Playing our Roles Fittingly (Civics Edition)

New Yuval LevinIn class I often revisit the question of “how can I play my role fittingly?” in light of the biblical story.  This is a nod to both N. T. Wright’s “five-act play” of the biblical story and Kevin Vanhoozer’s “drama of doctrine” approach to Scripture and the Christian life.  Turns out it is also an important question we should be asking from a civics perspective.  That’s what Yuval Levin is asserting, at least, in A Time to Build, which picks up the thread (and threat) of our failing institutions (and our perceptions of those institutions).  From the New York Times excerpt:

All of us have roles to play in some institutions we care about, be they familial or communal, educational or professional, civic, political, cultural or economic. Rebuilding trust in those institutions will require the people within them — that is, each of us — to be more trustworthy. And that must mean in part letting the distinct integrities and purposes of these institutions shape us, rather than just using them as stages from which to be seen and heard.

As a practical matter, this can mean forcing ourselves, in little moments of decision, to ask the great unasked question of our time: “Given my role here, how should I behave?” That’s what people who take an institution they’re involved with seriously would ask. “As a president or a member of Congress, a teacher or a scientist, a lawyer or a doctor, a pastor or a member, a parent or a neighbor, what should I do here?”

The people you most respect these days probably seem to ask that kind of question before they make important judgments. And the people who drive you crazy, who you think are part of the problem, are likely those who clearly fail to ask it when they should.

I really like that last paragraph.

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As I write this, I’m 2/3 the way through A Time to Build.  It’s a great read.  Levin’s most basic premise is that institutions serve a formative role in society . . . or at least they should.  In today’s culture, though, the formative has been replaced with the performative.  He also puts it this way: institutions that should be acting as molds are now perceived primarily as platforms.  And so a Congressman sees Congress as more of a place to “perform” a position instead of being shaped by Congress’s internal practices.  It’s like a teacher who uses the classroom as a soapbox for ideology without seeing the classroom’s practices as shaping students.

I look forward to the final chunk of the book, where Levin turns from the institutions he sees as being most affected by this shift to finding some way towards institutional renewal.

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Living with Loss

praying griefLast week America posted a short reflection by James K. A. Smith about how Christians handle loss.  What begins with a nod to Marilynne Robinson’s Gilead takes a personal turn that I found difficult and brilliant.  Smith writes:

A number of years ago one, of my dearest friends was in a serious accident that changed everything for him. An active, athletic man, he was laid up in a hospital bed coming to grips with the fact that he was going to lose a way of life. I didn’t know what to do. I knew, of course, to be present. But I wasn’t sure what to say or how to pray, if I am honest. What is the script for such a situation?

On my way to the hospital, I stopped by the grocery store and bought some crackers and juice. In the hospital room, I pulled the juice and crackers out of the crinkled paper bag, and my friend and I fell into a script we both knew by heart: “On the night he was betrayed, Jesus took bread, and giving thanks, he broke it.” Awkwardness gave way to tears as we repeated to one another, “The body of Christ, given for you.” “The blood of Christ, shed for you.”

I am grateful to Smith for sharing about such a moment.  It is an example of formation revealed in communal expression.  What makes it especially interesting is that it take a Christian reality and doesn’t play it out in the context of the church or of marriage, which tends to be the two places where Christians find meaning in practices.  Instead, it happens in friendship.  I would love to hear more about how this friendship got to this point of Christian connection.

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January flew by.  And yet the first of the month, my last day in Tennessee for Christmas, feels like another world.  This was the first week of the semester where things felt almost normal.  The first week back was Spirit Week.  The second week back involved camp and a big faculty meeting.  The third week of the quarter was packed with meetings both planned and not.  Things calmed down enough this week that I was able to use a couple of planning periods to . . . plan!  I continue to reflect some of this week’s chapel and what moving forward looks like.  The last week had a fair share of basketball games to attend, though now the Sharks are in a nice break for the first chunk of the month.  A couple of TV shows came to an end this week: Arrow (season eight was the only one I’ve watched the whole way through) and The Good Place (which I’ve been with since the moment Eleanor Shellstrop opened her eyes in the afterlife).  We also got a great episode of Doctor Who, which was a nice treat.

