Doubling Down

It's actually happening, a decision years in the making

The other Sunday, while watching a sermon from the safety of my couch (my ongoing place of worship at the moment), the speaker made a side note that instead of formal degrees or education in theology, all that is necessary is everyday, average faith.

It wasn’t the comment that startled me. I grew up in a faith community that, while strongly prioritizing biblical study and understanding, also made the argument that because disciples like Peter and John were “unschooled and ordinary”, formal education in theology was not required, even among leaders. There’s a wariness of “knowledge that puffs up” as in 1 Corinthians 8.

Not to say that the leaders weren’t intelligent - some even left behind degrees and professions in law and medicine to go into the ministry. But those who studied theology seemed to be the exceptional ones, revered but outside the norm. From my understanding, it was seen as being redundant or even frivolous to pursue a theology degree.

No, it was the timing of the comment in my life that caught me off-guard.

If you take a deep dive through my socials, you know I’ve been talking about seminary for a while.

In 2023, I shared this on Threads:

What started as a nudge from God hasn’t let go.

And then in early 2024 the floor gave out. My faith was shaken down to the very structure and foundation. The short story is that certain truths were exposed that left me questioning the whole system of the only church community I’d ever known. For a whole year, battling depression, I tried to make it work with that same church, because it’s always felt like home and the people in it, family. I kept attending. But my body knew better. I felt unsafe, tense, triggered, and anxious in a space that used to feel like home. Eventually I decided to step away.

This choice feels like it blew up my life. As much as I tried not to burn bridges, relationships changed, and some ended entirely. The loss is still painful–loss of friends, community certainty, the person I was in that space, the past in the way I understood it, the future I thought I’d have, the way I’d always known life to be. But leaving felt like the only option between one difficult choice and another.

About once a year, that desire for seminary felt fiery again.

And every time, I’d feel disheartened, even ashamed. It’s an additional cost when costs everywhere are increasing. It’s a time commitment when time already feels spread thin. There isn’t an end goal in sight; paid ministry staff is not a desire for me.

And then there’s the timing of it all, when the Church seems to be doubling down on stale beliefs and judgments. “Women can’t be called pastors” (though they have God-given gifts and discernment and wisdom; though they actively do the work every day; though there are many women in scriptures who minister and partner in the Gospel), and thus, should not be formally trained. Aren’t they just grabbing for power? And then our standby from the beginning - is theological training even necessary? Is it just about adding to your achievements?

I took a couple wonderful seminary classes. My husband and I discussed it a few times. I even threw a fit and applied (and was accepted) last year. Every time I chickened out. What clinched the decision this time was attending a writer’s conference in the spring full of people in pursuit of the same things as me.

I’m joyfully choosing seminary.

I am enrolled at Northern Seminary starting this fall, pursuing a Master’s in Theology with a focus on women in ministry. Even just starting the process of this made me feel more like myself, sensing more joy and delight than I’ve felt in a while. It was somehow a confirmation and a release all at once.

I’m choosing seminary because of the desperate craving for a community around me of those who are curious and unafraid to ask the questions. A group of people who love God and geek out over the Bible and are also expanding in their theology. I hunger for it. I miss it.

I’m choosing seminary for all I feel like I’ve lacked - missing an understanding of the Holy Spirit and spiritual formation in particular, as well as difficult topics that felt glossed over and an understanding of beliefs and practices outside of my experience.

I’m choosing seminary, honestly, because it feels like this is a necessary part of my own healing process. Not to be able to answer every question or feel superior in knowledge, but because I’m just so hungry for more than the limited view I have. And because there is more to faith than the system that feels like it failed me. I want an even more solid foundation for myself and for the children I’m raising.

This path is not what’s right or best or healing for everyone going through deconstruction, but it feels like the right choice for me. There will be healing here, one that comes with evolving and expanding. Or rather, it feels like God has put it on my heart and hasn’t let it go for years.

Maybe the choice was always inevitable. Maybe God chose seminary for me.

About a week or so after enrolling, I watched that sermon. It stung a little. But you know how it is when someone tells you NOT to do something. It can lead to a determination that leads you to do your own doubling down.

Allow me to geek out theologically for a minute. Recently I’ve been studying Elijah’s story (coming soon to a podcast near you), and Elisha’s request of Elijah stands out: “Let me inherit a double portion of your spirit.”

In Mosaic law, the firstborn received the greater piece of the inheritance, a double portion. Elisha was asking for what Elijah had - his fire, determination, and power - because he wanted to also take on the mission of Elijah. It was as though he was calling Elijah his father, and requesting to be his successor. Elisha knew the weight and boldness of this request, both the privilege and responsibility.

This theme comes up in Isaiah 61:7 - “Instead of your shame you will receive a double portion, and instead of disgrace you will rejoice in your inheritance. And so you will inherit a double portion in your land, and everlasting joy will be yours.”

With bold asks come powerful responses from God. The taking away of shame. (Maybe the shame that comes from judgments of others?) An invitation to be part of the family. Everlasting joy.

This doubling down, this bold ask—maybe it leads to more than we can imagine.

Maybe it’s going to demand all that we can give.

Maybe it will all be more than worth it.

I double dog dare us to try.

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash