Why Am I Pursuing a PhD?

Explaining my journey to Oxford

Photo by Ben Seymour on Unsplash

(A five-minute read)

In a little less than two weeks, I will be officially commencing my PhD career with the University of Oxford (well, technically, they uniquely call it a DPhil). It’s interesting how many have asked why I’ve decided to do this, especially when they learn that I’m perfectly happy and fulfilled in my current occupation, with no plans to move into academia or even switch jobs down the road.

So why bother?

That’s a very important question—and one that I’ve obviously wrestled with a lot. So I figured I’d offer you a brief of explanation of how I got myself into this mess and what my ultimate goals are. And in so doing, I hope to inspire you just a little bit with what has captivated my imagination.

But first, I need to give some context.

Lucky Number Seven?

A decade ago, I experienced a crisis of calling. I had pastored for about five years and, while my current position was satisfying enough, I suddenly became overwhelmed with ambivalence about ministry. I knew that I should be in ministry; I just wasn’t sure what kind.

Eventually, I concluded that I should pursue academia. And so I spent the next couple years living, eating, and breathing this idea, researching various schools and preparing myself to apply. In 2015, I applied to five PhD programs in the US—Boston University, Duke, Princeton Theological Seminary, and two at Harvard—but I was rejected by all of them.

I was devastated.

But then something strange happened: I felt incredible peace and considerable relief. And within a few months, I had a deep sense that God wasn’t done with us in Bangor. He had something else in mind for us.

What happened next is actually the subject of a 200-page book that will be released next month. But the long and short of it is that my ministry-world got turned upside-down and the last five years have been the best years of my life. I discovered what it means to live outside my faith-bubble as I entered into life with friends and neighbors and others I met along the way. We replanted our church as well as we’ve sought to align ourselves more faithfully with God’s mission in the world.

One side-effect of such a drastic shift in my own life and thinking was that I almost became cynical about theory, theology, and deeper study. I used to love writing, but I essentially gave it up for a while and focused almost exclusively on the practical, on-the-ground, realities of missional life. And I swore I’d never—nor did I sense any need to ever—pursue a PhD again.

Then something strange happened again: I realized that my practical missional work started digging up deeper theoretical questions that required more nuanced exploration. Quite specifically, I experienced a sort of cognitive dissonance soon after we began down our missional path, as I began entering into life more with people who didn’t share my theological assumptions, wondering how we could both practice a faith that included and embraced them, while also maintaining a strong commitment to theological orthodoxy.

But I sort of just shelved my underlying questions, figuring I could figure it out some day in the future.

That “some day” came a little over a year ago, in response to a conversation I had with a friend who’d been asking what he needed to do to officially join our church. After I systematically explained our doctrinal positions, he pushed back against a few of them.

His objections led me to start wondering how, exactly, my denomination had come to codify our beliefs—and especially the few to which he objected. And in my quick research I did, I came across a startling realization that had been hiding in plain sight for over a century, which I had read before but never really given much thought to, but was now completely floored by: the Seventh-day Adventist “pioneers” were completely, positively, zealously, passionately opposed to the use of creeds. They wanted nothing to do with a codified list of beliefs that would be used as a basis to include or exclude people.

Perhaps most famously along these lines, J. N. Loughborough succinctly put it this way when the church was officially organizing in 1861:

The first step of apostasy, is to get up a creed, telling us what we shall believe. The second is, to make that creed a test of fellowship. The third is to try members by that creed. The fourth to denounce as heretics those who do not believe that creed. And, fifth, to commence persecution against such.

Talk about an eyeful! But Loughborough’s sentiments were anything but unique. Such an attitude about creeds, and making a list of beliefs as the basis for inclusion, was ubiquitous among all the early Seventh-day Adventists.

Naturally, my question immediately became: why? And, just as significantly, what has happened since then?

I realized I could shelve my questions no longer. I needed to get to the bottom of the matter.

And so I decided to figure it out, soon realizing that no one, as far I could tell, had really wrestled with the question in any in-depth way. This was true not only for Adventism, but also for any of the many movements and denominations that arose in nineteenth-century American Christianity that were also anti-creedal.

And pretty soon after resolving to figure it out, I thought to myself: if I’m going to do all this research and really do it justice, I may as well try to get a PhD in the process.

Which is what, in a very strange and unexpected way, led me to Oxford.

Why Oxford?

People also want to know why I chose to pursue a PhD through Oxford.

Truthfully, the path to Oxford has been very surprising to me, and I had no thought or delusions—or even intentions—of trying to get into this prestigious institution, arguably the world’s greatest university. It was truly a God-thing, from start to finish.

When I decided I’d knock on the PhD-door again, I had two criteria: firstly, I didn’t want to move; and secondly, I didn’t want to sit in any classes anymore. I just wanted to research and write.

I knew what this meant: I’d have to look to the UK, which requires only a dissertation for its PhDs, with no coursework. And as such, many universities in the UK allow their PhD students to do their research remotely, with limited travel to their campuses.

So after researching various programs in the UK, I fired off a bunch of emails to various professors—at Durham, Edinburgh, Birmingham, Aberdeen. I gave no thought to Oxford—both because, well, it’s Oxford and because I didn’t believe they allowed for any distance work at all.

Over the course of the next few months I connected with a professor at Edinburgh, and I felt all but assured that I’d easily get in there. But for some reason, my experience with the professor at Edinburgh gave me confidence and got me curious about Oxford.

So I decided to go to the Oxford website and, much to my surprise, I discovered there was some wiggle-room when it came to doing research from a distance. Their “residency” requirements were still more substantial than Edinburgh’s (30 days/year, as opposed to one week), but I realized that there was perhaps an opening.

But, again, it’s Oxford.

However, after doing a little research, I discovered a potential supervisor who specialized in my area of interest and, on a whim, I sent him an email. Much to my surprise, he responded pretty quickly and was rather receptive to my interests. I was quite shocked.

Over the next few weeks we exchanged quite a few emails, and he gave me feedback on my research proposal to be optimally attractive to the application committee. And he assured me that, were the application committee to accept me, he’d love to supervise me. I was quite shocked. But also extremely cautious.

Again, it’s Oxford.

But then the other shoe fell: I applied to Edinburgh last October and then waited and waited and waited to get a response. Much to my shock, when I received the decision, I opened my email to read the all-too-familiar words, “Dear Mr. Brace, we regret to inform you . . . ”

I was extremely confused. I thought I had Edinburgh in the bag. But it was the sixth PhD program to which I’d applied, and it was the sixth rejection letter I received.

Surely, program number seven wouldn’t prove to be my lucky number, especially since it’s Oxford.

A few weeks later, I submitted my application to Oxford, without much optimism.

And then I waited a few months, until March, when they usually make their decisions. And then, one fateful morning, on March 3, I noticed I had an email from them. I nervously opened it, bracing myself for rejection number seven. But then I read the line: “We are very pleased to offer you a place on the course . . . ” My heart started racing. I couldn’t believe it. Certainly there had been some mistake!

But alas, no mistake had been made.

I begin in a few weeks. Application number seven was, indeed, my lucky number, with God saving His best for last—and I’d say that Oxford, perhaps the world’s greatest university, is a nice consolation prize.

Please pray for me and my research! I’ve already learned so much from just the little research I’ve done. But, working part-time such as I am, it’s a program that takes six years (though one can do it faster if they are highly motivated, which I am), so it’s a long-haul and I could use many prayers.

Others have asked if they can help in other ways. As you can imagine, the program isn’t free—or cheap! Though I’m about 90% of the way toward the funds I need, between what I’m paying and what others have generously pledged (thank you to those reading who’ve already contributed!), I still have a deficit of about 10% for this school year, with about three weeks left until all my funds need to be paid. If you’d like to make a tax-deductible contribution, please comment below, email me, or just “reply” to this email in your inbox and I can give you the information about how to contribute.

It’s very atypical of me to ask people for money. I’ve never done it in my adult life! But I’ve felt so incredibly convicted that getting into Oxford was such a God-thing all the way, that I’ve had no inhibition about soliciting assistance from others. So thank you in advance for being a part of God’s incredible generosity throughout this whole process (I could tell you quite a few other details about why I’m convinced it was a God-thing that I got into Oxford, but I don’t want to drone on forever).

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Shawn is a pastor in Maine, whose life, ministry, and writing focus on incarnational expressions of faith. The author of four books and a columnist for Adventist Review, he is also about to embark on a DPhil at the University of Oxford (what they call a PhD), focusing on nineteenth-century American Christianity. You can follow him on Instagram, and listen to his podcast Mission Lab.