Earthenware Vessel

Learning to Drive

2012-01-26T16:12:00.000-08:00

It must have been quite an ordeal for my father ("Pop") teaching me to drive. I seem to have no natural aptitude for it whatsoever--all those times I stepped on the break instead of the gas, or vice versa ... And that time he was teaching me his rule of thumb for how far to stop behind another car at the traffic signal:

Pop: It should look like the tires of the car in front of you are gently resting on the hood.
Me: I can't see the hood.

Or that one time ....

Pop: Just choose one lane and stay in it.
Me: There are two lanes here?!

I only failed the driving test once. I ought to have failed the second time, too, as evidenced by the fact that a week after getting my license I totaled my car.

So anyway, I always joke seriously about what a horrible driver I am.

The other night I dreamed I was in the backseat of a van, doing something on my laptop. I looked up and there was no one in the driver's seat. I was thinking the van could actually drive itself better by following the ruts in the road, but eventually I got anxious and decided I ought to get behind the wheel.

At first the dream struck me as just another joke about my complete lack of skill as a motorist. But I've been realizing, it's really about how often I let other people take charge and refuse to be a leader myself. It's so much easier to let someone else set the agenda, make the decisions, take the initiative. Let them go out on a limb. Let them be responsible. In fact, at times I'm so afraid of taking charge, I feel safer with no one in the driver's seat at all.

I complain in private about how my denomination wastes obscene amounts of paper; I lament the fact that so many congregations, so many pastors are just going through the motions and have no vision, no fire, no Spirit; I observe the lackluster sermons, boring liturgies, and vacuous songs used in worship; and sometimes I daydream about preaching great sermons and developing a great liturgical program, and implementing strategies for bringing congregations to life ... but to actually do any of that would take a great deal of initiative; it would mean taking risks, it would mean making a decision and committing myself to a mission on the basis of personal conviction--not because anyone else expected it, or had told me to do it, but because I believed in it.

When people ask me how I envision my first call, I usually tell them I'd like to be an Associate Pastor--Teaching Pastor, or Pastor of Family Ministries, something like that. Just start out somewhere, get some experience, and kinda go from there.

But I'm realizing now, I am not satisfied with my own answer. I don't want to just get a job, learn to meet expectations, and fall into a routine. I don't want to be just sitting in the backseat working away at some little project. No; it's time to learn how to drive.

The Internet and the Perils of Democracy

2012-01-19T16:57:00.000-08:00

Reflections on SOPA and PIPA

It took me a while to get into facebook, but since becoming only partially employed I have time to read various articles friends have posted. A lot of them are written by professional journalists. Many of them are just blogs written by who knows whom. The amazing thing is, the blog posts feel just as authoritative as anything published by a news corporation.

The internet has demonstrated that the power of the written word is not actually in the supposed authority of the institution publishing it (New York Times, Chicago Sun, etc.), but in the author's ability to persuade. The internet is helping us face the shocking, frightening fact that the people in charge (the ones who write congressional bills and newspaper editorials and economics text books) are oftentimes not any smarter or more knowledgeable or better equipped to make decisions than many of the smart people you know in person.

A blog post by an intelligent "nobody" who's done the research may, in fact, carry more weight (be more persuasive) than an article on the NPR website. This makes the internet an incredible tool for democracy because it encourages the free flow of ideas and opinions regardless of what the-powers-that-be would like to disseminate as the prevailing "knowledge." And this is why SOPA and PIPA are such a horrifying possibility.

But I also feel like pointing out here: democracy doesn't work very well. Because most people are not very good at vetting their sources of information. They just find someone who's saying what they want to hear and don't bother to think critically about their opinions or do any real research.

The internet really is an amazing gift, but it's one that is often squandered. I feel that as a populace, we Americans have proven that we don't deserve the gift of democracy. We, the people, don't deserve to be the ruling class. The thing is, our elected officials have proven the same thing. We've elected people who are truly representative of us: not fit to rule.

So often I try to think about politics and eventually break down and say "AUUGH, it's all a big huge mess and there is no way to fix it" ... which is true. But I would be disappointed in myself if that was how I ended this post.

There is no way of fixing things ... people are lazy and stubborn and the internet will always be wasted on those who just use it to puff themselves up with hot air. But I can be part of the countering tide, those who use the internet to become better citizens.

And I can be numbered among those who appreciated the gift of the internet enough to call my congressperson and my senators and fight the misguided, idiotic, unconstitutional legislation that is threatening the freedom of the press.

(I can also enjoy the 50 Brilliant Fan-Made Re-Mixes, Mash-ups, and Supercuts That Will Be Strictly Prohibited under SOPA while they are still available.)

that familiar sinking feeling

2012-01-18T13:00:00.000-08:00

You know, people have always said of Brandon that he's the absent-minded professor type. He's always losing things--hats, books, keys--he's left his debit card in the ATM--I occasionally have to remind him not to leave his wallet behind on store counters and restaurant tabletops.

So in relation to Brandon I've adopted this identity as the-one-who-knows-where-things-are. I keep pretty good track not just of where I've left things, but where Brandon has left them. So when he desperately asks, "Where are my keys!?" I can say, "I think they're under the sweater, on the armchair nearest the kitchen." And sure enough, there they are. It's fun. Kind of like being a magician or a psychic.

The thing is, though ... I'm actually also the absent minded professor type and kind of even worse about losing things than Brandon is ...

Last week I lost my glasses again. They must have fallen out of my bag somewhere in San Diego when I was removing other objects. I said to Brandon, "Well, at least I didn't leave my wallet on the bus stop this time, like I did several years back." Definitely should not have said that. Yesterday ... apparently, my wallet fell out of the bag it was in somewhere between the grocery store and home.

I'm really bummed, not just because of the hassle it's going to be to get my Driver's License replaced--and my insurance cards, library cards--and the loss of $25.20 and a McDonald's gift card and a Cold Stone coupon and a Ralphs coupon for Kikkoman soy sauce (see, I do keep good track of my things--except when they fall out of bags and coat pockets without me noticing)--but that wallet had sentimental value.

Well, I kind of always wanted to get a new wallet that would be slimmer, but I really loved the old one. It was so pretty, and I bought it the very first time I visited Mexico as a teenager. Maybe sometime I'll blog about that trip.

Anyway, it's such an awful feeling to have lost something--that moment when it starts to sink in--it's really gone--gone forever, as far as I know, and I'm never getting it back. No, it's not where I left it. I know because I keep good track of my things, and I know exactly where it ought to be. And it's not there.

I am sad for the things I've lost ... but ... maybe someone else will find them and appreciate them. One person's loss could be another's free gift. Especially the cash and McDonald's gift card. Enjoy, anonymous person(s)!

Calendar Madness!

2012-01-05T13:48:00.000-08:00

Okay, so, I love calendars. I mean, I really, really love calendars. And, well, I think I'm ready to admit that my calendar addiction has gotten a little bit out of hand. I was at the 99 cent only store ... and I just couldn't resist--there was the Wonders of the World calendar ... and the motivational sayings knock off calendar ... and I decided that was it; I already had four calendars on the walls at home, I only needed two more ... but then I saw the Mickey Mouse calendar.

Oh, I stood there, holding the first two calendars, and the bags of yogurt covered raisins and dill potato chips(! what a find!), and the amazingly-high-quality-for-being-at-the-99-cent-only-store scarves, and the 2 for 99.99 cents(!) muzak CDs, and the post-Christmas sale holiday decor, all the stuff just about falling out of my arms because I didn't realize I was going to buy so much so I didn't get a basket, and I debated with myself--do I really need the Mickey Mouse calendar? Should I put one of the other calendars back? No, no, they're all so great! I have to have them all! I NEED THEM!

I love calendars! When I was a kid, the first of the month was such a happy day because there were so many calendars in our house to be changed--at least seven, usually more, I think. Calendars! (Sorry, that was just a spontaneous exclamation of my love for calendars.)

I guess I don't love every calendar. Some calendars are of no interest to me. The ones with puppies or kittens or gardens or flowers or motorcycles or classic cars or planes or golf courses or lighthouses. No, no, none of those calendars will do. But beautiful, artsy calendars, calendars of antique maps and paintings that are great but not super famous and photographs of spectacular landscapes and unusual animals in funny poses (but not with costumes or props).

Calendars! Calendars are so great because every month you get a new picture, a new beautiful image to enjoy. And calendars are so great because they evoke a different a mood for every month--how else would those of us who grew up without traditional American seasons know to identify January with snowy landscapes and May with pink and purple flowers and September with apples and turning leaves?

Oh calendars. And then after the year changes, they can be saved and used as gift-wrapping!

Resolutions

2012-01-01T16:14:00.000-08:00

And with deafening crack, showers of sparks, cheers and clinking glasses, we welcome the first hour of a brand new year, striving to kick free of all the mistakes and failures of the past twelve months. Let it not be a token protestation, “I’ll do better next time,” as if with fingers crossed we secretly swore never to change.

And let us not consign our regrets to the unchanging past like millstones tied around the neck. Dead memories are dead weight and we are formed by our past no matter how hard we try to forget.

We bid farewell, but the old year will never leave us. We can only surrender our ugliest moments trusting Mercy and Wisdom to salvage beauty from the wreckage.

