Seminarily speaking

I had a bad experience with seminary. I repeat. I. Had. A. Bad. Experience. Perhaps you would like to hear the tale?

In my freshman year, seminary was offered both in the morning and the afternoon. (I did not grow up in an area where seminary was part of the school day and I resent all you people who had that option. Jerks. (Just kidding) (No wait, yes, jerks.))) Since only a crazy person would get up in the morning earlier than they absolutely had to, I opted to attend the afternoon session. Afternoon seminary was held in the basement of a member's house who lived just down the street from the school and I had the best seminary teacher in the whole world. Brother Watkins. I know that all of you who know him are nodding in agreement. Brother Watkins is an incredible person and he was the best seminary teacher ever. These are the facts and they are undisputed.

My freshman seminary year was great. The classes were uplifting, spiritual, fun, challenging, and inspiring. Seminary was something to be looked forward between the end of a long school day and the beginning of a long night of homework. I can't recall ever not wanting to go to seminary that year. This is entirely Brother Watkins fault, I'm sure. So devoted to him (and to seminary) was I that when a schedule change made it impossible for my brother (who was responsible for driving me around) to attend Brother Watkins afternoon seminary class, I chose to go to Early Morning Seminary.

For the unfamiliar, Early Morning Seminary is even earlier than regular Morning Seminary. It was designed for those weirdos who take zero period classes. It started at oh-dark-thirty in the morning and ended an hour later, which was still pretty much oh-dark-thirty. Did I mention that Early Morning Seminary was not offered for my high school? Well, it wasn't. So I had to drive right past my own high school, which was already 20 minutes from the house, to the Stake Center, another 20 minutes down the road in order to be there at 6:30 am.

Let's do some math. Accounting for the 40 minute drive, to be there at 6:30, we had to leave the house at 5:50. And as a teenage girl, of course it was impossible for me to spend less than an hour getting ready for school. So let's see, carry the one, divide by zero... I was getting up at 4:50 am. Yes. Every school day. As a freshman in high school I was getting up before 5:00 in the morning. Every day.

But, it was totally worth it. Not only was I being edified and uplifted, but I was working toward the coveted Seminary Graduation, which would determine the course of the rest of my life. Okay, not really. But it is looked upon as a grand achievement. At testament to devotion and sacrifice. Bragging rights and something to tell your grandkids about.

Sophomore year. Afternoon seminary was still offered but Brother Watkins was only available 3 days per week. So, the missionaries were co-opted to teach the other 2 days. The missionaries were not as good, not as prepared, and there was a lack of continuity that was distracting. But it was still an enjoyable experience and worth my time. As a bonus, I got my driver license halfway through the year. And as long as I was attending seminary and willing to drive a few kids home, I could drive the car to school and avoid taking the dreaded schoolbus.

Prior to my junior year, it was announced that afternoon seminary has been eliminated. All students would now be required to attend morning seminary which would be held at the church building a couple of miles from the high school. There are some vague reasons given for the change but the feeling is that seminary should be a sacrifice. Kids will build character if they are required to sacrifice. Having to fork over a huge chuck of the afternoon was not sacrifice enough. A real sacrifice comes from getting up early and getting to seminary on time.

I wasn't happy about it, but at least it wasn't Early Morning Seminary. Just regular old Morning Seminary. I think it started around 7:00 am. Taking into account the 20 minute drive and the hour spent primping in the morning, I only had to get up at 5:40. What a bargain! Plus, I got to drive the car to school and avoid the dreaded schoolbus.

I suppose it didn't help that the teacher that year was new. I suppose it also didn't help that we seemed to have a unusually large and rowdy class. I know it didn't help that as the year progressed we seemed to have shorter and shorter lessons followed by longer and longer after-class basketball games. I am positive it did not help when I showed up for class one morning only to be directed to the gym where an overly zealous ward member had decided that seminary students would be perfect to help him stuff envelopes with flyers for his personal political crusade. Eventually, the sacrifice wasn't worth it. I told my mom that I didn't want to go to seminary anymore. I would prefer to sleep in and would be content riding the dreaded schoolbus. I didn't care about graduating from seminary. I just didn't want to waste my time any more.

I think everyone was a little shocked. I was a pretty good kid and mostly did what was expected of me without question or complaint. For me to refuse to go to seminary might have been a little wakeup call for the people involved. So, we struck a deal. If I would just finish out the year (a couple of months), I would get credit for that year. Then for my senior year, I would do home study seminary. I'd still graduate so the almost 3 years I'd already invested wouldn't be wasted.

