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SPRING 2020 Faculty & Staff Reflections
Community and Connection: Calling on “Our Better Angels” through Crisis
These are unprecedented times in our country and our world. Here in California, for the first time in history, the governor has ordered a statewide shelter-in-place as an extreme, yet necessary measure to mitigate further transmission of the novel coronavirus. Forty million people have been called upon to voluntarily limit their personal freedoms in order to help preserve the lives and good health of friends, neighbors, and unknown strangers alike.
Across the nation, individuals and communities are seeking to do what we can to care for ourselves and one another, making decisions about which activities, businesses, and works are essential, and which can be suspended. At a time when community and connection seem more important than ever, we are nonetheless asked to maintain social distance. This is no less true at the GTU, where over the past few weeks, we have shifted all in-person courses to remote learning modalities, cancelled numerous public events, and put provisions in place for staff to work remotely. And yet, in these past weeks, there is a sense in which we remain remarkably intertwined: engaging with one another through Zoom, chat platforms, email, old fashioned phone calls, and at a fundamental human level, in our shared experience of unfathomable circumstances.
Indeed, it’s natural to feel anxious and afraid in times of crisis like we are currently living through. If we are not mindful, we can easily let the “fight or flight” instinct take over, allowing awareness of our vulnerability to expose our ugliest tendencies. Fear about the spread of the virus and anxieties about the availability of everything from test kits to toilet paper can cause us to turn on one another, blaming other people or nations, normalizing racism or xenophobia, and seeking our own welfare at the expense of the greater good.
But it’s also in times like these that the remarkable resilience of the human spirit can be fully displayed. Amid this outbreak, we have extraordinary opportunities to care for one another, to advocate for the most vulnerable, and to live out the spirit of justice and compassion central to so many faith traditions—and at the heart of the mission of the GTU.
As a biblical scholar, in good times and more challenging moments alike, I often turn to the Hebrew Scriptures for inspiration. In the Book of Numbers, we read of a moment when Moses’ sister Miriam has been struck with leprosy, necessitating her isolation outside of the Israelites’ camp for seven days (Numbers 12:15a). We are not told how she acquired the illness. But we know that her community refused to leave her behind, and the people did not continue their journey until Miriam was reintegrated to the community once more (12:15b). The story reminds us of the need for a community in crisis to come together in solidarity, to care for the afflicted, and to recognize that our futures are bound together. From faculty, students, staff, and alumni, the GTU is a community of scholars and seekers committed to exploring the very nature of spirituality, drawing illumination from the remarkable reservoir of wisdom in our world’s religious traditions and bringing those insights into conversation with our modern moment. And as this crisis has made clear, this work—now more than ever—is an urgent necessity. Among us are spiritual caregivers, pastors, religious scholars and educators, and community leaders who may be called upon to venture into unknown risk in order to offer compassion, connection, and care through moments of greatest need. As these events continue to unfold, may we all be led by “the better angels of our nature,” drawing inspiration from faith and scholarship to help our world as we navigate this crisis, and together shape the brighter future to which we are all bound.
Dr. Uriah Y. Kim is the President of the Graduate Theological Union.
Spiritual Care, Resilience, and Community
The coronavirus pandemic is the most difficult challenge we have faced in the 21st century. The unprecedented closure of educational institutions, businesses, borders, and houses of worship directly impacts our quality of life. The pandemic forces us to stay home, avoid hugging or shaking hands, and maintain a spatial distance. The shutdown affects our souls and spirits. It’s common to feel anxious, stressed, confused, and bereaved. At a time like this, how is it even possible to care for our physical, mental, emotional, spiritual, occupational, environmental, and social wellbeing?
These days require resilience, the ability to sustain our purpose, and direction. Despite the need to maintain physical distance, we can find strength in remembering that we are connected and interdependent. We can offer one another words of hope, strengthen relationships, express our emotions, and empower ourselves by drawing on support resources. We can sustain our spiritual wellbeing by going out into nature or practicing art. We can meditate, pray, write letters, breathe, and laugh. We can read and contemplate holy writings that promote healing, hope, comfort, and safety. We can practice rituals, sing, and chant. We can maintain silence and stillness. We can check in on loved ones. Here are some additional suggestions for sustaining our resilience:
Develop a Positive Mindset: At times of crisis, I refer back to the foundation of my faith. The Qur’an assures me that whatever will happen is already decreed by God. This is a time to reaffirm trust in God and our belief in God’s goodness. At the same time, the coronavirus pandemic reminds us of our vulnerability. In order to maintain positive thoughts and patience when faced with loss of physical wellbeing and loss of life, we must keep hope alive by reflecting on what inspires us as we move through this difficulty.