And though we know the will is weak, let our resolutions spring from a surer heart this year, and may the hope that flies high today still carry us, never abandon us to easy despair, and when we are about to give up, burst with the sudden brilliance of that shower of sparks in the apex of night’s parabola, and recall to us that every second--not just the one that takes us from December into January, but every second--all things are new.

Bethlehem: In Occupied Territory

2011-12-23T13:44:00.000-08:00

When our tour bus entered Bethlehem it was the first time we saw "the Wall" (a.k.a. "security perimeter") from the Palestinian side. The Israeli side of the Wall is clean, unmarked. The Palestinian side is a seemingly endless mural of "prison art." I was too slow getting out the camera and missed taking photos of some of the more striking images: a weeping Statue of Liberty, holding a dead child (after Michelangelo's Pieta); the desolate stumps of a clear cut forest; Alice about to step through an intriguing little door.

Bethlehem was in occupied territory at the time of Jesus' birth, as well. Mary and Joseph were compelled to leave their home by order of the ruling powers, and after arriving in Bethlehem, forced to flee again in terror of violent government oppression. Today the Palestinian people, who were also compelled to flee their homes by an occupying military regime, still find their movements through the country controlled and curtailed by the Israeli government.

Our Palestinian guide was frequently tearful, describing what it's like to live under foreign military rule. She told us of the humiliation and frustration she felt every time she had to pass through a security check point: an ordinary, unarmed woman routinely treated as a suspected terrorist.

I can't imagine what that must be like, as someone who's never lived in "occupied territory" ... or have I? The Gospels of Matthew and Luke may emphasize the Roman occupation, but John highlights the spiritual occupation: that Jesus came into this world to overthrow its invisible, intangible ruler, the Prince of Darkness.

The question of whether Satan is a person, a principle, a force, etc. could be the subject of a separate post. That's not important here. It is clear that we are living under the occupation of the powers of greed and reckless opportunism, exclusion and vanity, selfishness and deliberate ignorance--the powers of darkness and evil. And the birth of Jesus was the beginning of a resistance movement, called the Kingdom of God.

There's this old comedy starring Danny Kaye, The Court Jester--it's always been a favorite of my family. I think it must be spoofing the Scarlet Pimpernel or something, but part of the plot is that there is a false king on the throne, and the rebels who live in the woods are fighting to protect the true heir to the crown, still just a small infant. The movie pokes fun at the idea that a tiny baby could be considered "the king." But that's just what we say about Jesus at Christmastime.

The work of salvation began not on the cross but in Mary's womb. Why? Because the Resistance is not about fighting with swords or machine guns or missiles--because the Almighty who strips completely, surrendering all power and authority to become a helpless, naked, and hungry infant is the true king and savior of this world. Because peace will not be purchased through war but will come to us only by the power of the vulnerable God, the weak God, the God of love.

At the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, where they say Jesus was born, the welcoming signs asks visitors to "Pray for the Freedom of Palestine." Please do. Please pray for the freedom of Palestine, and for the freedom of the world.

Appropriate Anachronism

2011-12-20T15:27:00.000-08:00

I remember reading somewhere that Jesus was probably born around October when shepherds in Palestine would be most likely to sleep outside with their sheep. Jesus may not have been born in December, and it certainly was not a "bleak mid-winter" with blankets of snow. Images of a frosty night are historically inaccurate ... but I don't mind them, because they're theologically correct.

The celebration of Jesus' birth was combined with winter festivals for sound spiritual reasons. The prologue of John's Gospel (which says nothing about Jesus' birth, yet is considered a classic Christmas text) speaks of Jesus entering the world as a light shining in the darkness. And that is what Christmas is about.

It is at the darkest, coldest time of year--in the time most bleak, when we feel closest to death--that we remember how God entered the world. Because he didn't just come for a pleasant holiday. He came because we needed him. Desperately. Christmas reminds us that God is with us in our darkest hour.

Tree Devastation

2011-12-06T13:46:00.000-08:00

There was a huge windstorm in Pasadena last Wednesday night. They're still cleaning up the debris. Here are some pictures.

This is supposed to be a sidewalk in front of our apartment. Can't see it at all, can you?

A huge Callery Pear (a.k.a. Bradford Pear) limb (maybe 20-ft.) is blocking the sidewalk in the other direction.

The same Callery Pear limb seen from the other side.

I took some branches and put them in a pitcher. So beautiful!

Then I went to check on the Sweet Gum trees--most of their amazing, beautiful foliage was gone.

This one still looked great.

I added some Sweet Gum branches to the "bouquet."

Another casualty: one of the two Firewheel trees featured in Episode #2 of Virgie's Guide to Pasadena Trees.

I was able to get a better picture of the spidery flowers (these trees bloom twice a year).

This giant fallen cedar was still blocking the road three days after the storm.

Learning to Walk

2011-12-02T22:18:00.000-08:00

It seems like when I was a kid I always had my eyes trained to the ground when I was walking. Maybe a throwback from my toddler years, when it was necessary to be constantly scanning the terrain, lest some unexpected obstacle trip me up. Or maybe because I liked finding small objects and picking them up off the ground--a feather, a discarded air freshener, a comb.

But I remember sometime when I was a teenager I realized that looking down, just watching the pavement slip by beneath my feet meant keeping my spirit narrow and confined. There was a kind of fear attached to it--it took an effort--it took courage--it was a bold move, deciding to look up, to lift my eyes to the trees, the sky, the horizon.

At that time I walked--really, I slinked--around with stooped shoulders--like a criminal, terrified I could be apprehended at any moment. And what crimes had I committed? Well, when I was about seven years old, I drew on the wall beside my bed. Another time I was trying to make a tent by hanging a blanket over a yardstick, and it broke. But my real crime was that I existed at all.

I’m not sure I can explain that last sentence. I imagine some people will know immediately what I mean. Perhaps to those who don’t, it can’t really be explained. In any case, I was so used to slouching all the time, one day I tried to correct my posture, and found that standing up straight was actually painful. I don’t know how old I was. Maybe sixteen. That was scary.

Trying to remember to straighten my spine did not change my habit. Improving my posture has been a major project of my adult life--because the only thing that really helps is changing how I feel about myself. Only as I know myself and my worth do I walk with head held high, facing the world without shame and fear.

I have been learning to walk these many years. But recently I realized something else. I walk fast. So does Brandon. And we do a lot of walking, being “car-free.” We are efficient, impatient people, zipping from A to B, trying to get things done as quickly as possible.

I asked Brandon the other day why we should tire ourselves out like that. What if we stopped hating the “wasted” transportation time, what if we stopped the pressure and anxiety--it’s only we who’ve been oppressing ourselves, after all--what if we walked slowly? Walking could be restful, enjoyable, a time of quiet meditation, or enlivening conversation. It’s a cliché that every moment in life is precious, if only we would notice it. But it’s true. And time spent walking from A to B needn’t be wasted.

And if you want to see the kingdom of God, you must become like a little child, like a little child, still learning to walk ...

Wind Chimes

2011-11-16T19:07:00.000-08:00

When I was a kid, walking to the public library, there was one house just down the street from us that had wind chimes hanging in their front balcony. I always looked forward to walking by that house.

Such a soothing sound—almost like birdsong or the chirp of a cricket—a simple object fashioned by human hands to capture the wild, gentle, calming, quickening sound of the wind.

I’ve been a grown up for quite some time now. And I have loved wind chimes for that entire period. For the past four years I’ve even lived in an apartment with a balcony. Wind chimes are not very expensive. And yet, I never bought them for myself. I never even thought to put them on my Christmas list.

Why settle on disappointment? Why forget the things that make us smile? Why resign ourselves to less than our hearts had secretly hoped to enjoy? Why let dreams fade and longings die away?

Fear will do that. It comes from being hurt. Yes, we all know what that’s like. But sometimes the resignation becomes a habit. Even after the wounds have healed and the fear subsided, still, the heart forgets. Like a bewildered flower, forgetting to strain toward the sunlight.

But I heard wind chimes the other day.

And I remembered.

The Mattress, Bowling Ball, Marble Illustration

2011-11-05T19:09:00.000-07:00

So many times I’ve heard this illustration of Einstein’s general theory of relativity: gravity occurs because space itself curves around massive objects. It’s like if you put a bowling ball on a mattress, and then roll a marble near it--the marble will be sucked into “orbit” around the bowling ball, drawing closer until they collide.

For the longest time, this illustration bothered me because aside from the curvature of the mattress, what pulls the marble down toward the bowling ball is gravity. How can you use gravity to explain how gravity works?

But as I thought about it more carefully, I guess it’s not really a major flaw. The problem is, the illustration is trying to explain something that happens in “the real world,” which we generally think of as being in three “spatial” dimensions (plus time); but the illustration envisions three-dimensional objects (bowling ball, marble) on a two-dimensional plain (the surface of the mattress) which has been distorted into three dimensions (that surface is no longer flat, but now has a roughly conical indentation). I suppose the role of gravity in this illustration is really just to keep the marble on the curved two-dimensional plain. (Because without gravity, the marble would continue floating forward in a straight line and leave the plain.

I guess the real problem is that it’s so difficult to visualize the distortion/curvature of a three dimensional field (because that would mean visualizing in four dimensions), so we just have to envision a two-dimensional plain being curved into three dimensions and use it as an analog, but then for the sake of making it easier to visualize, the illustration involves three-dimensional objects, which is a little confusing if you think too much about it, as I have.

But the other thing that always bothered me about this illustration is that it assumes the bodies are in motion relative to each other. Isn't the force of gravity just as powerful between two objects that are stationary in relation to each other as between two objects in relative motion? Maybe some smart person who understands such things can explain.

Further remarks added now after some comments have been made:

Okay, it seems I did not make the original question clear enough. Let me try again.

The illustration assumes that the two bodies are already in motion relative to each other. The only motion that takes place is not due to the "force" of gravity, but due to the marble already having been set in motion by some other force. Gravity in this illustration does not cause any kind of motion--all it does is to redirect the path of something already in motion. There is a reason why persons offering this illustration will always say that the marble was rolled near the bowling ball, rather than saying it was placed on the curved part of the mattress (because in the latter scenario, they really would be using gravity to explain gravity). If the analogy worked properly, placing the marble on the curved part of the mattress would have no effect; they would both remain stationary in relation to each other. The only reason there is any motion in this illustration is because some unknown force set the marble going to begin with. Gravity does not "pull" the marble, and does not cause motion of any kind--all it does is affect the direction of something that is already in motion.

My question is, in real life (not the analogy), isn't gravity able to cause motion? If you were to place two objects near each other (not moving) and if they were far enough away from other massive bodies that the force of gravity would be greater between these two objects than between them and anything else around, would they not start to move toward each other? Newtonian physics seems to say that they would. I don't know about actual general relativity, but the illustration used to explain it implies they would not.

Sunrise

2011-10-31T22:34:00.000-07:00

For some community college art class many years ago, I had to do a group project, and the painting (though it received an "A") was not to my liking. I finally painted over it--I thought it looked interesting during the process of being painted over, so I took a picture:

Here it is finished:

The idea of this painting came into my mind I think in the summer of 2009. I was taking a class on the Pentateuch and we had the option of doing some artwork (with a written explanation) for the final project. I was thinking about the story of Jacob's reconciliation with Esau (after his long night struggling against the angel of the Lord). I didn't actually do the painting until now. (I ended up writing a series of sonnets for the class instead.) I was very dissatisfied when I first finished this, because there was too much contrast in color between the sun part and the hilly farmland part. Then the flowers at the bottom edge sort of sprang up unexpectedly, as it were, tying things together quite nicely, I thought.

More Gratitude, Less Entitlement

2011-10-27T14:21:00.000-07:00

I started typing a response to Remigius's comment, and then realized it would be better just to compose a new post.

It's a valid point, certainly, that there would be some benefits to society if the government were to spend more money on subsidizing higher education. There would be some drawbacks, also. And I can't say exactly what the relative merits would be of keeping things as they are versus increasing government spending on education--these things are usually rather complicated.

But what I'm really trying to get at, what really bothers me is the idea that somehow people "deserve" a college education merely by virtue of being alive. Perhaps we could build a better society by giving people more things they haven't earned or done anything to deserve (like free healthcare and even more free education than is already available), but if we do, it ought to be considered a privilege, not an entitlement. A person who is enabled by tax-payer dollars to get a college degree should have an even greater sense of gratitude and indebtedness to society and the government than I have toward my loan companies.

It's interesting, though, how human psychology works. In addition to taking out loans, I received some grants and scholarships during my academic career. I was grateful for these when they were awarded, but I promptly forgot about them--even the ones for which I had to write thank-you letters. Having no head for figures, I don't even remember how much of the cost of my education they covered. I really have very little idea of the value of the free gifts I received to help pay for my degrees.

I do, however, have a profound sense of the value of the loans I took out. I have some idea of how long it's going to take me to pay them off (a very long time), which indicates to me just how lucky I was to be able to take out these loans, and also indicates to me the monetary value of my formal education.

Logically, I ought to be more grateful to the entities that gave me free money, than to those that only lent me money. But the opposite is true, because I have very little sense of the value of the free money, whereas I know very well the value of the money that I am responsible for paying back.

So, anyway ... it's a nice idea for everyone to be able to go to college for free, or for there to be more government grants available to fund people's education. But it's also a nice idea for everyone to know the actual value of the privileges they enjoy, and it seems to me that having to work for those privileges creates just such an awareness--whereas giving them away for free tends to detract from it.

I Heart My Loan Companies

2011-10-26T13:11:00.000-07:00

I've been wanting to say for the longest time (and just haven't gotten around to it until now) that I feel a genuine debt of gratitude to the companies who gave me loans so that I could complete both a Bachelor's and a Master's by the age of twenty-five. If it weren't for them, either I wouldn't have been able to attend school at all, or I would've needed to devote myself to earning and raising the money myself in advance, which would probably have taken many, many years.

When I first thought to write about how I love my loan companies, it had not occurred to me that some people would be demanding a free college education for anyone who wants it. I guess now I ought to address them in some way.

Well ... let me just point out that formal education is not free. Professors need salaries. Campuses need classrooms and libraries. Institutions need administrators. These things cost money. They cost a lot of money.

I do not hold to the idea that anyone who wants anything of value has a right to get it for free. If you want something that's worth a lot of money, you should have to work hard for it. This is why I am so deeply grateful that some businesses were willing to loan me large sums of money in advance of my having to work hard, because they trust me to pay them back with interest now that I'm done.

Sure, they did it on the basis of statistical calculations, not because they knew me personally, but nonetheless, they chose to put their faith in me and my ability to make something of myself career-wise. I am deeply grateful for their act of good faith and I am happy to uphold my end of the bargain and pay them back with interest so that they can continue in the business of making it possible for people who are not independently wealthy to get a post-secondary degree.

As I think about it, it seems kind of absurd for people who want greater social mobility to be attacking student loan companies. Such companies make it possible for anyone to pursue a college degree (well, except undocumented immigrants, the illiterate, etc.). Some people think the government (i.e. tax-payers) should simply foot the bill for everything, but to me, it seems much more logical and fair that the individual who receives the benefit of the college degree should be the one paying for it. I mean, honestly, why on earth shouldn't they?

Oh ... and ... I also have a burning need just to say: undying gratitude notwithstanding, those f***ing student loan companies are a big fat pain in the *ss to deal with.

Okay. I'm done.

Silly Heresies

2011-10-22T22:30:00.000-07:00

If you've ever taught or attended Bible studies or other adult Christian education, you know that some people have a tendency to think themselves quite the intellectuals for coming up with pesky heretical questions--e.g. "What if 'angels' are really people? What if you're an angel and you don't know it?"

Sometimes I have found myself in the position of being an irritated classmate to such persons, sometimes I am the eager-to-explain-it-all teacher, and other times, I am that heretic, or I could be. But usually, when I have such ideas, I tend to keep them to myself, because I've learned by now that most heresies, while they may seem very clever at first, turn out upon closer investigation to be quite silly, poorly thought out, and easy but tedious to refute.

For example: I have participated in many, many a discussion about the classic formulation of the doctrine of the trinity. And I know the standard heresies. But I've always wondered, "How do we know there are only three persons in the trinity? What if there was a little known fourth person--kind of like the often-forgotten fourth Beatle? Or, since God is infinite, what if there were an infinite number of persons in the trinity--er--the 'infinity'? How can we say we know God exists only in three persons? At an earlier stage in revelation history, it was 'known' that God was one--no trinity at all--so what if someday we find out there are even more divine persons?"

Seems like a reasonable question, right? But when you start thinking about it, it's actually not that interesting or helpful. Because while it is of course possible that there could be more persons in the trinity than we know about, it's pretty much irrelevant because if they exist, they haven't been revealed to us. And the idea that deities from other religious traditions might be additional divine persons equal to the three in the trinity is, I think, ultimately a dead end, since it requires a highly artificial mixing of worldviews (that is, when Hindus, for example, talk about their pantheon, they are talking about a significantly different concept of the revelation/manifestation of God than the Christian concepts involved in explaining the doctrine of the trinity).

Furthermore, it is integral to the Christian belief system that Jesus uniquely reveals the fulness of God's glory, and that the church has preserved a faithful witness to the Christ-revelation in scripture, and that witness contains only indications of three persons in the trinity, not more.

So, anyway ... I find that heresies turn out not to be so interesting after all, and orthodoxy is really the more fascinating and compelling avenue for thought and discussion, because it contains within it so many surprising, beautiful, mysterious paradoxes. Like the classic doctrine of the trinity.

The Lone ... Something-Or-Other

2011-10-12T21:38:00.000-07:00

On occasion, I have been asked to identify the role I typically play in a group--you know, for example, the peacemaker, the encourager, the executive. Well, I find that most often, I am the outsider. I have a tendency to feel out of step with everyone else, and if I see a group moving together in one direction, I tend to be the one who tries to point out everything that's wrong with what they're doing.

This came up in group work during my hospital chaplaincy internship. I realized then that being the outsider can get really lonely, and I decided I was not content to continue isolating myself in the name of being different.

Easier intended than done. But I hope I am making progress.

After I posted about the Occupy Wall Street movement yesterday, I immediately started thinking I'd been too hard on them. I could see that essentially my criticism was that they are an unorganized rabble and aren't accomplishing anything--and in the background of this criticism, my general skepticism about the typical proposed solutions of the progressive wing.

I still think "the outsider" can play an important role, and I still think it was worthwhile to publish my thoughts--I think I made a valid point, except that it was too harsh. And I couldn't help smiling when I saw the comment by "Trendsetter" that all the angry mob really needs is a good leader. I had just amended my thinking to reach that very conclusion ... (The words that came to my seminary-trained mind being, "They're like sheep without a shepherd.")

I had also been thinking, from the beginning, to write a follow up post titled "Starting With The Man In The Mirror," reflecting on how I can be the change I wish to see, and actually propose something constructive instead of just criticizing others. That's going to be a hard essay to write, because honestly, I get so overwhelmed by the complexity of everything, it feels impossible to select the best option.

But I'm starting to see how "the outsider" might someday become "a prophet." No, I have no delusions of being there yet. Clearly, I am still in the stage of being uncharitable and overly critical and isolating myself by being "different." And I appreciate everyone who has listened with patience and grace and found what was worthwhile in my "different" perspective, in spite of the unworthiness of the spirit in which I have, at times, written or spoken.

I also appreciate finding out I'm not so alone after all. My brother found this essay by someone with a clearer understanding than I had yesterday: "The Conflicting Conflicts of Occupy Wall Street" by James Pearson.

Anyway ... thank you to those who have listened for the good in what I have to say. Your gracious, respectful attitude encourages me to be kinder to others. I will try to be less of a critical outsider and strive to imitate the great compassionate prophets whose stories I know.

Let's All Blame the Rich

2011-10-11T12:39:00.000-07:00

I really have virtually no sympathy for the Occupy Wall Street protesters. Maybe that makes me a bad person; maybe if Jesus were around today he'd be standing out there with them--I honestly don't know. The problem with asking "What would Jesus do?" is that in actuality, Jesus would probably do something unexpected and surprising to everyone.

But about the Occupy Wall Street people: if they had a coherent message and purpose, I might be out there with them in downtown L.A. right now. But they don't. Or rather, their only clear, unified message seems to be, "We blame the wealthiest less-than-one-percent of people for our economic woes. Down with the rich!"

This bothers me. It bothers me a lot. This is not responsible citizenship; it's scapegoating.

Contrary to what some believe, we actually do have something like a democracy. I saw a video of an Occupy Wall Street protester saying we need to get rid of all our elected officials. Yes, all of them. She was very clear about that when the reporter pressed her. So, we should get rid of all our elected officials and replace them with ... more elected officials? Or perhaps we should appoint a dictator? I don't think she had thought the idea through very well.

If something has gone wrong in our society, we ought to diligently search out the reasons why, not demonize a sub-group of the population and punish them.

Let me put it this way: of course the wealthy often steal from the poor. They typically do it by exacting labor without giving fair compensation. There are all manner of ways to do this, some legal, some illegal. This problem should be addressed by finding out how, specifically, employers are cheating their workers and then by amending and enforcing legislation to prevent that from happening.

More importantly, however, as we start delving into these problems, we will discover that exploitative business practices are not easy to fix, and that, in fact, they implicate us all. Take the problem of the federal minimum wage. The real value of the minimum wage has been steadily dropping for decades because of inflation, allowing employers legally to pay their workers less than fair compensation. It has not been increased because people are afraid that doing so would push more low wage jobs out of the country.

Well, let's just stop for a moment and consider who is to blame here. It is common knowledge that most of the clothing we see in stores was made in sweat shops overseas. This not a secret. The general population has some awareness that factory workers in China, Indonesia, Taiwan, etc. are expected to work in hazardous conditions, for long hours, for unreasonably low wages. But we continue buying clothes that, for all we know, may have been sewn together by a nine-year-old girl with an ulcer during the twelfth hour of her shift, earning her ten dollars a week to bring home to her starving family.

So, when we talk about the problem of factory jobs going overseas, where employers can pay ridiculously low wages, should we place all the blame on exploitative business persons and foreign governments? What about the consumers who create an on-going demand for these cheap products? Oh, wait ... that's all of us.

So let's all blame the rich ... because it's easier than taking responsibility for our own choices.

Floss Silk Tree

2011-10-10T14:46:00.000-07:00

Hopelessly Broken?

2011-10-04T21:39:00.000-07:00

Recently finished The Way It Spozed To Be, by James Herndon, a memoir of his year teaching at a ninety-eight percent African-American junior high in an unnamed city in California (published in 1965). The title is altogether ironic, since Herndon sets out merely to describe the way things are, and offers no suggestions as to how they really ought to be.

So, here's the basic story:

Everyone else at the school shares a common philosophy of education: teachers must maintain as much order in the classroom as possible, because otherwise the children won't learn anything. Herndon observes that this strategy does not work, because the children are evidently learning nothing, in spite of the semblance of order the other teachers establish.

So he decides not to impose order on his classrooms. He allows the kids to do whatever they want, as long as they're not physically harming each other. He spends a lot of time thinking about what he can do to help the children learn. But he doesn't come up with any ideas. None. So he just sits back and waits to see if anything will happen by itself.

His classrooms are so chaotic, the principal talks to him about it, and so do two other teachers, and a woman from the district sent in to help him. He rejects all of their advice, since they are just trying to get him to conform to a method he knows is bankrupt.

At the end of the year, the principal lets Herndon know he won't be asked to teach there again. Herndon protests that his method has acheived a small degree of success: the kids in the social studies class spontaneously started watching some old science videos for fun (also bringing in lots of snacks, which was against school policy). And in his English class, some of the kids had gotten into reading some fairytales adapted for theatre. They were actually learning a little bit, on their own initiative.

The principal was not impressed. Herndon was fired.

In the final chapter of the book, Herndon reflects that even students in nice suburban, white, middle- to upper-class schools aren't really learning anything. They just do what they're "spozed" to, because grown-ups force them into it, and they protest less against it, but they have no real interest in what they're doing, so it doesn't stick. He suggests that there is simply no hope for change or transformation of the system, because that would require giving the children some freedom, which is the last thing the teachers and administrators (on the whole) are willing to try.

I found this book interesting. Any description of what actually goes on in a school classroom is fascinating to me, because I never experienced it myself. I feel more grateful than ever for having been homeschooled. But I also find it hard to believe that things are as hopeless as Herndon implies. Surely people have come up with ways of teaching that can better engage students and make them feel they have a vested personal interest in what they're doing.

But I really don't know hardly anything about the situation. I hope my brother, who is a teacher, will read this and have some comments.

"Can't--Put--Enough--EXCLAMATION POINTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

2011-10-03T15:43:00.000-07:00

Seems like it always takes me a while to find out about funny hit videos on the internet. I saw the original "Double Rainbow" video and its "songified" version just yesterday. (Also the original and songified "Reality Hits You Hard, Bro"[!!!]).

Original Double Rainbow Video:

Songify This version:

Some people think the "double rainbow" guy must have been on drugs. He says he wasn't. I don't know, but I can easily imagine having a moment like that, and I've never used drugs (of the illegal sort, that is). Sure, his reaction is laughably extreme, but the camera actually does capture some of the beauty of the moment, if not the vivid brightness of the rainbow itself.

Even without the aid of mood altering substances, intense beauty really can reduce someone to a babbling, weepy kind of ecstasy--some of us just quietly keep it to ourselves, whereas others, apparently, totally let themselves go with spontaneous utterances which they later post on youtube. Well ... one's own front yard is a safer place to start crying and moaning and semi-coherently murmuring with joy than ... say ... an art museum.

Anyhoo ... "Double Rainbow" is definitely going on my personal playlist of happy songs. (-:

Ginko Biloba

2011-09-30T11:50:00.000-07:00

a festive reception

2011-09-27T16:33:00.000-07:00

and after the heat
the welcome cool
of autumn brings
a final burst of brightness
the happy ending
for green leaves saying farewell
with cheerful shouts of red and gold
a fond goodbye that looks ahead
not fearing dark and cold
a festive reception
of the arriving chill

The Constant Commentator

2011-09-15T22:22:00.000-07:00

This evening we returned home after quite the trip, touring western Washington with my brother and his wife. Brandon served as our intrepid and expert guide, being himself a native of the sprawling megalopolis, Duvall, WA (population: a staggering 5,980); Brandon's family were our charming inkeepers; my sister-in-law, N., our brilliant tactician; myself a quiet, functionless parasite now turned chronicler; and my brother, P. ...

My mother said recently of P. that he cannot stop talking, to which he immediately replied, "I know. I tried; it didn't work!" Having him along on a roadtrip is like having the radio always on and tuned to a consistently amusing comedy show.

Driving around Whidbey Island and nearby areas, after every stop, we seemed to find ourselves behind the same car. "They must be tourists," said Brandon, the ironically disdainful local. "No," said P., "there are four of them." We were all confused as he paused before the punchline: "They must be four-ists."

A little farther on, Nancy pointed out some cows, and a bull who was a little ways off, alone. P.: "He is out standing in his field."

P. works for Enterprise, the rental car company, in their insurance claims division. He was behind the wheel one evening of our trip, telling Brandon about how he sometimes takes over cases from less competent Enterprise employees, correcting the inefficient way they handled the situation. After describing one such situation: "Brandon, this goes to show how awesome I am: insurance companies save money by switching to me."

(-:

Such a fun trip. I have the best siblings (and siblings-in-law) ever.

Failure

2011-08-26T17:38:00.000-07:00

[Apologies for the unpolished style--I'm tired, but wanted to post this.]
Sometimes I have an intense feeling of failure, even after doing things no one else perceives as failures. I think probably I did well on each of the three-hour ordination exams I took today, in terms of whether I'll pass, that is.

