Through the Eyes of a Senior

A copy of my Baccalaureate Speech: May 17, 2013      

     This past fall I found myself tempted to re-enter Gordon and begin my adventurous life all over again, but not because of any regrets about how college turned out.  And certainly not because I feel I can relate to the underclassmen.  (While I can still remember what it was like to be in their shoes, freshman year seems like a lifetime ago.) 

            I am tempted to enroll in Gordon again because each time I toured prospective families around campus, selling them on all the opportunities awaiting them upon a four-year commitment, I reaffirmed my decision four years ago.  I told families that though it might not be everyone’s experience, I really did find my best friends among those I lived with my freshman year.  And I told families how I see Gordon through different eyes as a senior – that as I’ve grown as a student, I’ve also seen Gordon itself transform to become a better institution, making changes as small as adding a Panini maker, and as big as installing a new Provost and President. 

            Our class has had a unique position to witness several significant changes.  For better or worse, we saw the demise of Claymore and the rise of Chester’s Place (the tavern that, no, does not serve any alcohol).  We saw midnight Marty’s donut runs start off as a mysterious word through the grapevine and make their way to become a regular freshman tradition.  We saw the tiers disappear to make way for a more open and internationally themed cafeteria.  We were the first to experience the ups and downs of the “New Core.”  We spent a year saying goodbye to the Carlbergs, our pillars of strength and wisdom -- a family who dedicated so much of their lives to the college, and a first lady who told interesting stories in funny accents while always preaching the gospel.  The following fall we said hello to a new first family who immediately made themselves present in our lives through strolls around campus and a president who travels the world to promote our school and still finds time to work out with us in the gym.  Yet throughout these changes, the essence of Gordon has remained the same:  We are a place where students work hard and train to be witnesses to the Kingdom in whatever work field we enter.  My professors taught me not only how to be an exemplary Elementary school teacher, but also to love my students and respect my colleagues; to plan with integrity, act with patience and call on Christ daily to give me the strength to do so.  And this spring in a third grade classroom in Revere, I learned just how difficult that task is!

            Gordon College is also a place where conversation and community happen.  We are a community aware of the challenges that face us. And even if it takes a few brave students to open up the conversation, whether in the public space of our Chapel or among private conversations in Residence Halls, there are always people willing to confront hard issues head on.

            Our campus has 450 beautiful acres of woods, but the Gordon experience extends far beyond our property line.  As the body of Christ, we’ve boarded planes to Nicaragua to work in orphanages, to Detroit to encounter inner city brokenness, to South America to cross a language barrier, and to Italy to investigate the history of art.  Each day we load up vans to serve in Lynn or welcome under-resourced students to our campus.  We get in our cars and drive to practicums and internships to put into practice four years of hard work.  We make ourselves aware of our position as caretakers of God’s earth.  Though we admittedly don’t utilize them until late April when its time to turn in our resumes, we are thankful for all the opportunities Career Services promotes in preparation for life after college.

            I was overwhelmed by Freshman Orientation, but it has taken me four years to realize that as thoroughly prepared as we were to come, we’re even more prepared to leave.  As Freshmen we overcommitted and stayed up too late, as Sophomores we made the most friends we’ll ever enjoy at one time, as Juniors we traveled the world, and as Seniors we’ve had one foot in the college world and one foot stepping out, with the encouraging support of our apartment mates, mentors and professors.  I always knew this day would come, and I always imagined it would be hard to say goodbye, but I never expected it to feel so right.  The biggest comfort I take in facing the unknown road ahead is the knowledge that God has always led me exactly where I needed to be.  Leading me to Gordon for these past four years is by far the strongest example of His faithful provision and the reason I have confidence facing the future.    

Hindsight: Faith after Italy

Written September 30, 2012: this is an attempt to articulate and place closure on just one aspect of my time in Italy.

     Most days I forget about the fact that I lived in Italy, actually lived in an entirely different culture for four months of my life.  As I trudged through my first full summer day of class, work and homework, the Italian days of long lunches, conversations over cappuccinos and hours each afternoon to complete a single assignment already seemed part of a distant past. Two months later I was back on Gordon’s campus, a place that even though it had been nine months, immediately felt like home again. Each time I’m asked the infamous question, “How was Italy?” I’m forced to reach back to the memories I’ve tucked away and placed in a category I don’t quite know what to do with. How do you explain a town that most closely resembled a Disney movie? How do you explain the equal frustration and excitement of encountering art in ways I never have before? How do you explain a community that became so strong, but was still so temporary? And how do you explain the fact that despite the luxury of Italian life, I faced a whole new set of stressors as I confronted parts of myself I thought I’d left behind and learned to live in a community of people and in a culture extremely different from myself? I may not have time to deal with these questions in short passing conversations, but in the little moments I have to breathe, in conversations over coffee or in forced reflections such as this, I begin to intentionally piece together all that I learned while abroad. One of the biggest, and most unexpected, pieces of myself that was challenged and changed was my idea of church and faith.

