The Seminary Chronicles: In the Beginning (Conclusion)...

Sept. 2001: At 1:30 am, with our belongings securely stowed in our dorm, Jackson and I sat in a smoky Waffle House in Nicholasville, KY, dining on some much needed bacon and pancakes. It had been one hell of a day. We'd traveled over 650 miles to reach the place we would call home for the next several years of our lives, and a true sense of accomplishment resonated between the two of us. Excitement toward the possibilities that lay ahead overshadowed the grueling misadventures of the day.

Although we didn't realize it at the time, our somewhat auspicious adventures on that September day in 2001 would affect us in profound and unforeseen ways in the future. For instance, the maniacal blue tarp, which had single handedly stripped me of all hope, sanity, and manhood that day, would play a recurring role as tormentor throughout our time in Larabee-Morris Hall. No matter how many times we vacuumed and cleaned, tiny shreds of that god-forsaken tarp inevitably turned up in some nook and cranny of our domicile (perhaps it's most conniving feat was somehow turning up in Jackson's loofah). Even seemingly insignificant characters we encountered that day would play major roles in the future. The less than cordial girl on the phone? She turned out to be not so less than cordial after all. (She cordially married Jackson three years later).

For me, that day would mark the beginning of a series of very difficult lessons in my life; the first stages of a painful re-shaping of my understanding of God, myself and the world. It began the stripping away of many immature disillusionments, one of which being that God provides smooth sailing to those who obediently go to seminary, another being that those who are obedient necessarily go to seminary in the first place...

The Seminary Chronicles: In the Beginning (Part 5)...

We had reached our destination and not a moment too soon (at this point my bladder was well beyond capacity). It had stopped raining and we were walking around the seminary campus looking for our dormitory. This should have been a relatively simple endeavor given the small size of the campus, but we were utterly clueless and the grounds were empty. Jackson finally spotted a solitary person on campus; a pretty young woman talking on her cell phone. (Hey, things are looking up!) We were sweaty and disheveled, so I don't know what I expected, but we got the impression the woman didn't take a liking to us at all as she merely shrugged when we asked her for directions.

We eventually located our dormitory, the illustrious Larabee-Morris Hall. We entered the lobby and found a host of young men gathered around a table engaged in a game of Risk. The RA greeted us with a friendly "Hey dudes", and gave us the keys to room, #310. After relieving myself (finally), we parked our vehicles as close to the door as possible and I began the arduous task of removing what was left of the tarp . After hacking away the conglomerate mess of duct tape and plastic with a pocket knife, I evaluated the damage. Surprisingly, most of my belongings were still in tact and not as damp as I anticipated. With new found hope and strength, we entered the side door.


My spirit immediately sank to new lows. Rather than installing an elevator, the engineers of Larabee-Morris Hall had seen fit to construct a narrow spiral staircase as the only means by which to reach the third floor. I was tired, I was pissed, and I now faced two hours of hauling my belongings up countless winding stairs. Could things possibly get any better? Of course they could. It was pouring outside again.

My first impressions of Asbury Seminary? Ungodly humid, void of modern conveniences, and desperately lacking cordial females.

"When You Come Back Down"

Your memory's the sunshine every new day brings
I know the sky is calling, Angel, let me help you with your wings

When you're soarin' through the air I'll be your solid ground
Take every chance you dare I'll still be there
When you come back down
When you come back down

-Nickel Creek

The Seminary Chronicles: In the Beginning (part 4)...

Sept. 2001: It's raining and I'm pissed. We were lost somewhere in Kentucky (Jackson wanted to take the scenic route). I'd needed to take a leak for over an hour, a box of books was digging into my ribs and the tarp was now nothing more than a sticky, soggy mass of peeling duct tape and a few strands of blue tarp (my father's ropes were as solid as ever, big whoop). The sun had set an hour ago and the batteries were dead in my CB. To make matters worse, I'd never been on more winding, narrow roads in my life and I was certain my co-journeyman had no idea where we were going.


Through either intuition or receptivity to the murderous psychic vibes I must have been transmitting, Jackson wisely pulled over so we could briefly regroup. Although that still, small voice in my heart told me I should get out of the truck and talk to my buddy, the discomfort and frustration kept me firmly planted in my seat (man, why did I quit smoking?). Jackson sheepishly made his way through the rain to my window carrying the rain spattered directions his mom had given him. He grimaced apologetically as he looked at the pathetic bundle in the bed of my truck. The good news: We were only twenty miles from our destination. The bad news: We had to back track in order to find our way. Man I had to piss.

