Concerning Hurricane Lane

Today was one of those weird days where you are waiting and preparing for something that just hasn’t happened yet . . . and that can’t be undone once it’s happened.  I am writing, of course, of Hurricane Lane (which is an odd name for a storm, since it sounds more like “tornado alley” than a person’s name).  This morning was a mix of normal (tea and bagel for breakfast) and preparatory (tarps and sandbags and trying to make things safe from the wind).  I’m writing this at about 10:30 at night.  The wind finally picked up significantly about an hour ago and is still come-and-go.  We’re still a few hours away from rain.

Here’s a shot of the storm from the International Space Station from NASA on the 22nd.

Hurricane LaneTomorrow will be interesting.  I’ve got grading to do.  I’ve got a stack of books to work through.  And I imagine I’ll try to move around when possible.  Plus I’ve got a lot on my mind and heart because of the last few days of work.

Please pray for safety and a minimization of damage in the islands.  And please pray for those on other islands who have already experienced flooding, power outages, and heavy winds.

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Remembering to Remember

I’ve been oddly and unexpectedly reflective these last few days, mostly due to a conversation I had last week that was a kind of perspective on working with youth . . . and ultimately how it’s changed since I my days as a teenager.

I found the conversation frustrating, even though what was being said was pertinent and powerful.  But I felt . . . still feel . . . that something was missing, like an unnecessary sophistication had taken over.  That joy and happiness and something about a deep knowledge of Jesus through the Spirit was missing.  That something about sin had been psychologized in a way that might help as an adult but maybe not as someone younger with wider eyes (who is utterly aware of the depths of the sinful nature).

Two things in particular have come back to my memory.  One of them was the role that Chuck Swindoll’s teaching shaped me.  There was one particularly series, a short one titled Intimacy with the Almighty, that started by articulating two understandings of intimacy.  First: actual closeness with someone.  In devotional terms, this is time spent alone with God.  Second: a kind of becoming like someone because of that proximity.  At least that’s how I remember it.  And I like the “handle” of it.

The second memory was of going through the youth edition of Experiencing God with the youth group.  I’ve been thinking about the “seven principles” of the series and have found them wonderfully beautiful-yet-packed in their simplicity.  A more complicated me sees them and can easily say “but what about” in the way the principles are articulated.  And yet . . . it is true that God is always at work around you and that He desires a love relationship with you.

Surfing the web today I discovered that Steven Curtis Chapman had penned another song and released it a few months ago.  Not sure how I missed it.  But I am glad that I found it this afternoon after an unexpectedly long and frustrating day.  The guy has aged . . . as have we all.  And that’s okay.  Here’s the video for the song.  It’s a nice blessing at this point in the journey.  I don’t plan on being swamped in nostalgia.  But I want to “remember to remember” and to mindful of the deep joy and gladness to be found in Jesus that kind of feels at odds with the way so many of us now talk about the Christian faith.

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The Question of Cohesion

cohesionI recently had a conversation with a married friend about the routines and habits of the single life.  He had recently spoken to a relative who often lived far away from his spouse; the spouse had been a very real example of the role routines play in helping someone often alone feel a sense of what Comment editor Brian Dijkema would call integrity.  The term is often used of the correspondence between one’s interior life and exterior actions, which is why the concept of cohesion is good, too.

In his upcoming editorial for the journal of public theology, Dijkema asserts:

In many ways, of course, we are thriving. Our lives and our work might look okay in any given moment, but in the quiet of the night, or as we walk out the door in the morning, we sense, as Jonathan Chaplin notes in this issue, “a disturbingly elusive sense of dis-integration.” We feel it when we come home from work and ask ourselves the question: “What did I do today?” Or, when then child doing her homework asks: “What does my physics homework have to do with that beggar I saw on the street?” When the chemist asks: “Should I make this compound?” When we step out of the polling booth, we ask: “Is that it?” Or, as you say your prayers before heading to bed, you look back on your day, and count the ways in which your words, your deeds—your desires—are painfully subluxated from what you want to do. Why did I do that again?

