It's snowing. Again. Four inches plus predicted by morning.
I'm becoming one of those characters in a Jack London story who watches the wolves coming over the frozen wasteland while I hide in the cabin, banging my head against the wall and moaning, "my God, my God, the everlasting snow," and drinking water glasses full of whiskey while my faithful husky looks on, contented because he's chewing a half-frozen strip of blubber and he doesn't understand what the problem could be.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Chinese comments
Every so often, I log on here, and I find someone has left a comment in Chinese. I don't read Chinese that well. Not at all, in fact. So if you intend for me to see it, may I suggest English. Or French. Or perhaps Latin. Greek? My Hebrew is a bit rusty. Sorry.
I just routinely delete the Chinese comments.
I just routinely delete the Chinese comments.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
I refuse to feel guilty
One of my students makes me tired, but I refuse to feel guilty.
She attends about half the time (health issues, apparently). She hasn't gotten around to buying the book, can't figure out that when the assignment sheet says something is due that she should work on it, shows up late, and seems to have another agenda during class (spent her time balancing her checkbook one session).
Today she got angry at me because she e-mailed me a paper and I don't have it. I suggested that if she e-mailed it, a copy is in her "Sent" folder. She took that as an insult.
I refuse to feel guilty.
She attends about half the time (health issues, apparently). She hasn't gotten around to buying the book, can't figure out that when the assignment sheet says something is due that she should work on it, shows up late, and seems to have another agenda during class (spent her time balancing her checkbook one session).
Today she got angry at me because she e-mailed me a paper and I don't have it. I suggested that if she e-mailed it, a copy is in her "Sent" folder. She took that as an insult.
I refuse to feel guilty.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Losing a name
This is a rough draft of something that might turn out to be the THIRD column! Jerry's amazed that I've already done two.
Back when I was in seminary, Christendom was divided neatly into about two pieces. Sort of an "us and them" thing.
Well, of course, there were more than two, but the Roman Catholics didn't count and neither did any of the members of Eastern Rite churches. (Though the Catholics are still the largest single denomination in the USA and the Eastern Orthodox Church is the second largest body of Christians in the world. But who's counting?)
Anyhow, the "us and them" of Protestantdom was the Liberals and the Fundamentalists. And we knew we didn't fit in very well with either one. Liberals, my seminary professors assured me, were godless pagans who made a point of ignoring Jesus and justified every kind of immoral behavior by saying that it's the modern acceptable norm. Fundamentalists were simple-minded folk who memorized the King James Version and had no clue that there were any doctrines beyond responding to an altar call.
We wanted to be something else. The "we" was people like Francis Schaeffer, Jerram Barrs, Egon Middelmann (my roommate for a while and a relation of Schaeffer). Interesting bunch. Google them. Anyhow, we knew we didn't want to lose sight of Jesus. We knew that the Christian faith isn't just for the shallow-minded. Ted Smith (a professor of graphic design at Washington University) knew that the truly tacky visual arts that were so common in churches didn't reflect God's nature that well. Lots of us college kids loved the six-word gospel choruses, but Egon liked to remind us that church music used to have a lot of depth, so we sang Bach chorales. As a congregation.
The "we" was bigger than my circle of friends and fellow church members in St. Louis. One example was Robert E. Webber of Wheaton College. I'll let you Google those names to figure out who I'm talking about.
We called ourselves "Evangelicals" to distinguish ourselves from the secular-influenced Liberals and from the simple-mindedness of the Fundamentalists.
Then we lost that name. It has picked up connotations of intolerance, prejudice, insensitivity to the plight of the poor and suffering, and a political agenda that includes establishing a right-wing christian theocracy. (Lower-case "c" intentional.) If you say that John Doe is an Evangelical preacher, people assume that he's mainly focused on easy believism, personal wealth and glory for himself, and is probably corrupt. If someone says that First Steeple Church is an active Evangelical congregation, we imagine them to be picketing some courthouse but never feeding the poor. Let the Salvation Army do that.
I think it's a sad loss, both of the name and of the direction.
Back when I was in seminary, Christendom was divided neatly into about two pieces. Sort of an "us and them" thing.
