Hi,

I thought of you a good deal and I am much looking forward to spend the Holy Week at home. I hope, too, that I will have good things to relate from my candidacy entrance interview on 4/4/09 down in Worcester, Mass.

Sorry, it took me quite a while to write a new blog. Life as a seminary student is intensely busy …

… and it was exactly because of this busy-ness and a broken-down wireless network in my apartment that on noon that one Sunday I sought refuge in the black cube that houses the LSTC seminary.  Empty space, closed doors, silence. No one would be there, except for gushing ventilators, the wireless network and me, reading fast, writing fast, thinking in between, writing some emails of friendship.

As I was passing by the refectory, I was surprised to hear someone preaching with a voice like thunder in a language I could not understand. Looking through the window, I saw an African congregation in worship. Walking up to the third floor, the stairway was filled with distant piano music and singing. And as I found a place to sit in front of the admissions office a landscape of voices of prayer and song unfolded around me. From down the hallway and across from Admissions, I hear a preacher from South Africa and a preacher from Korea speak to their congregations. Music is sweeping words into song, and prayers lifted the voice of a piano. Fragments of song reach my ear as I am sitting on my blue bench that has become an estuary of weaving streams of praise “Only you…I am not afraid…I am walking in the valley, I am walking in the rain…I worship only you.” And now there are hallelujahs and laughter, clapping and trampling feet, over there. And over here, the silence of contemplative words of prayer.

And then, a door opened and an elderly Korean lady walks out with a little red paper-bag. She is getting a cup of the coffee waiting there for socializing with a little spoon-full of whitener. She takes a seat on a bench just like mine around the corner – what is on her mind, I wonder? Then, a little boy walks out with a hamper full of toys, crayons, and paper. The lady says: “Oh, you are such a good boy! How old are you?” He says: “Three.” She says: “Oh, you are almost in school. Can you count?” And he starts: “One, two, three, four five, six, seven ..” She says: “Eight,” he says: “nine, ten, eleven, twelve…” She says: “Oh, you are such a smart boy.”
The service has ended and others join in the coffee-social. The pastor walks over to the lady with the little red paper-bag, and she says: “It gets colder. Brutally. It gets warm and the next day it gets freezing.” And the pastor says: “This is the worst winter.” And he relates a story about a parish nearby. The city had told the pastor that he could not use the sanctuary, because it was not safe. With all the snow, the roof may fall in. “So they had to figure out how to celebrate the Ash Wednesday service. They ended up using the dining hall of their homeless shelter. You see, the sanctuary has stress fractures. Yes, that pastor had a really rough week. And the Chicago food depository is short on supplies. They cannot meet the need. And there’s that place with 1000 homeless people. And people working there got laid off. It’s in the margin where things get really hard.” And the lady said: “I saw that the volunteers there are actually the people who stay there. I was so amazed. These are really bright and intelligent young people, who have come upon hard times.” And he said: “They do great work over there. But believe me, I can’t wait until it is spring.” And she laughed: “Yes, me too!” And their voices joined the flow of conversations and laughter that was swirling and rushing now all around the coffee pot.

My MacBook signaled a low battery charge and I agreed. Planning to take my snow-boots for a walk at the lake I made my way down the staircase just as the other congregation broke into song and dance. What a place, I say!

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