Flexibility and Perseverance: Resilience is strengthened through perseverance at times of hardship. Reflect on what your faith tradition teaches about ways to ease difficulty. When houses of worship are closed, the interruption of our usual practices can invite us to rethink the meaning of rituals, how we pray, or even what we ask in prayers, even as we adjust our lifestyles and worship practices to ensure the common good.
Control and Community: This pandemic reminds us we are not in control. Coronavirus has disrupted our lives in ways we’ve never experienced before. Although we cannot control the pandemic, we do have control over our responses. The Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) teaches that none will experience the depth of faith until they wish for others what they want for themselves. This is a time for building community, for caring for one another, and responding to the needs around us. Let us remember that even maintaining physical distance from one another, though it may feel isolating, is an effort to care for one another.
Seek Help and Mentorship: In chaplaincy circles, we believe every chaplain needs a chaplain. In these difficult days, seek out supportive mentors and wisdom in line with your system of belief and morality. This is a time to reach inward and outward, to check our own support systems, and to deploy resources to help others.
Spiritual resilience leads to satisfaction, nourishment, and fulfillment. Building our spiritual health and strength can enable us to encounter difficulties more effectively. Even in these difficult times, remember that you are not alone! Smile. (Smiling is a form of charity in Islam.) Let us be joyful, and seek to lighten the pain of others, even as we pray that Divine healing will be upon us all and our world.
Dr. Kamal Abu-Shamsieh is Director of the Interreligious Chaplaincy Program at the GTU and Assistant Professor of Practical Theology.
Call the Passover a Delight
The new moon of the Jewish month of Nissan has appeared. In most years this would usher in a frenzy of activity for Jewish households. We would minimize our purchase of leavened goods (typically bread and cereal); the more organized among us would begin to shop for special Passover items such as hand-baked matzah or chocolate dipped desserts; we would issue or accept invitations to the Passover seder. Our hope would be that on the full moon of the month, we would find ourselves at tables filled with extended family and friends; we would repeat the stories of our ancestors, sing the songs of our families, and eat the recipes that have graced our tables for generations. We would taste bitter herbs, chant songs of gratitude, and settle into a familiar menu of savory dishes and desserts.
The new moon launches a phase of high-intensity preparation for this sacred moment. Passover turns household tasks into ceremonial ones; how we clean, how we shop, with whom we gather—all these elements acquire an acute ritual status. Passover is serious business. It is a time in which the house is turned inside out, upside down, shaken free of old forms, and a new collective is established.
Our current crisis poses a serious challenge to those who wish to step into this enchanted sacred season. The primal energies that are to be summoned toward the Passover holiday are the very same energies that are occupied in the face of COVID-19. The work to supply our homes with food, to organize and clean our homes, to tend to our social and family bonds—these activities are now impossibly weighed down by our efforts to secure our wellbeing in the face of COVID-19. In all other years, this sacred season is a welcome disruption to the unremarkable flow of our routine lives; this year we ask: How can we turn our lives upside down, when they are already upside down? How can we embrace the strictures of this season when we lack our basic routines, which, as it turns out, function as a necessary backdrop to these ritual alterations? How can we create sacred time in an age of pandemic?
I believe we have two options before us. The first is to determine that there simply are no energies left for ceremony. All our energies are accounted for in the effort to stay healthy in the face of the virus. The second option is perhaps more life-affirming. We might consider that there is a bit of energy available— like the fabled jar of oil that lit the temple for eight full days–energy that, if well-spent, may provide comfort and elevation in this time of uncertainty and fear. It is this second path that I would like to sketch out here.
How can we bring life to Passover during our current crisis? Perhaps the most expected way is to identify the convergences between the themes of Passover and the pandemic: Are we not experiencing a plague, deprivation, bitterness, and fear? Are we not gathering, huddled, as an angel of death passes through our dwellings? The fears that are stirred up by our crisis bear an uncanny resemblance to the themes of the exodus. While these convergences are certainly worthy of consideration, I believe that if we linger too long on how the crisis mirrors the themes of the holiday, the results will be deflating and will further weaken our spirits. Do we really need to amplify the terror of this moment? Do we need to stimulate our awareness of our vulnerability, our urge for survival? I want to propose another approach to this sacred season. I want to suggest that we enliven the elements of delight in the holiday. Some of us recall the great excitement we felt as young children, anticipating the magic of seder night. I propose that we step into that attitude. Let us enliven elements of the holiday that are a source of delight, and perhaps devote less mental energy to the strictures of the day.
What gives us joy about the holiday? Let’s go to that. Go ahead—skip to dessert! Skip to hallel and sing those songs first. I am not suggesting that we loosen the restrictions (though there may be room for that). I am suggesting that we shift the mood of the holiday, that we give it a new character this year.