Points for working in “sublimated.”  These are good questions to ask, for sure.  But if we ask them regularly, if we never answer them in the first place, we should admit something is wrong.  They are canary questions in an existential coal-mine.  And Dijkema, as so many others, feels that something is deeply and deceptively wrong with our life together today.  Fragmentation and isolation are words that Dijkema uses . . . and that are words often used by others today.  Dijkema sees this happening on multiple levels.  He continues:

We experience this fragmentation both personally and politically. The individual’s lack of a sense of cohesion has its mirror image in institutional isolation. Given that to live in a modern society is to live in a differentiated society, and given that Christian social thought has articulated the goodness of such differentiation, how can we live well when such differentiation becomes fragmentation, compartmentalization, dis-integrating us as a society but also personally or existentially? We typically understand integrity as living an authentic life—a life where one’s actions are consistent with one’s beliefs. But that is not enough. Indeed, understanding integrity in this purely individualist way leads to the social vision of coherence proffered by liberal individualism. It just happens that this vision ends up leaving the individual lost and disconnected from others, from meaning, and, as Patrick Deneen notes, from both the past and the future. The fractures appear permanent, maybe even eternal.

And so the return to the dangers of the “individualist” way of life, which is something, too, disagree with.  Which can sound frustrating coming from the mouth of a single guy.  I like Dijkema’s use of concept of differentiation, particularly as it applies to cohesion.  But I also witness and experience firsthand that damage that can be done by fragmentation, compartmentalization, and dis-integration.  And I fight against it every day, even when I’m spending time by myself (like now, as I write this at the downtown Starbucks after a busy day at work).

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These concepts and questions will be important for a church or Christian community attempting to make sense of the popular culture.  They will also help us call into question our assumptions about the viability of community amongst between married couples, couple with families, and singles.  I was in a meeting just yesterday where it was clear to me that we have real work in understanding the weird forms of isolation right in front of us (with the isolation of the family perhaps being the weirdest and most-difficult-to-pin-down of all).

You can read all of Dijkema’s editorial here.  It’s a good deposit for what should be another great issue of a great journal.

(image from ieltsonlinetests.com)

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Sunday’s Best: Equivocating Density

Today’s Frazz comic by Jef Mallett is another great example of an intelligent conversation that employs multiple meanings of a word.  Plus there’s a lot to learn, which is always interesting.

Frazz Equivocating DensityIt’s a good Sunday for the comics, actually.  I’ll post a few more throughout the week.

(image from gocomics.com)

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The Youngest Son’s Story

A couple of days ago I posted a scene from the book of Judges involving good and bad choices made by Gideon, also known as Jerubbaal.  After Gideon’s death, Abimelech the son makes a move to become the king of Shechem.  In the process, he kills 70 of his brothers.  One, Jotham, escapes.  This youngest of sons has a story to speak against his murderous brother when the leaders of Shechem gather.  It’s a nice story, a good poetic moment from Judges 9 in what is truly a bloody mess:

When it was told to Jotham, he went and stood on top of Mount Gerizim and cried aloud and said to them, “Listen to me, you leaders of Shechem, that God may listen to you. The trees once went out to anoint a king over them, and they said to the olive tree, ‘Reign over us.’ But the olive tree said to them, ‘Shall I leave my abundance, by which gods and men are honored, and go hold sway over the trees?’ 10 And the trees said to the fig tree, ‘You come and reign over us.’11 But the fig tree said to them, ‘Shall I leave my sweetness and my good fruit and go hold sway over the trees?’ 12 And the trees said to the vine, ‘You come and reign over us.’ 13 But the vine said to them, ‘Shall I leave my wine that cheers God and men and go hold sway over the trees?’ 14 Then all the trees said to the bramble, ‘You come and reign over us.’ 15 And the bramble said to the trees, ‘If in good faith you are anointing me king over you, then come and take refuge in my shade, but if not, let fire come out of the bramble and devour the cedars of Lebanon.’

And then, tale finished, the youngest son lets the story hang there, hoping that the people will realized they have settled for bramble instead of embracing something better.

