Here, , reflects on the divine challenge of Jesus to love radically and how, even though we are in a season of waiting, we can be part of this holy transformation, the impossible possible, in the here and now.

You can sign up for our sixth annual Advent series, delivered via email every Sunday of Advent, here.

Advent is a transformational countdown to transformation itself. A paradoxical time, Advent is a time of expectation and anticipation for something that hasn鈥檛 happened yet and which can鈥檛 fully be imagined. In our corner of the world, Advent shows up on the landscape of our grey and (usually) rainy winter. Bundled up in our coats and sweaters, we wrap hands around our peppermint mochas and hunker down until the first light of spring when robins join us with their knowing 鈥渟ee-didn鈥檛-I-tell-you-it was-coming,鈥� tweet tweet tweets. And so we wait and trust that spring will come and we鈥檒l one day see the sun again.

Similarly, advent is a time of impending hopeful change and transformation鈥搒omething is coming but it鈥檚 not here yet. It鈥檚 a time when we turn our attention to the impossible possible鈥� the coming of what we can only imagine. Theologically we are waiting for the transformational presence of God in our time. We are waiting and counting the days for the breaking-in of a radical spirit of transcendent immanence.

In Christian tradition, God breaks into our time, disrupts time, displaces time, disorients time and all we can do is wait. And trust. Trust that that transformation will come, that divine love and peace is coming just like the spring blossoms. It鈥檚 a theology of radical rupture where the impossible becomes possible. This is a theology of hope.

Liturgically Advent marks the time of waiting til Jesus鈥� birth, but it鈥檚 so much more than that鈥�it鈥檚 a countdown for the message Jesus would bring into this broken world鈥搕hat of the kingdom of God where society would live in love, peace, and equality. Advent therefore is a time of waiting for the divine message, the promise, the hope for something righteous and holy.

Early 20th-century theologian Walter Rauschenbusch taught that the kingdom was not an apocalyptic vision of what was to come, but rather, a prophetic call for social transformation in the here and now. This radical message would become central to the visionary movement known as the social gospel. We live in a time where we desperately need to be reminded of this transformational vision for what could be, right here and now as we鈥檙e not just in the season when nights are long and days are grey, quite literally and figuratively our days are grey. Our political climate is dire, to say little of the state of the climate itself. There鈥檚 xenophobia, nationalism, gender inequality, economic instability, food insecurity鈥� these are but words pointing to deep hurts and pains inflicted on us and by us. We feel it in our bones when we see families separated at borders, when white supremacists spew hate, when gun violence and toxic systemic oppression abound鈥搕hese are dark times indeed.

Advent though is a time of waiting for the transformational in-breaking of radical, vibrant, spirit incarnate. A divine presence in fleshly form come to tell us that there is a different way to live and be. While we often wrap Jesus in platitudes about love, grace, generosity, and equality, Jesus also posed a divine challenge to systems and structures by flipping tables in the temple and challenging the narrative of empire calling truth to power with divine love and righteous anger. The divine challenge Jesus brought is to love so radically, so boldly, that you question the very structures that seek to rob people of divine love, acceptance, peace, and abundance. In fact, the very narrative of Jesus鈥� birth and death defies all reason, it flips the script on what the world tells us is possible!

Our theology of hope therefore is not one that should rest on hope alone without informed action, or without conscientious response to systemic and structural inequality. Rather, the summons offered to us through Jesus鈥� divine in-breaking, is one that challenges us to love one another so much that we create the impossible through structural and systemic transformation鈥搕hrough our interrogation of political and economic institutions (those which Rauschenbusch called 鈥渟uper-personal entities of evil鈥�).