The Seminary Chronicles: In the Beginning (part 3)...

The trip was taking longer than expected and we had hit a couple of snags. There was ridiculous construction around Indianapolis and we had taken the wrong route. After retracing our tracks and taking the proper detour, we were almost positive we were on Interstate 65 South heading towards Kentucky. The major concern at this point, however, was the progressive disintegration of the tarp. Although our strategy of plastering the cover with vast amounts of duct tape had proven effective momentarily, it was proving to be a futile endeavor. It had gotten to the point where each stop involved a disheartened evaluation of the dilapidated tarp, followed by a shrug and more pointless application of tape (we were almost through the third roll). Thankfully Jackson was a constant source of humor as he assured me we'd be there in a few short hours. We removed as much of my luggage as we could and crammed the cab of my truck with the boxes of pictures, books, and clothes (Jackson even offered to take my CD binders in his Subaru). It was cramped and far from comfortable, but the adventure continued. Our hopes remained high; there wasn't a cloud in the sky.

The Seminary Chronicles: In the Beginning (part 2)...

September 2001: After three or four rest stops (Jackson had a small bladder) and several games of "your car" (a cunning game of strategy in which one "gives" the most dilapidated car he sees to the other), we had crossed into Illinois and decided to grab a bite. I had already used up the roll of duct tape my father provided me in an attempt to stop the shredding of the tarp. It seemed like every time we stopped, a new section of the tarp was sporting a thin tear. I wasn't too concerned (the sturdy knots my father tied were invincible), but I didn't want my belongings flying out if the tarp retained too many holes.

So, after a quick bite at McDonald's (no time to lose--we had to make it to Kentucky by sundown), I ran into Wal-Mart to purchase another 2 rolls of duct tape. After a brief discussion, we decided that patching the holes was a failing strategy. The new plan of attack: cover that puppy. Jackson grabbed the roll, I grabbed the end of the tape, and we plastered the entire back portion of the tarp with poor man's plaster. It didn't look pretty (turquoise truck + blue tarp + duct tape = Clampet mobile, "your car"), but I was confident in our craftsmanship. With the wind at our backs, the journey carried on.

To be continued...

Rant: This Movie Means...

My buddy Mike and I watched "Children of Men" this weekend. We are both of the opinion that watching movies should not (generally) be a passive experience, but rather one in which we actively examine the themes and ideas. As a Christian, I naturally look for or identify with salvific themes and experiences portrayed in film. Film is clearly a powerful medium as it stimulates in each of us emotional reactions to the experiences of particular characters and situations, which brings a sense of "sharing" in the art form. "I get that!" "I relate to that!" "That perfectly expresses what I felt when..."

All this being said...

It bothers me when people claim a movie is a direct allegory for a particular experience or belief. It's one thing to say that a film draws a parallel between (or clearly illustrates) a certain idea or experience; it's another to say this film is an allegory for this idea. Case in point: Children of Men. There are certainly parallels that can easily be drawn between the message of the film and faith. The main character is pursuing the boat "to the promised land" on pure faith. A child alone holds the key to the "salvation" of humanity. These are helpful themes to notice and my experience as a Christian will certainly evoke such messages.

Based upon a couple of articles I had read, however, some people remain convinced that this movie is actively and actually an allegory for these Christian stories. In other words, some are certain that the director was purposefully and intentionally using this movie to present the Christian story or ideas through allegory. It's not. I did not draw all the same conclusions about the movie's themes in the first place, but that's beside the point. Mike and I had our ideas, bounced them off each other, then watched the commentary special feature on the DVD. Unless you thought the director's vision revolved around the dangers of globalization, you were wrong.

Anyway, I'm not trying to be over critical. Part of the beauty of film is the fact that we bring to the table our own ideas and experiences and we connect with the art in a meaningful way. It's important to recognize salvific themes and indeed they are abundant. I just think it's crucial to extract these ideas as opposed to hoisting them upon or trying to hijack a film to fit our experience or agenda.

For a further thought: JRR Tolkien explicitly claimed his Lord of the Rings trilogy was absolutely not an allegory for WWII (the man apparently despised allegory), yet there are still those that remain unconvinced.