ALL of us. He wants to permeate every circumstance, process, and problem we walk through, but often we are afraid to let him. When I face a trial, my first instinct is to run and I often struggle to trust God. But it is these moments that my heart is kept in check and I am humbled. The greatest gift in the face of trials is faith. Once I realized that God sees us through every problem and stands with us in our weakness, my perspective changed entirely. He meets us where we are in the depths of our shame.
How many times have I equated the broken love of sinners to the perfect love of a savior? The answer is simple: A LOT. But looking back on these past four years, I cannot help but smile at all the times that the Lord has met me at my doorsteps. He gave me real community at a time when I didn’t know if I wanted to be at UVA, provided me a space to explore vocational discernment through the Fellows Program with Theological Horizons, and taught me what unconditional love looks like during my time in Liberia even in the midst of doubt. When I finally found the courage to surrendr my need for control and let my life be permeated by grace, I found the most freedom.
So here lies the final question that I have been regularly challenged by: will you trust God with your life?
Things to Remember: Julie's Top 5
Julie's recent facebook picture shows her in cap and gown, surrounded by orange balloons and jubilant friends. She is one who can proudly say, 'I have worn the honors of honor, I graduated from Virginia.' Commerce degree in hand, Julie has already jumped into her next adventures--a new city, a new career, new relationships--and she's experiencing both the promise and trepidation that transitions brings.
As Julie steps out into all that comes next, she holds fast to reminders of God's accompanying presence. If you, too, are in transition...here is your list of Things To Remember!
- God has shaped me for this. He has molded me and prepared me just for this journey ahead. Not only has He prepared me, but He has gone before me, paving a way, carving a path for me.
- God wants me here. Today. Now. In this moment. He led me here and He has a plan. I need only trust He knows better than I.
- There is no fear in perfect love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made in perfect love. I love because He first loved me. (I John 4:18)
- I am not defined by anything but God's love. His glorious, merciful, and abundant love overcomes the world. (John 16:33)
- God gives peace. He gives unsurpassed peace that is powerful and mysterious. He gives me the Holy Spirit to accompany me in every moment, to calm my anxieties, to bring me into His presence. God will not forsake me.
Finding Love Among the Ruins | Reflections by Courtney Zerrenner '17
Anna Cho (left) and Courtney Zerrenner (right)
My final two years of undergrad at UVa were marked by many firsts: my first death in the family, my first major declaration, my first experience living in another country, my first heartbreak, and my first crisis of faith. Prompted by a challenging summer spent studying in Morocco, I questioned my upbringing, my purpose, and my worth. Raised in a religious household and steeped in the teachings of the Christian faith, I was all too familiar with the parables and the vocabulary of faith. I was fluent in this language, yet I felt like a fraud. For over a year, I wrestled with the accursed questions that I had never allowed myself to entertain. Who did I want to be and what did I want to value? What did the world tell me about myself and what of that did I believe? Why did abject despair exist in a world in God allegedly loved each being? Were women equal partners in the dissemination and interpretation of the Christian faith? How could marginalized and distressed populations believe in a gospel that for centuries was used as a tool of marginalization and terror? And how could I reconcile the coexistent beauty and the pain of the world that seemed so inextricably intertwined?
My final year at UVA spent as a Horizons Fellow with Theological Horizons invited me into the complexities of these questions. In this space, I was made to feel welcome despite my temporary unbelief, encouraged to ask hard questions that I had long denied, and compelled to honesty and vulnerability. Between the Fellows retreat, the monthly meetings with Christy Yates and other fellows over assigned readings on calling and social justice, and bi-weekly dates with my mentor, I was both pushed and comforted by the faith of others around me and the vitality of their belief. I came to recognize that a faith worth believing in was a faith that could withstand my questions. Whereas before Theological Horizons, I had felt unwelcome in faith based settings, I now relished in the peace that came with these meetings. As I spent more time engaging with my questions, one of the courses that I took in my fall semester allowed me to meet weekly with residents of a maximum security facility outside of Richmond to discuss Russian literature. Through this course, I began to simultaneously question my presuppositions on justice, crime, and racism in my own nation. I found in Theological Horizons a home for both of these genres of questioning.
I learned that my understanding of Christ’s redemptive love should and does influence my understanding of redemptive justice and that my belief surrounding the value that God assigns to each being is directly related to how I address institutional racism. Connecting my newly interrogated faith to my broad politics and to my own vocation was a point of clarity for me. Without Theological Horizons and the Fellows program, I would not have been able so easily to reconcile myself to the estranged faith of my childhood, which now is bolstered by the knowledge that it - the Christian faith - is intimately concerned with how I order my life and the lives of other around me.While I still have questions - and I suspect that faith means I always will - I am immensely thankful for the opportunity that the Fellows program afforded me to practice the process of working out my faith and engaging with my world.
