For those of you who are unaware, I've started a new, scary, and exciting adventure. On March 31st, I became a seminarian. Yep. Some of you may be scratching your heads wondering what happened, weren't you a Hindu? In all honesty, I cannot amputate the Hindu part of myself unless I get a lobotomy. But I'm also embracing my Lutheran faith, although I'm still pretty wobbly, and defense on some discussions ends in me trailing off, "Well, I don't know..."
Ending a discussion with, "Well, I don't know...?" tends to annoy me. Part of my reasoning of attending seminary is to find out the basic question of why? Why am I here? What is my purpose? I know seminary won't answer these questions, and that these questions will probably never be answered, but I still want to try to understand why God sent his only son to die on a cross for humanity.
Pretty heavy, huh?
Whenever I'm on campus, I'm reminded of Jesus's death every day. There's a statue in front of the library of Jesus being nailed to the cross. I'm so accustomed to seeing Jesus as a glorified art form, looking lovingly at his disciples, hugging a lamb, surrounded by a glowing light. Walking by the statue everyday kind of terrifies me. Jesus's expression is of pain and torment. His right hand has already been nailed to the cross. His left is still free, but someone is in place with a nail touching his left wrist, mallet raised in the air ready to strike. It's very... human.
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