Passover typically brings with it a certain anxiety and puts a household under strain and depravation: no leavened goods, no crumbs upstairs; nothing routine and everything new. In this year when uncertainty and anxiety already surround us, my suggestion is that we change our relationship to the holiday, that we enliven the elements of delight, pleasure, song, and gratitude. This shift may allow each of us to take a long, deep breath and to find room to tell our stories.
Dr. Deena Aranoff is Director of the Richard S. Dinner Center for Jewish Studies, Senior Lecturer in Medieval Jewish Studies, and Core Doctoral Faculty at the GTU since 2006.
A Pilgrimage-in-Place
Labyrinths, whether made of stone, turf, or ink on paper, tend to be “thin places,” a concept originating through Celtic traditions. The phrase is used to describe sacred places where the time and distance between this world and the next seem to dissolve; spaces that invite encounter and connection. The ancient practice of tracing a labyrinth can help us find a moment of peace and solace in times of mourning, difficulty, and crisis.
The memories of the winding labyrinth paths I have negotiated in different places and at pivotal points in my life allow for reflections on past and future, as if an older version of myself has joined in communitas, crossing temporal boundaries through the augury of the ancient form. There were the miniature finger labyrinths with shallow paths carved into wood mounted on the wall at the progressive public high school I attended in Vermont, made by the students in a senior-year philosophy elective. (Where I first learned what a "paradigm shift" is!) There is the stone labyrinth in the little California beach town of town of Bolinas, where at high summer the hot sun cuts through the ocean wind (I have walked that one with three generations of women in my family). Then there is the time that I stood, feet planted slightly apart and hands clasped behind me, right in the very center of the Chartres Cathedral pavement labyrinth while heavily pregnant with my daughter. I was on the return journey from Santiago de Compostela as she somersaulted in utero on a journey of her own, leading me to contemplate the liminal stages and passages of life and their relationship to the mysterious medieval paths before me, in both the stones of the cathedral and then onward. My aching feet and body led my mind to reflect on whether these paths were interchangeable. Would they lead to the same revelations?
Some have posited that labyrinths originated as scaled-down pilgrimages for those unable to travel the long distance to a holy place. As we have faced the COVID-19 pandemic as a community, many have been called to practice self-isolation and “social distancing” to limit the spread of this virus. For those of us who are restless wanderers, travelers, and pilgrims, it has been a challenging adjustment. Even traveling to the little labyrinth in Bolinas, which has brought me so much joy, could put the community in peril as there is no way to maintain six feet of distance while passing others on the narrow path.
One way to engage in “pilgrimage-inplace,” as my friend Annie O’Neil has called it, is by following a labyrinth with the eyes, the fingers, or even a paint brush. Pilgrimage through making or engaging with sacred art is a practice that crosses cultural and temporal boundaries. It is a form of prayer and contemplation in many cultures including Celtic Christianity, the Dharma religions, and earth-based spirituality. The interlaced knotwork of an illuminated manuscript like the books of Kells and Durrow, the sacred geometric matrices of a painted mandala, or the incised circles on ancient stones are an invitation to an outward journey of the eye that creates a channel to the innermost soul.
As we shelter-in-place, these old and winding pathways can be a holy place of solace, a pilgrimage on paper.
Labyrinths are distinct from mazes or traps. When walking or tracing a labyrinth, we follow a circuitous path to the center and back out again, often emerging a little wiser or at least a little less stressed. That center place (which one long-time California labyrinth maker, Thomas Nann, described to me as a centerpeace) invites a moment of rest. In a form of prayer said to have originated in the ancient Celtic corners of the world, the pilgrim calls out, “Circle me O God” and envisions a sanctuary space of love and protection. The inner circle of the labyrinth nested within the outward rings can be thought of as engendering this idea. Even as we shelter-in-place, these old and winding pathways can be a holy place of solace, a pilgrimage on paper.
Dr. Kathryn Barush is Thomas E. Bertelsen Jr. Associate Professor of Art History and Religion and GTU Core Doctoral Faculty.
A Meeting of the Waters
One common factor in our collective experience of the pandemic shut-down, shut-in, is a new sensitivity to time. On the one hand, we find our bodies slowed down, bound by the home with perhaps a new awareness of the diurnal rhythms of sun and weather. On the other, there is an accelerating sense of urgency and alarm at the planetary scale of the crisis, and the insufficiency of our dysfunctional politics to adequately redress it. One thing the world’s different religious and wisdom traditions might have to offer at this critical juncture are spiritual resources—modes of thinking, embodied practices—for experiencing temporalities that lie outside the hot box of COVID-19 concern, and our debilitating sense of powerlessness.