After graduating UVa in May 2017, Courtney has gone on to teach in a French public high school system, focusing on working with immigrant students.
Two things a college woman should know
Listen to psychologist Susan Cunningham speak on two things she wish she'd known when she was nineteen!
Click here: Beat the Rush talk Jan2013
On Tuesday afternoon, girls gathered at the Bonhoeffer House for the annual “Beat the Rush” tea. The day was a dreary and rainy one, and the first year girls were tired from two long days of rush. However, the hot tea and delicious cookies, cheese, and fruit brightened up the day.
After chatting around the table of appetizers, the students gathered in the living room for the talk. Karen introduced the panel of women who had come to offer wisdom and insight to the students. Among them was Susan Cunningham, a well-known counselor in Charlottesville. The four other ladies there were Molly McFarland, Tilly Lazar, Johanna Montague, and Kendall Cox.
After introductions, we first had the privilege of listening to Susan Cunningham. She told us two pieces of advice she would tell her nineteen-year old self. The first piece of advice Susan had to offer was to “never compare yourself.” One quote of Susan’s that particularly stuck out to me was that “comparison is the thief of joy”. By comparing ourselves to those around us, we either feel a sense of superiority or inferiority. In both instances, we experience a loss of joy, pleasure, and satisfaction. We have to actively avoid falling into the temptation of comparing, which we as humans (and especially girls) will always face. Susan reminded us that we are all uniquely and perfectly made, with different passions and personalities.
Secondly, Susan said she would’ve told her younger self that “your baptism defines you.” We must remind ourselves that our identity in Christ is secure and unconditional. We have already been accepted and included in Christ, and there is nothing we could ever do to lose this identity. All of these truths allow us to possess what Susan calls “interior stability.”
After Susan spoke, the other four ladies then related their own experiences with rush and sorority life—both the challenges and the blessings of it. It was a neat opportunity to hear from these ladies; their experiences were still recent enough to be relatable, yet the women were also old enough to have reflected and gained insight on their college experiences. After, the first year girls were then able to ask questions about difficult issues, such as dealing with disappointment and pressure from others.
“Beat the Rush” was a time of refreshment and recovery from the pressures and busyness of rush. The girls were blessed to hear wisdom and truths from older women in order to face the week ahead with a new perspective and mindset. These topics of identity and comparison that were discussed are important issues that all women struggle with, whether rushing or not. ---Caroline Parsley, UVa '14
Loving amidst the Questions | Reflections by Fellow Melina Rapazzini '16
During my first semester of college, one morning during a devotional in the religious studies building (like every good Christian should do), I stumbled upon a verse I had never encountered, 1 Timothy 2:9,
A woman should learn in quietness and full submission. I do not permit a woman to teach or to assume authority over a man she must be quiet. For Adam was formed first, then Eve. And Adam was not the one deceived; it was the woman who was deceived and became a sinner. But women will be saved through childbearing (English Standard Version).
I felt like I had just been slapped across the face. How could this God of loving kindness that I had grown to intimately know and love through out my entire life allow for such a misogynistic verse to be included in the scriptures. Anger, passion, heartache and fear overtook me; I became consumed with reconciling this Christian God I loved with feminism, something that I instinctually knew as intrinsic to the liberative heart of God. I threw myself full force into a sincere pursuit for truth, for God, for understanding how, and with trepidation if, God was compatible with feminism. The feminism of 2012 seemed to me to be an abstract complex of ideas that subjectively differed from person to person. Even so, I knew down to my bones that feminism’s basic tenets of fighting for the social, political, and economic equality of the genders is a movement that the radical Jesus of Nazareth would have lead.
I joined a Christian fellowship and became the token liberal from San Francisco with my butch-cut hair and hipster style. To be fair, I may have played up that stereotype. It seemed as if every conversation I had with someone would result in a discussion of women in religion. With my religious friends I gleefully played the part of the feminist kill-joy by asking “hard hitting” questions about the bible. This was engendered by the simple fact that I could not bear to be alone in my questions. Yet often I was placated with rehearsed answers that I tried desperately to believe but could not. It was a lonely road. Did others not care about the contradictions? Were they not similarly propelled towards understanding truth? I felt disillusioned.
