Behind the cold piece of steel

I found a new way to relieve my stress on Wednesday: I picked up a Glock 22 and 35 and commenced to firing.
Yes, seminary has driven me to pick up the cold steel of a firearm. All the tension it brings and frustrations of classwork that I can't seem to grasp left my body and flew straight toward my target. He got it four times to the head, once to the neck and a few to the chest area.
And that was the first time I ever shot. My target was definitely dead.
My frustrations, my anger and depression I found myself under were definitely dead . . .at least for a day.

This was my first excursion to the firing range, at least for the purpose of learning about gun safety and usage. I figure if I ever find myself in a situation that requires I use the weapon for my safety, at least I'll have some knowledge of how it works. The trip was one that I had added to my list of 100 things that I wanted to accomplish in my lifetime and so when my cop and seminary friend offered to take a few of us girls -- we're now dubbed the newer, prettier version of Charlie's angels -- I hopped at the chance to go.

The firing, while scary, felt good. Kinda. I had a mix of emotions. Funny thing happened. As I stood behind the firing line with my arm extended out and my Glock aimed toward my target and started to think about how powerful I felt and how I "could get used to this feeling," the Lord spoke. And in a quiet still voice he said, "You should never be comfortable behind the back of that gun.There should always be a feeling of discontent."

I thought about that. And as I pulled the trigger to see the bullet escape the chamber causing a mini volcanic explosion, I thought about the many young brothers on the street who have become comfortable being behind the arm of that weapon. At that moment, I gained more of a reverence for the power that I was wielding. At that moment, it became very real that I could take a life -- decimate one with a simple pull and "Click". Just like I had taken my anger and frustration and killed off the demons I had been battling for the past few weeks.

In those moments I stood between the stalls of the firing range, I became aware of others who hurt and have no way to express themselves than through the cold steel of a piece like the Glock I held. And I silently weeped for them because no one saw their pain. I was reminded of how desensitized we have become to the suffering of others around us. And it was in that moment I prayed for eyes to be opened to pain other than our own.

Seminary 101

When you tell people you're going to seminary, inevitably the question comes up regarding what it's like. Well, let me tell you what it isn't: all these spiritual, God-loving holy rollers walking around with Bibles in their hand -- well, actually they do, but everybody's got a Bible in seminary. We need them for class. But it's like I said a couple of days ago, the study of the Bible ain't nothing like Wednesday night Bible study or Sunday school. Scholars study it from a historical and literary point of view. It's a piece of work that theologians have picked apart and given commentary on. Some you may agree with. A lot I don't.

And seminary, well, it's the place where some of those theologians are born.

This place is really a microcosm of what we see in the much larger society. Unfortunately, what you see happening in the world, happens between these walls. I say it's unfortunate, but I have to reconcile that everybody doesn't come to seminary with the same intentions. Those of us who are here aren't perfect, but definitely in need of change. We're heterosexual, homosexual, transgendered, black, white, African, Asian, Latino, a melting pot of the face of America. Some of us know God and have a relationship with him and others of us simply know about him. Some of us are searching for God here. And many of us are grappling with this concept called faith -- trying to gain it, trying not lose it or trying to build upon it.

I'm going for the latter and let me tell you it's hard.

There is a running joke that seminary is really a cemetery and I guess in a way it kind of is. Old doctrines that you may have grown up with can die here. You die here -- at least levels of you. But new levels of you can be born here too. For me, this place is becoming a place of transformation. My theology, whatever it was, whatever it is, is deconstructed daily only to be reconstructed into something -- and not necessarily in a bad way. God is dealing with my biases here. I find myself meeting him in the most unlikely places and seeing him in the most unlikely faces.

Seminary is challenging my beliefs and definitely rattling my faith. But more importantly, it's pushing me to seek God even more. It's a constant reminder that the journey through this place isn't easy.

Three years. Three years.

Back to the beginning . . .

I just realized I never really introduced this blog: "Goin' Broke . . . for the Lord." So let me go back to the beginning and first let me say, "Welcome". Welcome to my new life as a seminary student at Emory University Candler School of Theology in Atlanta, Ga. and a disciple in training -- at least a more informed one.

Goin' Broke. . . for the Lord is my way of saying "I'm sold out for Jesus" and it's my take on the call Jesus gave to the four fisherman he called as disciples in Luke 5. When Jesus called, they left everything behind and followed him, believing in a better expected end. I've pretty much done that, taken the risk to leave behind what is comfortable, i.e. my job as a journalist, my home, my friends, to pursue something better. (Although, I wasn't so quick to obey like the fisherman.) It took God more than a few phone calls to get me to accept his invitation. I'm kind of hard-headed.

