Ramblings of Daniel Ross-Jones
First Sunday and volcanoes
Jun 27th
I celebrated my first Sunday with the people of St Lukes yesterday. In my honor, the organists had chosen music by American composers — one of whom, Paul Manz, was the cantor of my parents’ church for many years. Later on, during morning tea following service, I made more US-Kiwi connections. It’s always great to have those experiences that remind oneself how small the world really is.
After service, I enjoyed lunch with a group of people from the congregation, which was followed by an 80th birthday party back at the church for another one of the members. By the time I got back home, I felt I earned my first midday nap since my arrival!
Then, last night, I worshiped with the Auckland Community Church folks, one of the GLBT mission congregations here in Auckland, to celebrate matariki, the Maori new year. It’s been good to meet so many new people, even if I don’t have a clue what everyone’s name is.
I’ll be taking Mondays off, more or less, and so I decided to take today and do some exploring on foot in the area immediately around where I’m staying. I climbed the Mt Albert/Owairaka volcano, and what a sight from the top! I could see much of the Auckland region, even on a cloudy day like today. I want to go back to the top on a nice, clear day (if one exists during my time, as they are rare in the winter) to see how much more one can see of the area.
I started on my academic reading — currently a resource provided to me by my supervisor, “Christianity in Aotearoa” by Allan Davidson. I’ve also started on Lamin Sanneh’s “Disciples of All Nations” and Michael King’s “The Penguin History of New Zealand.” Tomorrow I really get started on the internship, making the initial contacts and moving forward with the connections to be made here. I can’t wait!
Getting my bearings
Jun 25th
It’s amazing how time flies. I feel like I just got off the plane 20 minutes ago, yet I’m in my third day here already.
Let me start off with a few brief observations:
- Of the three days here, yesterday was the most miserable weather. The other two have been delightful. I could live with that ratio. (You listening, Mother Nature?)
- Even if I were live here the rest of my life, I still don’t think I will ever fully internalize, comprehend, or otherwise appreciate metric units of measurement. I can convert, more or less, in my head on the fly as I need to. I can even visualize a metre. But don’t ask me about kilos and pounds, kms and miles, what 15C “feels” like, etc. I won’t succeed.
- People are genuinely more friendly here and will strike up small talk with you at almost any opportunity. Likewise, if you are wandering around and look lost, chances are in short order someone will come up to you and ask if you need assistance. I realize how much I have lost that type of connection with people having lived in the Chicago ratrace.
- It is month, day, year. Period. The rest of the UK and European-influenced world is simply wrong on this one.
Last night I stopped at the grocery store (Foodtown) and picked up some basic essentials. Both to control costs as well as general health, I am going to try to limit my take away and eating out just to those occasions I am with other people. NZ isn’t really more expensive than Chicago in actual U.S. dollars — in fact, in some ways I end up ahead — but I still want to exercise a little more restraint on my spending. I was interested in seeing how much less selection there was in the store versus Jewel, Dominick’s, Cub, Pick ‘n Save, etc, but that what was present was generally “healthier.” I put that in quotes because I wasn’t really inspecting the labels all that much, just observing what was offered. Less processed convenience food (though TV dinners are apparently universal), and even that which is present has more vegetables as sides, but so much more fruit! I think I will grow to enjoy the fruit selection here.
Also on the food front: I found a Korean lunch buffet today for $10 NZD. Delightful.
Of course, there are those reminders of U.S. globalization everywhere, especially in food and entertainment. I feel that NZ has more U.S. food brands present than other countries I’ve been to: today alone I passed Starbucks, Burger King, McDonald’s, Wendy’s, Pita Pit, Subway, and Dunkin’ Donuts. Also Borders bookstore and a Saks. Someone yesterday told me that I must enjoy being able to go places and have those “comforts of home,” but that’s not true. I want to go places and see and experience new things. It’s one thing to be aware of this level of globalization, but it is something else entirely to feel like you’re searching out for things that you can’t find within five blocks of your apartment in Chicago.
That being said, I did have Subway yesterday for lunch, as that was where the minister was eating and I tagged along for good measure. The menu is roughly the same, though with a wider vegetable and seafood selection. I do hope I’m able to limit my exposure to U.S. brands while I’m here.
I’m starting to reset where I think traffic belongs, though I’m sure I look like a bobblehead crossing intersections looking back and forth repeatedly. Driving on the other side really hasn’t been an issue at all. Since I’m not used to a large vehicle, driving the minivan has been the bigger adjustment.
However, the biggest confusion has been the lack of central heating. Growing up, we would make fun of Florida and other points south for their lack of central heating and then complaining when it was “cold.” I’m eating those words now. I’ve woken up in the middle of the night having to turn off the electric blanket and space heater for feeling like I was on fire, only to wake up again two hours later feeling like I moved further south into Antarctica and turn them back on. I’m sure there’s a trick to the moderation, but it’s not taken yet.
Today I did a bit of exploring. One of the church members dropped in this morning to say hello with her two young children, and I got a quick overview of the immediate neighborhood. Then I jumped a train to Central Auckland and walked around a bit. I stopped in a few shops, had a nice lunch at the Korean buffet mentioned earlier, walked through a couple parks and the University of Auckland (UoA) campus and the Auckland Domain — a giant natural preserve surrounding the Auckland Museum. I walked a bit more, through Parnell and Newmarket areas before coming back home very sore. Not just mentally, but physically, my body is adjusting to the hilly terrain!
I’ve been posting photos on my Facebook account, so if you’re friends with me on there have a look. I’ll see about dropping photos onto my Picasa or just suck it up and pay for Flickr.
Arrival
Jun 24th
I’m here! One of the ways I know I’m in this part of the southern hemisphere is that for some reason each time I’m here, Australia has a political leadership transition of some sort. In 2006, it was preparation for the general election, Labour coming to power and Kevin Rudd becoming Prime Minister. In November/December of last year, the Liberal opposition changed leaders in a voting row. And now today, Kevin Rudd has stepped down as PM in order to stave off a leadership challenge.
It’s interesting how that all happens… Anyway.
The flights were pretty OK. The Minneapolis to Chicago-Midway flight was nowhere near full, yet I ended up stuck in the only full row because some rather annoying, obnoxious sales guy refused to walk to any of the rows behind us that had up to two empty seats in them. And then proceeded to ignore the flight attendants’ instructions to turn cell phones off. Moron. The flight from MDW to Los Angeles hit some nasty weather over Nebraska that apparently turned into nastier weather today in Chicago, so it was a bit bumpy, and the fasten seat belts sign was lit most of the flight. The crew was awesome, though, and otherwise was a great flight.
But nothing beat the flight from LAX to Auckland: full row. All to myself.
As the kids say, hells to the yeahs.
I kicked all the armrests up and sprawled horizontal style for a full seven hours of mostly uninterrupted sleep. When I finally did wake up, I felt fully rested and ready to take on the day that was just beginning. (I found out from one of the flight attendants that apparently someone had tried to move up to the seats but saw me laying there and took pity. Such niceties. If I had been flying a U.S. airline, you know those seats would have been rebooked at the gate, and if there had been a full empty row, I’d have been charged extra for taking up the room. But no, on this airline, they don’t even want to interrupt me. Love it!)
I arrived with little fanfare, and met David Clark, the minister of St. Luke’s, at arrivals. We went to the house I’m sitting for three weeks before stopping by a plant shop cafe for — appropriately named — Kiwi breakfast. Eggs on toast, sausage, bacon, a salad concoction, and a cup of hot chai. Minus the salad, I couldn’t complain. It was quite good. (Though the idea of a $15 breakfast still rubs this dollar menu extraordinare the wrong way.)
Also: the kiwis love their plant shops. They’re not completely like the outdoor shops in the States, but more of a hybrid of a few different concepts. For the Minnesotans, it’s like if Bachman’s merged with the Menards patio department and threw in a Panera Bread for good measure.
After brekkie, David went to the church and I went back home to settle in and get acclimated to Auckland living. I’ve found the grocery store, the closest dairy (a.k.a. convenience store), and the mall. I topped up my mobile phone, got some cash from an ATM, and hooked up the Internet connection at the house. I drove during the beginning part of rush hour across town from where I’m staying to the church, and the only error I made was to turn on the windshield wipers when I was trying to use the blinker to turn.
Tonight is my first night “on,” being introduced around and getting a feel for the ministry here. The youth group is meeting, followed by a theological discussion group centered around progressive Christianity. Tomorrow I’m off for the full day to continue getting acclimated and rest. Saturday I’ll be attending a New Zealand wedding, and Sunday they have a morning tea planned in my honor after worship.
Seven hours
Jun 22nd
Just seven hours until I leave for New Zealand. And I’m doing exactly what I would otherwise do when it’s seven hours out from anything: procrastinating, overanalyzing, pondering, and envisioning myself when I’m done.