The Bonhoeffer House, a gem hidden amongst the vibrant Christian fellowships, quickly became a place of refuge for my many questions. This was a space where I learned that I am not the first person to ask my questions. Here I realized that I was allowed to question everything, down to the very tenants of my faith, and know I was still loved by a God who loved the long history doubters that came before me. I was able to question along with the great thinkers of Christianity, both living and dead. At the Bonhoeffer House, I heard talks from inspirational activist nuns, successful women in politics, and prolific ladies who wrote on the very topics I had questions about. Here I found solidarity among academics, lay people, professionals, and students- bound together by our pathological consumption for needing to engage with some 2000 year old dead man from Nazareth.
As a Fellow, I was able to meet up once a month with a phenomenal woman who is a pastor in Charlottesville. Thirteen years ago, she felt God’s call to start a Church in Charlottesville for those who suffer from homelessness, substance abuse, who have a history of (or are in the cycle of) incarceration, and other vulnerable populations. In Bonhoeffer’s The Cost of Discipleship, he speaks of questions. He says that questions are good and dandy to have, but they become problematic when they interfere with loving people. Because of my questions, faith had been difficult for me. However, I learned through my mentor what it means to express faith through acts of love. Through the Bonhoeffer House, I have been exposed to not just academic theology, but how to live out theology through acts of love- this is perhaps the greatest gift I could have received.
One Fool's Offering. What's yours? | Karla Petty
This blog post is reposted with permission from Coracle.
“Originality consists in returning to the origin.”
– Antoni Gaudí
I hadn’t heard of Antoni Gaudí before spring of 2004 when I first visited Barcelona, but you can’t miss him once you’re there. Of the many works this master architect designed, his pièce de résistance is surely the Basilica de la Sagrada Familia located in the heart of Barcelona, punctuating the city’s skyline with its incomplete towers and huge cranes continuously at work. Construction started on the Sagrada Familia in 1882, and is slated to be finished in 2026, 144 years later. When asked if it worried Gaudí that construction was taking so long, it is said that he responded, “My client is not in a hurry.” Who was this infinitely patient client? God. His client was God.
As I’ve reflected on my more recent visit to the cathedral in January, at least two things keep coming back to me. The first: the building is Gaudí’s own unique offering to the Kingdom of God. It calls to mind the woman who poured expensive perfume on Jesus’ feet in Bethany (Matthew 26:6-13). “She did what she could”, Jesus said. A devout Catholic, Gaudí’s heart and soul poured into every last detail of this psalm carved from stone for over 40 years, and he knew it wouldn’t be completed before he died so he spent years constructing detailed models and plans to guide the building’s realization through to completion, knowing he wouldn’t ever see it finished (sound familiar, Moses?). He eschewed greater notoriety, large commissions, and even his own personal appearance in favor of his work on it. He drew his inspiration and his joy from nature and scripture, channeling it back to God as a pure offering of his own soul. I’ve seen hundreds of places of worship all over the world, and none have struck me quite like La Sagrada Familia. It’s singular, authentic and holy. Gaudí had a vision, and knew it was given to him to realize as a gift back to the Creator, and the origin of the vision. He did what he could.
The second takeaway is that God’s truth is written into everything. A geometrician more than an architect, Gaudí loved the patterns and gorgeous ratios he discovered occurring around him in nature and how they functioned so beautifully to guide and enhance the wild flow of life through it. Every hyperboloid is replete with meaning. He thought of trees as buildings themselves, saying they know just where to sprout their branches and balance themselves out, so that’s how he designed the vaults in the nave. It’s not so random, this nature around us. When I walk through the building, and I see the truth of God’s beautiful geometry built into nature, then transposed by “God’s Architect” into stone towers and stained glass windows, the harmony of God’s truth is astounding. It all fits together, like it was always meant to. Like all Ikea modules are supposed to. The originality and universality of God’s truth breathes new air into my lungs which often choke on recycled thought, imitation philosophy, and incongruous, easy answers.
Perhaps where God is calling you to offer yourself isn’t an artistic vision that will span three centuries, cost hundreds of millions of dollars in donations, and require the efforts of thousands of people. Perhaps it is a call to simply love someone that only you (maybe not even the one you are loving) will ever know about. But that is just as important in God’s eyes as a huge monument made of stone. When I think of this building, I will think of it as a reminder to offer all that I am, everything God wrote into me, back into service to Him, because he made me how I am on purpose. And I pray I will remember to keep my eyes open to all around me, looking for God and his truth in everything I see. God’s vision for our lives is what we need to ask for, and it is our journey, our offering, and our joy to walk humbly with Him in its revelation.
Karla is the communications manager for Coracle and also works as an international student advisor. She grew up in northern virginia. She loves to travel, hike, ride her motorcycle and listening to music of all kinds.