Respected Chair, Professor John, Secretary, Mr. Balakrishnan Nair, Office Holders of the Forum, and Dear friends, it is with sincere gratitude and deep humility I stand before you to speak on a subject that we all have some familiarity in and at least a modicum of knowledge. It would be very presumptuous of me if I claim what I would share with you today is anything extraordinary. Our lives so far have taken us on different paths, different lands, different shores. We all have worked in various areas of human endeavor, and we all have gained a variety of perspectives on life. Now we are here living in the second half of our lives. Today, we live our lives based on particular worldviews that we have molded over these past years of the first half of our lives. It is this worldview that helps us make meaning of our lives today.
The majority of the first half of my life, I spent outside of my native country, India. At the prime age of 23, a year after my bachelor's degree, I left for the United States. Leaving everything that was familiar and unsure of what was ahead of me, I set out on a journey with no one to guide or a compass to follow. I landed in South Carolina, a state in the deep south of the United States and known for the bloody history of slavery and racism in 1971, not long after the passing of the Civil Rights Laws, much to the displeasure and chagrin of southerners. Along with redressing the negative impact of Jim Crow Laws on Black people, the passing of Civil Rights Laws in 1965 opened the floodgate of Asian immigration to the United States. Up until 1965, the Asian Exclusion Laws stymied Indian migration except for students seeking graduate degrees. Perhaps I was one of the early beneficiaries of more relaxed immigration laws.
I went to the US under a student visa, hoping that I get to stay and work in the US following my studies.
As typical of most ordinary people, I, too, was motivated by the preoccupations and concerns of the first half of life, such as establishing an identity, securing a profession, achieving financial security, finding a mate for life, and starting a family of my own. Like most people, I was also interested in making a mark in the world. Greek philosopher Archimedes keenly likened this human tendency to "lever and a place to stand" so that we can move the world a bit. I had to do this in a foreign land with a culture and ethos different from those of mine. In their eyes, I would always be an outsider and a usurper.
Since the death of my maternal grandfather, the Rev. M. O. Koshy, a revered priest in the Mar Thoma Church, I thought I had a call to be a priest. So naturally, I was happy with my admission to the Bible School and to boot in the United States. However, my enthusiasm was short-lived. Soon after I went there, I realized that I had to suspend my intellectual curiosity and ability to reason, to be a believer in God. I found their belief in the inerrancy of the Bible and its literal interpretation increasingly problematic and too constraining. Moreover, they didn't consider me as a Christian since I didn't have the kind of born-again experience they thought I had. I found it increasingly challenging to study the Bible and theology in an atmosphere where you are not allowed to question or reason.
I sought admission at Princeton Theological Seminary in New Jersey, one of the best seminaries in the world. Here we questioned everything and left no stone unturned. We discussed what was previously considered as taboo topics such as the virgin birth of Jesus, and the bodily resurrection of Jesus. At this point, my faith has undergone a complete deconstruction. I almost lost my faith in God, and this whole enterprise we call religion. However, this was a necessary step to begin again on a clean slate. Just as seminary deconstructed, it reconstructed my faith in God and religion in a more powerful way than before. I no longer needed science to bolster my faith. Science and religion are not mutually exclusive, and they function on different wave-lengths. I find this incredibly freeing and liberating. This faith, developed and matured over some time, served me in my self-understanding and ego development or identity.
Talking about identity, I remember my father's hold on me vividly, even in Princeton, thousands of miles away from Kottayam. The night before my departure to the US, at an emotionally one to one time with my dad, he asked me to put my hand in his hand and to pledge that I will not marry anyone other than someone our own Mar Thoma Syrian Christian community from Kerala. Marriage was the last thing on my mind at that time. However, four years later, while in Princeton, marrying a person I love was in my mind a lot. At the seminary, I fell in love with a white Protestant girl and started dating. We lived in the same co-ed dorm on separate floors. Dating someone, living in a co-ed dorm, etc., and that too, in a seminary, are things unheard of in our Kerala Syrian Christian community. It was indicative of the clash of cultures we were going through at that time. I wrote to my father, asking for his consent to my marrying a girl outside of our community. He told me in no uncertain terms his great displeasure of my plans. Despite his objections, I held on to my decision. However, I desired for his blessing and asked for one of my fellow students, an Achen from
Mar Thoma Church, to write a letter to my dad. Perhaps, Achen's letter did it. He finally agreed. After all that work and back and forth with my father, we broke up. The reason I talked about this episode is to illustrate the vast difference in cultural norms between the east and west. I also believe that it was due to my individuation, the development of my own identity separate from my dad, that I was able to withstand my father's pressure. My perspective is that in traditional cultures, individuation or identity formation happens at a slower pace than in western cultures. We, in the east, regard family and community higher than we see the individual, and in the west, vice versa. Please know that I am not making a value judgment here.