Rauschenbusch argued that these institutions perpetuate social sin drawing us away from one another and binding us in individualistic thinking, that which moves us further away from collective thriving. We may feel that the kingdom is too far from our own reality, too ephemeral to capture. And yet the work of persistent hopeful imaginative radical love is the very task we are given. Theological descendent of Rauschenbusch, Dr. Cornel West reminds us that, 鈥淲e鈥檝e forgotten that a rich life consists fundamentally of serving others, trying to leave the world a little better than you found it. We need the courage to question the powers that be, the courage to be impatient with evil and patient with people, the courage to fight for social justice. In many instances we will be stepping out on nothing, and just hoping to land on something. But that鈥檚 the struggle. To live is to wrestle with despair, yet never allow despair to have the last word.鈥�

This Advent, as in the past, we鈥檒l participate in liturgy commemorating the incarnational in- breaking of the divine. We鈥檒l buy Christmas trees and put up decorations, attend a Christmas pageant or Advent festival. But as we live in liminal time aware of the days that pass, might we imagine ourselves as part of the impossible possible? St. Teresa of Avila wrote that 鈥淐hrist has no body now but yours/No hands, no feet on earth but yours/Yours are the eyes with which he looks/compassion on this world/Christ has no body now on earth but yours.鈥� Might we remember to live into a love so potent, so present that it shatters the landscape of what is and reveals through our very hands and feet social justice and divine transformation of the here and now? Let us embrace this Advent, a divine challenge to be bold lovers who imagine and who question, who resist forces that seek to separate us from neighbor, and who believe that divine love binds us to one another and to the future that we create together.

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Earlier this year, two summer-term classes took 天美视频 students beyond our walls (and beyond Seattle). In Engaging Global Partnerships, Dr. Ron Ruthruff, Associate Professor of Theology & Culture, and Cheryl Goodwin, Director of Institutional Assessment & Library Services, led a group of students to Kenya, inviting them to let their assumptions, beliefs, and practices be challenged and clarified by the stories of a place and the people who serve it. That same month, spiritual director and pilgrimage guide (MA in Theology & Culture, 鈥�12) and spiritual director and retired faculty member Tom Cashman journeyed to the Sonoran Desert in Arizona to guide students through a pilgrimage grounded in the ancient Christian tradition of desert spirituality.

Engaging Global Partnerships in Kenya

鈥淲e鈥檙e taking a deep look at the history of colonialism and religion, and the relationship between a place and the people who inhabit it鈥攅specially in places of wounding. How can we enter those wounds in a way that is honoring to others鈥� stories and also helps us reimagine our shared future?鈥�
鈥揇r. Ron Ruthruff

Pilgrimage to the Sonoran Desert

鈥淒uring our time in the desert, we explored the ancient Christian tradition of desert spirituality with an emphasis on the apophatic way and the contemplative path. The word apophatic means 鈥榳ithout image,鈥� and during our time in the desert we sought to abandon our expectations and preconceived notions of God through themes such as awareness, inviting us to non-dual consciousness; surrender, inviting us toward a posture of kenosis or self-emptying; and encounter, inviting us to be present to the desert, the Divine, and ourselves with loving indifference or non-attachment. Ultimately, the fierce landscape of the desert served as teacher and guide on our journey, teaching us how to tend to and be with the sacred and fierce landscape of the soul within.鈥�
鈥揕acy Clark Ellman

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I breathed myself to life, and so can you. My own recovery from the trauma of sexual repression drew me towards the healing medicine of yoga. I am a psychotherapist and a yoga teacher. My passion, obsession, and saving grace is embodiment鈥攖he experience of inhabiting the home of your body. Social forces and generational/personal trauma split the psyche into compartmentalization and dissociation, which inhibit us from fully inhabiting our own skin. I came into this work by following the golden thread of aliveness that vibrated inside of me whenever I stepped towards an act of embodiment.

My journey towards my profession and passion began by confronting my own pain of living in a deadened body.

鈥淢y journey towards my profession and passion began by confronting my own pain of living in a deadened body.鈥�

As a girl I was steeped in an evangelical church that was emotionally and sexually repressed. I was taught to dissociate from my emotion and sexuality. Eager to perform for my community, I was one of the 鈥榞ood鈥� ones. My dissociative abilities grew stronger as they were reinforced and praised. I swallowed my emotions and wore my pledge of virginity until marriage like a badge of honor. I committed to these ideas with resolve, to the point of receiving a purity tattoo鈥攁 dove on my hip that I wouldn鈥檛 allow anyone to see until my wedding night.

