My first blog post this year talked about the idea of home, my mixed feelings about living so close to it, and a hope to make another hearth at Marsh Chapel and BU. It seems only fitting, then, that for my (pen)ultimate blogpost of the year I return to that notion. Only now, I turn to the broader area that has felt like home for so many years: the Greater Boston area. An experience from this past week reminded me that while I may know some things about the Boston area, I clearly don’t know everything.
On Monday evening, there was an end-of-year staff dinner in Somerville. I was taking a lab exam when most people had left, so I decided to take the T there instead. For those who have never been to Boston before, the T is the major subway network that connects numerous parts of Boston and the Greater Boston Area. It can be counterintuitive, confusing, and at times incredibly crowded and inefficient (especially before Red Sox games), but I always loved riding it when I was younger. And to this day, I still do. There are so many parts of it that remain unexplored, and Monday was my first time riding the Orange line alone. I thought that given my previous knowledge of the Green line and the T in general, I wouldn’t have too much trouble transferring to the Orange line and getting to the right stop.
I must have not thought this plan out entirely, or I seriously overestimated my geography skills. Either way, the outcome was definitely not what I expected.
The problems began when I noticed a few signs on the Orange line saying that the station I was looking for was under construction, and that there would be bus services to it instead. I know almost nothing about how the bus system works, so that option didn’t seem particularly reassuring. Instead, I got out earlier and started walking. I figured that I didn’t want to overshoot, and that if I walked long enough in the right direction, I should get to the right place. So went my thought process, and at the time it seemed reasonable.
Some things I did not consider in this plan: (1) The distance, (2) what I would do if I ran into a dead end or got lost, and (3) the environment I walking in. This last point is not meant to disrespect those who do live in Somerville. I just didn’t know the neighborhood that well, or at all really.
Eventually, I called Soren, and he managed to find me and bring me to where everyone else was. After dinner, he told me that the station I thought was closed had in fact been re-opened. He also said that when he found me, I wasn’t the only one on the sidewalk. There were three people approaching me at the time, which somehow didn’t register at all. These little details made me realize what should have been obvious: that my original plan was lacking at best, and a risky endeavor at worst. But this funny, humbling story in hindsight did teach me a number of things.
The first one reflects what I have encountered again and again this year while working at Marsh. Granted, what I gained from this experience was far more practical than theological, but it still applies to what I’ve tried to do in Interfaith ministry. I can’t presume to know everything about Christianity or United Methodism, things that feel incredibly familiar. I also cannot claim to feel entirely comfortable when thrown into personally uncharted territory, which happened a lot when I entered a new worship experience or spoke to people from very different faith backgrounds. Finally, I realized that I don’t always recognize things that should be obvious. Perhaps that speaks more to my lack of foresight in this instance than anything else, but it does happen to all of us at some point. And with all of these lessons, a few more especially come to mind now. First, I am learning, and always will be. Second, that I can make mistakes and have lapses in judgment. And I still need to reach out for serious help sometimes, and that’s OK.
I wish I could say that these lessons are deeply insightful. But I would suspect that common sense dictates many of them. Sometimes, though, even the most basic understandings need to be reminded, again and again. When trying to understand faith and the Divine, this is especially important. Because if we don’t have something we can agree on, how can we ever hope to grasp questions such as who or what the Divine is, and how a divine presence works in our lives? Whether I like it or not, I have to face these kinds of questions at some point, because my beliefs ultimately rest on them. Because my work at Marsh still has so much yet to be explored. These questions mark the end of the line, the border between what is assumed and what is questioned and doubted. They are the end of the line between what is familiar and what is uncharted territory. While I may not answer all of these questions, I have at the very least begun to explore them. The end of the line feels much closer now, but I feel ready to move in the right direction to cross it. Hopefully this time, I will have a little more foresight and a better idea of what I am getting myself into.