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Smith’s reflection on loss begins with a nod to Gilead but ends with a nod to Cormac McCarthy’s The Road.  I can’t image two more different stories . . . and yet.  Both stories are wonderfully immersive, though The Road rings you out in the end.  Both bring a palpable sense of time and loss with them.  For all the pain it brings, the feeling of loss is essential to what it means to be human, I believe.  It doesn’t mean that we go around asking for it, but it does mean we learn better ways of acknowledging it and faithfully enduring it until the end.

(image from ibelieve.com)

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Jacob and the Face of God

Jacob and EsauYesterday I mentioned the manuscript I wrote for this week’s chapel.  The topic was Jacob’s encounter with God.  The task was partly to retell the story to an audience who has a basic knowledge of the story.  Here’s a cleaned-up version of the sermon’s first half.

I wonder if his feet were still wet then the confrontation happened.  He had, of course, just crossed over the stream twice, hoping that doing so would move his family to safety.  He was worried, had been worried for years, that the hammer would finally fall and that his brother would finally extract his revenge.

It had been years since Jacob had left home in a hurry, running at his mother’s prodding from the anger of his tight-rope-tempered brother.  First the birthright, which had been easy. Then the blessing, which was the straw that broke the camel’s back.  And so in haste he ran.  And ran.  And ran.  And before he knew it, he had met his father’s God in a dream.  This God had renewed the covenant he had made with Isaac.  Did this omniscient God not know that he was making a promise to the younger brother, and a scoundrel at that?

But fled he had, and as time passed, he had found a new home.  He worked his way to one wife but found himself tricked into taking a second.  Two wives hungry for approval and children meant bringing two maidservants into the drama, leaving the trickster tricked with a dozen kids: sons and a daughter.

And he had known it was time to return home.  He had taken no chances, though.  The day before he had divided up his wealth: his people and his livestock.  He had sent some of the best ahead of him in waves, all in hopes of appeasing the wrath of the brother he had done wrong.  And then, in one last move, he had helped his family across the Jabbok and returned to the other side for only God knew what.  He was left alone in the dark.  Or so he thought.

I wonder if his feet, still wet from crossing the stream, slipped any when the stranger came out of no where and wrestled him to the ground.  I wonder if, in a moment’s thought, he imagined this was Esau, big and buff and fueled with the kind of rage that wouldn’t wait until daylight.  Jacob had come a long way from moving about the tents as a child: whoever he was facing, Jacob would not give up without a fight.  It was when the stranger wrenched his hip with just a touch that Jacob realized he was in the presence of something holy, divine.  He asked for a blessing, only to have his name changed.  Then he asked for a name, only to receive a blessing.  Jacob named the place Peniel, because he had seen God face to face and had lived.

But that was only half of the story.  Wrestling with God is one thing; confronting a brother you had imaged had nursed a grudge for years is another.  “Jacob looked up, and there was Esau,” the story tells us.  Not much of a chance to catch a breath.  Jacob with his family.  Esau with his four hundred men.  First Bilhah and Zilpah and their children.  Then Leah and hers.  Finally Rachel and her son Joseph.  And then Jacob himself, worn out from a night of wrestling.  Jacob, bowing seven times.  Jacob, likely muttering panicked prayers for protection and favor, that maybe the God of his father would be with him now as He had promised.  Jacob, who looks up to see Esau (the brother who had probably haunted him in nightmares), running towards him.  And instead of a kick or a punch or an all-out assault by Esau’s 400 men, Jacob finds himself in a hug, fully embraced, tears welling up in his eyes.  “Who are these with you?”  Esau asked.  “Children God has given me, your servant.”  “And why all these flocks and herds?”  ‘To find favor in your eyes, my lord.”  “I already have plenty.  Keep it,” said the brother without birthright or blessing.  But Jacob would not relent: “If I have found favor in your eyes, accept this gift from me. For to see your face is like seeing the face of God, now that you have received me favorably.”  How strange, that the man who deceived his aged and blind father has so much to say now about seeing the face of God, both in the stranger in the night and in the face of a brother who had every reason to take revenge but extends his arms in affection.