But I was so disappointed in myself because ... I wanted all six essays to be beautifully written, egaging, powerful, edifying and a pleasure to read. And instead, much of what I wrote was just so humdrum and rote, bland and boring, boring, boring. I was proud of just a few lines, here and there--but even the best bits could have been better, if only I'd had more time. In particular, one of those essays was so terrible. I mean, I answered the prompt, but I wish I could apologize to the people who have to actually read what I wrote, it's so insipid and lifeless. Oh, damn my miserable inadequacies!

Anyway, this is a good illustration of how so often I fail in my own mind, even though ... well, probably no one else expects so much of me.

Ah ... maybe I'll do better on the next two exams. Maybe if I really punish myself thoroughly for doing so bad this time, and mentally berate myself constantly ... Hah ha ha. Just kidding. (-: I'm too wiped out for that, anyway.

Psychological Profiles in Film

2011-08-24T16:21:00.000-07:00

In his book, People of the Lie, M. Scott Peck describes something like a personality disorder he observed in certain clients (or clients' family members) in practice as a psychotherapist. He identifies such people as being given over to evil, noting that their condition resembles a severe variation of Narcissistic Personality Disorder. Although otherwise apparently normal, these persons were apparently whole-heartedly selfish in all their decision-making, unconflicted and unashamed about lying constantly in order to advance their own purposes.

The classic movie Bringing Up Baby is about just such an individual. The horrible, horrible female protagonist just lies and lies, without giving it a second thought, not caring at all how her deception is creating confusion and frustration and causing damage all over the place. I found it so distressing, I couldn't stand to watch any more after the first twenty minutes or so. God, I don't know what I'll do if (when?) I have to deal with someone like that as a pastor. Anyway, if you want to know what M. Scott Peck calls "an evil person," just watch that movie.

Now, much more fun ... last night we watched another classic film, Kind Hearts and Coronets. It's one of the best films we've ever seen--and we'd never heard of it before! Crazy. It's a very British dark comedy about a young man's plan to kill off eight relatives (all played brilliantly by Alec Guiness) in order to inherit a dukedom. It was so funny, even after the movie ended, I was still laughing and laughing. They really don't write comedies like that anymore. Today's "smart" comedy is actually pretty dumb by comparison.

And if you want to see how Enneagram Type Three ("The Achiever") becomes a homicidal sociopath, it's a stunning, spot on portrayal.

"Devastating Loss of Self"

2011-08-18T22:50:00.000-07:00

While working on a new painting, I've been listening to The Myth of Alzheimer's by Peter J. Whitehouse (with Daniel George) on CD. Whitehouse, a physician, researcher, and authority on the condition, argues that there is no scientific basis for treating Alzheimer's as a disease, and that care for patients would be improved by acknowledging the symptoms of "cognitive brain aging," as he calls it, as a normal part of growing older. Rather than labeling a more rapid decline as pathologically abnormal, we can recognize that every person's progress into older years is unique, and that the challenges of aging, which we all must face, can hold opportunities, as well.

Whitehouse in large part blames the pharmacuetical industry for creating "the myth of Alzheimer's" by talking about waging war on the disease, and the (according to Whitehouse, completely unfounded) hope of a cure. But most of all, the myth of Alzheimer's creates an intense fear and dread (the reason I picked this book up off the shelf). Alzheimer's is said to result in a "devastating loss of self," robbing victims of their very personhood.

According to Whitehouse, this is simply not true. We are constantly changing throughout our lives; loss of cognitive ability does not destroy the self. Perhaps the most important component of treatment for a person in cognitive decline is to focus on the ways they are still able to contribute to society, do the things they have always enjoyed, and accept the loving care of their family members--that is, to continue to see themselves as human persons in the midst of real losses.

* * * * * * *

The painting is coming along nicely. It's not completed yet, but when I was finished working on it for today, I stepped back to have a look and was disappointed: it was all out of focus--I had to put on my glasses to appreciate it. It was upsetting to me not being able to appreciate my own painting without the aid of corrective lenses.

There are so many things we think we own, or consider to be part of who we are, and it's scary to lose them. Who would I be without my vision, my memories, my intelligence, without the dexterity of my hands, without strength to walk and run?

Some might say we're born into this life with the very purpose of growing old--to learn by divesting ourselves of every external prop that, after all, I am not the clothes I wear or the things I own; I am not even the thoughts I think. Who I really am ...

... is beyond words and comprehension. Because after all, the soul does not exist in and of itself, but exists only by the creative act of God's love. But of such things ... it is extremely difficult to write, especially as a scrupulous Christian theologian ... if only I could commission Charles Williams to write this into a novel! Alas, he has been dead several decades. And, dying at age 58, I suppose he must have missed out on much of the experience of growing old. Well, he was surely an old soul from birth.

Carrotwood

2011-08-16T15:30:00.000-07:00

Hm. I miswrote the common name of this tree on my opening card. And I accidentally said "branches" when I meant "limbs." How embarrassing.

Reflections on the Road from Jerusalem to Jericho

2011-08-04T17:00:00.000-07:00

A man went up
Jesus said
from Jerusalem to Jericho

Now fifty
seminarians, professors
following the way

This land perhaps
has not changed
much, still a
terrifying place to be left for dead

Zipping along
in our air conditioned
whirlwind tour
bus
it takes about an hour

Can you imagine?
turning from window to seat partner
Walking!
They must have experienced
time so
differently
and space

What would it be like
walking this waste
alone

or with someone to talk to
you might really get to know them

Approaching Jericho
a moment of déjà vu
billboards in the desert
just like the 10 freeway approaching Palm Springs
Then

A camel at a gas station!
Someone snap a photo!

We're here!
Quickly, everyone off the bus!
We're late
We're running out of time

Running out of
the endless expanse?
Didn't you see it there
or were you in too much of a hurry
on the road from Jerusalem to Jericho

Violence and the Fantasy Genre

2011-08-02T14:31:00.000-07:00

Last week we watched the final Harry Potter film. It was a good ending to the series. Not so pretty as the previous one; and no big surprises ... but a good ending.

Without spoiling any details, I will say that there is a large-scale battle, during which one of the goodguys kills one of the badguys and smiles. It could be interpreted as a smile of relief, but could also be seen as a smile of satisfaction at having killed someone who caused many deaths.

I was bothered by that. Violence and killing are such a difficult issue for the author of young adult fantasy. It's something I've really struggled with in writing my own series.

I have great respect for the thoroughly non-violent approach of Madeleine L'Engle's books. Her protagonists are never called to use violent means in combating evil. They always overcome hatred with love.

I'm not sure how I feel about C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkein's fantasy wars between good and evil. It seems wrong to glorify the concept of war. War may at times be necessary, but it's always tragic and ugly. And given the universality of human wickedness and corruption, it's extremely dangerous ever to identify one nation as good and another evil. (I don't care if it's Nazi Germany versus Allied England; it's still dangerous.)

Lewis argues that killing in war is not murder because it's nothing personal. He imagines that two Christian soldiers on opposite sides, bent on killing each other, might wake up, moments later, side by side in heaven, and find no difficulty whatsoever in laughing it off and embracing in joy.

In Lewis and Tolkein's fantasies, the killing is very impersonal. Perhaps what bothered me most about the confrontation in Deathly Hallows Part II is that, even though it could be seen as technically soldier-to-soldier combat, it nonetheless feels deeply personal, perhaps even an act of revenge.

Well ... that's "Hollywood" for ya: tapping into people's pent up aggressive instincts, satisfying the repressed bloodlust of our animal nature.

I suppose soldiers risking their lives to protect a nation under attack is a valid way of sublimating the aggressive instinct. (For non-Freudians: sublimation=channeling the energy of one's socially unacceptable sexual and aggressive instincts into higher, nobler [and in that sense, "sublime"] socially acceptable pursuits.)

Unless we think we can do away with war altogether, then as a society we must in some way glorify the role of the soldier--we must believe and tell our children that it is a noble thing to risk one's life in the attempt to kill our nation's enemies.

In some ways, I believe it truly is. To the extent that it requires courage and self-sacrifice, and that its purpose is to protect ordinary people from harm, it is a very noble thing. But unfortunately ... it also means "impersonal killing" ... it means doing something that is absolutely obscene and somehow setting aside the remorse, horror and disgust that a healthy soul would feel.

So ... as I said, I've been struggling with this issue in writing my own series. I started writing the fourth book last year, and stopped because it was just not shaping up at all--needs to be scrapped and restarted. But it's going to deal with this question about the use of violence ... Unfortunately, my thoughts and feelings on the subject are still so messy ...

Ugh. I hate violence because it's so evil and ugly and disturbing. But I'm also aware of my own deep-seated aggressive instincts. I am violent and I hate violence. Well ... it's something to brood about and maybe start writing again ...

"Zionism Is Racism"

2011-07-15T14:57:00.000-07:00

concrete block closing off a street in Hebron

I spent this year's Independence Day with an unusual degree of patriotic feeling. My wonted pessimism about America and its many ills and failures was balanced by an appreciation for the nobler principles on which this nation is founded: democracy, civil liberties, equal protection under the law ...

Perhaps one of the worst misconceptions Americans have about the state of Israel is the idea that it is "the only democratic nation in the Middle East." It may be the most democratic nation in the region (I reserve judgement) but the very concept of Zionism, on which the state of Israel was founded, is radically opposed to what I think most people would understand as democratic ideals.

