The consolation of studying theology

What does it mean to be a seminary student in times like this?

This is the question I pose to students as they reach the conclusion of their formal theological studies, the MDiv capstone seminar. Classes like this appear in seminaries across the North American landscape and have since the earliest days of American theological education. Those early capstones were often taught by the seminary president, providing one last opportunity to impress the school’s most treasured convictions on the hearts and minds of its students. In the 20th century, the model of a sage conferring wisdom gave way to a more bureaucratic model, one that tracked with changes in American religious life. Charged with preparing pastors for the denominations that provided these schools with both students and resources, the aspirations of the final class became linked to ordination requirements, their “statements of ministry,” and quite often an orientation toward practical competencies.

Readers of this magazine won’t need much convincing that we are living in different times. Seminary presidents are usually tasked not with teaching students but with raising the funds that make such teaching possible. The links tethering seminaries and their founding denominations have also changed. Professors tend to be hired without concern for denominational allegiance. The number of students sent to seminary by congregations—and certainly those whose tuition is paid by congregations—also appears to be declining. And there is a dampened interest in serving local parishes, with various forms of chaplaincy emerging as the preferred career path.

For all these reasons, the meaning and purpose of seminary in times like these is an open question. In the classroom, rather than pretending like I know the answer, I pose the question to the students who’ve chosen to spend all this time reading, writing, thinking, conversing, and training in the practical arts of ministry. What has it all meant for us as spiritual creatures?