Diverse In-Deed

It’s said that diversity recognizes that, though people have things in common with each other, they are also different many ways. Inclusion is where we see those differences as a benefit, and where we share  perspectives and differences, leading to better decisions. It stands to reason, then, that it isn’t enough merely to desire to value diversity. One must also value inclusion. The two go hand in hand.

That was on full display here in Cambridge today as the season for graduation or “admission” begins. What we call commencement in the US has a very different flavor here. Rather than the “end,” it is seen very much as what our term commencement is meant to convey – the beginning of a life in a discipline of study and work in a particular area of endeavor.

Yes, diversity was on full display. Scholars from various colleges claimed diverse national and ethnic heritage. Skin colors of every hue and tone and language families from the Far East, South Asia, North and South Africa, Latin America, the Middle East, Europe, the Philippines, Malaysia, Indonesia, and North America – I could name even more – could all be identified on the walkways and streets. Proud parents, spouses, children in tow, siblings jostling – all very familiar – all common in every culture.

But then there was a marked symbol of inclusion – the formal attire of the Cambridge scholar – known as Sub-fusc. Sub-fusc (meaning dark and dusky color) refers to clothes worn with full academic dress involving a dark suit and white shirt, collar, bands and bow tie for men (who must also wear black socks), and a dark suit and white blouse for women. The rules for dress on graduation for women also specify that women's attire must have long sleeves. Although only male graduands are required to wear white ties and bands by regulation, nothing prevents female graduands doing so too if they wear a properly collared shirt. Over this, of course, is the gown and the hood, which signifies your “college” and degree (rank and area of study). Everyone wears the same, regardless of national, racial, or ethnic identity. The only distinction on this occasion is your achievement.

Perhaps it is too idealistic to think that we might strive for this in our society. That we might strive to put into practice the teaching of one our modern-day prophets who taught so earnestly, “I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character." (Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.)

Perhaps, we Americans, who claim to espouse a society based on liberty and equality, on diversity and inclusion could learn from our British “cousins,” where disability, gender reassignment, marriage and civil partnership, pregnancy and maternity, race, religion and belief, sex and sexual orientation are 'protected characteristics' covered by discrimination law to give people protection against being treated unfairly. Perhaps it is time to put into practice what we, as Anglicans/Episcopalians affirm our in own Baptismal Covenant and answer affirmatively to the question: Will you strive for justice and peace among all people and respect the dignity of every human being? with these words: I will, with God’s help. Perhaps with God’s help making our voices heard in the cause of diversity and inclusion in our society might bring the values of the kingdom of God just a bit closer to reality.

Breaking Out, Breaking Down

Stereotypes. We all have them. We tend to think of them negatively – that they are to be avoided. The problem is that we can’t avoid them. Simply put, stereotypes are generalized beliefs about categories of people or things. They help us make sense of the world by helping us to simplify and systematize information. Perhaps in a world of information overload, we can begin to rely on this tool just a bit too much. Stereotypes can become dangerous when they become too rigid and to determine our attitudes to the world around us – especially when it comes to our relationships with the people we meet.

The Chapel at Ridley Hall

Thursday evening, Ridley Hall gathered for its weekly College Communion. Its planning and celebration were the responsibility of “F” Staircase (where I live) and so I made it a special point to be present. Mind you, the historical legacy of Ridley Hall is not of the Laudian (i.e., “high church”) strain of the Church of England of which I am so fond. Chapel appointments are sparse. Rites are simple. I was prepared for that. As the liturgy progressed, however, I experienced a blend of what our parishioners at St. Luke’s might describe as a mix of Prayer Book and LCBC (Tabor Church, Lebanon). Very modern praise music, lyrics projected from video screens, a rather liberal interpretation of rubrics, a time of small group sharing after the excellent sermon – all served to break down any stereotype one might have had about the formality of worship conducted in many parishes of the Church of England.

None of this made me uncomfortable. It was natural and organic. It was rooted in the deep faith of the students who make up this worshipping community – many of whom come from backgrounds as varied as you can imagine. Some have come to faith from no faith at all. Others come from the usual, staid “stereotypical” CofE formalism where it’s mostly about getting it done, with no implication for the daily life of those who take part and now are seeking deeper meaning. Still others were touched by significant figures who were clearly

The exterior of the Chapel

moved by their faith and supported by their church community and want to emulate them. There are nearly as many reasons as there are students – some seeking ordination, others a deeper commitment within lay ministries (still another stereotype breaking down – more on that later) – but every one so much as I can tell moved by a single common motive – a response to their call in discipleship by the Lord Jesus Christ.

Regardless of one’s prejudices or preferences, there is no doubt that the Spirit is afoot. It is alive. And whatever you hear about the demise of the Church of England, God is at work.

Settling In

One of the challenges of preparing for this journey was to decide just how much to “bring with.” I’ve been on longer holidays (oh no! I am already starting to sound like a native – well, not really) but never for more than a week or two. I’ve never had to plan to be away from home base for three months. Nor have I had to plan for the variety of activities involved in seven weeks of settled living followed by several weeks of pilgrim’s progress.

Market Square in Central Cambridge - What's old is new again.
Cambridge has been an important trading
center since the Roman and Viking eras.

Given the circumstances, I think I did well, with the help of several YouTube videos, Rick Steves travel guides, and conversations with friends and colleagues. I managed to arrive with enough to get through the first several days here at Ridley Hall but now it is time to really settle in. It is time to venture out and forage for supplies like tissues, instant coffee, some fresh fruit, toothpaste, shaving cream, and the like.

It will be good to be out. Yesterday was a foraging day of a different sort – a library day. The library here at Ridley Hall is modest. Yet, I found several valuable resources for the work I set out to conduct on this quest – to explore just how we can better integrate parish communities (like St. Luke's) into the work of forming ministers among the people of God.

