Seminarian Identity Development
A recent conversation gives me the opportunity to reflect a little bit on the issue of identity -- particularly, what it means to self-identify as a seminarian. Perhaps this process is to be expected -- between a background in counseling & development and my current education, it is natural to try and observe this developmental process.
Then. In previous graduate programs, I worked full-time (at least 80%, typically 100%) and studied part-time. I was never sure how i identified myself: it often varied based upon how long of an answer I wanted to give. I could either state where I worked during the day; or sometimes, rarely, indicate that I was a graduate student. If i was particularly busy, I could state "lots of different things" and then start to explain which hat I wore on what basis.
This was frustrating. It was never that I didn't have a self-identity, but it was fluid, not sticky: it was hard to grasp hold of and claim for myself. When I was at work, I was thinking about work, but really distracted by what was going on academically (i.e., homework consistently lurked). When I was in class -- evening classes all -- I was typically tired from work, and didn't really focus on work. When I was in social settings, I would not think about anything really; and when I finally got to studying -- fatigue, burnout, and even some boredom.
It wasn't that I wasn't interested in what I was studying (the broader discipline at least, even if some classes droned.) I just felt very fragmented, and the few hours I pegged in my life for studying were already psychically depleted.
Now. Perhaps it is foolish to talk about a "Now" when I am only in my third full week of seminary (or rather, between weeks three and four.) But I can see some gleanings of identity formation.
I.e., at school, I fully identify myself as a seminarian. To other seminarians, it seems that is enough of a rubric. Sometimes I can go further into particular program, or goals, or denominational activities, but "seminarian" often suffices.
When I am at work: I am not truly at work. (Let me clarify that somewhat before I am fired.) I wear the skin of the person who works in my office; I even commit my mind to the work at hand. (Yes, sometimes I think about homework.) But i don't truly feel at home here: my work identity is almost emblematic of the notion of the pilgrim -- I am simply visiting, and my true home is elsewhere.
When I am at home, unless I am relaxing (something i've earned!), or taking care of chores, I am studying -- and not reluctantly or half-heartedly. I love studying. Specifically, I love what I am studying. True, some texts I may skim while others I'll immerse myself in, but I enjoy the process of learning. I enjoy reading from different courses -- worship, church history, bible -- and seeing everything slowly start to congeal and take a new cognitive shape. And if I'm on campus -- I love getting together with other students and talking about* what we've read, learned, or seen. In some respects, I feel like a very lucky person, to have the opportunity to work with such excellent texts and interesting people and slowly begin the process of developing a personal theological identity.
Its a nice feeling, and goes far to unravel any of those "am I doing the right thing" thoughts that were growing in prominence and frequency as the semester started.
*(Pardon me, the seminarian dialect does not say "get together and talk". It says "gather and reflect".)
Then. In previous graduate programs, I worked full-time (at least 80%, typically 100%) and studied part-time. I was never sure how i identified myself: it often varied based upon how long of an answer I wanted to give. I could either state where I worked during the day; or sometimes, rarely, indicate that I was a graduate student. If i was particularly busy, I could state "lots of different things" and then start to explain which hat I wore on what basis.
This was frustrating. It was never that I didn't have a self-identity, but it was fluid, not sticky: it was hard to grasp hold of and claim for myself. When I was at work, I was thinking about work, but really distracted by what was going on academically (i.e., homework consistently lurked). When I was in class -- evening classes all -- I was typically tired from work, and didn't really focus on work. When I was in social settings, I would not think about anything really; and when I finally got to studying -- fatigue, burnout, and even some boredom.
It wasn't that I wasn't interested in what I was studying (the broader discipline at least, even if some classes droned.) I just felt very fragmented, and the few hours I pegged in my life for studying were already psychically depleted.
Now. Perhaps it is foolish to talk about a "Now" when I am only in my third full week of seminary (or rather, between weeks three and four.) But I can see some gleanings of identity formation.
I.e., at school, I fully identify myself as a seminarian. To other seminarians, it seems that is enough of a rubric. Sometimes I can go further into particular program, or goals, or denominational activities, but "seminarian" often suffices.
When I am at work: I am not truly at work. (Let me clarify that somewhat before I am fired.) I wear the skin of the person who works in my office; I even commit my mind to the work at hand. (Yes, sometimes I think about homework.) But i don't truly feel at home here: my work identity is almost emblematic of the notion of the pilgrim -- I am simply visiting, and my true home is elsewhere.
When I am at home, unless I am relaxing (something i've earned!), or taking care of chores, I am studying -- and not reluctantly or half-heartedly. I love studying. Specifically, I love what I am studying. True, some texts I may skim while others I'll immerse myself in, but I enjoy the process of learning. I enjoy reading from different courses -- worship, church history, bible -- and seeing everything slowly start to congeal and take a new cognitive shape. And if I'm on campus -- I love getting together with other students and talking about* what we've read, learned, or seen. In some respects, I feel like a very lucky person, to have the opportunity to work with such excellent texts and interesting people and slowly begin the process of developing a personal theological identity.
Its a nice feeling, and goes far to unravel any of those "am I doing the right thing" thoughts that were growing in prominence and frequency as the semester started.
*(Pardon me, the seminarian dialect does not say "get together and talk". It says "gather and reflect".)