(image from the 1897 Bible Pictures and What They Teach Us by Charles Foster)

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Submitted for Your Approval?

I recently spoke for what will probably be “the last time” in chapel this quarter.  If the timing goes well, it could be my last time for the year.  We’ll see.  Either way, in my head I had planned on it being something like a finale.

The theme for the quarter is “twice-told tales,” a take-off  on a collection of short stories by Nathaniel Hawthorne.  The plan is for teachers to retell stories of encounter between God and people as found in the Bible.  I spoke about Jacob’s encounter with God followed by his encounter with Esau upon his return home.

It was the first time in my 2+ years of chapel that I used a full manuscript.  I did that because I wanted the words to matter: word order, word choice, repetition and flow and a sense of things going somewhere beyond just the conversational tone that I always use.  I suppose it worked okay.  I definitely enjoyed writing the talk.  I feel like I held most of their attention through the first half.  The second half was less story and more reflection.  I was willing to take that risk.

What I realized/remembered upon being done with chapel was that awkward feeling where you want feedback but not criticism.  And that’s not a way of giving myself permission to dodge what worked or didn’t work.  I think I see things like speaking, be it in the classroom or from a “pulpit,” as the (hopeful) beginning of a conversation.  But beyond writing reflections for homerooms later in the week, there’s no real way to continue the discussion that doesn’t look like praise or criticism.   That’s particularly true amongst peers, I think.  It’s partly how we are trained and partly the consequence of there being so much information/data to process that most of it ends as “garbage in/garbage out.”

It does leave you wondering how to make words matter.  At the end of last summer, the three things I wanted to debrief and decompress on were at the intersection of community, meaning, and communication.  That hasn’t changed.  And while I still haven’t really found a place to have the debrief, I still think it’s an important knot to untie.

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On Friendship

Earlier this week many conservative writers mourned the loss of Roger Scruton, a British teacher and public intellectual.  His name and thinking have hovered on the edges of my interests for some time now, but I’ve not spent much time looking specifically at his work.  The following clip came across my Twitter feed, though, and I think it worth sharing based on its simplicity and the odd juxtaposition of the two answers.

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From Spyfall to Planetfall

One thing an early January start-date allows for Doctor Who is that there’s not much broadcast TV competition.  What makes it even sweeter is that the season, two episodes in, has really leaned into the show’s mythology more than every episode combined last semester.  For a fan like me, that’s a great thing.  Last night’s episode ended with a quick trip to Gallifrey . . . or what remains of it.  The show appeared some in previous “Nu Who” stories, but not much and always just a little different.  “The Day of the Doctor” was the best I’ve seen it, and that was in 2013 and told mostly in a kind of flashback.  Regardless, here’s what the Doctor finds upon returning home after an ominous claim is made by the Master:

There’s no guarantee, of course, that much more will be done with the story anytime soon.  That’s been one of the most frustrating realities of the rebooted Who since 2005.  From what I gather, Gallifrey has always been something of a Mad Lib for creators, filling in whatever blank is needed to tell whatever story they want.  This story of “the Timeless Child” could be interesting.  I’ve got thoughts, but they aren’t much yet.

Doctor Who gets one more week before the conclusion of the CW’s Crisis on Infinite Earths.  There’s also Dracula on Netflix, which is tricky to watch after the humor of What We Do In the Shadows.

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Today was the first day back for the new semester.  And what a day it was!  We had some alumni share in chapel about their high school experiences.  We had a first round of classes.  And we ended the day with our first Spirit Week assembly for the week.  Not enough time in the day.  So tonight I’m writing emails, prepping for the next round of classes, and watching the HPU Sharks online (and for free tonight!).  The days are packed!