Retired Dean Robyn Szoke-Coolidge of the Stevenson School for Ministry and I have discussed this challenge for many years and is one of the reasons this sabbatical has become so important to me. We genuinely believe that the context of parish mission and ministry is where the gospel becomes real – where all of one’s study, reflection, and thinking, takes on flesh – becomes, as we say, incarnate. It is where the world can see, and hear, and taste, and touch, and feel the Body of the Risen Lord – the Body of Christ – in us, the Church. If we genuinely believe this, then there is no better place for the spiritual formation of the future leaders of the Church, whether they be lay or ordained. Just how we work this out is what needs to be figured out. That’s where you, the People of God come in.

Meanwhile, I’ll be off to market!

Walking

King's College Chapel

I was told that Cambridge is a walkable city. It’s true. I spent the afternoon doing just that. After recovering from my initial journey, I ventured out from the secure enclosures of Ridley Hall into the hustle and bustle of this storied university town.

Every turn confronts you with history. 

Clare College – founded 1326. Corpus Christi College – founded 1352. Emmanuel College – founded 1584. Gonville & Caius College – founded 1348. Jesus College – founded 1496. Magdalene College – founded 1428. Pembroke College – founded 1347. St. John’s College – founded 1511. Christ’s College - founded 1505. Trinity College – founded 1546. And of course, the crown jewel for anyone so enamored of high church musical traditions as I – King’s College – founded 1441. Not to say anything of any of the other colleges founded after the mid-sixteenth century!

Architectural wonders. Stonework. Stained glass. Cobblestone walkways. It is almost too much to take in. What is even more difficult to comprehend is that this is real. It is not Disney or Pixar. Real people have traversed these same walkways for almost seven hundred years. 

How many scholars? How many debates along the way? How many friendships formed – or lost? How much blood shed over which doctrine was true? Over whether the Bible should be translated into the common language? Over whose authority was greater – prince or bishop? How much faith was found – or lost? How many cures discovered? How many treaties negotiated?

What was (is) learned in places like this echoes through centuries of human experience. Walking these streets brings a sudden sense of connectedness – a sense that what we do today matters now – and well into the future. In God’s eyes, we each matter. Each of us has a part to play – no matter how large or small. Suddenly it dawns on you: it all matters, really.

Day 1

The View from my
Room at Ridley Hall

One always ponders how to start a story. My first-year composition teacher had the best advice: begin at the beginning. No wonder then that the author of Genesis and the Gospel of John do so very explicitly. "In the beginning ... " And yet, others begin stories in ways that stick: "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness ..." (Charles Dickens, Tale of Two Cities) This story is not quite so profound, so it begins a bit more simply: it's day one. 

Day one of this sabbatical journey began with a farewell to my beloved spouse at the Amtrak terminal in Harrisburg where what turned out to be a nearly sleepless twenty-seven-hour trek began. Four hours to Newark International Airport - an extended wait until late afternoon to board the flight to Lisbon - a layover for the connecting flight to London - the queue (as a waiting line is called here in the United Kingdom) for immigration approvals - baggage claim (an ordeal in any airport) - finding my way to the tube (the Underground Piccadilly Line) to Kings Cross Station - the train to Cambridge - sorting out how to find my way to Ridley Hall (I finally gave in an took a taxi). To me, at the tender age of sixty-seven, managing all this with forty-seven pounds of backpack luggage a carry-on backpack of seventeen pounds and my CPAP machine in tow, this was at least an adventure if not an ordeal. 

In an adventure, no matter how many plans have been made or how many contingencies have been provided for, there are always the twists and turns that can make the best laid plans go awry - those unexpected events that can raise anxiety and stress, even though the only way is forward - like realizing the $150 in cash you have in your pocket is pretty well worthless once you're actually in the UK! (There's always the ATM just opposite customs - thanks, Rick Steeves, for that sage advice.)

Gratefully, in two key areas of my personal self-care (spiritual direction and psychotherapy), we have been working on increasing practices dedicated to mindfulness. One might best describe my physical journey to Ridley Hall as a lot of "hurry-up and wait," all of which gave me a lot of time to observe a world that is quite different than the world of my routine existence and which will provide me a great deal upon which to reflect in the days to come. My mindfulness practices allowed me to become more present in some of those moments of waiting, excruciatingly intense as they were at times - present enough to notice, for example, the disheveled, young man aimlessly riding the AirTrain tram that connects the Amtrak station to the Newark Airport terminals. Smelly, withdrawn, and unkempt, he clumsily ate a muffin from a Starbucks bag. Much of it crumbled messily onto the floor as he struggled with something clearly designed to be eaten with utensils at a proper table. Others in the tram edged away, disdain on their faces. The phrase came to my mind, "and he was moved with pity." But what could I do in this context? (Oh, I see, good Levite ... )

Later, in Terminal B, after I had lunch, I went to sit at one of the benches that line the halls outside the food court. Mindfulness was not exactly my own state of mind at that point, until the person next to me stood up and a familiar odor drifted toward me. Yes, it was him. Not a moment later, he looked at me and said he was trying to get something to eat. It was time to make mindfulness, lovingkindness, and compassion real. I gave him  a few dollars. He blessed me and was on his way as another traveler sat down and not a "New York minute" later got up complaining about the smell while noticing a puddle on the floor near her feet, something I hadn't noticed till then.

OK. Maybe the twenty-seven hours felt like an ordeal. But I arrived at Ridley safely and was greeted warmly by a staff member who stayed longer than her scheduled work time to greet me and show me to my room. Once there, I had the opportunity for a hot shower, clean clothes, and a nap before a delicious supper among potential new friends and colleagues. 

Indeed, I am greatly privileged and deeply blessed. 

Thanks be to God.