Although the two of us come from very different cultural and religious backgrounds—Hindu, Swedenborgian, German-American and IndianAmerican—and yet in spite of our training in different disciplines— ecofeminist theology, literary theory—we have been collaborating at the GTU around our shared concern for the earth and for the planetary emergency that was already so acute prior to COVID-19. This current great disruption has pushed us, like many others, to return to our roots, and to reengage, reread the texts we love that have so formatively shaped us. Be they sacred texts or forms more secular, such words keep us company, providing some familiar stability in the present turbulence.
Both of us were impacted, early on, by reading the environmental classic Walden, or Life in the Woods (1854), written by the American Transcendentalist Henry David Thoreau.
Shortly before Devin Zuber began his graduate work in literature, and ended up focusing on Thoreau and the Transcendentalists, he had traveled extensively throughout India, spending time on the banks of the Ganges (Ganga) River in Varanasi, and then going south to Auroville— the UNESCO-supported eco-village in Tamil Nadu constructed to actualize the philosophy of Sri Aurobindo, a visionary who—like Gandhi after him— had drunk deeply from Thoreau.
Rita Sherma, whose own grandfather had lived in Sri Aurobindo’s Ashram in Tamil Nadu, first encountered Thoreau in middle school in Canada. Rita quickly came to perceive how Aurobindo and Thoreau were mutually influenced by the Upanishads, ancient texts whose revelations were situated, quite literally, in the generative power of forests.
In one of his books, The Life Divine, written in the traumatic aftermath of World War I and revised during the second World War, Sri Aurobindo had presciently warned: “At present [humanity] is undergoing an evolutionary crisis in which is concealed a choice of its destiny; for a stage has been reached in which the human mind has achieved in certain directions an enormous development while in others it stands arrested and bewildered and can no longer find its way.”
Nearly a century after Sri Aurobindo wrote these words, we find ourselves “arrested” in our collective development at a potentially transformative moment. In Walden, Thoreau had undergone a form of self-imposed house-arrest and social distancing, choosing to live as self-sufficiently as he could in the little cabin that he had built for himself at Walden Pond. Walden is sometimes misread as an autobiography by a cranky, detached recluse; yet, it was during the Walden years that Thoreau worked the Underground Railroad helping runaway slaves, and went to jail for refusing to pay his taxes, not wanting to support American slavery and America’s imperial expansion into Mexico. “Under a government
which imprisons any unjustly,” Thoreau wrote, in words that went on to influence Mahatma Gandhi and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., “The only true place for a just man is also prison.”
Walden is an exuberant, joyful book, grounded in the wonder and ecstasy of observing the natural world, and witnessing the return of spring, the restorative deep-time of the planet we all call home. It is also profoundly transreligious: Thoreau had been responsible for the first translation and publication of Buddhist sutras in the United States (in 1843). Walden is filled with references to sacred texts from Islamic and Vedic traditions. Reading the Bhagavad-Gita, Thoreau felt, allowed him to imagine the American waters of his Walden Pond to momentarily become like the Ganges, that most holy river in India: “In the morning I bathe my intellect in the stupendous and cosmogonal philosophy of the Bhagvat Geeta,” he writes in Walden. “Since whose composition years of the gods have elapsed, and in comparison with which our modern world and its literature seem puny and trivial . . . the pure Walden water is mingled with the sacred water of the Ganges.”
Through interreligious imagination, Thoreau’s locale became interconnected to the global. In the ongoing solitude of our own stay-at-home quarantines, books like Walden can help remind us that we are not alone, and that off the book, outside the page, the ecstatic, green presence of this spring continues to shimmer and beckon, reminding us of the larger timescales in which our bodies are (deliciously) entangled.
Dr. Rita D. Sherma and Dr. Devin Zuber are co-chairs of the GTU’s Sustainability 360 Initiative. Dr. Sherma is the Director of the Center for Dharma Studies at the GTU; Dr. Zuber is Associate Professor of American Studies, Religion, and Literature at the Center for Swedenborgian Studies at the GTU.
Our Interconnectedness
In this time of heightened uncertainty, our precariousness and fragility can find comfort and hope in our interconnectedness and interdependency. As we begin the blessed month of Ramadan, it will be one like no other in our time. Muslims, like many in other religious traditions, are finding new ways of remaining together apart and online. The devastating spread of the deadly novel coronavirus, COVID-19, has created new ways of collective being; an altered sense of time, space, and place, and different rhythms of life that beat back and forth, fast and slow, with different intensities and emotions.