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The One with the Spoilers

This morning I caught a matinee showing of Greta Gerwig’s adaption of Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women.  I was up for a movie but didn’t quite feel ready to walk back into The Rise of Skywalker again.  I had heard great things of Gerwig’s adaptation and found Lady Bird, her previous movie, quite enjoyable.  The same can be said of Little Women, which I have not read but have known key plot points for many years because of this classic scene from Friends:

Even with years of foreknowledge (really only the Beth part), the spoiled passing was heart-breaking.  While I’ve not read Alcott’s novel, Gerwig uses flashbacks to add depth and definition to the moments in the “present.”  It adds a real sense of things “lost and found” in the relationships between and beyond the four sisters.  And there are many things lost and found throughout the movie’s run-time.  Gerwig’s movie is the kind of work that is so well-done that it will eventually be taken for granted.

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One trailer before the movie stood out to me.  I had forgotten that there was another sequel in the Ghostbusters franchise due this year.  And it took a while for me to realize what trailer I was actually watching, which is kind of astonishing to me.  It looks very different, which means it could be very good.  I find I often enjoy the work of Jason Reitman, the director.

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Spyfall with Spoilers

Well, I spent most of today on an airplane or two.  I have to admit, the American Airlines route from HNL to BNA through ORD is quite good.  The success of it depends on weather and delays, I think, but it worked out well for me this time.  The only major hitch was that the place I usually get biscuits and gravy at BNA is closed for reservations.  Ah well.  Being on a plane is only slightly connected to the following clip from last night’s new season of Doctor Who.  Spoilers from here on out.

Before getting to the clip: Last night’s episode had one wonderfully subtle moment that encapsulates my frustrations with the last season (Jodie Whitaker’s first in the title role)- the history of the character never really played a role.  Granted, they tried a little bit of that with Eccleston’s Doctor, but even then there were still dark hints at what had gone before.  So when Sacha Dhawan’s O mentions a whole shelf of research on the Doctor that Graham has no concept of, I felt like things were finally going in the right direction.  And then, at the end of the episode, this scene happened:

It’s the most I’ve been surprised by the show in some time.  And while we won’t know the extent of things until Sunday’s “episode two,” I’d like to think that showrunner Chris Chibnall knows what he’s doing as he slowly (or is it quickly?) embraces the deeper history of the Doctor.

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Skywalker’s Rise

Rise of SkywalkerFor the first time in a long time, I wasn’t able to make it opening night of a Star Wars movie.  But banquet is when banquet is, so Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker had to wait until early Friday morning.  After just a few hours of sleep, I made my way down to the Cannery for a quick Zippy’s breakfast before heading to the 8 o’clock RPX showing at Dole.  I hadn’t though much about the movie really, at least not compared to previous entries.  While I didn’t hate The Last Jedi, I do feel like that movie derailed a couple of things (Canto Bight?  Mary Poppins Leia?).  In fact, I really liked the Luke-Rey dynamic of TLJ and found some of the space scene amazing.  And while I trust JJ Abrams, you just never know.

All of this to say that I really enjoyed The Rise of Skywalker.  And many of the moments that might have rendered things too hokey for me were handled well enough that they didn’t distract.

Highlights:

  1.  We finally got to see the three Rebellion leads in a storyline together.  And even though Rey spends a good bit of time on her own, it was always in the context/framework of things said and done with Finn and Poe.
  2. The use of the late Carrie Fisher one last time as Leia was handled well.  I mean, you know it’s repurposed and all, but it flowed much better than I anticipated.
  3. The locations were great.  The visuals at each destination added to the immensity of the story, which is always nice.  It was cool seeing the remains of the Death Star in an aquatic locale.  Those were some immense ways.
  4. The movie kept a quick but intentional pace throughout.  We’re always dropped in the story in media res, so it was cool to see glimpses of what the primaries had been up to.  The search for the Sith device was a decent way of moving things forward, too, without becoming a quest for Infinity Stones or something.

The movie is obviously a call-out to Return of the Jedi, much like every other prequel and sequel seemed to point back to the original three in different ways and at different levels.  This didn’t feel too forced for me.  And it really did the work to earn the “end of the saga” moniker from the ads.