I also want you all to know that, in the end, I married Susan, who is everything my father had hoped for in a wife for me: a Syrian Christian Mar Thoma Malayali woman from central Travancore and a good family. But it was our decision, Susan's and mine, not anybody else's.
Another preoccupation of the first half of life is finding your calling. What is it that I am passionate about? What is it that I would be eager to wake up in the morning to go to work? One would think it would be easy for me to choose what I wanted to do because I already knew that I wanted to be a priest. However, it wasn't that easy for me. After graduating from Princeton, I worked as an International Student Chaplain at Syracuse University in New York for one year and then another year at Massachusetts Institute of Technology, in Cambridge. As I wasn't sold to any church, I kept putting off ordained ministry, and instead, I worked in secular fields such as mental health, financial services, and banking. During those years, Susan and I were drawn to the Episcopal Church of the United States for worship. We found its ethos attractive. We discovered their measured approach to renew, refresh, and reform the doctrines contemporaneously meaningful and intellectually honest. Clergy in local churches can exercise their ministry with great independence. I found worshipping God and serving God's people in a church like that very appealing and so I sought ordination and became a priest in 2001. Thus, after many years of the odyssey, I finally found my vocation, which, according to Frederick Buechner, is "the place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world's deep hunger meet."
I was the first Indian to be ordained a priest in the Diocese of Massachusetts, and I was the first Indian to serve as an Episcopal parish priest in the Diocese of Pennsylvania. In the Episcopal church, the clergy is chosen by the local church, not appointed by the bishop. The church I served last chose me out of thirty or so applicants, and I served this almost all-white parish for the thirteen years before retiring in June this year. In many ways, my tenure at this church, Saint Peter's Episcopal Church, was successful, and it was mostly due to the hard work and leadership of an empowered laity. Laity's leadership in mission and community engagement freed me to do the sacred duties which only an ordained person can do, such as sacraments. I trusted the laity and did not micromanage what they were doing. I provided a non-anxious spiritual presence and encouragement. I genuinely loved every parishioner and knew each one by his or her name. On Sundays, I served communion by calling each person's name. I was also quite involved in the community and served on the board of local secular and non-governmental organizations. In finding my true calling and in serving this parish in an ordinary town in the States, I finally discovered my treasure.
It reminds me of the story from the Arabian Nights in which the farmer's plow catches on something in the dirt. Despite much trouble, he couldn't dislodge the plow. He finally stops, digs in the ground, and finds that his plow has caught on a metal ring attached to a door, through which is a passageway leading to a treasure. Joseph Campbell, the great mythologist, once said, "where you stumble, there is your treasure." In my long search for my authentic calling, I stumbled over again and again on ordained ministry. There were many distractions along the way. I was tempted to seek a profession in making money and to make a name for myself by entering local politics. I also looked into pursuing a career in academics or as a psychologist. I kept digging, and finally, I found the metal ring attached to the door leading to ordination, and that too, in a church that is open to moving according to the time while not discarding tradition, reason, or faith. Having had the experience of serving God in such a church, I would find serving a church here in Kerala extremely difficult.
As I look back on my odyssey, from the time left home for the first time till now, my sacrifice or my letting go of what was familiar was a healthy denial. It was a denial of something I wanted for the sake of something I wanted even more.