As a child I was tirelessly praised for my goodness, my ability to follow all of the rules set before me. The only price I had to pay for this endless stream of praise was my unwavering compliance with the group norms of emotional and sexual repression. As long as I agreed that the impulses of my body were wrong and should be ignored at all costs, I was given power, respect, and trust from a group of people I deeply respected.

As a 3 on the Enneagram, 鈥渢he performer,鈥� my disposition lends me towards being preoccupied with how others see me. 鈥楪ood鈥� became my identity, and my value was centered around how well I could perform to the expectations of those in authority around me. My obsession with blamelessness made me feel afraid to consider my own right to connection and desire.

It is painful to realize I was brainwashed out of connecting to my own sensuality. Over and over again I kissed my college boyfriend (who is now my incredible, gracious husband) while willing myself outside of my body and interrupting our connection if we got 鈥榯oo close.鈥� For years. For five years. That is too many years of not surrendering to the wisdom of our bodies. Our super power, being deeply present with each other, was shadowed by shame and secrecy. By the time we decided we had waited long enough to have sex, I had retreated so far from the felt experience of my body that I didn鈥檛 know how to enjoy it.

Dissociation is the psychological process of blocking out what an individual considers to be harmful. What is defined as 鈥榟armful鈥� within an individual is often the parts of self that may inhibit a sense of belonging to a particular community. I was taught that my body was bad and not to be trusted, so I spent the vast majority of my life ignoring what it was saying to me out of an ethical duty to be 鈥榞ood.鈥� I鈥檓 not the only one. The bodies of countless people growing up within Evangelical communities have been affected by the shameful rhetoric of purity culture.

The trauma of neglecting and shaming my body during vital years of sexual development caused a severe split between my mind and my body. We don鈥檛 learn how to be in our bodies unless we are taught how to follow sensation. In order to keep my purity pledge, I did everything in my power to sever myself from sensation, and in the process inadvertently sent the message to my brain that connection to my body was not to be trusted. My evil body tempted me into sexual sin鈥攁n age-old fable more concerned with power than with sex.

Yoga was the first place I learned how to inhabit my body intimately, in a way that wasn鈥檛 overtly sexual. Yoga was a neutral environment I could enter to learn how to de-thaw my body, without having to hold the emotional complexity of sexual shame that would often come up during sex. It has been through my own yoga practice that I鈥檝e learned that there is ancient medicine in using breath and movement in order to bring bodies back to life. What has historically been my biggest weakness is turning into my biggest strength because my pain forced me to look so closely at my body.

鈥淭here is ancient medicine in using breath and movement in order to bring bodies back to life.鈥�

While I was still dry humping Ben in church parking lots (#wheatonlyfe) in 2006, I attended a 鈥榮tretching and breathing鈥� class (yoga, in disguise) that changed my life. My body, which I had spent so much time trying to separate from and control, was now being gently paid attention to. I learned how to use movement as prayer, and for the first time I began to see how being with my body was a worshipful experience. It made my heart burst wide open to pay attention to myself in this way. Each time I laid in savasana, the final resting pose at the end of a yoga class, I came into direct contact with the weirdness and goodness of my body, the pure delight of feeling my own aliveness. These magical experiences in my body drew me to enroll in a yoga teacher training the summer before I started class at 天美视频. Immersed in the world of body wisdom I began, piece by piece, to land into a body I wasn鈥檛 fully aware I had disowned.

After I graduated, I spent four years working at , a local eating disorder clinic that was my therapeutic boot camp. Working with clients with eating disorders is a minefield of body hatred and dissociation, and I needed to learn quickly how to help my clients tolerate being in bodies that felt deeply unsafe to inhabit. I voraciously read books on embodiment and somatic healing from trauma, and I realized as I read that I needed to heal myself. The deeper I dove into healing my relationship with my body, the more I could teach my students how to find islands of safety within their own skin.