            One of our first authentically Italian experiences as a program was attending Catholic mass at a local church. Not only did the language create a barrier, but the tradition and liturgy of the service was entirely new for me as well. In the middle of the service I was beckoned by one of the Italian women to participate in the service by bringing a flower to the communion table. I was terrified to approach the priest, but was assured that this was a way the town was welcoming us confused protestant students into their community, despite different religious backgrounds. Throughout the semester I continued to encounter the catholic liturgy and fight against my preconceived notions of what faith is. I learned to listen for God’s voice in an environment I didn’t understand and to appreciate the beauty and faithfulness in the continual sit-down-stand-up routine throughout a service. I experienced a celebration of Holy Week with more emphasis on the crucifixion than the resurrection. Even the weather mirrored the mood of our hearts on Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Sunday morning as ominous clouds enveloped the sky as we thought about Christ’s preparation for sacrifice and readied our hearts for the wonder of an uncertain, foggy Easter morning that slowly broke out into a rainbow and sun-filled afternoon of celebration.

            My most vivid encounter with Catholicism was the overwhelming moment when I walked into St. Peter’s Basilica. I felt as though I had been smacked in the face with ornamentation and couldn’t tell what was beautiful and what was blasphemous. How could one building so equally mirror the glory of God and the selfish greed of our Heavenly father? My eyes settled on Mary’s marble face in the Pieta, and I was reminded of who my Savior is and reassured that though my faith was being challenged and broadened, I could find assurance in Christ’s death on the cross. Back on campus today, I am still wrestling with the emotions and questions this afternoon in St. Peter’s stirred through a poetry assignment in one of my classes.

            In the fourth month of Orvieto, my Art & Liturgy class learned about Catholicism through participating in four of the seven daily hours practiced by nuns and monks. We prayed the opening and closing hours (Lauds and Compline) on our own, held a morning Terce service as a class and went to an evening Vespers service at a local convent. Simultaneously we were studying the art of the Catholic Church and creating our own prayer books. This entire month was a beautiful intersection of the rich Italian catholic tradition and our own modern protestant customs. One pivotal experience for me was a conversation with a local cloistered nun (graciously translated by our Professor). As she explained to us how she felt called to be confined to the convent so that she could work and pray for the world, my own notions of vocation and service were seriously challenged. Though I am not called to physically dedicate my life in the same way this Catholic nun did, I was forced to think about how different my life might look if I took the scriptures as seriously as she does. What does my life of comfort say about how strongly I depend on the Lord for not only my physical needs, but my emotional and spiritual needs as well? I am still working to figure out how I can make prayer as prevalent a part of my life as it was during those four weeks. 

            Outside of the catholic tradition, my idea of expressing faith was expanded by the paintings that I encountered. I have seen a lot of art in my life, but have never been as challenged by the strokes in front of me as I was in Rome. Caravaggio’s biblical depictions of the humanness of Christ and seriousness of the battle between light and dark kept me thinking about the paintings for weeks after I had seen them. Michelangelo’s depiction of the stories of the bible throughout the Sistine Chapel both captivated and overwhelmed me as I tried in vain to take it all in. As I made my way toward the chapel, the halls were filled with hundreds of crucifixion paintings, a testament to how differently God speaks to us all.  One abstract painting of the embrace between the prodigal son and his father unexpectedly caught my attention, and when I took my Dad back to the Vatican two months later, made him pause as well.  The power of these paintings has forever deepened my understanding of the truth of the gospel. However, what do I do with the fact that many of these artists had seriously troubled pasts, and perhaps some wouldn’t have even called themselves followers of Christ?

            I know that I am not likely to express my faith through a painting or join a local convent. I may never step foot in another Catholic church again; in fact, I’m not sure how many people I will have the opportunity to share all my insights about faith with. But these experiences still touched me and, even if I haven’t totally figured out what to do with them, they are still very much a part of my life. I hope that I don’t continue to forget that I lived in Italy. I hope, instead, that when I stray away from the Lord, I remember that he will always embrace me like a loving father when I choose to come back. I hope that when I forget about the seriousness of the gospel, I will think of the dark reminders of Christ’s death and the beautiful hope in his resurrection. I hope that even if I can’t paint these things, I will struggle to write them, to express them in the best way I know how. And I hope that when I must remind myself to work with all my heart, as if serving the Lord, and not man I will remember the sister in Orvieto who is also sacrificing herself in a life of service.