Now that I am retired and returned to my home base, it feels as if I am beginning again because what I consider as my home base is no longer there, it also has changed, changed a lot, some even beyond recognition. Coming home is not all that what I have expected it to be. What is familiar now is what I left off in the US. It feels like my odyssey once again started. A new project is now in the offing. As everything is in flux, you no longer can claim any place as your home base. Life is a journey. Perhaps we can call the journey itself as our home base. A boat serves it's intended purpose when it is sailing, not when it is docked at the pier. We do our best in the second half of our life by taking on a new project, a new endeavor, reaching for a new horizon. Thank you all.
The majority of the first half of my life, I spent outside of my native country, India. At the prime age of 23, a year after my bachelor's degree, I left for the United States. Leaving everything that was familiar and unsure of what was ahead of me, I set out on a journey with no one to guide or a compass to follow. I landed in South Carolina, a state in the deep south of the United States and known for the bloody history of slavery and racism in 1971, not long after the passing of the Civil Rights Laws, much to the displeasure and chagrin of southerners. Along with redressing the negative impact of Jim Crow Laws on Black people, the passing of Civil Rights Laws in 1965 opened the floodgate of Asian immigration to the United States. Up until 1965, the Asian Exclusion Laws stymied Indian migration except for students seeking graduate degrees. Perhaps I was one of the early beneficiaries of more relaxed immigration laws.
I went to the US under a student visa, hoping that I get to stay and work in the US following my studies.
As typical of most ordinary people, I, too, was motivated by the preoccupations and concerns of the first half of life, such as establishing an identity, securing a profession, achieving financial security, finding a mate for life, and starting a family of my own. Like most people, I was also interested in making a mark in the world. Greek philosopher Archimedes keenly likened this human tendency to "lever and a place to stand" so that we can move the world a bit. I had to do this in a foreign land with a culture and ethos different from those of mine. In their eyes, I would always be an outsider and a usurper.
Since the death of my maternal grandfather, the Rev. M. O. Koshy, a revered priest in the Mar Thoma Church, I thought I had a call to be a priest. So naturally, I was happy with my admission to the Bible School and to boot in the United States. However, my enthusiasm was short-lived. Soon after I went there, I realized that I had to suspend my intellectual curiosity and ability to reason, to be a believer in God. I found their belief in the inerrancy of the Bible and its literal interpretation increasingly problematic and too constraining. Moreover, they didn't consider me as a Christian since I didn't have the kind of born-again experience they thought I had. I found it increasingly challenging to study the Bible and theology in an atmosphere where you are not allowed to question or reason.
I sought admission at Princeton Theological Seminary in New Jersey, one of the best seminaries in the world. Here we questioned everything and left no stone unturned. We discussed what was previously considered as taboo topics such as the virgin birth of Jesus, and the bodily resurrection of Jesus. At this point, my faith has undergone a complete deconstruction. I almost lost my faith in God, and this whole enterprise we call religion. However, this was a necessary step to begin again on a clean slate. Just as seminary deconstructed, it reconstructed my faith in God and religion in a more powerful way than before. I no longer needed science to bolster my faith. Science and religion are not mutually exclusive, and they function on different wave-lengths. I find this incredibly freeing and liberating. This faith, developed and matured over some time, served me in my self-understanding and ego development or identity.
Talking about identity, I remember my father's hold on me vividly, even in Princeton, thousands of miles away from Kottayam. The night before my departure to the US, at an emotionally one to one time with my dad, he asked me to put my hand in his hand and to pledge that I will not marry anyone other than someone our own Mar Thoma Syrian Christian community from Kerala. Marriage was the last thing on my mind at that time. However, four years later, while in Princeton, marrying a person I love was in my mind a lot. At the seminary, I fell in love with a white Protestant girl and started dating. We lived in the same co-ed dorm on separate floors. Dating someone, living in a co-ed dorm, etc., and that too, in a seminary, are things unheard of in our Kerala Syrian Christian community. It was indicative of the clash of cultures we were going through at that time. I wrote to my father, asking for his consent to my marrying a girl outside of our community. He told me in no uncertain terms his great displeasure of my plans. Despite his objections, I held on to my decision. However, I desired for his blessing and asked for one of my fellow students, an Achen from
Mar Thoma Church, to write a letter to my dad. Perhaps, Achen's letter did it. He finally agreed. After all that work and back and forth with my father, we broke up. The reason I talked about this episode is to illustrate the vast difference in cultural norms between the east and west. I also believe that it was due to my individuation, the development of my own identity separate from my dad, that I was able to withstand my father's pressure. My perspective is that in traditional cultures, individuation or identity formation happens at a slower pace than in western cultures. We, in the east, regard family and community higher than we see the individual, and in the west, vice versa. Please know that I am not making a value judgment here.