Amid the myriad of rules and regulations to which we continue to adapt, we share new vocabularies and new bodily, social, and spatial practices that are global, even as they are experienced in different ways locally. Our rituals of everyday life have changed. We shelter in place, stay at home, self-isolate, quarantine, and practice social and physical distancing, in hopes of saving lives and “flattening the curve.”
We realign and learn how to manage these new ways of being with ourselves, our families, our communities, our work, with other creatures, and with the environment, online and in the world. We ask with more urgency and reflection about who matters, what matters, who is considered essential, and what is considered essential. We are heartbroken to know so many who must be hospitalized and whose loved ones can’t visit them, or of the elderly, especially in care homes who might feel isolated, or those who cannot bury their loved ones who have died. We witness the heroes on the frontlines who risk their lives: from healthcare workers who attempt to save lives to countless others who make everyday life possible, who feed, house, and comfort others, who transport and deliver goods, and keep us safe.
As we navigate this pandemic, let us center our interconnectedness by finding ways to serve others and by attending to inequalities, local and global. As we continue to practice self-care, let us also remember and care for the most vulnerable among us with justice, patience, empathy, love, generosity, compassion, and kindness.
As many of the privileged experience vulnerabilities in new ways, they might express their fears of ill-health or mortality by referring to this pandemic as the great equalizer or leveler. But the poor and vulnerable— often people of color—remind us that though we are equal before God, we are not always treated so by each other. Refugees, immigrants, victims of ongoing wars and violence, the displaced, the orphans, the undocumented, the homeless, the unemployed, the hungry, the abused—these people tell different stories often unheard. We have to contend with the urgency of our moment, the great loss of human life, pandemic politics and privilege, and various media and online platforms, with the enduring questions of rights, responsibilities, and justice.
While COVID-19 has our rare global attention, it also reminds us that it cares little about who is inflicted and affected. Yet, we also have a rare global life-affirming moment to think more about our shared humanity, the environment that begs us to change View this reflection online at gtu.edu/scel/munir-jiwa
our destructive ways, and to address and heal the inequalities, inequities, and injustices that stare us in the face.
As the month of Ramadan begins, so many of us have had to reconcile and accept that we will not be able to physically attend the mosque this Ramadan standing shoulder to shoulder in prayer, or break our fasts together, a time when many make extra efforts of coming to the mosque to experience the love and beauty of this sacred time in community. We continue to keep in our hearts those who cannot practice their faith freely due to Islamophobia, religious intimidation, and persecution. But there is also so much hope in knowing that we are united in our efforts of fulfilling our religious obligations with a renewed sense of commitment, continuity, and purpose.
Ramadan, the 9th month of the Islamic lunar calendar, is the month in which the Qur’an was revealed to our beloved Prophet Muhammad (PBUH), a month of fasting from dawn to sunset each day, of intensive prayers, of reading the Qur’an, and of striving to be in a constant state of God-consciousness, a month of mercy, forgiveness, and emancipation. It is the month in which we reflect and struggle to center ourselves, offer our gratitude, to practice charity and be especially mindful of May we flatten the curve of inequality, inequity and injustice, and may we shelter in God as we shelter in place. Prayers for good health, unity, peace, and safety, and may the blessings of this generous month be shared with all. Ameen. Ramadan Mubarak and Salaam.
Verily with every hardship comes ease Verily with every hardship comes ease (Qur’an 94: 5-6)
Dr. Munir Jiwa is Founding Director of the Center for Islamic Studies at the GTU.
The Conflict and Ethics of We’re in this Together
Trying to reflect on ethical concerns raised by COVID-19 feels like trying to untie the Gordian knot. There are profound connections between a variety of aspects that relate to the ongoing situation, from the mental and emotional impact of sheltering in place, to the disproportionate exposure of certain populations to COVID-19, to the economic impact that workers and businesses face, to the heartbreaking and inspiring stories from the front-line workers; not to mention the questions of how do we emerge from this and what are the long lasting repercussions?