Zionism sees the state of Israel as "a national Jewish homeland"--not just "a national homeland for the Jewish people" (a country where Jews would always be welcome) as the British wanted to define it, back in 1948--but "a national Jewish homeland"--meaning, an ethnic Jewish state. (This is not just my forumlation, but how it was framed by a journalist from The Jerusalem Post.)

It is simply astounding that people would be so blind to the blatant racism of this idea. How is it supposedly different from a Caucasian-American declaring that the U.S. should be a nation for people of European cultural and racial extraction ("And we don't want no immigrants comin' in here dilutin' the purity of our heritage")?

Our group spoke with a guy from the leftist Meretz party (they hold 3 out of 120 seats in the Israeli parliament). A student asked how Israel could be so hypocritical as to condemn the genocide in Darfur while denying their own human rights abuses. His answer: Actually, Israel has not been condemning of the genocide in Darfur. On the contrary, Israel has been trying to get rid of the refugees who have come from Darfur and refuses to give them refugee status.

So, in fact, the state of Israel has been chillingly consistent, and no one should be surprised; Zionism is a racist concept.

It's hard to believe that this could be happening in the 21st century, but in Israel (and I'm not talking about the West Bank and Gaza, but within Israel itself) the schools are officially segregated. WTF? We ought to be beyond this by now! Surely I needn't inform you that there is a vast acheivement gap between children and youth in the Jewish versus the non-Jewish school system.

It also appears problematic that the Palestinians seem to want a system that is "separate but equal." That is the basic idea of a "two-state solution": Israel for the Jews, Palestine for the Arabs. (And as for African refugees ... the question remains).

As an American, I most agree with Palestinians and Israelis who will admit that the establishment of two ethnic states is not a "solution" at all, but may be a huge step forward in moving toward a political future where concepts of race and national identity are less important than the recognition of our universally shared humanity.

"a people cannot be oppressed forever"

2011-07-06T14:06:00.000-07:00

It's so much harder than I thought it would be, trying to put this into words--I said on facebook that my time in Israel/Palestine was so much more than I had imagined--by which I meant, mostly, anything I could imagine would not compare to the actuality; to being there, in the very place, seeing with my own eyes. So, I very much doubt that anything I write will do justice to the experience. But ... I'll try.

As you may have gathered from my last post, I went with a heavy heart, sick with despair, hardly daring even to think I might find any reason for hope. Now, two weeks later, I have become a witness to the stunning resilience of the human spirit.

I had heard much about how the Palestinian people suffer under the occupation--and of course, we all know that many have thrown stones, a small minority have turned to terrorism, and growing numbers are choosing non-violent forms of resistance. But having heard all that in the news is nothing like walking the streets of a refugee camp in the West Bank, guided by one of the residents, a man whose father was shot and killed by Israeli soldiers for trying to cross the street--a man whose friends and neighbors told him he had every right to become a suicide bomber, but who chose instead to "use the power of pain" to work toward a just peace.

He tells us that even though they are in "Area A," supposedly under full Palestinian control, they are still subject to curfews; many roads, including a main thoroughfare through the middle of the camp, are for Israelis only; soldiers regularly come on raids; the Israelis keep water and electricity cut off much of the time--but he says to us, a group of fifty Americans, if we want to help, "Do not send food or water; what we need most is education. We need education so they will see us as human beings."

We heard this from the lips of virtually every Palestinian we talked with: "We want to be treated as human beings."

It was absolutely incredible to me, the patience with which they spoke--about situations that have me boiling over with rage--they seemed to have a calm determination--as exemplified in the matter-of-fact statement of Palestinian Authority cabinet member Nabeel Shaath, "We know that we will win, because a people cannot be oppressed forever."

Here is a sign I really liked at a community development center in the Dheisheh refugee camp.

The guy at the center was telling us that when they were constructing the place, Israeli soldiers came in the night three times and destroyed the place. They had planned to just call it the Dheisheh Community Center, or something like that, but because they had to keep rebuilding it from ruins, it's now called the Phoenix Center. Someone in the class asked why the Israelis would want to destroy a community center. The response: "That is my question! They usually don't give a reason ... We are in Area A, but it is controlled by the Israelis."

Salaam li'l Quds - Peace for Jerusalem
(with thanks to Vicki Tamoush, for translating!)

Anyway, I thought that was such a brilliant image: the phoenix--no matter how hard the powers-that-be try to crush the people's spirit, they will rise again.

"A people cannot be oppressed forever."

Weeping For Jerusalem

2011-06-18T22:48:00.000-07:00

And when he drew near and saw the city, he wept over it, saying, "Would that you, even you, had known on this day the things that make for peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes."Luke 19:41-42

The last two weeks I've been busy, busy, busy preparing for the big peacemaking travel course in Israel/Palestine I'll be auditing (I leave Monday, return July 1). I'm just about packed. I've done most of the reading I was supposed to and some other reading I "assigned" myself. But I don't think I'm really emotionally prepared.

At the end of his ministry, when Jesus came in sight of Jerusalem, he wept. He perceived that the city's destruction was inevitable. The current situation in Israel and Palestine makes me want to cry, also, but the point of this trip is that there is still hope. It's very hard for me to see that.

At the same time, I am terribly, terribly excited for this trip, and open to taking it all in, learning as much as I can, but my heart is so heavy--I don't know what to do with all the grief and outrage that I feel even now--what will it be like, actually being there in the midst of it all?

I've always thought of myself as having a good sense of humor (in terms of recognizing irony and being able to laugh in all kinds of situations). But I really haven't been able to laugh, even about the tragic ironies of the Israeli-Arab conflict. Certainly, there are many such ironies, but I'm just too frustrated and sad about them to laugh.

Well. We will see, we will see what things are like when I am there.

Adventures in Graduating

2011-06-15T16:55:00.000-07:00

No "Master of Divinity" After All

Every time I refer to my degree by its name, "Master of Divinity," I always feel a twinge of fear that God is going to smite me on the spot, perhaps with leprosy or a giant hailstone, for uttering blasphemy. "Master of Divinity"--egad, what arrogance, what vanity--what an irony that students of theology, who ought to understand more deeply than anyone the fact of divine transcendence, the vast, yea infinite mystery of God's glory, should presume to name themselves "Masters of Divinity."

So to poke a little fun at the absurdity of the title, I got it into my head (years ago) that I would take some pictures of myself in graduation robes making divinity, the confection. Alas, there are two problems with this idea: first, divinity is difficult to make, and not surprisingly, I failed to prove myself a "master of divintiy" on the first try. Second, divinity is not an appealing candy, and I had no interest in making several batches in order to get one right, which I would probably not eat, anyway.

But here, at least, is a goofy little video of the attempt:

More Silliness
Last year, when I worked at Commencement, I thought how great it would feel, being among the ranks of the graduates. But I had mixed feelings about the idea of walking across the stage to shake the president's hand and receive the diploma case. Again, it struck me as such an exercise in vanity--hoity-toity acadmics slapping each other on the back for their supposed accomplishments. I'm just too cynical about the whole "education" process to really congratulate myself on completing the degree.

So I decided to lighten up the moment by wearing an awesome pair of striped flip-flop socks (and a pair of flip-flops my mother bought me when I was eleven!). Even during the long time waiting, before and in the midst of the ceremony, I was sitting there, first feeling bitter, then just sad, about all the wasted opportunities of the past four years. But when at last they called my row to line up, and I saw my family there in the audience--I was happy--in fact, when they called my name, I was so happy, I threw my hands up and ran/skipped across the stage. "Wow!" said President Mouw, shaking my hand, "Congratulations--you won the race!"

Why do I look so short in this picture? (-;

No longer a seminarian, it's time to catch up on some vices--quick, before I become a pastor.

The sweet taste of success--in cigar form!

Movies (Three)

2011-06-09T14:56:00.000-07:00

We've gone to see three movies recently! Here is my report.

Going into Thor, I had pretty low expectations. After Iron Man, thus far the pinnacle of superhero movie acheivement, it's hard to get excited about something you know will never compare. But actually, Thor was quite fun.

To be sure, there is nothing original about it; I winced at some of the insipid dialogue; it suffers a bit from predictability and cliches. But for some reason, it was easy to overlook these weaknesses. In the early scenes of Thor's obnoxious war-mongering, it was actually nice to have the assurance that a formulaic change of heart lay in his future.

Perhaps much of what made the film so palatable was that I liked how it looked. New Mexico is so beautiful; Asgard, too.

X-Men: First Class, on the other hand, was marred for me by visual flaws: some of the CGI was, I think, not detailed enough to meet the highest standards of realism--for whatever reason, some of it looked fake. And Beast's make-up was poorly done--especially, his mouth didn't move very well--it looked bad.

Aside from that ... it was a pretty good movie, but surprisingly boring. Perhaps because the old "threat of nuclear war" plot has been done so many, many, many, many, many times over--and as a person who did not live through the Cuban missile crisis, I cannot recall the terror of that time.

Perhaps they could have done more to play up the interpersonal drama--give the characters a little more depth.
X-Men left me feeling something like, "Gee, maybe I'm getting tired of movies--I've just seen too many"--but watching Source Code, my love of films was restored completely: "This is why I watch movies!"