It’s interesting to watch the online backlash to the movie.  Some of the concerns are warranted (Rose’e character wasn’t around nearly as much as she could have been).  At the same time, the movie and its predecessors do a decent job embracing certain constraints that are imposed on them because of the over-arching narrative.  I felt like this movie handled that tension quite well: give the long-standing story a proper end and then move on from there.  I can’t say that I’ll ever watch all nine back-to-back (those prequels are just painful to me), but I do think I’ll revisit the sequels frequently, if only because of easy access and particular scenes (I’m so glad we actually see Rey using the books!).

I didn’t say much about Kylo Ren, I realize.  Maybe some day.  As always, he gets some great moments.  And much like Rey, his arc comes to a satisfying conclusion.

I like the idea of Disney taking a break from cinematic Star Wars.  The opportunity for great stories are there, but I think they need some space and time to let things breathe and rest.  You’ve got a couple or three seeds sown in this installment that could lead to some interesting adventures.  But they should definitely be adventures that maybe grow into another saga.  Either way, it will be interesting to see how Disney handles things.

(image from nytimes.com)

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Reading in 2020

2019 was an interesting year in reading for me.  I continued to try and find points of connection between faith and learning.  I tried to revisit favorites like Lewis and Tolkien while also diving a little deeper with thinkers like Smith and McLuhan.  I discovered the work of Andrew Root, which kind of demands some quality reflection over Christmas break.  And I found a great thread of fiction: the Rivers of London novels by Ben Aaronovitch.  Seven novels and two novellas over the course of the year.  All of them British editions (a small but cool thing for me), with three of them bought while traveling abroad (the two novellas and the most recent novel).

2020 is just around the corner, and there are four books that I’m particularly interested in reading as they drop over the next few months.

A Seamless LifeSteven Garber’s A Seamless Life has a January release date, though I’m hoping to get a copy in late December.  Garber’s The Fabric of Faithfulness has been one of the most providential books of my life.  I read it in college on a lark as I was “delivering” it from one faculty member to another.  His Visions of Vocation has also been a significant read for me . . . and was a book that I gifted quite a bit a few years ago.  A Seamless Life is more of a collection of different pieces than it is a total work.  If nothing else, that will make it a different kind of read.

New Yuval LevinLate January will see the release of Yuval Levin’s A Time to Build.  I read Levin’s Fractured Republic a few years ago based on recommendations and found it to be a thoughtful, sincere read.  Levin, the editor of National Affairs, has a good sense of what is best about the American Experiment and remains hopeful even seeing what he sees happening in the world around us.  A Time to Build looks to be about recommitting to and rebuilding our basic cultural institutions.

New DouthatRoss Douthat’s The Decadent Society: How We Became Victims of our Own Success will be available at the end of February.  His last two books, Bad Religion and To Change the Church, were both significant reads for me.  Bad Religion served as a great catalogue of religious thought in America for me.  To Change the Church was a great way for me to engage in thinking about the Catholic church and Pope Francis, who has been something of an enigma all around.  I appreciate Douthat’s humor as well as his incisive observations about the way the world seems to be working.  I imagine it will be a good companion to Levin’s book, too.

New Rivers of LondonAnd then there’s the promise of a new Rivers of London novel at the end of February, too.  Now that I’m all caught up, it’s a hardback buy for me.  I can’t say too much without giving away spoilers of one kind or another.  I will say that the last novel, Lies Sleeping, brought a number of plotlines to decent conclusions.  And the most recent novella, The October Man, did a nice job of opening up the world beyond England.  So I’m curious to see where Aaronovitch takes Peter Grant next.  I’m doing my best to avoid spoilers for False Value, though I am pretty excited that this is my first Rivers of London novel to drop that I can buy on release day.  It’s the little things, I suppose.

I think that’s a pretty good way to start the year.  It’s nice to have books in mind like this.  Beyond simply having something to read, it’s good to have the promise of interesting intellectual engagement with the bigger world.

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