Well, of course, there were more than two, but the Roman Catholics didn't count and neither did any of the members of Eastern Rite churches. (Though the Catholics are still the largest single denomination in the USA and the Eastern Orthodox Church is the second largest body of Christians in the world. But who's counting?)
Anyhow, the "us and them" of Protestantdom was the Liberals and the Fundamentalists. And we knew we didn't fit in very well with either one. Liberals, my seminary professors assured me, were godless pagans who made a point of ignoring Jesus and justified every kind of immoral behavior by saying that it's the modern acceptable norm. Fundamentalists were simple-minded folk who memorized the King James Version and had no clue that there were any doctrines beyond responding to an altar call.
We wanted to be something else. The "we" was people like Francis Schaeffer, Jerram Barrs, Egon Middelmann (my roommate for a while and a relation of Schaeffer). Interesting bunch. Google them. Anyhow, we knew we didn't want to lose sight of Jesus. We knew that the Christian faith isn't just for the shallow-minded. Ted Smith (a professor of graphic design at Washington University) knew that the truly tacky visual arts that were so common in churches didn't reflect God's nature that well. Lots of us college kids loved the six-word gospel choruses, but Egon liked to remind us that church music used to have a lot of depth, so we sang Bach chorales. As a congregation.
The "we" was bigger than my circle of friends and fellow church members in St. Louis. One example was Robert E. Webber of Wheaton College. I'll let you Google those names to figure out who I'm talking about.
We called ourselves "Evangelicals" to distinguish ourselves from the secular-influenced Liberals and from the simple-mindedness of the Fundamentalists.
Then we lost that name. It has picked up connotations of intolerance, prejudice, insensitivity to the plight of the poor and suffering, and a political agenda that includes establishing a right-wing christian theocracy. (Lower-case "c" intentional.) If you say that John Doe is an Evangelical preacher, people assume that he's mainly focused on easy believism, personal wealth and glory for himself, and is probably corrupt. If someone says that First Steeple Church is an active Evangelical congregation, we imagine them to be picketing some courthouse but never feeding the poor. Let the Salvation Army do that.
I think it's a sad loss, both of the name and of the direction.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Newsletter Column: Arkenstone
Two leaders of the church here asked me to write a monthly standing feature for the new church newsletter. They may have gotten more than they bargained for. Anyhow, here's the "about" blurb that will go with the first copy, then below you'll see a couple of the early efforts.
We Christians tend to be very tribal too, and we are tempted to keep the "holy stones" (another meaning for the ancient word) to ourselves, not realizing the power of our treasure to be a meeting-point with other tribes.
About the column:
Back in the dawn of the ages, I came to Grace Haven Farm to work with Rivendell Arts Fellowship publishing Arkenstone magazine, which was to be a meeting point between the arts and Christianity. The name was taken from The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien, and is derived from an Anglo-Saxon word that means "precious stone." In the book, the dwarves claim the stone as a tribal treasure, but it ends up being a bargaining-piece to end the war between elves, dwarves, and men.We Christians tend to be very tribal too, and we are tempted to keep the "holy stones" (another meaning for the ancient word) to ourselves, not realizing the power of our treasure to be a meeting-point with other tribes.
Arkenstone: unChristian
I'm about halfway through reading a new book: unChristian: What a New Generation Really Thinks about Christianity... and Why It Matters by David Kinnaman. It's scary—more frightening in some ways than the latest monster movie.
Kinnaman is a researcher with The Barna Group, a highly respected research organization that focuses on issues important to the church. They're on our side: Their aim is "to partner with Christian ministries and individuals to be a catalyst in moral and spiritual transformation." The research behind this book focused on "outsiders," those looking at the Christian faith from the outside, in two age groups, the "Busters" (those born between 1965 and 1983) and the "Mosaics" (those born between 1984 and 2002).
These outsiders have a pretty low opinion of us. One outsider from Mississippi said, "Christianity has become bloated with blind followers who would rather repeat slogans than actually feel true compassion and care. Christianity has become marketed and streamlined into a juggernaut of fearmongering that has lost its own heart" (page 15). This individual isn't the only one. Within this research group, 87% said we're judgmental, 85% said we're hypocritical, 72% said we're out of touch with reality, and 70% said we're insensitive to others. Only 55% said we consistently show love for other people, and 30% said Christianity is relevant to their lives.