In order to make any headway, I am reminded of the work done by Sir William David Ross, a Scottish philosopher more readily known as W.D. Ross. Ross believed there were multiple goods to seek or multiple principles to follow and that inevitably these would come into conflict with one other. These duties, then, should be understood as prima facie obligations, even though he did not particularly care for that term. In other words, you should fulfill your obligations unless it conflicts with an equal or greater obligation. When such a case occurs, that does not mean that the overridden obligation can be discarded completely. Instead, Ross also spoke of moral traces, or ways of making amends for the obligation you’ve failed to fulfill. When I discuss this concept in class, I often present a hypothetical situation where I have agreed to help a friend move apartments over the weekend, but a family member suddenly becomes ill. I have two conflicting duties: one to uphold the promise I made to my friend, and the other a familial obligation to visit or assist the person in need. In their book Principles of Biomedical Ethics, Beauchamp and Childress identify criteria that can be used to weigh and balance obligations. Like Ross, they emphasize that the infringement of the obligation must be as minimal as possible. So if it turns out that my family member is healthy enough to return home on Saturday afternoon, I cannot use that situation to avoid helping my friend move on Sunday and do as I please. They also state that better reasons must be given for the overriding obligation. This is where the classroom example is far easier than most real life situations. If I am the only family member capable of helping my ill relative, for example, there is an obligation to family that could supersede the obligation to a friend as realistically, any able-bodied person can help my friend move, it does not necessarily have to be me. Another criteria Beauchamp and Childress use is that all alternatives must be exhausted. Again, the classroom example has an easier solution: I can call a mutual friend and ask them to help our friend move in my place. Even if this does not become possible, I can still make amends via moral traces by hiring movers to assist my friend.
The complexities of life caused by our response to COVID-19 do not allow for such simple adjudication. What I hope to have done is to show how concerns and obligations need to be balanced, and that even if certain obligations are overridden for more compelling reasons moral traces are still relevant. So when we speak of extending shelter in place, we also need to be aware of the impact that has on people, be it emotional, economic, or physical, and seek to mitigate those effects as we strive to flatten the curve to protect the most vulnerable among us and ensure that our medical professionals and resources are not overwhelmed. These are difficult discussions and decisions to have and to make, but I would rather work through these problems than be faced with more difficult ones. If ICUs are out of beds and there is a shortage of ventilators, what do we do? In that situation we are making decisions that directly lead to some people receiving treatment and others being denied. It is in everyone’s best interest to find alternatives that avoid such terrible decisions, to remember that we are all in this together, and to treat one another well.
Gordian knot.”
Dr. Braden Molhoek is incoming Director of the Center for Theology and the Natural Sciences (CTNS) and a Lecturer in Science, Technology, and Ethics at the GTU.
Troubled Times: Turning to the Arts
For months now, the grim daily news about COVID-19 has given us reason to feel destabilized and discouraged. Where can we seek equilibrium, considering that a simple grocery store visit is now cause for anxiety? How can we alleviate our loneliness when sheltering-in-place, distant from friends and family?
Across the globe, many have turned to the arts for comfort, understanding, and hope.
Art can comfort us. Experiencing art—looking at an artwork, listening to music, reading a poem—allows us to temporarily escape into another world, and to become enveloped in beauty. Surrendering to this beauty gives our wounded psyches a much-needed break from our communal anxiety.
Art can help us understand and express our own emotions. In the absence of our usual schedules and rituals, many of us feel unmoored as we struggle to understand our new reality. Making art reminds us of our own agency when we feel powerless.
Art can give us hope. The arts transcend boundaries of language, nationality, and religion, helping us to see beyond ourselves and to connect with others. Singing together (though 6 ft apart) confirms our sense of community. The arts can remind us of the good and beauty of which humankind is capable.
The exhibition currently installed in the Doug Adams Gallery, AFTER/LIFE, features work by artists affected by an earlier pandemic—HIV/AIDS. Since the arrival of COVID-19, the exhibition has taken on new weight and updated resonance, despite the fact that we last welcomed visitors to the Gallery on Friday, March 13. (Visit gtu.edu/ scel/elizabeth-pena to view a video that allows a look behind the locked doors, with guest curator Alla Efimova providing insights into the exhibition.)
Both artists featured in AFTER/ LIFE —Ed Aulerich-Sugai and Mark Mitchell—were affected by HIV/AIDS during the early years of the virus, when it went unacknowledged by the U.S. government. The disease was not well understood, and no good treatments existed. Those who suffered from HIV/AIDS were stigmatized, since so many belonged to a group then de-valued in American society, gay men.
All these things, unfortunately, resonate to a certain extent to what we are enduring as COVID-19 continues to ravage the world and our country. The U.S. government response has been negligent, the virus is not well understood, and no vaccine yet exists, and, shockingly and sadly, some view sufferers’ lives as less worthy, as a sacrifice necessary to revive the economy. Because of our own, newly acquired personal experiences, the work in AFTER/LIFE resonates even more deeply than before.
AFTER/LIFE presents Ed AulerichSugai’s Figures series, the last body of work he made before his death. In some of these paintings, with figures with cast down faces, he is remembering friends who died during the AIDS crisis. In other paintings, showing ascending bodies, he was willing himself into a healthy body through the act of painting. We can join the artist in mourning those who died, and in expressing hope and recovery for others.