Yes, Source Code was an excellent film: smart, gripping, surprisingly humorous; it handles superbly a clever premise, through simple, yet elegant storytelling. It strongly recalls another great film, 12 Monkeys, using similar themes and images, though to very different effect. Brilliant script. I'll have to keep an eye out for future work by Ben Ripley.

Thoughts on Authority

2011-06-03T17:30:00.000-07:00

Have I mentioned before that every time someone suggests a Ph.D. could be in my future, I want to scream at them: "NO, NO, NO, NO, NO-O-O-O!!!"? It has to do with the kind of person I do not want to become, or to be subject to.

During my internships, I've given a lot of thought to the concept of authority--both in a pastoral context, and as an abstraction. And I've come to understand that, ultimately, all genuine authority is God's authority. When someone speaks or gives a command authoritatively, it is because they are speaking God's truth, and commanding God's will.

In this sense, authority cannot be vested in any human being, whether by virtue of appointment, position, or relationship. A person's authority does not depend on their role (pastor, police officer, judge)--their role helps them to exercise authority effectively--but the moment a pastor speaks heresy, or a police officer uses excessive force, or a judge decides a sentence based on a bribe, they cease to speak and act with authority, and should be challenged rather than obeyed.

Even when I am ordained as some kind of pastor at a church (God willing), I will not really possess any authority by virtue of my position. Any real authority I have at that point will not be mine at all--I may by God's grace be able to speak with the authority of divine truth and the divine will, and in such a way exercise God's authority. But I do not want anyone to submit to me; that would be idolatry.

And what does this have to do with my horror of the world of academia? I really hate the way that the educational system puts professors in a superior relationship to students. I think it's bad for professors, who are encouraged to become narcissistic and set themselves up as false gods; and I think it's bad for students, who become intellectually indolent.

The One who is Truth should be the head of the seminary classroom; professors ought to recognize the humbleness of their position, being but fellow servants of our one Lord, and empower students to use all the unique gifts and experiences God has given them--they should see the class not primarily as a personal project through which they can impart their superior wisdom; but as a learning community where all contribute.

Is this really so radical of an idea? In fact, YES! Sadly, I can think of only two professors who seem to have understood that they had as much to learn from students as students had to learn from them. They were good teachers. I wish there were more like them. I guess maybe I should be the change I wish to see and think about getting a Ph.D. someday, after all. Oh, heavens. Only if the good Lord asks it of me ...

(Hey--this is my 200th post! Who knew I had that much to say?)

It's All Coming Back Now ...

2011-05-27T22:47:00.000-07:00

It's been a fantastic year. My internships at Children's Hospital and Immanuel Pres. to-ta-lly rocked. In fact, things have been so great, I had forgotten all the agony and grief of my three years taking classes at Fuller. But tonight, it all came back to me ...

Every year they throw a special party for the graduating class. I wasn't sure what to expect, but, gee, it was lame. Not many people came. There are about 500 graduates per year; perhaps thirty (plus significant others) attended this event.

Why did the evening suck so badly? There was no spirit in the gathering. It was very telling that virtually everyone left immediately following the closing prayer--a few small groups stayed to chat, but man, that room emptied almost instantly.

That was my experience of Fuller in general--a complete absence of group spirit--no sense of unity, camaraderie, fellowship, or mission. It's so strange; we have great professors and great students, but the whole is somehow less than the sum of its parts. So completely opposite from Whitworth.

It makes me sad. I received an excellent education here, but by the end of those first three years, I felt that much of the opening up and softening of my heart that happened at Whitworth had now been undone. I felt so calloused and bitter, closed hearted, hostile and burned.

Looking back on it, my internship at Immanuel has really been very healing ... so much so that it was quite a shock being suddenly re-immersed in the soul-less-ness of Fuller.

I'm glad that not everyone experiences Fuller in this way. On the bright side, Brandon won a raffle prize and we received a neat benediction attributed to St. Patrick:

"I bind unto myself today
The virtues of the starlit heaven,
The glorious sun’s life-giving ray,
The whiteness of the moon at even,
The flashing of the lightning free,
The whirling wind’s tempestuous shocks,
The stable earth, the deep salt sea,
Around the old eternal rocks."

(Most stirring part only quoted--more here)

Sympathy for bin Laden (ending in a rant)

2011-05-05T13:18:00.000-07:00

(Skippable) Introductory Concept: On Moral Dilemmas

Watching this neat video of an ethics class, I thought: people need a paradigm shift for thinking about moral dilemmas. We want to come up with the “right answer”--the best option, what you’re supposed to do. Ethicists try to tease out the moral principles involved and discern how they apply in a given situation, hoping to end up with a list of propositional statements which can be expressed in logical symbolism, making it possible to create a formula, from which we derive the correct course of action.

I still find such an approach natural, and think it immensely useful, except that it misses the big picture. And the big picture truth is that reality is messy, people’s intentions are typically unclear even to themselves, they are influenced by a whole range and variety of factors which perhaps no one will ever know completely, and even the consequences of one’s actions are always uncertain.

I think we need to stop thinking of ethics as a way to determine the single, formulaic “right” way to act (a la Kant especially, but Utilitarians and others as well) and instead accept that moral dilemmas are probably always going to be more complex than any individual is going to wrap their head around, and that the best we can do is consider carefully the competing values we recognize as applicable, and weigh them against each other as best we can.

What does this have to do with bin Laden?

Well, Americans have really vilified him, but he believed he was doing the right thing, and he has quite a number of admirers who still think so. Americans fail to appreciate that bin Laden and other revolutionaries of the Arab world find themselves faced with a genuine moral dilemma, and we ought to have greater respect for the choices they have made, given their situation.

Now, I want to acknowledge, explicitly, that acts of terrorism are an absolute evil. Killing non-combatants is murder; it’s wrong, no question. But if we stop there and just call Osama bin Laden an evil man because he was a terrorist, we fail to appreciate the complexity of the situation.
America and its ally Israel compose a modern day Goliath to the Arab world’s David. Particularly in the Palestinian experience (which was a driving impetus behind the September 11 terrorist attacks), Arabs have been horrifically, unjustly victimized by ruthless displays of our vastly superior military might. They have no way of fighting back against our tanks, bombs, soldiers, etc. So they choose the only target available to them: civilians.

As I said before, attacking civilians is evil. I do not condone such a practice. But consider this: the United States is a democracy of sorts. That means every citizen does hold some responsibility for the political actions of our nation, including military actions, including our support of Israel’s semi-covert attempts at eradicating the Palestinian people (a.k.a. ethnic cleansing or genocide). In ancient Greece, military service was a prerequisite to voting. We could stand to learn from such a policy that having a say in the fate of a nation means accepting the consequences of our decisions, including the ugly consequences of bad decisions. If we choose to inflict violence on others, we should expect a violent response, and we should take responsibility for provoking it.

Rev. Jeremiah Wright was not being anti-American when he pointed out that on Sept. 11 we were reaping what we ourselves had sown. In fact, he was showing greater patriotism than all the flag-waving horn-honkers who rejoiced at bin Laden’s death this week. Why? Because citizenship is not about “hooray for our side”; it’s about wanting our country to be the best it can be--and that’s not possible if we continue to ignore the truth about ourselves. The truth is, we are a violent nation, and that’s not acceptable. Violence begets violence. Those who live by the sword die by the sword. Osama bin Laden may have been an evil terrorist, but he was also a prophet. We should listen to him.

Addendum:I just want to express my irritation at two details of media “spin” in coverage of Osama bin Laden’s death: first off, it was misleading to say he died “in a firefight,” as it appears to have been a completely one-sided fight--he was shot, unarmed, for not immediately surrendering. I have no doubt that, tactically, this was entirely sensible, but I do think it’s regrettable he was not taken to trial. And I believe it is also misleading to talk about Zawahiri as the “second in command.” Hasn’t he been the head of al-Qaeda for years? Bin Laden was a powerful spokesperson for the organization, but I’m pretty sure he wasn’t having a whole lot of direct influence on things during his time on the lam. I’m just irritated by the way the media are trying to make this out to be more of a victory than it really was.

Milestone

2011-04-29T15:13:00.000-07:00

Oh my gosh, I'm so proud of myself! A couple days ago, I finally finished reading Una Nueva Tierra, the Spanish translation of Eckhart Tolle's A New Earth. And it only took me two and half (well, closer to three) months! Alright, fine, I know that's kind of pathetic. But still: it's the first entire book I've ever read in Spanish! Wish I could say, "Next: Don Quixote," but I'm afraid I'm not quite there yet. I think next will be the Tao Te Ching.

I should celebrate by ... like ... eating tacos or something ... (-:

Correction

2011-04-29T15:03:00.000-07:00

In my previous post, "Free Dirt" I said I found myself struggling to establish appropriate physical boundaries with four individuals--I should have said: five, including the church cat, Peaches. I have literally let her walk all over me.

Some of you may think I'm joking, but I'm not! I love animals, but I dread the idea of ever having a mammalian pet again. Haunted by guilt over neglecting the dogs we had growing up, I'm intimidated by the intense obligation I feel to fulfill dogs' and cats' need for affection.

This is why I'm always talking to Brandon about getting a lizard. "Let's get a lizard! We won't ever have to worry about it becoming emotionally attached to us! We can get a great big iguana, or gila monster, or even a monitor, and it can just live as a wild animal in our house--it'll be so great!" A tarantula would also be fun. Or a snake. Not a scorpion, though; they're icky.