Dissociation is a form of trauma that leaves the body frozen, numb, and unresponsive. When trauma and neglect happen, we need to vacate. It is a sweet gift that the body doesn鈥檛 allow us to come into full contact with the enormity of our pain when we aren鈥檛 safe enough to feel it. I see the body as a manifestation of the unconscious mind, and when we work explicitly with the physical body, we grow awareness to the most hidden parts of our psyche. Yoga is a way to slowly reintroduce ourselves to the disowned parts of ourselves. Using the tools of breath and focused awareness, we can gradually thaw the frozen, clenched parts of our bodies. Now in my private practice, I鈥檓 teaching my clients and yoga students how to reclaim the uncharted waters of their own bodies using meditation, yoga, and breathing practices.

It wasn鈥檛 until I began connecting to my body that I realized how deeply disconnected I had been my entire life. Even now, after spending the last decade working to integrate the experiences of my body, I鈥檓 more aware than ever about how much I still don鈥檛 know about this earth suit of mine. It is endlessly mysterious and mystical to discover the maps of intelligence that are encoded into our bodies. I鈥檒l never arrive at a perfectly embodied or integrated place, but I have breathed myself into a new body. A more fluid, open, welcoming, and grounded body. A body that knows how to lean into care because of all those times she leaned into the earth in savasana and felt held.

The post Breathing Myself to Life: How Story Informs My Vocation appeared first on 天美视频 of Theology & Psychology.

I distinctly remember sitting in my apartment on the westside of Chicago, surrounded by the noise and clamor of my neighborhood, when I was notified of my admission to 天美视频. I had begun to fall in love with the under-resourced neighborhood I had moved into to live in intentional presence with my neighbors, to live out the values I ascribed to through my work and personal convictions. I was hesitant and excited to step into the possibility of graduate school鈥攌nowing it would mean major upheaval, loss, and also great possibility.

When I said yes to 天美视频, the next six weeks felt like an almost paralyzing state of transition, on the threshold of learning what it is to remain in a liminal space. In a strange way, that time of liminality allowed me to resonate with my under-resourced neighbors in a unique way鈥攑eople who are constantly experiencing displacement, loss, joy, grief, and so admirably holding it all in tandem with a hope like I鈥檝e never known.

That disruptive and exciting feeling of transition did not end when I finally made it to the Emerald City from the Windy City. Even after several months, I still unabashedly described myself as 鈥渋n transition.鈥� That said, over time, I could feel bits of myself that had been scattered start to settle into place. I learned to developed a new set of rhythms between work, school, and trying to create a sense of place and community here.

I have taken to referring to this time as a wilderness. As a student, I was asked to invite the transformative possibility of engaging, naming, celebrating, and grieving my own story. I would much rather engage, name, celebrate, or grieve the story of those around me, but I learned very quickly that my ability to engage the stories and heartache of those around me required that I first do that work for myself. How dare I imagine otherwise? At the end of first year, my Listening Lab Facilitator applauded me for learning how to show myself the same compassion I extend to others. My capacity for grace and mercy for others was expanding as I learned to engage my story with the same gentleness.

In the midst of this journey, we are encouraged not to rush through to the other side, but rather to dwell in the wilderness. I have come to believe this is a profoundly beautiful and necessary task. Like the nation of Israel in the Old Testament, I believe the pillar of cloud and light goes before me as a figure of hope.

One of the most memorable images from my first term was part of a lecture on our capacity for hope. We looked at a well-known image of modern dancer and choreographer Martha Graham, known for creating a movement language based on the expressive capacity of the human body. Dr. Chelle Stearns referred to this sweeping motion as a 鈥済esture of hope.鈥� Such a gesture is only achieved through intentional practice. Like Martha Graham, we practice ourselves into a hopeful posture. As a result, we must learn to bless what life is in this moment鈥攁ll that we are holding: possibility, potential, all that is unresolved in our hearts. I have no doubt that Martha Graham endured hours of practice and her fair share of pain to achieve such a gesture. So it is with hope. What a beautiful emblem of the resurrection!

