I Don't Want [Debt] Forgiveness, Thank You

I Don’t Want Forgiveness!

That might sound like a strange sentence coming from a pastor. After all, my very vocation is grounded in forgiveness. I preach it, teach it, and deliver it in word and sacrament. It’s actually my favorite part of my job, telling a soul, struggling with guilt and shame, that they are forgiven of all of their sins by Jesus. I love to deliver the goods, because I receive that promise and assurance myself. If I had to pick a favorite Bible verse – just one! – I would chose Romans 8:1, “There is no condemnation for those in Christ Jesus.” While that doesn’t use the word forgiveness, forgiveness is exactly what it speaks of: God not holding my sins against me because of Christ.

Today, I’m not talking about the world of sins, the Pauline Epistles, or the cross of Jesus. Today, I’m talking about student debt.

Hello. My name is Jon. [“Hi, Jon!”] And I am a student debt holder. 

I completed my undergrad in the summer of 1996 debt free, graduating with a BA in English and a minor in Biblica languages, en route to our denominational seminary in St. Louis with a stop at the altar, on the way, to marry my fiancée. Earlier in the spring, I had attended a prospective student weekend at the institution, where current students bragged about taking out loans and using them to get set up as newlyweds, or perhaps even starting a family and the wife not having to work. The student loan officer was a little more responsible, as I recall, urging “responsible” use of the loans and warned us about having to repay them starting six months after graduation.

I sort-of listened. The first year, I took out a $3500 loan – the maximum subsidized, Federal loan at the time. It was a good thing: two weeks into the semester, the transmission gave a death “ca-lunk” and we used almost a third of the loan to buy a rebuilt tranny. I needed a computer to do my writing, so $800 went to a new desktop and printer. A preacher-to-be needs a black suit, and at 6’4”, 225lbs (at the time), it was hard to find a suit at the campus clothing resale shop, so a couple hundred bucks went to Men’s Wearhouse where they helped me love the way I look. A little bit here, a little more there and the loan was used up. I took out another $3500 loan for year two when we found out we were expecting. You can guess where that mostly went. Year three was an internship, no loan taken. Year four, another $3500 loan, used for various living expenses culminating in three plane tickets home for family members’ funerals. Three loans at $3500 each equals a total of $7500 at 6% interest. Compared to the horror stories you hear in the media today, that’s a walk in the park, Kazanski.

My first year in the parish, I made $30,000 or $2500 a month. I remember writing the first check to my loan company, thinking “Only 119 more to go…” And then we found out we were expecting child #2. Hospital bills, then daycare, formula, diapers…the dollars just weren’t stretching. My wife was working part-time but it wasn’t enough. I took a forbearance to buy time. I had the option of paying the interest each month, but I couldn’t do that so it all rolled back into the principal. When the time came to re-start, my payments had gone up slightly, and it was going to be tight, but – huge intake of air – I wrote the check every month.

We moved to another parish and also added a third child. We bought a house instead of renting. The car died. We didn’t understand how the maternity insurance worked and, all of the sudden, my wife’s paychecks were (literally) half of what they were pre-maternity leave. I had no choice but another year of forbearance. Then, another. By the time I finally got my legs back under me, my principal had blossomed to somewhere around $20,000 as I recall.

Did you hear about the tourist gored to death by the bison this summer? The funny thing is when that bison was a newborn calf, it was manageable and cute. A cowboy (bison-boy?) could wrassle that rascal down, if he had to, rope it, drag it, move it where the cowboy wanted it to go. But a full-grown bison? No cowboy in his right mind would even try. It’s just too big, too much to handle. A full grown bison weighs around a ton. That’s 2000 pounds of high-horsepower, high-torque, blood-pumping, adrenaline-fueled anger, coming at you on the run, with a hard head, sharp, stubby horns, and a shaggy coat that wants to change your name to Matt and rub those sharp hooves all over you.

That’s the metaphorical image of what I was facing. How do you stop a financial bison from turning you into a broken, broke man? You can’t declare bankruptcy. I didn’t have rich relatives to help or political connections to try to get federal help. All I had was a phone, so I called the student loan company again to ask about options.

I was behind, again, so the first thing I had to do was get current. I juggled my bills, found a few extra quarters in the couch, sold my Louis L’Amour collection, and got that taken care of. Then, I called them again. A fifteen minute conversation, including the hard, honest answer to the question, “What do you think you can afford?” and I was locked into a 20 year, fixed rate, monthly payment plan with the warning: “You only have six months left of forbearance. Be very wise how you use that.”

Since then, I have faithfully carved $205 from my paycheck every month and sent it to the company, first with a stamp, more recently with a few clicks of their app from my smartphone. Every year, I got the “Interest paid” statement for a tax deduction. For the first several years, I paid more in annual interest than the original loan. The balance never seemed to go down. Another month, another $205 out of the account. Ten years out of school – when I should have been over and done with the payments – and I still had a huge red hole that needed to be filled, $205 at a time.

So I kept on paying. Suddenly, the balance was under $10,000. I increased payments to $230 – it was like one extra payment a year. When I paid off my truck, I rolled that into my student loan payment, almost tripling the due amount.

July, 2022 marked my 22^nd ordination anniversary. I celebrated with another payment to the student loan company, paying for the education that I continue to use, that feeds my family, that serves the people under my care. I just checked…I’m under $2000, now. If I play my cards right, I’ll have this thing paid off by Christmas; at worst, I’ll finish my 23^rd year of ministry free of the student loan bison. It'll be paid off several years before the loan is due (2026, I believe) but way past it's original ten year goal.

You know how you eat a whole bison? One bite at a time.

So, President Biden, I am not asking for any kind of loan forgiveness. To borrow from one of your predecessors, I do not seek, nor will I accept student loan forgiveness. I worked too hard to dig the hole I fell into, dragging my family with me. I did it. Not the taxpayer behind me, or the next county over, or my sister-in-law, or my uncle. I did it. I don’t expect them to pay for my choice. And, it was my choice starting in 1996, then in 2000, then again in 2002, 2003 and 2006. Oh, it got me…it got me good, and I have the mental scars to prove it. I did it, so I am digging myself out, $205 at a time. I don’t want forgiveness. For that matter, I don’t want a pat on the back, or a tickertape parade, or my name mentioned in any speech.

I hope someone smart figures out the whole financial mess surrounding student loans. Something does need to get fixed. This is unsustainable. I do have a plan of how to fix it, though. Take all the politicians out to a buffalo ranch, give them each a lariat, and tell ‘em to rope one. After being chased by a shaggy-high-horsepower, high-torque, blood-pumping, adrenaline-fueled angry beast, maybe they’ll get on the stick and fix it rather than forgive it.