Ars Memorandi Mori

In a few days, I will begin what can only be legitimately described as a real job. After years of knowing nothing but school work, reading, studying, writing papers solely to impress a professor, and the hermetic life, the eschatological arrival and pregnant potential of this job cannot be underestimated. At the risk of sounding a bit drastic, albeit cliche, but this job is the beginning of a new life.

The previous comment is a bit misleading. To be sure, I've had this job now for about three months. Yet, during that period, I received no pay, the workplace was erratic, and I understood that the other individuals involved were here only on a temporary basis. In hindsight, this more or less voids the understanding of the term "job." To define the word further, a job is something that can be characterized in several ways: one, financial sustenance, which this residency will now provide, two, the psychological effect of purpose and stability. While a job is certainly not an appropriate place for a person to gather all of their self-value, it certainly has a powerful effect on the psyche the moment a company or organization bestows worth unto you by the giving of position. While the physical transition from a three-month internship to a one-year residency may not be overly auspicious, the mental effect of such a move yields positive results. For one, I don't have to look for another place to live. That is one excursion I do not readily wish to repeat.

With a job also calms a certain social sphere. Because I'll be working in a hospital, and because I will have a set list of departments that I will be visiting on a regular basis, there will undoubtedly be individuals that I shall gravitate towards. Friends have been hard to come by since I've been here. I would be lying if I said that I did not hope in some kind of "social miracle," a rapid expansion of my social boundaries and the emergence of individuals that I can spend ample amounts of time with. Honestly, I'm not one that makes friends very easily. In college, many of my friends migrated with me to that godforsaken town of Kankakee. In seminary, it was only because of the social prowess of my roommate and I was able to get out and meet people, much to my disdain. It was only later did I realize it wasn't so bad.

Getting a job like this feels like a step towards actualization. I had jobs before, but they were always known to be very fleeting and worthless, to some degree. Most were used solely for money, and many of them failed miserably at that. No, this job feel's right.

It is here that I must confess; I've felt this way before. The first time I traveled the 210 Expressway into Los Angeles, I felt excited; a congruency with my history, an understanding that the events of my life have led me to this point, to this place, and that is a good thing. But as it turns out, that feeling of congruency left as quickly as it came, and it arrives with no promises as to the "goodness" of this particular point in personal history. While I hope that this job does turn out to be a good thing, I am unsure I have the capacity to recognize it as such. As with everything in my life, it is dependent on my perception and understanding, and little else.

On Monday, I'll meet the other members of my team. It is then to the busy work of being a chaplain. I'll form relationships, make decisions, gain new understanding into my life, and make all sorts of mistakes. These are the things that make history; the "damn things" that follow one after another. This job will just become another part of my history, just another damn event, one that will always have an effect on my life. For God, history is a very presence; it is not a laboratory, but a person; many persons. I pray that the God of history is pleased by the one I create, and will intervene when necessary.