One Truth | I Have a Graduate Degree from a Seminary

In 2010, I was nearly twenty years into my professional career when things started to feel off. Workdays were becoming harder, like Sisyphean tasks. My drive was lagging, and I was in the early stages of professional burnout.

Up to that point, I had been in high-growth mode and checking all the right boxes. After graduating from college with a degree in computer science, I got married. I immediately went to graduate school, again in computer science, and then started adulting. After shaking off the jitters at my first couple jobs, I found my stride. My wife and I started a family. We bought a townhouse and a few years later upgraded to a single-family home.

Even as I was experiencing strong professional growth, I sensed that I might need a change. But it was risky. I had a family and an established career. I was trying to ride it out when events in June 2010 amplified what had been, to that point, discontent into an unavoidable dissonance that needed a resolution.

Making Amends

On June 4, I was at the graduation ceremony of Hartford Seminary — now the Hartford International University for Religion and Peace — accepting a PhD in religious studies posthumously awarded to a woman I knew as Aunt Edna. Edna Baxter was, in her time, an accomplished teacher and author who had dedicated her life to the pursuit of religious studies. The one achievement that eluded her was formal recognition through a PhD.

Aunt Edna started the PhD program at Hartford Seminary in 1929, three years after receiving a faculty appointment. The seminary agreed that she could remain on faculty while completing the degree, but by the fall of 1933, when she had completed her requirements, things had changed. The school reversed on the agreement and decided it was not appropriate to award a degree to a faculty member. Aunt Edna went on to have a long and accomplished career, but the PhD never came. This is where things stood until an academic familiar with her story convinced Hartford Seminary to award the degree — nearly 77 years late. I was humbled to be her delegate.

Mourning the Future

Two days after the celebration in Hartford, June 6, I lost a dear cousin to cancer. She was just a few years older than me, so this hit close to home. Similar to Aunt Edna, my cousin embodied grit and persistence. She never let anyone define her, and saw adversity as something to be overtaken. She navigated life humbly but with purpose.

The difference was that my cousin’s story felt incomplete. We are left to imagine what might have been, and to mourn that we will never know. On June 10, less than a week after Hartford, I was gathered again with family to celebrate a life, but this time it was to say goodbye much too soon.

Dissonance

What was I doing with my time? I was applying my training in computer science, I was doing well, getting awarded and promoted for my work. But I was not feeling fulfilled. Did my work matter? It was here that I sat with the dissonance. I had more questions than answers and suddenly felt like I lacked clear professional direction and purpose. While critically examining my situation, my thoughts became entangled with the legacies of these two women who had embraced and squeezed everything they could out of life. One who lived out a life of service in spite of setbacks that could have derailed her career. Another who attacked the time she had, which was unknowingly short, and didn’t stop until her body failed her. Both had lived with intent, while I had been on autopilot. My situation quickly became a personal crisis.

Resolution

My call to action was to find a system that would be my guide in finding a deeper sense of purpose. Both Aunt Edna and my cousin found much of their strength in the church and their faith journeys. I grew up in a Christian church, but my commitment to the church was more loosely held. Regardless, in July 2010, one month after this crisis had escalated, I was in a session for prospective students at The Lutheran Theological Seminary at Philadelphia — now United Lutheran Seminary. One month after that, in August, I was attending my first class. It was disorienting, but honestly, in retrospect, it was what I needed. It was a complete shock to the system.

The degree is a Master of Arts in Public Leadership. The courses I took ranged from theology and religion to leadership and ethics, culture and society, and four graduate-level courses in social work on human and group behaviors and social policy. It was hard work. The rollercoaster of emotions I traversed went from complete doubt to full-out exhilaration. I began to see things in new ways, and critique my prior assumptions and truths. My early posts on discernment reflect a sampling of the issues with which I was grappling.

Expectations and Transformation

When I decided to pursue this degree, I was sure that the payoff would be a career shift to something new. I was ready for a full reset. I didn’t know what it would be, only that it would be something more meaningful. Something more similar to the women who had inspired me — my cousin and Aunt Edna. That didn’t happen.

What did happen is that I was transformed in place. I learned that an important part of finding meaning is asking questions and embracing the ambiguity. Discernment takes time, and I understand that now. While I have not changed careers, everything about my approach to my vocation has changed. I may one day do something new, but that is not as critical to me as it once was. I discovered that living with purpose, and making a difference, didn’t require a career change. It required a realignment in my thinking. Transformational change happens in how you engage your vocation, not where.