We have a lot of construction going on at the Close at the moment, which means on any given day there might be a half dozen or more visitors around the Seminary working on projects from pouring concrete for the pathway to fixing the boiler or steam pipes, to repairing some water damage on the floor of a classroom. It’s a busy place - despite the fact that the semester is coming to an end!

I was alone in the Chapel, where I often pray Morning Prayer, and as I was just turning to the Psalter, a man walked inside to admire the space. “I hope you don’t mind if I come in. This is the most beautiful church I’ve ever seen, and I love stopping by when I’m on a job here.”

I paused my prayers to talk to the man, who shared with me how he was raised in a religious home but wasn’t religious any longer. He talked about how he struggled with spirits that had been haunting his home and making him feel depressed. He mentioned his battle with finding purpose in life, and that so much of his work felt like it just went to making enough money to pay for braces for his kids. We talked about his friends and loved ones who had recently died. And we talked about his passion for the arts, and he showed me several photos of oil paintings he’d been working on (which were really beautiful), many of which were portraits of his recently deceased friends or relatives. In other words, I got to be his pastor for 20 minutes or so. I told him I’d be praying for him, welcomed him back to the chapel at any time, and thanked him for the work he was doing to make the Seminary a safer and more beautiful space.

While this sort of thing doesn’t happen every day during Morning Prayer, these sorts of interactions happen more than you’d imagine here around the Close. People frequently pause by the gates to look in at the Chapel, and wonder what kind of place this is. I love it when I get a chance to let them in, show them around, and share with them about the mission of the Seminary and a little bit of the love of God in Jesus Christ which infuses the work that we do. It’s one of the joys of this peculiar ministry at General - that little seminary around which the big city of New York grew up.

Several years ago, when I was serving as Acting Dean and President, the Board of Trustees was faced with a very difficult set of decisions. We recognized that we had a shorter than 5-year runway for the Seminary operation to continue. Enrollment was down. Costs were up. Revenues were variable and vulnerable. The three options we were discerning were to close the Seminary and become a fund that supported theological education at other schools, sell most of the property to a developer and try to make it on our own in a smaller fashion, or combine in a substantive way, with another institution in order to continue our mission through a partnership.

Two concerns guided the board's discernment at the time: 1) a profound commitment to the mission of GTS - which since its inception has been the education, training, and formation of clergy for The Episcopal Church; and 2) a desire for the resources of the Close be retained to support the ongoing future ministry of The Episcopal Church.

None of us on the Board wanted to see the Close sold or shuttered. We knew that once the church lost its presence on Chelsea Square, it would never be regained again. Our hope, at the time, was for a resurrection of GTS - a new GTS that would emerge through the combined efforts of brave board leadership, creative partnership, and faith in God’s enduring presence and promise among us.

Last night, I concluded the fall semester’s "Introduction to Theology" class with our final topic - Eschatology - and a final lecture on the theme of the Resurrection of the Body. Anthony Thiselton - the renaissance man of Anglican theology (who has written widely on doctrine, hermeneutics, history, and scripture) offers three helpful takeaways in his description of the Resurrection of the Body - there will be contrast between this life and the next, continuity between this life and the next, and there will be a transformation from this life and the next.

When Thiselton talks about Resurrection, he's referring to both Christ’s resurrection and our own hope for personal resurrection - that the resurrection will provide a contrast in the way in which we experience embodied life, but continuity in the kinds of experiences and relationships which will endure in the next life, and - above all - a transformation in our experience of being, as we move from finitude to eternal life.

I think Thiselton’s principles of Resurrection share a lot in common with the kind of work that our Board at General had hoped for in our affiliation with VTS, which we finalized just a year ago. There is a contrast between the General that we love today, and the General that we remember 100, 10, or 1 year ago. Some of this we greet with some sadness and loss. Other change we regard as near miraculous transformation, particularly when we think of the extraordinary success and growth of our amazing hybrid M.Div. program, the new energy and wisdom brought into our institution through the affiliation with VTS, the guidance of the Board of Trustees, and the fantastic administrative leaders who steward this institution. And, in the midst of this contrast and transformation, is also continuity in mission and ethos.

In continuity with our past, we are still a sacred space in the middle of the New York City. We are a place where people are invited to experience not just a bit of quiet reprieve from the chaos of NYC, but to experience the holy, to receive healing through pastoral conversations, and to come to know something of the love of God in Jesus Christ.

I invite our beloved alumni and friends to visit the Close, to reconnect with the transformed yet continuous mission of the Seminary, and to pray for God’s ongoing work on Chelsea Square.

Dean Michael