We have a pretty low opinion of outsiders too. We call them names: "pagans," "the lost," and "unbelievers." We trivialize their problems. We figure it's OK to be deceptive if a higher end is in sight (just remember the Idaho Baptists and their attempt to sneak children out of Haiti).
No wonder both sides feel as if a war is going on.
Back in my school bus driving days, I had to break up a fight between two boys. When I asked what happened, one boy came up with the explanation: "It all began when he hit me back." The victim mentality will justify all sorts of nastiness.
Many Christians I've talked to seem to think there's a vast conspiracy going on, especially on the university campuses, to discredit the Christian faith. Professors apparently meet to discuss strategy and plan attacks. The truth is, especially on the university campus, that half the world doesn't even know we exist and the other half is afraid of us. They know that we want to gain political power, then enact all sorts of restrictions on intellectual and religious freedom. They know we hate the First Amendment.
And in this dreary circle, both sides face each other, never making contact, never actually understanding one another.
Kinnaman doesn't leave us there. Each chapter ends with specific suggestions for healing the breach. For example, the chapter on hypocrisy ends with an account of a Los Angeles area church that sponsored a series of meetings called "Confessions of a Sinful Church." Transparency—being honest about our lives, even about the problems our lifestyles have created—was the aim. It wasn't just a recruitment ploy, but a real apology, and it broke down some barriers between that church and the people in the community.
Kinnaman is a researcher with The Barna Group, a highly respected research organization that focuses on issues important to the church. They're on our side: Their aim is "to partner with Christian ministries and individuals to be a catalyst in moral and spiritual transformation." The research behind this book focused on "outsiders," those looking at the Christian faith from the outside, in two age groups, the "Busters" (those born between 1965 and 1983) and the "Mosaics" (those born between 1984 and 2002).
These outsiders have a pretty low opinion of us. One outsider from Mississippi said, "Christianity has become bloated with blind followers who would rather repeat slogans than actually feel true compassion and care. Christianity has become marketed and streamlined into a juggernaut of fearmongering that has lost its own heart" (page 15). This individual isn't the only one. Within this research group, 87% said we're judgmental, 85% said we're hypocritical, 72% said we're out of touch with reality, and 70% said we're insensitive to others. Only 55% said we consistently show love for other people, and 30% said Christianity is relevant to their lives.
We have a pretty low opinion of outsiders too. We call them names: "pagans," "the lost," and "unbelievers." We trivialize their problems. We figure it's OK to be deceptive if a higher end is in sight (just remember the Idaho Baptists and their attempt to sneak children out of Haiti).
No wonder both sides feel as if a war is going on.
Back in my school bus driving days, I had to break up a fight between two boys. When I asked what happened, one boy came up with the explanation: "It all began when he hit me back." The victim mentality will justify all sorts of nastiness.
Many Christians I've talked to seem to think there's a vast conspiracy going on, especially on the university campuses, to discredit the Christian faith. Professors apparently meet to discuss strategy and plan attacks. The truth is, especially on the university campus, that half the world doesn't even know we exist and the other half is afraid of us. They know that we want to gain political power, then enact all sorts of restrictions on intellectual and religious freedom. They know we hate the First Amendment.
And in this dreary circle, both sides face each other, never making contact, never actually understanding one another.
Kinnaman doesn't leave us there. Each chapter ends with specific suggestions for healing the breach. For example, the chapter on hypocrisy ends with an account of a Los Angeles area church that sponsored a series of meetings called "Confessions of a Sinful Church." Transparency—being honest about our lives, even about the problems our lifestyles have created—was the aim. It wasn't just a recruitment ploy, but a real apology, and it broke down some barriers between that church and the people in the community.
Arkenstone: School Prayer
This morning, while I was reading the comics online, I ran into one of those fake surveys. This one asked, "Prayer should be forbidden in schools. Agree? Disagree?" Of course, the survey, like the question itself, was a fake. It was just a come-on for a high-interest credit card application.
Has there ever been a serious proposal that some sort of atheist police would prosecute a kid for quietly thanking God for his lunch? Or praying for a better test grade? Or even praying that the teacher would forget about detention?