I used to do this as a kid, too. In one particularly poignant memory, on more than one occasion and still sometimes in my current life, I will hear my alarm clock buzz in the morning and snooze it. Eventually I get up, go through my morning routine, get dressed, and I amaze myself at the relative speed and efficiency I demonstrate in the process, as I am usually pretty slow-go in the mornings. Then the alarm clock goes off after nine minutes, and I realize that all of that was simply in my mind and now I have to do it all over again, but this time for real.
How many times can I do that in seven hours, I wonder?
In seven hours I will set off for an experience I have been looking forward to since I began seminary, but in a lot of ways will fill a dream I put in front of myself long before. I got to have dinner and drinks with a good friend of mine here in the ‘Cities last night, and we talked a little about dreams and how one’s dream is a dream for a reason, but once it is realized it is, obviously, no longer a dream. Things always look greater in dreams than in real life. It’s not always useful — or even appropriate — to compare the two, however.
In seven hours the dream will become a reality. I’m full of all the excitement and nervousness that entails. I wonder what my next dream will be.
Pet peeves
Jun 10th
Everyone has pet peeves. They are often irrational, frequently overblown, and almost always inconsequential in the grand scheme of life. I’ve run into a number of my own recently:
- Using the handicapped automatic door opener for no reason. There are times to use this device beyond its intended purpose, and it certainly helps. For example, when one is carrying a large object(s) and can use their force to push the button, but grabbing a door handle to open might not be as easy or practical. Or if one is using a cart, bag, or other rolling object to get through the doorway. But when walking up to the door with nothing in one’s arms? No. This is ridiculous. It is simply wasteful and rubs me the wrong way.
- Couples taking up an entire sidewalk or footpath. The public right-of-way is not reserved simply for two people. Appropriate etiquette requires groups of people to fall into single-file on either side of the walk for proper passing and efficient movement. Do not curse at me when I refuse to move, exactly the same thing you are doing, and you run into me. It’s not necessary for me to get muddy shoes simply because you have entitlement issues.
- Exceptional, fake niceness. For some people, it’s genuine. Others are trying a little too hard. In the case of the latter, it’s time to take the espresso down a few notches and realize that life isn’t one giant bag of sunshine and rainbows. There’s no reason to be rude, but there’s also no reason for over-the-top pep at 9 a.m.
- People who are in the turn lane, one car behind you, who find it necessary to fly around you and cut in again at the last possible moment just to slam on their brakes. This should be self-explanitory. You saved no time in doing that, but simply look like a moron. Promptly report to the DMV and surrender your driving privileges. (Also closely related to people who stop five car lengths behind an intersection at a red light.)
- Bicyclists in Chicago. The end.
I’m sure I’m missing some; these are just those I could think of in the last two days.
Scholarships, New Zealand, and Responsibilities
Jun 7th
Hello world.
I’m always surprised, humbled, and a little perplexed when I log in on my sporadic schedule to see the GJH stats: which posts have been linked to, commented on, or the general site visits. Every once in a while I receive messages based on my other writings on this site. When I receive those, I usually think, “Wow. I should write more — I’ve been meaning to, anyway.” But then life gets in the way, and the discipline leaves.
Vlogging never took with me, and I feel like it would be a really useful outlet for me. I enjoy writing, but I fuss over it. The stream-of-consciousness form of vlogging seems more intimate, more useful for what I really want to communicate. Perhaps someday.
In any event, the most pressing news is my departure for New Zealand in two weeks. I was at my home church in Milwaukee yesterday — delightful to see everyone, and a little disappointment that I haven’t been able to be up there as much in the past year as the last — and realized I needed to update this blog to publicize it and stay in touch during my travels.
I will be doing a short-term ministry internship with the Community of Saint Luke in Auckland, New Zealand. It is a progressive, Christian community affiliated with the Presbyterian Church Aotearoa New Zealand with a strong community center and ministry in the Remuera and Newmarket area of the city. I’m excited beyond words to experience cross-cultural ministry in this way, to learn of new ideas for ministry in an environment decidedly different from North America.
When I was on my way to the Parliament of the World’s Religions in December, I had the opportunity to stop in Auckland and meet my supervisor, Rev. David Clark, along with a number of members of the congregation. I am sure it will be a delightful experience and that I will return in August with more ideas and learnings than I will have time to test and implement. My main areas of work will be in worship, pastoral care, community mission, and personal interviews and research in the area of cross-cultural dialogue.
