SEMINARY

The word’s roots are male. Semen. Seed. Oh, those Latin speakers could be so blunt…enough to cause a blush! Seminarium . . . a seedbed, a nursery. Sometimes I tell people I attended seminary and they ask, “Why would anyone want to go to a cemetery?” Pronunciation is important, but occasionally fails, so I’ll instead say I went to graduate school for my training in ministry. Ah, graduate school. Easy.

Back to seminary. A seed. A nursery. I studied the study of God, where intellectual notions and leaps of faith played together like jazz musicians. First one took the lead, then another. All in a seedbed. A place of growth, of classrooms with more questions than answers and the chapel with its abundant prayers and shared songs.

Where’d you do your graduate work? One says a law school, another medical school, some proudly state the school of hard knocks. Education comes in endless forms.

I claim seminary but pronounce it carefully and with pride. And growth, long after graduate school, still matters.