Yesterday I was aware that if it had been a year ago, I'd have been arriving at the seminary campus for the first onground intensive in my journey to be certified as a spiritual director. At the end of that intensive, I was in great spirits, ready for where the future was taking me, even as I admitted that I wasn't sure what I envisioned.
Little did I know what was about to fall on our collective heads . . .
I do think that there will be an upsurge in demand for spiritual direction in all its variations once we get past the worst part of this pandemic. Times of plague often lead to times of change, some of it tumultuous, some of it rewarding. I'm thinking about the Renaissance that came after the Black Death. In generalizing hundreds of years of history into a single sentence, and all the risks inherent with that condensation, I could argue that the the 30% death rate during the first outbreaks of the Black Death led people to question religious authorities and to move in directions they would not have if there had been no plague, directions that made them more free.
But I digress.
I have spent the last 3 days, at least part of them, at the second onground intensive, but because of the pandemic, we met online. This morning I thought, well, at least I don't have a 10 hour car drive today. But I also don't have that surge of energy and enthusiasm that comes from time away.
I missed the opportunity to have deep conversation with people along the way. Last year, I stayed with grad school friends before and after the intensive, and during the intensive I had great opportunities to talk with people, even though one purpose of the intensive was to explore the idea of solitude.
This year, I stared into a computer screen, hour after hour after hour. We had some small group sessions, which were great, but not quite the same.
Also not quite the same: the worship. They felt more like sessions than services. They were well done, with beautiful slides and music. But it wasn't the same as going to the chapel with its beautiful stained glass. And we didn't have communion.
What I missed most was the chance to be away--I missed it, even as I realized that it was much easier for me to participate online than onground this year. Had there been no pandemic, it would have been tough for me to get away. My request for leave was only granted early this week.
On Wednesday, I needed to be at the office, or at least I thought I did. My school is being bought by a Brooklyn school, and on Wednesday, the new owners were visiting my campus. So on Wednesday, I tuned in for the morning prayer and the opening remarks. I was able to be part of the instruction sessions and one of the 2 small group sessions. I stayed at the office so that I could tune in for Vespers. It was strange.
On Thursday and Friday, even though I was taking leave, I went to the campus to help open it. We only have 3 people with all the keys to open the campus, and one of them was out on unexpected bereavement leave. Each day, I opened doors, took temperatures, answered questions, did a few tasks, and then headed home. It was much easier to focus on the intensive at home, but still imperfect.
Throughout I tried to adopt the attitude that it was better to have an online intensive than a canceled intensive. We were supposed to have this intensive back in June. But I also wrestled with my feelings of disappointment. A year ago, I thought I had found a way to be at more peace with my feelings of displacement. This past year, I've been feeling more displaced than ever.
It's a spiritual displacement. In literal terms, I'm rooted in South Florida: I have a house, a job, and friends. But in the past few years, most of my South Florida friends have moved away, and it's become clear that I can't count on my job the way I once could, and that global warming is moving much faster than I anticipated, which means that my house is in constant danger.
My spirit yearns to live in a different place, and last year, I was thinking that by working towards this certificate, I'd have more chances to get away to places that soothe my soul: the seminary campus, Lutheridge, time with friends as place. This year, I have no idea what's coming our way.
In a way, it could be worse. At least I didn't enter into this program with a rigid idea of my expected trajectory--that might make it harder to make adjustments.
I've continued moving forward. I've lived long enough to know that sometimes it's best to just keep going, even if one has lost one's nerve/faith/certainty. I'm reminded of the advice given to those who have lost a spouse to death or divorce--don't make any big decisions leading to big changes for the first year after the traumatic event.
For at least the next year, that's the advice I'm following, even with the knowledge that I may not have the luxury of being the one making the choice.
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