Some things are common across any ordinand who is in their final year. We are in a weird limbo where curacy conversations have probably started over the summer, and for many, visits, confirmation, a bit of bureaucracy, then an announcement might actually come before Christmas.
So first term is a lot of extra effort arranging the next step, but by the end, it might all be set up, and you've still got two terms to go before actually taking it. It is one of the most common comments about final year, that one is both now and not yet (yes, that's a theological reference, a-thank you) excited about curacy but having to concentrate on dissertation or ILP, assignments, lectures and placements. Plus still dealing with the infantilisation of being a student, accommodation issues, finance juggling, and trying to actually have a life beyond college.
This week I had a curacy visit, and everything else at college has been an extra effort; my motivation has been seriously affected by the future talk, going round the parish, getting to know the team (and I'll reiterate what I wrote last time, no, I can't tell you where it is yet) and all the exciting details that are triggering my imagination. My mind is time-travelling to next summer, my Pinterest is full of furniture I'll never be able to afford, and wait, what further biblical studies essay?
On the horizon I will be ordering an ordination stole, inviting people to the ordination service, buying other vestments and clerical wear, that day that is coming when I will put on a clerical collar for the first time, and eventually organising moving dates. All that will come with more academic deadlines, leavers events and who knows what else will be thrown at us before we can finally get our teeth into this curacy business.
Other things are singular to third years, who are commonly very much a minority, as more people have two years of ordination training at college than three. I have made several comments this term to the effect that being a third year means pendulum-swinging between cynicism and nostalgia, adding to an already complex long-term relationship with the establishment. In getting to know yet another bunch of bright-eyed, bushy-tailed first years, it is hard not to feel some empathy with the ancient of days (oh my, another reference, this time biblical - that'll be the evangelical influence!) using phrases like some old codger in the nursing home - "back in my first year, it was all very different. You don't know how lucky you are!"
This is probably true of most third or further year students across academia, but I think there is something particular to an ordinand - most of us had a life before this, a first degree, a career, friendship circles and established favourite drinking holes, and now we've moved, we're retraining, and we're going to move again; the world-weariness is deeper, with those extra laters, than a 21yo finishing their economics degree is going to have.
Being a third year ordinand means finally feeling confident on placement but not having the collar of authority and invitation that a lot of friends and peers who have already gotten ordained have in their ministry contexts.
It's being incredibly bored at this point of explaining the discernment and training process to people in your life who, let's be honest, have actually heard it fifteen times already, but unlike the people at college, aren't living it, and therefore it slips from their memory.
It's looking at the four walls of your student accommodation and seeing the ghosts of piles of packing boxes, both as a step back in time to arriving at college, and a glimpse into the future of leaving, finally, getting out, and getting on.
It's being determined within all this nonsense to be present, to not make the mistake of some of the two sets of third years you've seen go before you of checking out early. So yes, get to know the shiny new first years; go to college events as if a party in a lecture hall is still incredibly exciting fifth time around; complain about the food (whilst incredibly grateful that you have it, especially with enough experience to know what is worth having and what is worth avoiding); and yes, make stupid theological jokes in general conversation/blogposts because you're still here.
You're still in this confessing college environment. You're still chained to the academic machine that demands words in chunks of 1500, 2500 and eventually 12,000. You're still living your life, every moment, every breath God gives you, and each of these days is of equal length, and ideally of equal value, to any days coming which are the other side of that line in the sand that is ordination. The line in the sand that was going to theological college is a distance memory, disappeared over the horizon behind you, and it seems like such an age since you crossed it that surely this stage is over. But it is not. It is still going, and you are called into this moment, as with every moment, to be blessed, and to be a blessing, whatever that means in this context, right now.
These lines in the sand are useful reference points; we are but only human after all. But they are not set by us, they are not in our control - what we do between them is.
As a third year, I am constantly reminding myself that I do not want to look back at my time at college with a glumness that it was a grind to get through and thank God I'm out of it. No, I want to look back and remember thanking God that I was here, now, with these people and in this place.
I'm trying, and I'm failing, and I'll keep trying. For one more year.