The second big news for today is that I am officially a UCC scholarship recipient. In March, I applied for the William R. Johnson Scholarship from the national church, and today I received a letter informing me I was chosen as one of the recipients. It’s not a large sum, but it effectively doubles the denominational support that I have received for the past two years.
Finally, I’m feeling torn between multiple responsibilities, wishes, desires, and dreams right now. I don’t feel it to be necessary to write about most of it, but prayers and good thoughts for clarity, strength, and affirmation would be appreciated.
Feed My Sheep
Jan 24th
In 2011, I will graduate with a master’s degree. With a cumulative $94,000 in educational debt, $60,000 of which applied toward master’s-level education, I can anticipate an average $30,000 cash salary[1] for my eventual position (which requires the master’s degree I will have obtained as the minimum). The average cash salary in the United States for a position requiring a master’s degree is a little more than $61,000.[2] If my degree is classified as a professional degree, as many agencies do, the gap becomes wider, as the average cash salary for that educational standing is $100,000.[3]
The organization I represent is part of the largest family of organizations in the world. Collectively, we operate the largest system of education, health care, human rights advocacies, community centers, and more. We promote values-driven lifestyles, protect the inherent worth and dignity of all people, and respond to crises both natural and human-made. My organization alone raised more than $250,000 through its Web site in less than one week for direct aid to the victims of the recent Haitian earthquake.[4]
Foundational documents, leaders and philosophers representing my organization and its wider family challenge myself and others affiliated to call our governments to attention of those on the economic margins by legislating just and fair minimum wages, family leave benefits, health care distribution, and more social justice initiatives in response to our core beliefs. Personally, I have participated in countless direct advocacy and letter-writing drives connected with my organization leading up to the first increase of the federal minimum wage in the United States in a decade.
Here’s the irony: myself and many of the rising leaders in my organization – necessary flow for any healthy structure – are receiving a better deal from that very government than our own organization.
My educational debt is guaranteed by the U.S. federal government. Approximately one-third of the total amount is financed through the Stafford Subsidized Loan Program. The government, during periods of loan forbearance and deferment absorbs the interest on that portion of the debt. The majority of the remaining two-thirds is financed through the Stafford Unsubsidized Loan Program, which provides lower interest rates than comparable private loans, capitalizing on the government’s economy of scale and encouragement of higher education.
After I graduate and begin to work, my cash salary will likely be at a level that I will qualify for the Income-Based Repayment Plan, that caps monthly payments at a set percentage of discretionary income, around 10% or lower. It was established by Congressional legislation in 2007 and designed for those, like myself, who are pursuing careers in lower-salary areas like non-profit leadership, education, or public service.
My vocation is one that my federal government claims is “in demand” in many of its branches, most notably in the defense forces and prison bureau. If I were willing to offer at least five years of active service in the military following graduation, I would receive roughly 20% higher cash salary pay versus my organization, and also federal loan forgiveness, much higher retirement pension contributions, more generous fringe benefits, and experience the old adage, “the military takes care of its own.” If I were to walk down to the recruiting center right now and enlist, the benefits would grow as the government would pay for the remaining cost of my education, I would begin receiving a commissioned salary while in school, among other benefits.[5]
While I am in school, as my income for 2009 was roughly $8,000, I receive direct government assistance from the State of Illinois in the form of food stamps – about $200 each month, or $2,400 annually. I utilize government-funded public health clinics as I can’t afford the out-of-pocket costs to even visit my own organization’s medical centers.
So here’s my question: why is the government supporting me more than my own organization, the United Church of Christ, when I am in training to be a pastor? And beyond that, why does the UCC say that’s OK?
The UCC, along with the majority of mainline Protestant churches, appeal to what the Roman Catholic Church calls a just-wage doctrine. The U.S. Council of Catholic Bishops, in a letter to Congress supporting an increase in minimum wage, summarizes the doctrine simply: “Wages must be adequate for workers to provide for themselves and their families in dignity.” Under this theology – one which, I might add, is the predominant theme in progressive Christianity and floated freely in the classrooms of our theological schools, including my own – to appeal to free markets and open trade in the commercial, private sector is to idolize a false god.
So why does the church – the UCC or of any other stripe – fail to apply its own doctrine internally? Why is it that as the cost burden of theological education has systematically been shifted from denominational funds onto student tuition over the past 25 years? Why is it that base salary for mainline Protestant ministers in one state has effectively remained stagnant in the past decade while the cost of living in that state has increased roughly 20%?[6]
In John 21, Jesus and Simon engage in a conversation where Simon is commissioned by Jesus to “feed my sheep…take care of my lambs.” While far from perfect, it appears that when it comes to at least one sector, the government is taking far greater strides than those organized who affirm Jesus’ words.
