“That completely makes sense that you would be going to seminary.”
“Why are you going to seminary? You already have a great career where you’re well-established. You do a lot of spiritual things with that.”
“I didn’t realize that you were so religious. That’s sad.”
And finally… silence. The kind of silence that I receive as judgment because I know people have strong opinions about Interfaith work being watered down.
These are the four responses I have received since announcing that I’ve been discerning a call to Interfaith ministry for the last three years. I am officially enrolled at the Chaplaincy Institute as an Interfaith seminary student. After exploring several options for study, the Chaplaincy Institute, or ChI as it is affectionately called, feels aligned with my values and committed to experiential learning.
While I am an open book about my professional pursuits, this path is calling me into quieter introspection and study, which is what I need as a highly empathetic person and a bridge builder in this pain-shattered world.
Seeing religion as the source of so much suffering makes me sad, especially since I have experienced the beauty that spirituality and religion can offer humanity when it is practiced compassionately.
In my home country, impacted by the destructive forces of Christian nationalism, it can be difficult to identify as religious. And here I am, going to seminary after 20 years as a therapist and therapist educator teaching about spiritual abuse.
While I don’t owe anyone an explanation, it is interesting to ponder my “why” in light of the responses to those I tell I am now in seminary.
The simplest reason is that this study is how I need to spend my time right now. As I read, write and engage in conversation, I feel nourished in a way I haven’t been since I was in the active phases of writing “You Lied to Me About God.”
The book is my love letter to the spirituality I have found by healing from the spiritual abuse that hurt me. The pluralistic spiritual practices that help me connect with the Divine and my fellow humans feel more enhanced as I resume reading and writing on spiritual matters.
The learning certainly feels more relevant to my personal process during these times than anything related to my home vocation of clinical counseling and psychology.
I believe the key to deep healing is bridging the spiritual and psychological worlds. Moreover, I do not see myself entirely moving away from being a counselor or educator.
However, operating a training business within the reality of what the institution of our field was built on drains me more with each passing day. Modern psychotherapy, even within my specialty of trauma, is hyperfocused on processing or resolving trauma to adaptive resolutions. The hypothesis is that such an approach will allow clients to feel better faster.
While I certainly do not judge people for wanting to feel better, those of us who receive references for clients for trauma work from our colleagues can feel pressure to produce results as quickly as possible. The implied subtext is often, “get them fixed as soon as possible so they won’t be a burden to others and society any longer.”
My field has responded with more standards, research and “evidence-based practice.” We believe that all will be well if we can find the proper technique and the most standardized way to teach it. The endless barrage of procuring CE approvals, navigating bureaucracies, attending conferences and answering emails makes me feel as if the training-industrial nature of our field has failed.
Our emphasis on checked-box standards has impacted the true, human quality of how therapist educators can connect with their students. I am also concerned that there is a celebrity culture among therapist-trainers.
Being on the periphery of this has highlighted just how toxic it is. This is especially true with our tendency to elevate well-spoken men who are getting credit for much of the trauma inquiry that women and Indigenous people/people of color first recognized as important.
I know these same dynamics exist in ministry spaces, so I’m not necessarily seeking to career-hop. I am exploring whether there is a more integrated and organic way to facilitate healing experiences and create spaces that support transformation. I owe it to myself and the world around me to honor the call to engage in this exploration.
I am also open to learning how to take this same intention into advocating for the people I am most likely to serve–those with chronic mental health and addiction concerns, queer and trans folks, and those who have been wounded by religion and spirituality.
I am aware that I have blind spots with many issues and populations. I am always learning. Yet, I’ve also felt burned out in advocacy spaces. This has rarely been from doing the actual work of advocating, but from witnessing the in-fighting, often among mostly like-minded people, arguing over the “right kind” of advocacy.
It can seem like those of us who work to dismantle oppression cannot see how all of our struggles are interconnected. This can make us vilify and shame each other for not “getting it.”
Yes, conservative people chide us for being too “woke.” However, in more progressive spaces, there are constant attacks and cancellations for not being “woke” enough.
It’s exhausting. I need spiritual care right now to sort out its impact on me and to determine how to make a difference as someone with multiple oppressed identities, yet who also lives with certain levels of privilege.
In these early days of my studies, I feel the answer will be found through a more authentic presence–to myself, the Divine, and those around me.
I may find more questions to keep me awake, aware and connected.
In a paper I wrote for my first class, I was asked to reflect on the often-used phrase “ministry of presence.” I teach my professional students, intoning the wisdom of Fr. Henri Nouwen, whose writing first introduced me to the phrase, that the therapeutic approaches we use can be more powerful and safe for our therapy participants if we place the therapeutic relationship first.
Nouwen’s first use of the phrase appeared in the 1983 book “¡Gracias!: A Latin American Journal.” Reading this passage feels like a direct email from God during this period of my career re-evaluation and possible transition:
My own desire to be useful, to do something significant, or to be part of some impressive project is so strong that soon my time is taken up by meetings, conferences, study groups, and workshops that prevent me from walking the streets. It is difficult not to have plans, not to organize people around an urgent cause, and not to feel that you are working directly for social progress. But I wonder more and more if the first thing shouldn’t be to know people by name, to eat and drink with them, to listen to their stories and tell your own, and to let them know with words, handshakes, and hugs that you do not simply like them, but truly love them.
I admit that trying to keep up with what Nouwen describes as “something significant” hampers my effectiveness in the presence department. That’s where I know I’ve lost the plot.
So far, my seminary study is helping me find it again.
- About the Author
- Latest Posts
Dr. Marich is the founder of the Institute for Creative Mindfulness. A clinical trauma specialist and educator, she is the author of over a dozen books and manuals on trauma and addiction recovery. Her latest book, You Lied to Me About God: A Memoir, will be released by North Atlantic Books on October 15.