As a part of the Artist鈥檚 Way class that spring, I completed a creative project inspired by Martha Graham鈥檚 gesture of hope. In an effort to practice my own posture of hopefulness, I created a flip book that traced the movement of the dancer into the full gesture of hope. 35 small drawings of a dancer and her sweeping motion. At the presentation of our creative projects, I shared my piece and how my neck ached and my eyes burned after several late nights drawing and re-drawing only slight variations of the same motion. 鈥淎h, yes. But that is what it is to practice a hopeful gesture,鈥� Dr. Stearns commented. She was right. In the very execution and embodiment of my project, I had tasted hope. It is bittersweet but absolutely worth it.

I hope that in the days to come, my little flip book can serve as a reminder of the beauty we鈥檙e working towards. Like that pillar of light in the wilderness, it calls us back to the wilderness at our feet and the promise of a Presence that transcends our circumstance.

In one of the readings I encountered as a student, the author noted a poem by Julia Esquivel. She says we have been “threatened with resurrection鈥� and this is what keeps us up at night. I can鈥檛 imagine a better reason for a vigilant night than the profoundly hopeful and startling threat of resurrection.

Join us in this vigil
and you will know what it is to dream!
Then you will know how marvelous it is
to live threatened with Resurrection!
鈥揓ulia Esquivel,

If Jessica鈥檚 story of hope resonates with you, and if you鈥檙e wondering if 天美视频 might be part of the next chapter in your own journey, we鈥檇 love to chat. It鈥檚 not too late to join our 2019 cohort starting this fall, and the next application deadline is June 24. Learn more at .

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If you鈥檝e ever worked in ministry or a helping profession鈥攐r any work that requires your full self鈥攜ou know this matters: the rate of burnout is too high, and the cost too steep, to not take seriously the need for resilience. We launched Resilient Leaders Project to help leaders and communities respond to that deep need in the midst of a changing church and fragmented culture.

Kate: 鈥淩esilient Leaders Project is about trying to come alongside leaders in their context to help them construct lives that support their good work, instead of feeling like their lives are at the cost of their work.鈥�

In reflecting on what drew them into this work, Kate and Laura Wade share about their histories with the Church and how they came to believe it could be a space that would welcome them fully and unequivocally, in all of their brokenness and trauma. Because it turns out that it鈥檚 impossible to talk meaningfully about resilience without also talking about trauma.

Kate: 鈥淭here鈥檚 a depth of experience that you must learn to narrate in your own life if you鈥檙e going to integrate the really hard pieces of your life. It鈥檚 not simply bouncing back to the shape that you were before something hard happened, it鈥檚 saying 鈥楬ow did this really difficult situation, this suffering that I went through, actually form me to be in some way more human, more compassionate, and therefore more divine?鈥欌��

鈥淭here鈥檚 a depth of experience that you must learn to narrate in your own life if you鈥檙e going to integrate the really hard pieces of your life.鈥�

Laura Wade: 鈥淩esilience, to me, is finding healing and freedom and voice in the midst of those harmful places, and being able to meet the Spirit and meet God there to be different, to be more of who we are created to be. That鈥檚 the linking of resilience and trauma. I don鈥檛 think you can have resilience without some level of trauma.鈥�

Shauna: 鈥淎nd maybe you can鈥檛 be a human and not have trauma.鈥�

As we gather to reflect together on the trauma of Christ鈥攖he violence, betrayal, death, and resurrection鈥攊n the Church we might also find space to reflect on our own trauma, to lean into a community of others who can help us find language and meaning for that which is beyond words. This is a beautiful hope, that reflecting on the wounds of Christ in community might help us heal from our own wounds, but it is also a risky, vulnerable hope鈥攐ne from which it is all too easy for many leaders to shy away. The rigorous demands and unspoken expectations of leadership often mean that leaders鈥攅specially in church, ministry, and nonprofit settings鈥攁re left feeling as if they cannot disclose experiences of trauma or uncertainty, and like there is not room for them to receive care.