The exhibition also includes Mark Mitchell’s Burial series, in which Mitchell created multi-garment death ensembles for friends. These friends are still living—in sewing these outfits, he honors their lives. We have displayed these works floating from the ceiling, showcasing their ethereal quality. It makes us think of the passage from life to death, of the importance of recognizing, thanking, and honoring our friends and family while we are together on earth.
While the artwork in AFTER/LIFE concerns themes relating to death, the pale colors and graceful shapes are uplifting and life affirming. Take a moment and soak it in—or, read a book, listen to music, or watch a dance performance—and gather solace and strength for the future.
“Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time.”
—Thomas Merton
Dr. Elizabeth S. Peña is the Director of the Center for the Arts & Religion at the GTU.
Ed Aulerich-Sugai, Figures, Repose: Study #6, 1991, Oil on canvas , Courtesy Ed Aulerich-Sugai Collection and Archive.
Mark Mitchell, Burial Ensembles, 2013, textiles, courtesy of the artist. Paintings by Ed Aulerich-Sugai.
Persevera y Vencerás: An Abuelita’s Words Revisited during a Global Pandemic
As the Associate Dean of Students at the Graduate Theological Union, the second week of May is a busy time in my office. The office of student services works as a team to organize and execute the events that honor the hard work and dedication of our graduates on the second Thursday of May. It is particularly special because this team has accompanied our graduates through the highs and lows of the program, so the ceremony becomes one last gift to celebrate the people we have worked so closely with throughout their time at the GTU.
But this year, everything is different. For the first time, the GTU will be celebrating our graduates online so as to not put our graduates, their families and friends, or our community at risk with an in-person commencement. It is with such a heavy heart that I present these reflections today, online, from the safety and isolation of home.
Four years ago this week, I gave the remarks at my own commencement, and I shared the words of wisdom from my abuelita—my grandmother: “Persevera y vencerás.” Persevere, and you will overcome. Back then, these words were a beacon of hope through what felt like endless years in the doctoral program. Today they serve as a reminder that perseverance is the key, especially during the crisis we currently face.
I am not sure my grandmother ever imagined that her grandchildren would live at a time when these words were so apt. Abuelita teaches us from her wisdom that troubling times pass—the tough part is to not lose hope and faith that one’s persistence and perseverance will see us through. My grandmother persevered through very uncertain times, but in all of those years, she built a strong foundation that holds my extended family together to this day— despite the fact that we live all over the United States, Costa Rica, Panama, the UK, and Italy. Persevera y vencerás.
But when we are in the thick of it, it is very easy to lose this big-picture perspective. I cannot imagine persevering in the face of your child’s hunger, in face the unemployment, in the face of an empty bank account, or in the face of an eviction notice. This feels insurmountable, and yet, giving into despair is so dangerous. Perseverance is a survival strategy.
We could easily enter a downward spiral and lose all hope, but this is a time when hope and faith, coupled with wisdom, critical thinking, and creating different forms of community can help us make safe and informed decisions while not feeling alone and scared, to stay home if we’re lucky enough to be able to do so, safely, to protect ourselves if we must go out to work or find new places to live. As our shelter-in-place orders have grown from three weeks to seven and seven weeks to eleven, here in the state of California, we must find ways to persevere, to be persistent in desperate and seemingly hopeless times, to create space for what we are feeling but find ways to press on and give ourselves and others our very best. There will be a new normal, and yes, the world will look different when we emerge. We do not know what it will look like. But what we do know is that the world is in need of the theological, ethical, and spiritual leadership seeped in the wisdom traditions and academic training represented at the GTU.
Our graduates and our current students have always answered the call of a world in need of their leadership, but now more than ever, our world counts on the leaders that emerge from the GTU to think critically, deeply, and holistically of the changes our world faces. Our graduates and current students must think creatively about how to answer that call, how to persevere, how to inspire others to persevere and how to accompany the most vulnerable until we all overcome this current crisis.
Just the other day, I was on a Zoom call with one of our 2020 graduates, Dr. Cecilia Titizano, and our mutual friends. Among the circle we have myself; Dr. Titizano, who teaches and is building a network of indigenous women and Latinas; Mario GonzálezBrito, an organizer with the Alameda and Santa Clara County Employment
Persevere, and you will overcome.”
Management Associations; Guillermo Durgin, who organizes with the California Teachers Association; and Paulina González-Brito, executive director of the California Reinvestment Coalition. It is a pretty impressive group of people, and we have wonderful conversations!
During one of our sessions, Mario González-Brito talked about how he is bringing the notion of social solidarity to his web-based organizing.
In response, Dr. Titizano said, “Yes! We do not need social distancing. Instead we should shift the conversation to physical distancing with social solidarity. We must still be in solidarity with each other despite physical distancing.”