I also want you all to know that, in the end, I married Susan, who is everything my father had hoped for in a wife for me: a Syrian Christian Mar Thoma Malayali woman from central Travancore and a good family. But it was our decision, Susan's and mine, not anybody else's.
Another preoccupation of the first half of life is finding your calling. What is it that I am passionate about? What is it that I would be eager to wake up in the morning to go to work? One would think it would be easy for me to choose what I wanted to do because I already knew that I wanted to be a priest. However, it wasn't that easy for me. After graduating from Princeton, I worked as an International Student Chaplain at Syracuse University in New York for one year and then another year at Massachusetts Institute of Technology, in Cambridge. As I wasn't sold to any church, I kept putting off ordained ministry, and instead, I worked in secular fields such as mental health, financial services, and banking. During those years, Susan and I were drawn to the Episcopal Church of the United States for worship. We found its ethos attractive. We discovered their measured approach to renew, refresh, and reform the doctrines contemporaneously meaningful and intellectually honest. Clergy in local churches can exercise their ministry with great independence. I found worshipping God and serving God's people in a church like that very appealing and so I sought ordination and became a priest in 2001. Thus, after many years of the odyssey, I finally found my vocation, which, according to Frederick Buechner, is "the place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world's deep hunger meet."
I was the first Indian to be ordained a priest in the Diocese of Massachusetts, and I was the first Indian to serve as an Episcopal parish priest in the Diocese of Pennsylvania. In the Episcopal church, the clergy is chosen by the local church, not appointed by the bishop. The church I served last chose me out of thirty or so applicants, and I served this almost all-white parish for the thirteen years before retiring in June this year. In many ways, my tenure at this church, Saint Peter's Episcopal Church, was successful, and it was mostly due to the hard work and leadership of an empowered laity. Laity's leadership in mission and community engagement freed me to do the sacred duties which only an ordained person can do, such as sacraments. I trusted the laity and did not micromanage what they were doing. I provided a non-anxious spiritual presence and encouragement. I genuinely loved every parishioner and knew each one by his or her name. On Sundays, I served communion by calling each person's name. I was also quite involved in the community and served on the board of local secular and non-governmental organizations. In finding my true calling and in serving this parish in an ordinary town in the States, I finally discovered my treasure.
It reminds me of the story from the Arabian Nights in which the farmer's plow catches on something in the dirt. Despite much trouble, he couldn't dislodge the plow. He finally stops, digs in the ground, and finds that his plow has caught on a metal ring attached to a door, through which is a passageway leading to a treasure. Joseph Campbell, the great mythologist, once said, "where you stumble, there is your treasure." In my long search for my authentic calling, I stumbled over again and again on ordained ministry. There were many distractions along the way. I was tempted to seek a profession in making money and to make a name for myself by entering local politics. I also looked into pursuing a career in academics or as a psychologist. I kept digging, and finally, I found the metal ring attached to the door leading to ordination, and that too, in a church that is open to moving according to the time while not discarding tradition, reason, or faith. Having had the experience of serving God in such a church, I would find serving a church here in Kerala extremely difficult.
As I look back on my odyssey, from the time left home for the first time till now, my sacrifice or my letting go of what was familiar was a healthy denial. It was a denial of something I wanted for the sake of something I wanted even more.
Now that I am retired and returned to my home base, it feels as if I am beginning again because what I consider as my home base is no longer there, it also has changed, changed a lot, some even beyond recognition. Coming home is not all that what I have expected it to be. What is familiar now is what I left off in the US. It feels like my odyssey once again started. A new project is now in the offing. As everything is in flux, you no longer can claim any place as your home base. Life is a journey. Perhaps we can call the journey itself as our home base. A boat serves it's intended purpose when it is sailing, not when it is docked at the pier. We do our best in the second half of our life by taking on a new project, a new endeavor, reaching for a new horizon. Thank you all.