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Gideon’s “Ring”

Today’s Old Testament reading was one that caught me by surprise.  I suppose it was one of those stories that stands out some years, some readings, more than others.  After a major victory in Judges 8, this happens to Gideon:

22 Then the men of Israel said to Gideon, “Rule over us, you and your son and your grandson also, for you have saved us from the hand of Midian.”

Which should raise lots of red flags . . . for us, and for Gideon.  I guess I was surprised at how blatant-yet-predictable their request was.  This is particularly potent for its place in the biblical narrative, between Moses and David.  Gideon’s response is brilliant:

23 Gideon said to them, “I will not rule over you, and my son will not rule over you; the Lord will rule over you.”

You really want to cheer for the guy, let him know that he answered wisely.  If only that moment lasted a little longer.  Because this happened next:

24 And Gideon said to them, “Let me make a request of you: every one of you give me the earrings from his spoil.” (For they had golden earrings, because they were Ishmaelites.) 25 And they answered, “We will willingly give them.” And they spread a cloak, and every man threw in it the earrings of his spoil. 26 And the weight of the golden earrings that he requested was 1,700 shekels of gold, besides the crescent ornaments and the pendants and the purple garments worn by the kings of Midian, and besides the collars that were around the necks of their camels. 27 And Gideon made an ephod of it and put it in his city, in Ophrah. And all Israel whored after it there, and it became a snare to Gideon and to his family.28 So Midian was subdued before the people of Israel, and they raised their heads no more. And the land had rest forty years in the days of Gideon.

Argh!  It’s like a scene out of a Tolkien story: the right kind of victory followed by the subtlest and saddest of defeats!  How easy it can be to win a great victory and then get tripped up in a snare of our own making!

(Scripture from the English Standard Version)

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From Non-Stop to Nothing

Today was the first chapel day of the year.  The arrival of chapel means that I’ve been through a full “cycle” of the new school week (even though we’ve only been in school four days).  So now I have a real opportunity to work on the rhythm of my week (more or less).

Over the last couple of weeks I’ve found myself working in two gears: non-stop or nothing.  Either I’ve got a lot of things to do and and trying to get things done or I am vegging out (mostly alone, sometimes with the neighbors).  It’s a bit of a whiplash thing for me, a transition that I don’t handle all that well.  Such a dynamic is one of the reasons why people occasionally speak of “third spaces,” places like a gym or a coffee shop or some other place that exists between work and home.  It’s a great concept, one that I embrace most days.  What’s interesting is that those “third spaces” can be just as lonely as the other two.  As such, there is no restorative promise attached, just distraction and a pinch of procrastination.

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So here’s to learning more about myself, how to healthily navigate the spaces and relationships that mark each day.  I would like a happy medium, where good-but-not-frantic work gets done with and in the presence of others, work that is in many ways more restorative than simply zoning out at the end of a long day.  I think that’s one way we can learn to “spur one another on to love and good deeds.”  And that doesn’t mean weaponizing or instrumentalizing those “third spaces.”  It means finding good ways to do the right kind of thing together.

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Hope but “No Open Highway”

Finding and SeekingBeyond the Bible, my most faithful summer traveling companion was the writings of Anglican theological Oliver O’Donovan.  I made relatively quick work of his Self, World, and Time back in June.  When I left the island, I took the second volume of O’Donovan’s “Ethics as Theology” series, Finding and Seeking.  While it’s basically twice as kong as SWT, it’s taken me a lot longer to get through.  That’s not a bad thing, though.  It’s quite the encouraging read.  His style is a little odd to me.  There’s something truly down-to-earth about his approach  . . . and yet it feels totally abstracted.  And while it’s clear that O’Donovan knows what he’s doing and where he’s going, he moves forward page-to-page without recapitulating much, which would be nice even if it isn’t his style.