This was such a poignant moment for me because in our fear and need to protect our health and safety, we distance ourselves from others physically, but that distance threatens the humanity of everyone around us. The less we interact with each other, the more we forget the humanity of those who are different from us, and in the world of COVID-19, those who are different can even be those who are not in our immediate homes. Social solidarity brings more into the picture. It gives us the opportunity to think not only about how this crisis affects me, but also how it affects those around me. How does this crisis affect the rich and the poor differently? How do we make sure to protect those who are most vulnerable—those who have health issues, or who are unable to work from home, or who have been unemployed or furloughed due to budget cuts? And how can we create community, offer support, and provide wisdom to societies that are afraid, at risk, in mourning, and isolated?
Our graduates and our current students are engaged in this incredibly important work, supporting their communities, families, and colleagues while finding ways to create social solidarity despite physical distancing.
It is with great pride and joy that I announce the GTU Commencement website (2020commencement.gtu. edu) celebrating the accomplishments of the Class of 2020, graduates of the Master of Arts and Doctoral of Philosophy degrees! On this site, you will find several components that mirror our in-person ceremony. Dr. Susan Aguilar (PhD graduate) has shared some reflections to start. After that, you will find remarks from our Interim President and Dean Dr. Uriah Kim. You will also hear from Michael Dodds, one of our faculty members, and Dr. Yohana Junker, graduate of the PhD program. You will also find a dedicated page for each graduate that showcases their work accompanied by a short video or text tribute from their faculty advisors. At the bottom, MA graduate Albert Honegan closes our time together with texts from Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, spoken in many languages. This sends our graduates to go forth into the world. I hope you take a moment to look at the wonderful accomplishments of our graduates—leaders for a world in crisis.
Stay healthy and be well.
Dr. Wendy Arce is Associate Dean of Students at the GTU.
Spiritual Reintegration in the Wake of COVID-19
If the past two months have shown us anything about this unprecedented crisis that we are living through, it’s that we do not know what the future will hold. We are still uncertain of the full extent of what COVID-19’s impact will be on the world, our lives, or our school. I am optimistic about the future, especially with regard to the potential role that the GTU and its community can play in finding a way forward through these new challenging opportunities.
As the nation contemplates next steps in the reopening of businesses and institutions, our focus is rightly on logistical and operational matters. Will counties allow retailers to provide curbside pick-up? What EDD (Employment Development Department) program benefits are available to workers whose earnings are impacted? And, yes, at the GTU we are also working on the logistics of reopening our campus and offering courses in the fall semester while managing social distancing. While questions like these are exceptionally important, if we have hope of ever truly reconstituting a healthy society, we also need to consider how we reintegrate on a communal, social, and spiritual level.
With more than 2 billion people (nearly one third of the human population) living under “stay at home” orders at some point over the past two months, few of the institutions and social customs we typically rely upon to help us forge and maintain community are likely to be at our disposal. The net outcome is that we have adapted to a lifestyle of relative isolation. We have been “trained” to stigmatize one another, necessarily, for our own well-being. Fear about the spread of the virus is already causing some to shun one another, or worse, capitulate to sentiments of racism, xenophobia, scapegoating, and in-fighting at the highest levels of government, further undermining our already frayed social fabric.
How can we combat this tendency and reconstitute our sense of community beyond the fear that coronavirus has generated?
I am certain that our work at the GTU is essential for answering this question and for finding ways to reimagine and recreate a more generous and equitable community.
The GTU’s doctoral and MA programs have shaped, inspired, and empowered theological thinkers and doers who have made transformative impacts on countless communities and individuals and made positive differences for the common good in this region, the nation, and beyond. The work done daily at the GTU provides a template for those who could help their respective communities rise above the din of our current crises. On any given day, you’ll hear students and teachers sharing ideas to come together, to understand one another’s points of view. You’ll find students and teachers congregating to worship in the manner they see fit, meditating on the better part of life, and contemplating how they can move forward and improve the world around them. At the GTU, we find solutions for the soul. We collaborate and cooperate. We stand together, work together, and learn together, so we can thrive together.
In short, the GTU is a community of teachers, researchers, learners, and doers that encourages and sustains a healthy and caring society—one that engages across differences.
As this crisis has made clear, this work— now more than ever—is an urgent necessity. If community is created in moments of sharing, it will be up to us to continue to find ways to do so in a spirit of generosity, calling on “the better angels of our nature,” if we hope to allow for this moment to offer us a brighter future to which we are all bound. I am confident we can rise to the challenge and be all the better for it.
Dr. Uriah Y. Kim is the President of the Graduate Theological Union.