[1] Source: Wisconsin Conference, United Church of Christ
[2] Source: United States Census Bureau, 2006
[3] Ibid.
[4] Source: United Church of Christ
[5] Source: U.S. Navy
[6] Sources: Wisconsin judicatories (UCC, Evangelical Lutheran, Presbyterian, United Methodist), U.S. Census Bureau, U.S. Department of Commerce.
On the Health Care debacle
Aug 18th
Contrary to some people’s opinion, last time I checked I was still a card-carrying member of the Democratic Party. (Well, OK, they don’t generally issue membership cards anymore. But you get the sentiment.) And, speaking as a Democrat, I want to say this:
We need health care reform immediately. That is a given. There is absolutely no reason why we should be in the position of having the most advanced health care network in the world yet have it be the least accessible. The arguments of rationing health care, of a particular brand of natural selection, the fear that the government will tell Grandma she can’t have a life-saving surgery, they’re all blowing smoke up our collective bums. The private sector already does that! Since deregulation in the 1970′s and 1980′s, we have been systematically and socially conditioned to fear the government and trust private interest. Nowhere is this more despicable than in health care. We are trusting our very lives to people whose sole interest is making such obscene amounts of money it is nothing less than criminal.
Last December, I went in for my annual physical. I’m insured by Blue Cross Blue Shield of Illinois, part of the largest network of health insurance in the U.S. While according to my policy preventative care is covered, BCBSIL informed me that particular visit was not. They didn’t specify why, and when I even called they didn’t provide any rationale. They simply told me the visit was not covered and now I needed to pay.
In January, I went in to the doctor again, this time because of a massive sinus infection coupled with strep throat. (I don’t normally get sick, so when I am immobilized in pain, I know its time to go in. Besides the fact that strep scares the living crap out of me.) My insurance this time covered half the cost, though it was processed as being out-of-network. Again, according to my policy, I was at an in-network facility, but BCBSIL justified it by saying that since I went to the urgent care operation — which, unbeknown to me, is outsourced to a different provider, even though it is in the same office — it was out-of-network and I was responsible for paying the higher coinsurance.
Question number one: What difference does it make who tells you no, rejects your claim, or creates the network? Here are my examples, on the largest health care network in America, of experiencing just that. Both of these instances were in large hospital systems. Both of these instances were with the same insurance provider, the same individual. So what difference does it make that BCBSIL told me no, but if a government administration tells me no, then somehow it is more obnoxious?
Here’s the second given: I don’t very much care how reform is accomplished. There are some who are outraged over the past couple of days because the Obama Administration has been signaling it is ready to consider other alternatives to single-payer coverage (Medicaid). Before I delve further into this, let me state for the record that yes, I do believe a universal health care system is the most long-term, sustainable, cost-effective, efficient solution. I believe that it is an embarrassment that we don’t have this already. It is yet another indication of how far behind the rest of the First World we are, even as we attempt to prop ourselves up as a global beacon. But that all aside, the answer isn’t in who pays the bills, the answer is in how the system is governed and regulated.
And we return back to the late 1970′s, early 1980′s once again. The mantra of the decade was Deregulate, Deregulate, Deregulate. If we just deregulate everything, competition will flourish and the market will take care of everything. Government oversight is unnecessary, an obstacle to trade, and generally harmful for business. The individual is king, and will speak with her or his pocketbook. If individuals want better health care, they can pay for it. If individuals want better schools, they can pay for it. If individuals want better products, they can pay for it. Deregulation was good for jobs (more competition means more business means a greater workforce), deregulation was good for government (shifting the burden off government meant a trimmed budget and payroll, which meant fewer taxes and more liquidity in the economy), deregulation was good for individuals (more choice, more options).
Yeah, except that’s not exactly how it worked out. You see, history has an awesome way of repeating itself. Remember how the 1920′s lead to a Great Depression? The stock market crashed because no one was paying attention. No one thought they needed to pay attention — it wasn’t government’s role to oversee. (And we had myriad more regulations then than 2007.)
Deregulation is not entirely bad. I, for one, love Southwest Airlines and my cheap airfare. Without deregulation, Southwest would still be prohibited to establish a hub in Illinois as they have done. I do think we have too many airlines in general and the market is saturated, but that’s a discussion for a different time. But when you fire the overseers, when you allow the market to dictate policy, you greatly expand the gap between the have-nothings and have-everythings. And that is where we’re at with health care.
Private insurance carriers have no reason to cover everyone. Why should they? Its a drain on their resources. Instead of making a $14 billion profit, they might be forced to make “only” a $10 billion profit — or worse yet, an $800 million profit. That’s going to seriously cut into margins. </sarcasm> So, to protect their assets and financial position, private insurance says, “No, we won’t cover you because you have acne.” Or if they are going to cover you, they’ll charge a severely increased premium so that it remains effectively out of reach.
If health care reform only accomplishes expanding the accessibility of health care, allowing more people to be covered with private insurance, bringing some controls and regulations back to the system that requires it to function in an ethical, responsible manner, I will die a happy person. I will congratulate the Administration on a job well done. More control and oversight is the Chevrolet solution instead of the Cadillac solution of single-payer.
I do not fear the government. I may distrust it from time to time, I may disagree with Administrations that come and go, I may even exercise my Constitutional right to lodge my protest in a civil manner with my representatives whom I have elected, but I do not fear it.
I do fear people who make my life decisions without my interests in mind, but only the interest that my hard-earned money makes them.
“All that jazz”
Jul 31st
This story from today’s Monitor highlights the shifting demographic trends along the American religious landscape. Two quotes in particular got my attention:
“The problem of shrinking churches is one that everyone has to deal with,” Dr. Walsh says. “Evangelicals are just better adapted to deal with it because in their structure they don’t require seminary-trained pastors, pension funds, and all that jazz, which the mainline churches assume.”
Personal educational standing aside — seminary-trained pastors should not be viewed as a luxury, something unnecessary. Since when has education turned (once again) into something for the elite? The entire idea of being a disciple is one of learning, growing, increasingly understanding. Sure, there is much to be frustrated with in the current model of theological education — not the least of which is the complete and utter lack of meaningful financial support from church conferences and local settings when one of their own decides to enter seminary, or the astronomical cost of pursuing the meaningful education. The solution isn’t to do away with the structure entirely. The solution is to take a good, hard look at the delivery of education.
I’ll pick on the two denominations with which I am most closely affiliated at the moment: my own United Church of Christ and my seminary’s Presbyterian Church (USA). Both have some shared history in America (especially in the New England region cited in the story). Both have some common theological understandings as part of the Reformed branch of Protestant Christianity. The UCC boasts a little over a million members, the PC(USA) a little over two million. Both are shedding members, though the UCC’s decline is a little less pronounced than the PC(USA).
Within the UCC, we have seven seminaries, including two in New England, one each in Pennsylvania, Missouri, Illinois, Minnesota and California. While there are certain “distinctives” of each institution, largely each is recognized as providing an educational program that is liberal to very liberal in theology and traditional in approach. Combined, these seven seminaries graduate roughly 150-200 individuals each year. Less than 10% of these graduates are under the age of 30, which reflects strongly in less than 5% of all ordained leaders in the UCC today are under the age of 40. More on that in a moment.
The PC(USA) has ten officially-related seminaries, including two in Georgia, and the rest in New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Texas, Kentucky, Virginia, North Carolina, Iowa, California, and Illinois. There is a greater theological difference among their seminaries, but for the most part each reflects a denominational tradition that highlights social change, global justice, and a strong emphasis on confessional theological tradition.
The average annual tuition at all of these institutions for the most recent year available (2007-08) is $13,500. Over three years, that brings the tuition cost alone to $40,500. Assuming the present average federal loan burden of undergraduates today ($23,200), that brings the potential cost of education for under-30s to $63,700.
Older students, typically, can buffer the cost of seminary with life savings, advances from or cashing in on established company-provided retirement plans, part-time education models, or the support of a spouse that continues to work in their profession. Some older students sell homes when they come to seminary, and use some of the proceeds to fund their education. Unencumbered by debt from their undergraduate years, these students essentially save at least $23,200.
Upon graduation, a freshly-minted minister can expect to start at $31,000. And that $800+ monthly student loan payment younger ministers have? Better pick up a side job at Burger King.
Most assuredly, there is a problem with this system. Dare I say we have too many seminaries, established on tired old divisons of denominational life that no longer apply in the same way they once did. No school wants to be the one that closes, but mergers and joint operating agreements, reducing the number of seminaries serving a shrinking population are necessary. Abandoning the model is prudent, abandoning education is reckless and irresponsible.