But now that I'm here, Goin' Broke is where I will chronicle my three-year journey through my theological studies. I'll laugh here, smile here, vent here, definitely cry here and pull out my hair here. But I'll be here, as often as I can, pulling back the curtains for you to take a full view into my world.

So hop aboard the trolley and take a ride with me. This journey promises to be quite an adventure.

Sisterhood of the traveling Bible toters

I was glad Saturday finally came. I had been looking forward to it for the past two days. It marked my first sister circle fellowship -- an opportunity to meet some of my other Candler sistahs who have gone through and are going through what I'm about to go through, starting on Tuesday. It was a chance for the new to fellowship with the old and begin friendships that we hope will see us throughout our ministries. And what a beautiful sight to behold -- nine of my black sisters who are on a mission to change the world. I felt honored to be in the circle.

Of course you know women and food go hand-in-hand. That's the way we conversate and relate. And we had some of the best at The Flying Biscuit, this quaint restaurant just outside of "Little Five Points" where lines of patrons waiting to get in are commonplace. Let me tell you, the food is just that good! And the price is right. In fact, it's my new best eatery. (I suggest you order the sweet potato pancakes, although you pretty much can't go wrong with anything on the menu.) And I'll forever remember it as the place where the formation these budding friendships began.

That was really the hope for the meeting. That it would create bonds that would last far beyond our days at seminary. That it would be the formation of that support system that we, especially as black women, need in a ministerial world that can be often racist and sexist and just downright lonely.

Anybody who knows me, know I love my girlfriend fellowships. In Tallahassee, we had girls night and similar to Saturday morning,(although minus the alcohol, or drinkypoo's as my best friend would call them) it was the time when we would let our hair down and talk about the issues of the day, our fears, concerns and successes. And inevitably, the conversation would always go back to a discussion about our faith, lack of it or struggle with it.

And on Saturday the conversation was no different. We giggled, we laughed, shared some of our convictions, educated and encouraged one another and loved on each other. In that space of time, we just were -- not necessarily the sisterhood of traveling Bible toter's, but women. Girlfriends. Sisters.

And it was a beautiful thing!

Steals and Deals in the bookstore . . . Not!

Is it possible I answered the wrong call. Maybe I really should have been a textbook bookstore owner, since that seems to be who's making profits these days. Let me just say, for this journalist-turned seminary student who now looks to the grace and mercy of others to provide occasional free meals, the job of textbook bookstore owner is looking quite appealing.
(Okay, I just broke a commandment, there. Old Testament 101: Coveting is not allowed.)
I need to repent. And I need to stop the hating and be glad somebody's getting paid in this economy.

Let me say this again, the textbook bookstores are making money. Cokesbury is faring quite well.
They made $100 off of me today. And that was just for a few books for one class. Can you believe that? ONE CLASS! I still have at least three more classes to buy books for -- all of which require four to five books.

All week, I had been avoiding Cokesbury, acting like somehow these books would magically appear on my bookshelf. I would see my classmates leaving Cokesbury lugging at least two of those blue, white handled shopping bags. You remember, like the ones we used to get in the department stores at Christmas time. And I would say to myself, "There is no way, I'm buying all those books." At least not at one time. I decided to use the same strategy I use in buying gas -- purchase it in small increments so that it doesn't come as much of blow as if I had spent $60 at one time.

I did manage to find three books for my Old Testament class on my cousin's bookshelf. Hallelujah!! (Let's just hope the differences between a 1st and 2nd edition are minor. I would hate to buy the Introduction to the Old Testament for just a few words or sentences that have been added or deleted.)

When I was in undergrad, book prices didn't really phase me as all I had I do was swipe that Visa my mom gave me to use for school. I never saw the bills or even asked about them. But now, I feel the swipe and these books are pricey. Oh wait, I did get that one book for $5. That was a steal.

I ran out of the bookstore -- you know the way you do when you realize you got a hookup and want to get away as soon as possible before the manager or something discovers you were given some sort of unauthorized discount. I'm still afraid the book wasn't rung up correctly. Maybe it was, either way, let's just hope I don't become headline news: "Candler student and Up-and-coming minister makes "Most Wanted" list"

But that will only be because I robbed somebody's piggy bank to get more money to buy these books!
(Oops! That would mean I broke another commandment. Old Testament 101: Do not steal!)