I grew up in Maryland, years and years ago. When I was in elementary school, we began each day with the Pledge of Allegiance, the Maryland state song (a creepy, bloodthirsty ditty that laments the fall of Baltimore to anti-slavery forces) and the Lord's Prayer. Somehow by the end of the ceremony, we'd pledged our loyalty to the country, the Old South, and God—in that order.
I remember it especially well because the official Maryland version of the prayer was from the King James Version, and we were supposed to say, "forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us." I didn't know what that meant, but I did know that my Presbyterian church upbringing (based on the Revised Standard Version) had me saying, "forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors." I didn't know what that meant either, but I was quite careful to say MY words while they were saying THEIR words. It was a matter of tribal pride for me.
Some will point out that since school prayer was banned we've had an increase in drug abuse, teenage pregnancy, and illiteracy. We have also had an increase in computer use, PowerPoint slides, and free school lunches.
This is the point where I have to ask what prayer actually does.
When a Jewish girl mouths a Christian prayer because the teacher told her to, does God actually begin interacting with her? When an atheist says the words just to avoid trouble, does he become more moral? Or is it just words? More than once, the child who was picked to lead the day's ceremony faced the flag, laid a hand on his/her left pectoral muscle, and began, "Our Father..." Sleepy kid's brain found the wrong meaningless recitation for the moment.
We lost school prayer in Maryland because Madalyn Murray started a lawsuit, which ended up in the Supreme Court, against the Baltimore City Public Schools. No, the Court didn't forbid praying; it forbid the schools requiring prayer. I'd call that an advance for true Christianity. No more kids simply mouthing the words to get the morning started. No more unbelieving teachers required by their contract to lead prayers.
When you give evidence in court and you swear "so help me God," do you actually expect God's assistance? Does anyone else? When you handle our money with "In God We Trust" inscribed, does your faith get a boost? Does anyone's? I would suggest that such casual use of God's name actually cheapens the faith—in the same way that saying "God damn that hammer" cheapens the concept of eternal judgment.
The upside? Nowadays, when a kid prays at the start of a school day, he knows who he's talking to.
Has there ever been a serious proposal that some sort of atheist police would prosecute a kid for quietly thanking God for his lunch? Or praying for a better test grade? Or even praying that the teacher would forget about detention?
I grew up in Maryland, years and years ago. When I was in elementary school, we began each day with the Pledge of Allegiance, the Maryland state song (a creepy, bloodthirsty ditty that laments the fall of Baltimore to anti-slavery forces) and the Lord's Prayer. Somehow by the end of the ceremony, we'd pledged our loyalty to the country, the Old South, and God—in that order.
I remember it especially well because the official Maryland version of the prayer was from the King James Version, and we were supposed to say, "forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us." I didn't know what that meant, but I did know that my Presbyterian church upbringing (based on the Revised Standard Version) had me saying, "forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors." I didn't know what that meant either, but I was quite careful to say MY words while they were saying THEIR words. It was a matter of tribal pride for me.
Some will point out that since school prayer was banned we've had an increase in drug abuse, teenage pregnancy, and illiteracy. We have also had an increase in computer use, PowerPoint slides, and free school lunches.
This is the point where I have to ask what prayer actually does.
When a Jewish girl mouths a Christian prayer because the teacher told her to, does God actually begin interacting with her? When an atheist says the words just to avoid trouble, does he become more moral? Or is it just words? More than once, the child who was picked to lead the day's ceremony faced the flag, laid a hand on his/her left pectoral muscle, and began, "Our Father..." Sleepy kid's brain found the wrong meaningless recitation for the moment.
We lost school prayer in Maryland because Madalyn Murray started a lawsuit, which ended up in the Supreme Court, against the Baltimore City Public Schools. No, the Court didn't forbid praying; it forbid the schools requiring prayer. I'd call that an advance for true Christianity. No more kids simply mouthing the words to get the morning started. No more unbelieving teachers required by their contract to lead prayers.
When you give evidence in court and you swear "so help me God," do you actually expect God's assistance? Does anyone else? When you handle our money with "In God We Trust" inscribed, does your faith get a boost? Does anyone's? I would suggest that such casual use of God's name actually cheapens the faith—in the same way that saying "God damn that hammer" cheapens the concept of eternal judgment.
The upside? Nowadays, when a kid prays at the start of a school day, he knows who he's talking to.
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