Kate: 鈥淲ounded healer is language that we usually use, but we gloss over the wounded part, which means that we often have healed wounders in those roles.鈥�

鈥淲ounded healer is language that we usually use, but we gloss over the wounded part, which means that we often have healed wounders in those roles.鈥�

Toward the end of the conversation, Kate and Laura Wade share about their experience in the first full year of RLP, inviting leaders into intentional connection, thoughtful reflection, and new practices that create room for their full selves鈥攊ncluding their trauma, doubt, and brokenness鈥攖o be present in their work and relationship. This integrative work is a central part of building resilience, and it is a gift to journey with leaders as they step into that.

Kate: 鈥淢y hope for the Church is that God鈥檚 not done. And it might not look like the church that it looked like in our parents鈥� or grandparents鈥� ages, it might not be focused on Sunday morning worship, but I think God鈥檚 not done in gathering people in a certain type of way. I want to be part of making that happen, and I want to be part of helping resource the creative and courageous people who are stepping into this unknown territory.鈥�

Resources to Go Deeper

• You can learn more about the Resilient Leaders Project鈥攊ncluding our newsletter, upcoming events, and the application process for our next cohort鈥攁t theseattleschool.edu/rlp.
• Kate shares a poem by an anonymous survivor of rape, which reads in its entirety: 鈥淚 can鈥檛 forget what happened, but no one else remembers.鈥� When she was a student at 天美视频, Kate wrote this moving reflection about the installation and about church as a community that remembers and holds.
• Laura Wade recommends a book about integrating the feminine and masculine parts that live in each of us. The book is by Tami Lynn Kent.
• One of the practices Laura Wade mentions that she has returned to because of this work is running. You can read her reflection about how running helps her return to spiritual health in this blog.
• For more on resilience, you can watch Nikkita Oliver鈥檚 stunning talk from our 2018 Humanity Through Community gathering, and you can listen to Nikkita鈥檚 conversation with Shauna Gauthier from an earlier podcast episode.

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Of course it is all too easy to tune out our bodies, to ignore how they communicate our need for nurture. What are the practices that help us listen to our bodies? What are the rhythms and rituals that connect us to those deep, vulnerable parts of our bodies and souls that are crying out for care? Our students and alumni have been wrestling with these questions in beautiful, creative ways for many years, and we often turn to their voices when we need to remember how to be present in our bodies. Today we鈥檙e sharing a few of those voices鈥攖houghtful presentations inviting us to engage the rituals, rhythms, and age-old practices that draw us back to our deeply human need for nurture. And if you鈥檇 like to join us in the gift of learning from the integrative and insightful work of our students, save the date for the annual Integrative Project Symposium on May 31.

At our second annual Symposia in 2016, Heather Stringer (, 鈥�10) presented 鈥淏reaking Frozen Seas: How Rituals of the Body Transform Clients and Communities,鈥� exploring how intentional, sensual rituals open us to learning from our bodies as we pursue healing from trauma. 鈥淚 think our body longs to teach us, it longs to mother us, it longs to remind us,鈥� says Heather. 鈥淎nd without ritual, we foreclose creativity and shared open language about what is happening, and we dissociate.鈥�

鈥淚 think our body longs to teach us, it longs to mother us, it longs to remind us.鈥�

Also at Symposia 2016, Jenny McGrath (MACP, 鈥�15) talked about 鈥淗ealing Trauma Through Movement,鈥� sharing how dance had been an avenue of healing and growth in her own life, and how movement and dance can be used therapeutically to bring counseling and rehabilitation for trauma survivors. Jenny shares about her work in northern Uganda, researching the therapeutic power of movement in the wake of war and exploring how dance can help communicate emotional realities that are beyond language. 鈥淲e are affected not just neurologically, but neuro-physiologically when we go through trauma. We are not just floating heads,鈥� says Jenny. 鈥淪o there needs to be some form of engagement with our bodies if we are truly to develop a sustainable model for people to recover from their trauma.鈥�

At Symposia 2017 Jenny Wade (MACP, 鈥�13), a therapist and founder of in Seattle, shared about 鈥淔inding Beauty in Embodied Resistance.鈥� In this profound talk, Jenny starts with the disgust that so many people feel toward their bodies, and the million ways we are taught to believe that our bodies are not worth trusting. 鈥淚 believe that bodies are good,鈥� says Jenny. 鈥淭hey are good, and they are wise, and they are beautiful. [鈥 But trauma, both collective and personal, separates us from the felt experience of our body. When we experience trauma, our body feels foreign. Our body doesn鈥檛 feel like it鈥檚 ours.鈥�

(For more on this, we also deeply appreciated J. Knox Burnett鈥檚 (MACP, 鈥�13) presentation, )

When we are more fully connected to our bodies, we are more able to attune to spiritual practices and soul care. This is much of the work that Lacy Clark Ellman (MA in Theology & Culture, 鈥�12) fosters in her work as a spiritual director. In 2017, Lacy presented 鈥淏eyond Borders: Cultivating Awareness, Resilience, and Transformation through the Practice of Pilgrimage.鈥� In 2017 she shared about the ancient art of pilgrimage and the archetypal human stories that have so much to reveal about the journey of separation, initiation, and return. 鈥淭his adventure of the hero and journey of the pilgrim is built within each one of us,鈥� says Lacy. 鈥淎nd claiming it as our own, we are aligning with our divine imprint as seekers of the sacred.鈥�

(Kate Davis [Master of Divinity, 鈥�15] also powerfully reflected on the transformative insights of ancient human stories in her Integrative Project presentation, )

Across cultures and generations, these categories of initiation, wilderness, and pilgrimage have been central to questions of what it means to be fully human鈥攁nd yet for many of us, they feel so foreign today. That鈥檚 why we appreciated this Symposia 2016 presentation from Doug Wheeler (MA in Counseling, 1987), 鈥淣avigating the Masculine Journey with 鈥楽herpas鈥� Nouwen, Jung, and Peck.鈥� Doug reflects on the archetypes that help clarify the terrain and trajectory of human pilgrimage. 鈥淭here is no entry fee, but it will cost you plenty to make this journey. Pack a lunch, lose your map, travel lightly.鈥�

On May 31 we鈥檒l gather to hear from students in our Master of Divinity and MA in Theology & Culture programs as they present on the projects that serve as a capstone of their time in graduate school. The Integrative Project Symposium is always an inspiring, grounding, and thought-provoking time. All are welcome!

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That鈥檚 what we鈥檙e diving into on the blog this month: how to open ourselves to the nurture and care that is required to sustain our calling as fully embodied people committed to the movement of hope and healing. It might be worth pausing on that last sentence. What comes to mind when you hear the word nurture? Somewhere along the way, many of us have internalized an assumption that the need to be nurtured is something to be outgrown, something no longer experienced by people who are competent, mature, and capable of effecting change in the world.

We believe, though, that the deep need for nurture is a central part of the human experience, and it is essential to the art of growing in wisdom, empathy, and clarity of calling. As we lead, care for others, and respond to the needs around us, the reservoirs we draw from will run dry if we are not open to receiving care from God, ourselves, and each other鈥攗ltimately leaving us burned out in our work and cynical about the possibility of meaningful change.

We hope you will join us in this conversation as we hear from alumni, students, faculty, and staff about how their particular identities and stories shape their work in the world, and how they receive nurture and care along the way. May we remain curious about whatever resistance might emerge, about those places in us that might feel shame about our need for nurture, and may we continue learning to open ourselves鈥攊ndividually and collectively鈥攖o the care that fuels our formation and sparks creative, courageous work in the world.

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