I recently got to the chapter on hope and anticipation (O’Donovan sees “Christian” ethics as tied closely to faith, love, and hope . . . in that order . . . which is both predictable and not).  I quite liked this passage:

Hope may, and often must, look through a different window.  It has its independent ground, not formed from anticipations, not even from the most probable or universally proven ones, let alone the most far-reaching and ambitious.  The resurrection of Jesus from the dead authorizes hope, validates promise, points to the future of God’s kingdom. That does not mean it sets a trend which history will always thereafter follow.  Since the resurrection, we are told, “your life is hid with Christ in God” (Col. 3:3).  The path that leads from the empty tomb to the parousia is no open highway.  There are signs to be seen and wonders to strengthen hope: in the church, the Eucharist, faith in the Gospel, in a multitude of good works, some confessionally, some unconfessionally accomplished.  We may catch sight of the hand of the God whose kingdom is promised on earth as it is in heaven.  But future history is not a joined-up narrative, and the revelation of the kingdom is not the culmination of a process we can hustle along its way.

One thing I like about the quote, the last part in particular, is that it reminds us that the contours of this part of the narrative of God’s story are in no way as predictable as we might like or assume.  The arc of history is long, but it bends this way and that as we await the culmination of the kingdom.

I also like the image of “no open highway,” not because it’s kind of sad but because it’s very true.  And its something that Jamie Smith mentioned to great effect at Laity Lodge in July (and that I will debrief here sometime soon).  It is much like the road from Sinai to the Jordan, truly the way of salvation and to rest while also being difficult and, for some, defeating.

(image from livingchurch.org)

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Ain’t No Mountain High Enough?

MountainsWhen I returned to campus last week to start things off with faculty formation and prep, one thought came to mind and came to mind quickly: the mountain wasn’t high enough.  The mountain, of course, was the summer vacation that took me from Hawaii to Texas to Tennessee, Kentucky, Tulsa, Wichita, and Seattle.  The mountain was a retreat and time with family and with friends (some rarely seen but always loved).  The mountain was reading and praying and walking and sweet tea and Sonic.  The mountain was good.  But when I walked onto campus, the time on the mountain wasn’t long enough.

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Today was the first day back with students.  The last week was spent mostly leading out and organizing and wondering where-in-the-world some of my classroom trinkets had gotten to after the summer deep clean.  But even today I thought of the mountain and the many things that I have mentally connected to it.

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Each year at school we start things off with three mornings of worship and edification.  I started my time of sharing (thanks to my extended vocational stretch) by asking the audience to think of their favorite summer moment.  Then I mentioned this thought from C. S. Lewis’s Out of the Silent Planet:

A pleasure is full grown only when it is remembered. You are speaking, Hmán, as if pleasure were one thing and the memory another. It is all one thing.

My time on the mountain, the long or short of it, wasn’t as over as one might think.  Memory is part of it, an odd extension that brings the moment just one bit closer to completion (without ever really making it on this side of the story’s end).  I hope the audience was encouraged.  I know that I was, which is why I am always grateful for the thoughts of Lewis.

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I carry around my little Laity Lodge notebook with me each day.  I don’t always look at it, but my “cleaned up” copy of notes serves as a nice reminder of what I learned and what can be done next.  One of those things is Alan Jacobs’s assertion about the danger of solutionism, the idea that we have bought into a quick and easy solution for everything (because “there’s an app for that”).  Jamie Smith connected the misdirection of solutions with the idea of disenchantment, the idea that the contemporary world has been flattened to the point that only something like the mechanical exists, leaving no room for the mysterious or the magical.  That might be more true than we’d care to admit.  And that’s a frightening thought, especially when we realize how easily and consistently we have simply instrumentalized the Gospel.

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All of this to say that my  mind has been thinking about mountains and valleys and rivers and such a lot more than usual.  This has been aided and abetted by the Old Testament readings from the Daily Office, which have recently moved from Sinai to the desert to the Jordan and the Promised Land.  It’s gotten my thinking figuratively, which I haven’t done in quite a while, gotten me sketching diagrams in notebooks trying to find a flow that makes sense of the present moment without disservicing the Scripture.  It might not make it into chapel, but there’s a good chance that some of that thinking will make its way here.

(image from pexels.com)

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The Beauty of Summer Reading

The summer started strong for me reading-wise.  Things have kind of slowed down.  I’m halfway through a re-read of C. S. Lewis’s That Hideous Strength.  I’m almost done with the second book in O’Donovan’s Ethics as Theology series.  Both are, in a way, like the book mentioned in this recent Sunday Frazz strip.

Frazz Summer Reading(image from gocomics.com)

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