A Farewell Letter from President James Nieman

If ever I had a plan for my life, being a president was not part of it. In younger years, I wanted to become a medical illustrator. With my modest artistic skills, I wanted to study at the University of Washington with Phyllis Wood, a premier instructor in the craft. The prospect of depicting the body’s mysteries, small or large, would be perfect for me, revealing what was otherwise hidden. The work was intensely isolated yet deeply communal, connecting with professionals who could bring relief or healing. I wanted simply to work alongside them, gently on the page, a quiet lesson about systems and structures: “This isn’t so complicated. I’ll show you.”

Then there was the period I wanted to become a translator. With my simple linguistic abilities, I wanted to be like Gen Watanabe in Ann Patchett’s novel, Bel Canto, a character whose professional facility across many languages wove together diverse lives amidst the unraveling crises of the story. The chance to offer meaning and understanding, to assist in building the human bonds that we so often crave, this seemed like noble work. I never wanted to be at the center of anything. I wanted to accompany those who could really make a difference with a little better access to those they served. I wanted calmly to tell them: “This isn’t beyond you. Just listen.”

What happened instead of these plans was a calling – actually several. The deepest and most enduring was the call four decades ago to be a spouse, later a parent. I don’t idealize this for anyone else. There are no norms for how one lives or with whom. Marriage with family is not everyone’s gift – but it was for me, a gift that changed me completely. Far from being my own invention, it was a call that originated outside me, first from JoAnn, then Clara and Madelene. For me, that’s how a call works. You don’t choose it. It chooses you. And in the wake of such an overwhelming calling, there can follow only the recognition of blessing and deep thanks.

The other main calling across these years is the one that ends today but began long ago and unexpectedly. No one, including me, ever thought I would be a pastor. There were questions, doubts, faults, but also folks who helped me see what I could not and hear what I would not. To serve wildly diverse communities, rural and urban, was a blessing. To teach others preparing for brave service, another blessing. To join our little, complex community for the past thirteen years doing things we never before imagined, this too has been a blessing. And with that blessing, I name my thanks for all of you, a thanks that stands in inverse proportion to these few words.

Our school is a scrappy little invention, saturated with confounding paradox and complicated, fierce joy. Of late it has sheltered my call, a call that moved from early days of crisis, to bracing self-examination, then letting go of cherished dreams and illusions, and now enters fresh innovation drawn from deep values. For me, four callings in one place. And yet, it’s also been one calling that echoes my past. I got to be an illustrator: “This isn’t so complicated. I’ll show you.” And I got to be a translator: “This isn’t beyond you. Just listen.” In holy mercy, we have found our way through all this together, and you all have been a gift to me. Thank you. God bless you.

James Nieman