From the introduction to Lewis’s Reflections on the Psalms:
It seems to me appropriate, almost inevitable, that when that great Imagination which in the beginning, for Its own delight and for the delight of men and angels and (in their proper mode) of beasts, had invented and formed the whole world of Nature, submitted to express Itself in human speech, that speak should sometimes be poetry. For poetry too is a little incarnation, giving body to what had been before invisible and inaudible.
A friend recently shared this video with me. I’ve not read anything by Simon Sinek before, but I’ve seen his books around. This is a good piece, encouraging for those who often find themselves in the middle of things.
Last week I posted a short video featuring Alan Jacobs talking about the integration of faith and learning on a collegiate/professional level. It was a real encouragement to me, as I’m trying to guide others through a similar process. Jacobs and Matt Jenson also also spent some time talking about Jacobs’ life with books. It’s a great piece, particularly the first half. It’s always good to be reminded that books matter.
I’m about two-thirds of the way through the rough draft of my chapel talk for next week (which I hope to record tomorrow). We’ve spent the last two weeks talking about friendship with God. I’ve done a little more personal-anecdote sharing than usual, which has been interesting for me. It’s also a topic that I’ve been thinking about for a long time. If we were back on campus (and if the scene didn’t cut off before the really good stuff), I’d definitely show this clip from a recent episode of Marvel’s Agents of SHIELD. It involves the death of Enoch the chronal android from episode nine, “As I Always Have Been.” It’s a great picture of loneliness and friendship in the context of life’s big picture.
As it stands right now, it’s the most somber chapel talk I’ve given in my almost-four years of working with chapel. So it’s definitely going to need some revisions. I’m grateful for the opportunity to sleep on it, too.
I’m just going to leave this video right here while I go kick myself for not watching it sooner. It’s definitely something I’ll be sharing at school in the next couple of weeks. Whenever I get bits like this from Alan Jacobs or Jamie Smith, it just feels like my time at Laity Lodge gets extended in a nice, refreshing way.
There is this strong sense that Our Current Moment feels somehow unending. It can be easy to feel that way about a lot of things, good and bad. But these last few days I’ve been encouraged and comforted by Mission House’s take on things with their song “Never See the End.” Shared for your encouragement at the beginning of this good but busy week.
It’s always a good time when you get back around to the songs of ascent in the book of Psalms, and not just because they tend to be shorter than the average psalm. There’s a certain sense of place and purpose that fits them well as travel songs. Today’s brought one of my favorites to light, Psalm 131:
1 My heart is not proud, Lord, my eyes are not haughty; I do not concern myself with great matters or things too wonderful for me. 2 But I have calmed and quieted myself, I am like a weaned child with its mother; like a weaned child I am content. 3 Israel, put your hope in the Lord both now and forevermore.
I’ve always been interesting in what can be found at the intersection of faith and art. Now it’s also a bigger part of my task at work. So when I found out that Christianity Today had published a piece featuring Sara Groves and W. David O. Taylor, I was sure to check it out to pass it on to my friend in the Fine Arts department. It’s a really good piece. And while it spends a good bit of time with the arts and the Pentecostal church, it also acknowledges the challenges of faith and the arts in a broader context. It’s definitely worth the read, if only because Sara Groves is an amazing musician and Taylor has some interesting categories for “inspiration and the arts” to consider.
As is often the case, though, the article saves the best for last. Groves gets the last good word, and it is worth remembering:
Not less of me, more of God; but all of me, all of God—a profound mystery.
Here’s Sara Groves singing one of my favorite songs, “Why It Matters,” which also has something to say about the arts.
A couple of weeks ago, just as school was starting back up for us, Andy Crouch commented on Twitter in a way that said we were all but nudged into the “little ice age” view of Covidtide. Here’s how the folks at Praxis broke it down:
Blizzard: You can’t go out — zero visibility and hostile conditions. Need to shelter.
Winter: You can go out, but not for long. Wear protective clothing and check the forecast for storms. Need to survive.
Ice Age: Things don’t grow the way they used to — but we’re finding new ways to live and even to thrive. Need to adapt and rebuild.
It’s a sad and sobering thought, that it might be some time (some say 2022, some say 2024) before a return to something like pre-Covidtide. There are differing views on how we are handling things, from how we are communicating cases to the necessary implications for day-to-day life. Here on Oahu our case numbers took a leap (late July, I believe), and we’ve been on a certain kind of edge since. Rumors are swirling about another lockdown/stay-at-home order, even as our beaches, bars, and parks have been shut down again. I’m guessing that it will happen this coming weekend, but it could be earlier. I’m praying that it won’t happen before Saturday evening/Sunday morning.
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I had planned on getting to this coming week’s chapel message (first of the year!) by the middle of last week. Then things kept happening, meetings kept happening, and I find myself nowhere near the frame of mind to record anything. I finally got to that place Friday afternoon. And then I had technical issues. So I inadvertently had two practice runs before the actual recording. I had hoped to get home before dark. I think I missed the mark by a bit.
There was, of course, one moment where I realized that I had told myself in June and in July that I wasn’t going to do this to myself again. Not the chapel part, which is what it is, but the road to the finished product. Granted, it’s an experience common to any pastor who has had to record his own sermons over the last few months, so I don’t think I’m in any particular need for pity. But that coupled with other day-to-day realities reminded me that I need to get some (re)thinking done.
And so I’m really hoping that a stay-at-home order doesn’t kick in until Saturday evening because I really want to use this week to get caught up on some things and use this weekend to take a step back and gain some perspective. Because, it turns out, no one is going to do it for you.
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So what have we learned . . . what have I learned . . . over the last five months? Probably not as much as I would have liked, probably not as much as I should. But I need to figure out some of those things before we get too far into the fall (for school, too far into lots of other areas, too). I have no issue with the concept of the little ice age. Even if I disagree with the way things are playing out across the state or country, those in charge seem to think we’re in one. I’m thinking that it’s also revealing that “things haven’t been growing the way they used to” for some time now, for a good bit of time before Covidtide set in, and we’re really just now allowing ourselves to get a better sense of it. Or we’re simply in denial. But that’s no good in the long run or the short. That’s something none of us can afford.
The first week of (online) classes comes to an end tomorrow. It’s been a good week. Turns out I’d forgotten a lot about the way technology works, so Monday was a kind of crash course. And while screen-to-screen is always going to be different and feel a bit “off,” I do feel like at least some sense of connection with those on the other side. Things keep coming, of course, and adjustments are always being made. But that’s part of life in this “little ice age.”
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I continue to learn ways of teaching and communicating more effectively from the ideas of Alan Jacobs. We are about 20 pages into How to Think in class. Today he posted a “Message to My Students” essay that, while obviously specific to his work at Baylor, still has some nice hints for how a teacher can carry himself in Our Current Moment. It’s a nice piece that ends well with a quote from Paul’s letter to the Colossians. Jacobs freely admits that things will be different but that he will remain available, that some but not all accommodations may be met and that’s okay. He also links to a couple of other pieces he’s written that are appropriate for the moment that I’ll look into soon. But here’s the ending:
So let’s be patient with one another. I will try not to ask more of you than is reasonable in the circumstances, and I hope you will do the same for me. And I would encourage you all to keep in mind, as we begin this strange term, these words from the Apostle Paul’s letter to the Colossians: “Bear with one another and, if anyone has a complaint against another, forgive each other; just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. Above all, clothe yourselves with love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony. And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in the one body. And be thankful.”
Space Enough, and Time 