Open Letter to McAfee

April 29, 2014

An Open Letter to McAfee School of Theology.

To my dear community,

Four years ago, I was about to finish my undergraduate degrees in English and Education certain that I no longer wanted to be a high school teacher. Despite my enthusiasm for kids, love for my subject, and passion for learning, I realized that the call I had first felt as a young child was not imagined whimsy. It was the inescapable allure of God, calling me to devote my life to ministry.

Most days, I relished my three years as a high school teacher, but even as I accepted my first teaching position, I knew the next destination was seminary, and I longed for it. In my spare time, I read theology books like novels, devouring the pages in search of the resolution, the answers to the first questions, and I closed each book with few answers and more questions. (So, when I finally got to seminary, I was already used to it.)

I first visited McAfee in February of 2012, and my mind was made up by then. I visited Dr. Younger's worship class (not knowing I'd later become his student assistant). I talked with Barrett Owen for over an hour about what it means to be a woman and Baptist and in seminary. He was one of the first people to tell me that my call was legitimate and equal to his own. I asked Dr. Michelle Garber about degrees and classes before I enrolled. Over a year and a half, I corresponded with Libby Allen with question after question.

I came to the preview conference, battled a bout of nerves during my interview with Dean Culpepper, and sat in on Dr. Denise Massey's Pastoral Care class. (I regret that short visit would turn out to be my only chance to be in her class.) I enrolled with the excitement and fear that comes with new beginnings. I quit my teaching job at a great school and cried like a baby in the parking lot on my last day. I moved to Atlanta in the Fall of 2013 knowing that I was moving away from a comfortable and usually enjoyable career, away from my family, away from my new fiancee to chase the elusive hunch that there was more to my life, more to the world, and more to God.

Getting to McAfee was a long journey filled with tears and questions and blind leaps of what I hoped was faith. So, when in late fall of 2013—shortly before our wedding— I found out that the Navy was moving my fiancee across the country to Seattle, Washington, I was stunned. I vented my anger and confusion to my Spiritual Formation class. Why would God let me spend almost two years preparing to come to this place only to lead me away before I could get my name on the alumni list?

Because of Tom's transfer, we had to cancel our December wedding festivities and elope. We met our parents at the courthouse and promised to love each other, and I wondered what to do with my life.

I conferred with friends, family, professors. My story spread and students I barely knew stopped me in the hall to encourage me. Professors I never had the chance to study under found me to tell me I would be missed. They knew, though I was hesitant to verbalize it myself, that I would inevitably choose to go with Tom. Though Tom was warmly supportive of my seminary goals and would have supported me if I'd chosen to stay at McAfee, building a marriage on three years apart would be too difficult. My seminary journey continues with another new beginning in Seattle.

So now comes the time to say goodbye. I watched the graduate commissioning service with longing, wishing I could be there in two years with my cohort here, to hear your blessings, to sit through the laying on of hands and experience the initial awkwardness that turns to tears and laughter. But there are no ceremonies or certificates given to students who transfer away when life (dare I say, God?) leads them away. This year was sacred, precious, and I will leave a piece of my heart in these halls. So instead of a piece of paper, I take with me the abstract blessings you have given me, and I thank you for them.

I am grateful to Dr. Nash, for teaching us that the church must change and embrace and live in the margins of the world. I am grateful to Dr. Durso for teaching me that “Baptist” and “women” and “minister” were not mutually exclusive. I am grateful for Dr. Garber for encouraging us to challenge our embedded theologies with regard to the Hebrew scriptures and to quote Tolkien and Star Wars while doing it. I am grateful for Dr. Allen who showed me many mystical ways to engage with the Spirit and mystery of God. I am grateful for Dr. deClaisse-Walford who helped us explore the evolution of the Bible. I am grateful for Dr. Slater who taught me “goo-gobs” about how to be close to the Kingdom, and why Left Behind is wrong. I am grateful for Dr. Jones, who helped me experience Jesus through his parables. I am grateful for Dr. Younger who showed me that my call to write and my call to minister are not two separate callings.

To the professors I did not have the chance to learn from—the loss is mine. To my fellow seminarians—there are too many of you to thank by name, but know this: I am a better person for having known you. You trusted me with your spiritual autobiographies in Spiritual Formation, and you honored me with your sermons in Preaching. We laughed, we cried, we wondered where our faith went, and then we found a stronger one together. I feel your loss most strongly, and I implore you to keep in touch so I can witness your great light. The love and hope of Jesus, I know, will be your legacy, and I am honored to have shared in it for a year.

Keep loving God. Keep loving others. Live well, love always. My gratitude is yours, and the honor has been mine.

McAfee, lovers of God, I will not forget you.

Grace and peace,

Hillary Beasley Kimsey