The summer between my junior and senior year, I got a call from the stake seminary coordinator.

"Sister Ranger, I see you've signed up for 'home study' seminary for the coming year."

"That's correct. I didn't have a good experience last year so I'd prefer to do home study this year."

"Well, you understand that it is important that you graduate, right?"

"Yes. That's why I want to do home study. Otherwise, I don't think I'd attend."

"Alright. You just have to promise me... pinky-swear... that you will absolutely, positively, without excuse will do the home study. You'll have a workbook assignment page every day. Don't get behind because it's really hard to catch up."

"I promise."

So, at the beginning of the year, I got the workbook and faithfully started doing the assignments. It was Old Testament that year, so you can imagine what it was like for a high school girl to slog through the reading and writing assignments on her own. But I had promised that I would take it seriously and finish the year, so on I slogged.

Midway through the year, I had a regularly scheduled bishop's interview. The subject of seminary came up and I told him I was doing home study. He asked how I was doing and I told him I was keeping up and not getting behind. He congratulated me and asked if I needed any help or had any questions.

"Well bishop, actually maybe you can find out something for me. In the workbook, there are only 4 days of assignments per week. Am I supposed to be attending class on Friday or is that just a day off? I just need to know so I can make sure I'm meeting the requirements."

The bishop told me he'd check into it for me. I had no idea that my innocent question would put into motion the chain of events to which I was later subjected.

About a week later, the bishop called me back.

"Well, Sister Ranger, I looked into your seminary question for you."

"Super. I hope that I don't have to start going to class on Fridays. But if I do, I wouldn't mind too much since the home study is working out so well."

"Sister Ranger, I'm afraid I don't have any answer for you. It's very strange... but everyone I've spoken to says there is no such thing as a home study seminary program in our stake."

"Huh. That is weird. But I'm sure there is. I spoke to the stake rep over the summer. He okayed me doing home study and made me pinky swear to finish all the assignments so I could graduate. Did you talk to him? I'm sure he can clear this up."

"Yes. Actually, when I started asking around everyone directed me to him. He's the one who told me there's no such thing as home study seminary. All students who want credit need to be attending class."

I just... didn't even know what to do. I sat there with my mouth open for a while. Then I started blubbering.

"But he tol- tol- told me I could do it! I've spent months working on these stupid pages! We had an arrangement! A de- de- deal! How could he for- for- forget! What is ha- ha- happening here? I don't understaaaaaand!"

The bishop tried to reassure me and said he'd look into it further. The next week he asked me to come and meet with him. When I showed up for my appointment, he was there with a couple of other seminary-related people.

"Sister Ranger," they began gently, "We understand that you've been working this year on a 'home study' seminary program. Such a program does not exist in our stake. We're sorry that you misunderstood. Because there was a misunderstanding, we are going to give you credit for the work that you've done. But, from now on, you need to attend class in order to finish the year and graduate. Can you do that?"

I cannot even begin to express what a shock and betrayal this was to my teenage mind. I didn't imagine the fact that I had talked to the stake rep about it. I didn't misunderstand anything. They were changing the rules of the game, right in the middle and then pretending that I was the one who was confused.

But more important was the message they were sending. They would rather have me park my butt in a chair in a class for credit than actually learn something by working at home. Immediately, the seminary program lost all value in my eyes. The big deal that everyone made about completing four years of seminary, graduating from seminary, what an honor, what an accomplishment, what an achievement! All it means is that you occupied a seat for four years.

Fine. If that's what is required, I can do it.

For the rest of the year, I went to seminary every morning. I sat in the back. I slept. I did my homework. I didn't listen. I didn't participate. I didn't learn.

At one point, the teacher took me aside and said he noticed that I didn't seem to be participating in his class. He could sense something was the matter. He had heard that I might be unhappy about something. Did I want to talk about it? Could he help in any way?

I explained the situation. Remarkably, he understood completely. He said if I ever felt differently I would be welcome at any time to participate. I told him that it was nothing personal and that I'd probably really be enjoying his class if I didn't have to stage this protest to prove my point. He wasn't offended. He smiled and shook my hand and left me alone for the rest of the year.

So, I graduated from seminary. Four years. Big deal.

Not that I'm still bitter or anything.