In an earlier post, I claimed that the “personal is academic,” a subtle–perhaps too subtle?–play on the second-wave feminist slogan that the “personal is political.” Today I return to that theme as I work on my personal statement in a second effort to attain full-year funding to work on my project in England. I have a very special hatred for writing personal statements –I know, I know, none of us like writing them. But I have somehow grown into a very cynical 30-something woman (seriously, I look at pictures of myself when I was young and wonder where in the world that happy, optimistic child went) who truly, deeply, intrinsically believes that her story is pretty boring, and I usually think, “who am I kidding? What can a medievalist really offer?” I have friends and colleagues who study genocide in Rwanda, bioethics and modern fertility treatments, religion and politics in Nigeria, and revolutions in Africa and the Middle East. Why do I study what I study?
The easy answer is that I am passionate about teaching–it’s true! Teaching high school often felt like a hazing period in my overall academic journey, but it was worth it to find that although I wasn’t hardwired for classroom management, teaching was definitely in my blood. Being a teaching assistant over the past two years has only been frustrating because I wanted to have my own class, with my own lesson plans, and to interact more meaningfully with the students than TAing allows. Even though I’m a pretty insecure person–my first instinct is to hide from social situations and to avoid being the center of attention–when I get in front of a group of people to lecture or present my work, I forget all about my many insecurities and throw myself into that lecture or presentation, often finishing breathless and tired yet energized at the same time.
But there is a second answer to this question of why I study medieval parishes: I am “living” my religion when I write about medieval grassroots religion. I may politely refuse to attend the First Baptist Church with my mom and dad and claim that I no longer practice my faith, but my religion is still lived through my studies. This revelation especially emerged when I was reworking my personal statement today, and so I offer my personal statement below to demonstrate just what I’m talking about. And do me a favor–share your stories about what has influenced you in your studies!
Personal Statement
In 2001 I spent two months in London at the Institute for Historical Research and The Warburg Institute. While this opportunity to work in London proved to be invaluable for my work on St. Anselm’s spiritual friendships with women, my most inspiring experiences emerged during my weekend jaunts to small parish churches in the English countryside. The religious cynicism I, like so many, had developed as a teen diminished when I entered these beautifully-preserved late medieval parish churches, where past piety merged with the religious activities of contemporary parishioners.
But I had never dreamed that I would have the chance to personally get to know these parish communities, and yet my dissertation has given me the opportunity to do just that. In a preliminary research to trip to England last autumn, I spent a few days in Wymondham, a lovely village in South Norfolk. I worked primarily in the abbey muniment room in the morning and would spend the rest of the day talking to curates, volunteers, and churchwardens. Since dusk fell over the village quite early in November, the elderly women who greeted visitors would walk around with me as I explored the medieval nave, ensuring that it was well-lit enough for pictures. They were very proud of this nave that had been rebuilt and decorated by the fifteenth-century parishioners, yet at the same time, the side of the church where the monks had once entered was both unlit and used mostly for storage. In just one day I was upgraded from visitor to a familiar face—two churchwardens, along with their trusty dog, greeted me with friendly smiles while lunching at the Green Dragon Pub, which lies directly across from the church. And each evening after I finished my research at the abbey I had the pleasure of sharing a drink at the same pub with the abbey archivist and her husband, who graciously gave me tips on how best to acquire the information I needed about the history of this parish.
It is often assumed that those of us who work in the archives hole ourselves away from the world, immersed in texts and transcription, but the truth is that many of us study medieval communities to open our hearts to those who seem so far away in time and place and yet lived their religion in ways that are in reality rather familiar to us. Being in Wymondham Abbey brought me closer not only to my medieval subjects but to the parishioners who cherish that space today. I grew up in a small mid-western farming town struggling to survive in an era of corporate farms, and attended a small Baptist church struggling to remain relevant amidst increasing secularism; although as a youth I felt trapped, I realize now that the local church was often a refuge for my neighbors who were just trying to make ends meet. The academic and the personal are not separate projects in my mind—my personal interests and empathy for local religious communities are part and parcel of my doctoral studies.
When I return to England, I plan to carve out a home near Wymondham, making it my base from which I travel to other archives. Thus my project may cast a wide net but my living situation will be localized. Often when I travel in England, I am told that Americans are wasteful, greedy, and forgetful of their past. While I alone cannot change this perception, I do believe that participating in a small English community—learning about its beloved (but underfunded) medieval church, politely entreating to play the church’s organ, attending church fundraisers, becoming a regular at the local pub—can in some small way break down this ideological divide. Ultimately, this fellowship would provide for me a homecoming more so than a year abroad, for I will be brought closer to both the medieval parish communities that inspired this project and to current communities, both parish and academic, who have already expressed support for this scholarly—and personal—endeavor.