The other quote from the story reminds all of us that education in and of itself is not an end:
“When somebody needs a hand up, it’s great to pray for them,” Steadman says from the pulpit. “But the Bible tells us it’s not enough to say, ‘Go and be clothed and be fed.’ We’re supposed to clothe and feed them.”
There is an old African proverb we all would be good to remember. “When you pray, move your feet.”
Bus pass for Jay
Jul 28th
I met a stranger today; his name is Jay. If you’ve been in downtown Chicago along State St. in the past two weeks, you’ve probably walked past him. Today he was standing at the corner of State and Washington in front of the Old Navy, holding a plain brown cardboard sign that reads in big, black block letters:
LOST JOB
LOST HOME
LOST HOPE
CAN YOU HELP ME?
Jay can get lost in the crowd sometimes. People hardly notice he’s there. At first glance, he looks like so many others whom I — and possibly you — walk past each and every day. A used Chipotle cup in his hand with roughly $2.50. A scruffy face. But his voice is one that isn’t easily toned out. There is a sense of despair, sorrow as he speaks. “Can you spare some change so I can eat?” he pleads. “Can anyone help me out?”
As I think about it more intentionally, I saw Jay standing in that same spot last Wednesday at the same afternoon hour. I walked right past him then. This time the light was red. Cars were whizzing past. Maybe its because I had to stop. Maybe its because I was still futzing with my iPhone to pick just the right mix for my bus ride back to my apartment. I don’t know what it was, but I simply turned to Jay. I looked at him and I said, “Hi.”
I think I confused him. Maybe, if one is feeling extra generous that day, one might reach into their pocket and pull out some change to throw in his cup. No eye contact is necessary, an exchange of words even less. The “professionals,” if I might call them that, have it down to an art form. Watch along Michigan Ave. some weekend. These people will deftly move from pocket or purse to cup without even breaking their stride or even their ongoing conversation. Its a combination of art form and a mental coping mechanism. One can walk away from the situation with the good feeling that they helped, without investing too much of themselves or drawing the attention of anyone else.
I certainly confused the people around me. A man catty corner from me, in front of me, turned around and looked at me with an expression that asked, “Are you talking to me?” He didn’t even look in Jay’s direction. A man who stands taller than six feet, even while leaning against the light post, was simply invisible to him. A woman next to me on the other side briefly paused her cell phone conversation to look at me with an equally puzzled response. Jay was in his zone, though, and it took a moment for him to register that I was speaking to him.
“Excuse me?” he asked.
“Can I take you somewhere around here to get some food?” I responded. “What’s good? What do you want?”
As I spoke to him, Jay’s eyes brightened. I looked closer at him. He couldn’t be much older than me — late 20′s, tops. His face was showing signs of someone who regularly gets food, but not nearly enough to keep the skin off the jaw bone. His clothes, while neat, were visibly worn out and used. His shirt was a gray tee, his blue jeans tattered and torn. He didn’t carry a backpack or have anything else on him.
Jay looked sad. There’s nothing else to describe him. Over my year in Chicago and two years in Milwaukee, I’ve seen a number of expressions among the destitute: lonely, discouraged, angry, frustrated, tired — oh, so many tired. Rare is the person who simply looks sad. I’m sure Jay was all of those other attributes, too, but above all he was sad.
I have always imagined sadness is dangerous on the streets. Its vulnerable. Its unprotected. Sadness is raw and powerful. Unlike anger and frustration — which, I imagine, are the galvanized, second-generation children of sadness — it is exploitable. As a society, as a human race, we see that over and over again throughout our history and our interactions with others.
In any event, Jay began to talk back to me. It was apparent as he spoke that he is a good person, with a warm soul. He had a lively personality, his eyes came to life as he began to get more animated. I don’t imagine that part of Jay gets to come out much.
“Truthfully, I don’t want to screw with you,” he began. In an instant, I began to regress to the skeptical thoughts that I have been conditioned with as I live as an educated, white man in an urban society. He’s going to tell me he wants beer, I thought. He wants cash to support his drug addiction.
“Truthfully, I don’t want to screw with you, but I could really use a CTA pass. See, I sleep on the trains at night,” he continued. He told me how he’ll ride the Red Line just so he can sleep, but that “really the Blue Line is a lot safer.” Jay told me he was held up at knifepoint on the Red Line, that someone stole his wallet that didn’t have any money in it, just his CTA pass and an ID card. That happened “a few days ago.”
I hadn’t noticed that the light hadn’t gone through its cycle yet. The confused man catty corner from me spoke up, just as the light was turning. “Psh,” he scoffed. “Yeah, right.” As he began walking, his call was clear, “Go get a job, freeloader!”
I don’t know if Jay heard it. He’s probably immune to it by now. But I heard it. I don’t know if Jay was telling the truth or not, but — human being to human being — he seemed authentic. I hadn’t even had much of a conversation with Jay yet, and I wanted to go punch the other guy simply for being a rude waste of oxygen.
Since Jay leveled with me, I leveled with him: I rarely carry cash, but I’d go run down to the Red Line station and get him a transit card if that’s what he wanted. “Oh, don’t worry about it,” he responded. “I know you’re busy.”
That sealed it. I had nothing to do. If I missed the #6 bus that was a minute away, according to BusTracker, then I simply caught the next one. “No, its OK,” I said. “I’ll be back in like three minutes.”
Jay’s eyes brightened up even more. It was like life was pouring back into him, from some far-off place that he doesn’t reach anymore. “Really?” he asked. I told him yes, and started walking down to the subway station.
As I walked, my higher reasoning started kicking in. You idiot, it told me. You haven’t paid your phone bill, your credit card is getting a lot more use these days, you still have assessments for the church to pay for, books for the semester are going to need to be ordered soon, and you overdrew your checking account this morning. I told my brain to shut up. I have a phone, I have a credit card full of fond memories (if even its maxxed out), I have the ability to serve in the church, I can always use the myriad libraries for books, and a quick transfer from my small savings will cover the overdraft.
I could have bought Jay a day pass; I could have even bought him just a one-use card. Either would have been the cheapest options, and both were definitely what he was thinking of. But I didn’t. I bought him a 7-day pass. That’s $23 more on my credit card. Practically and logically, that’s way too much. After all, Jay was and still is a stranger. But something made me press that button on the screen, and I don’t regret it. If he had walked away by then, I had a 7-day pass for myself. If he was still there, he has seven days of being able to stay dry at night when its expected to rain, of being able to enjoy air conditioning on warm, humid summer days. He can even go to some other neighborhood and beg for all I care.
He thought it was too much, too. I came back and handed him the card and the receipt. “Here you go,” I said. “I hope this works out for you.”
At first he was going to ball up the receipt and hand it back to me, “I trust you,” he said. Then he looked at the card and saw the big 7 on it. “Is this really a 7-day pass? Are you sure?”
I told him I was sure. He thanked me profusely, and that’s when he told me his name was Jay. Part of me felt guilty for not asking him his name earlier. I stood there and chatted with him for a couple minutes more; I learned that neither of us like to drink beer, that he finished high school and took some college classes before deciding to work in construction. The downturn meant layoffs for his company, and he ended up getting evicted because he couldn’t pay the rent. He’s always wanted to finish college, but he doesn’t know what he wants to study. His family doesn’t live around here, and so now he’s all alone and stuck in Chicago. Homeless. Riding on the L at night, hoping he can get some sleep.
After I left him and got on my bus (ending up getting on a #10, with an extra couple of blocks to walk) I realized how similar we are. Sure, I write letters to folks to ask for money for my education, but in the end its just like begging. Sure, I receive food stamps from the state, but maintaining them is definitely begging for basic nourishment. All my life I’ve been conditioned to believe I’m “above” begging, but when it gets right down to it that’s how I’ve been able to get along for much of my short adult life.
If I lost my job, menial and low-paying as it may be, I’d have to stand next to Jay and I’d have a lot more invisible baggage: $50,000 in student loan debt, $7,000 outstanding on my car note, the expectation of having food and shelter and health insurance. I’m a strand of a thread away from Jay.
And then as I began my walk home from the bus stop, I felt myself begin to cry. Of course Jay is sad — I’m sad for him. To endure the rudeness of people in such a way on a daily — probably hourly, or even more frequently — basis. And how sad am I that I continue to believe I’m better than those invisible people I pass on a regular basis.
I pray for Jay tonight. I believe his story to be true, and whether it is or not is really of no circumstance. I know he’ll have seven days of being able to travel the city, no matter what the reason.
And I hope I don’t see Jay again; I hope that his situation turns around, that he finds stable housing, an opportunity to work. But if I do see him again, I’m going to look at him, I’m going to recognize him.
I’m going to say hi, and ask him if I can buy him another bus pass.