Pretty Women

2011-04-15T16:08:00.000-07:00

One day my Hebrew prof. began the class by saying, "I am an unusually good-looking person." In fact, he wasn't really, so we all sort of smirked or raised our eyebrows, and he continued, "It's true! I am an unusually good-looking person. How do I know that? Well, by looking in the mirror, of course!" We still weren't getting it. "Because when I look in the mirror, I know just where to stand, and just the right angle to hold my head, so that I see myself in the best possible light, and dang, do I look good!"

When I was a child, people used to tell me I was beautiful, and I believed them, partly because, like my old Hebrew prof., I thought I could prove it to myself by looking in the mirror. Now, as an adult, I no longer have a sense of how pretty I am, because I don't trust my own perception and I don't trust anyone to tell me what they really think. I guess I consider myself to be kind of pretty, on a good day, in the right lighting, as long as my hair is doing something flattering. But I know I am not among the top tier of gorgeous women ...

One day I saw a woman on the train who just about made my heart stop--she was stunning--her face was just so perfect. I've always hated that stupid song, "You're Beautiful" by James Blunt, and yet it came true! Well, except, she never looked at me. And she wasn't with anyone. But, "I will never be with her" (sigh!) ... although that's really not so tragic as that dumb song makes it out to be. I just hope she has a significant other who appreciates the perfect contour of her cheek, the exquisite shapeliness of her mouth, etc. etc.

I never blogged about one of the high points of my time in Florence--seeing (adoring--really, just short of worshipping) Titian's Venus of Urbino. "The woman." I remember how I caught my breath the moment I first saw a photo of her in my art history textbook. The most sublimely erotic image of a woman ever painted.

But to think! She's not just an imaginary ideal! There are women, living, flesh and blood women as beautiful, as perfect as she, ripe for the enjoyment of some damn lucky bastard. I wonder if they know, these goddesses among women, the brilliancy of the radiance they possess ...

"Ah, pretty women ..."

I suppose they must know ...

Firewheel Tree

2011-04-12T17:31:00.000-07:00

Virgie's Guide To Pasadena Trees
Episode #2: Firewheel Tree (Stenocarpus sinuatus)

Excuses

2011-03-30T15:03:00.000-07:00

We watched The King's Speech Saturday. Every bit as good as it was made out to be. And the story really resonated with me--the story of man unmistakably, and unavoidably called to greatness, who nonetheless has a terrible, embarrassing weakness obvious to everyone.

My own vocation is not nearly so great, and neither is my weakness so obvious. But as I get closer to ordination, I have felt some intensification of anxiety about the significant amount of responsibility I will be taking on, and the fact that I am at heart so flawed and fragile.

I've always been something of a hypochondriac--never about physical illness, but about psychological maladies. My imagination keeps cooking up all these excuses, reasons why I'm really not fit to be a minister.

I can't do this job because I have an undiagnosed autism spectrum disorder. I can't do this job because I'm really bipolar. I can't do this job because I'm on the verge of a psychotic episode. Or I'm suicidally depressed. Or I'm really transgendered. I can't do this because I'm not a human being at all, but a super-realistic android, and my whole life is just an experiment to see if a robot raised as a human can attain to a normal life. The experiment is failing. I should be deactivated and recycled for scrap metal.

But I'm afraid the truth is, I'm not crazy (above paragraph notwithstanding). I would like to be. I would like to have an excuse to give up, throw in the towel, jump off a bridge. But the truth is, I can do this job.

I keep clinging to an image of myself as utterly incapable of accomplishing anything, a complete and total failure. And yet, here I am one quarter away from completing an M.Div., getting ready to take ordination exams in August ...

Honestly, I don't know what to make of that. Obviously, the thoughts I have about myself are ridiculous distortions. Yet they hold some truth. I may not be crazy, except that to be human is a kind of madness.

Perhaps George VI was lucky to have such an obvious weakness--it made it clear up front that he was a flawed and fragile human being, like me, like everybody else--and that his greatness did not eliminate that frailty, but transcended it.

Una Poema

2011-03-15T12:45:00.001-07:00

So last night, Brandon gets home and notes that I seem tired.

Slumped over at the table, each word requiring an effort, I exclaim, "Must ... write ... perfect ... brief, explanation ... for my blog ... of what is wrong ... with Platonic metaphysics ... from a Christian perspective ..."

"Is this for your internship?" Brandon begins to ask and stops himself, "This is just to appease the demands of your muse, isn't it?"

Oh, the muse. Indeed a harsh taskmaster yesterday--but then (of course, when I was supposed to be going to bed) she graced me with a very special gift: my first ever poem in Spanish.

It's certainly not in the beautiful/profound category--just quirky/philosophical. But it sure was fun to write. (English translation below.)

Fingir a Querer

Yo quiero lo que no puedo tener
quiero el imposible
Pero si de verdad no puedo tenerlo
¿es un verdadero deseo?
¿o quiero querer y solo fingir
que quiero tener lo que quiero?

Ahora escucho a mi corazon
¿Quieres querer o tener?
Me dice, "Yo debo fingir a querer"
Así le pregunto por qué
"¡No sé! Que extraño. ... Ahora yo veo:
es porque yo no quiero nada."

Yo no quiero nada. ¡Que serenidad!
Siento tan mucho mejor
quiero sentir esta paz por siempre
--¿o solo quiero quererla?

Pretending to Want

I want what I can't have
I want the impossible
But if I really can't have it,
is it a real desire?
Or do I want to want and only pretend
to want to have what I want?

Now I listen to my heart
Do you want to want or to have?
It says to me, "I have to pretend to want"
So I ask it why
"I don't know! How strange. ... Now I see:
it's because I don't want anything."

I don't want anything. What serenity!
I feel much better.
I want to feel this peace forever
--or do I only want to want it?

Clumsy

2011-03-07T16:35:00.000-08:00

So, last month, we started doing Zumba classes at the gym. I kept thinking, the first two weeks, I should write some silly little piece about how terribly clumsy and uncoordinated, how absolutely awful I was at it--you know, quick, before I got really good.

Um ... dream on, me-of-the-past.

Okay, so, yeah, definitely been at this for over a month now, and definitely still chronically about one and one third beat behind the rest of the class, still the gaping dope struggling to catch on, even when all the instructor is doing is marching in place. "C'mon, dummy--left, right, left, right--no, your other right! How can it be that hard?" Once I finally get the hang of some step, I cannot allow my mind to wander even for a moment, or else all is lost, and suddenly, I'm just standing there, looking like a complete idiot, as everyone else moves gracefully, all together, in perfect sync, or so it seems to me.

I blame it on my autism spectrum non-disorder. (Because even with the supposed over-diagnosis of autism spectrum disorders, people like me, without a disorder at all, continue to slip through the cracks.) It's all about having a one-track mind--being able to block out external stimuli, finding the world at large to be overwhelming, shutting it all out, except a small, manageable bit.

But more specifically, related to my utter ineptitude at Zumba, it's about only being able to think about one thing at a time. If I try to do the footwork, I can't manage the arm/hand motions. Even once I get the hang of the leg part, if I try to add the arms, it just all goes to pieces.

This is also why I am the world's second worst driver. "Oh dear God," I hear you say, "Someone out there is a worse driver than Virgie?!" Indeed. The world is not safe.

How Does This Even HAPPEN???

2011-03-03T21:13:00.000-08:00

Brandon caught a whiff of some horrible stench the other day and was having a hard time locating its origin. It seemed to disappear when he shut the case of the DVD he'd just checked out from the library. Puzzled, he re-opened the case, sniffed the inside of it and retched in disgust.

I guess he must not really love me, because what he did next was bring the DVD over to where I was and have me smell it, too. Horrible, horrible, horrible stinking body odor. The discs and the inside of the case positively reeked of B.O.

How does that even happen???

The only explanation I can think of is that it was lost for a week in the fat folds of some 700-lb person. I wiped it with copious amounts of glass cleaner, which helped, but did not entirely eliminate the odor. So bizarre.

Drowsy

2011-02-24T15:51:00.000-08:00

Jesus walked this lonesome valley
He had to walk it by himself
Oh, nobody else could walk it for him
He had to walk it by himself

Sometimes when I'm under a lot of stress, I desperately want someone to notice and rescue me. Not just anyone, though. Some person I am particularly fond of. But then when I finally do get that person's attention, and they're all concerned and kind, just like I had hoped, it turns out not to be the solution I was looking for. And then I feel very lonely, indeed.

After reaching that point of despair ("Oh God, no one can help me, after all! I'm doomed!") other defense mechanisms set in. Most notably, drowsiness. At such times, I can sleep 10, 12, even 14 hours per day.

I hate wasting so much of the day, but sleep can have such a wonderful, mysterious restorative power. I sometimes find in dreams the most intense and ineffable beauty. I have caught glimpses of heaven which leave me upon waking in a peculiarly vulnerable state. One might call them dreams from which one truly awakens--dreams that open one's eyes to the radiant glory of reality which is so often hidden.

I like to think of Abraham, sleeping as God cuts the covenant with him. And Adam, snoring away while God creates the woman from his side. And the disciples, asleep during the crucial hour in Gethsemane. Someone recently said (I forget who), in the Jewish reckoning, where the day begins at sundown, about the first thing you do each day is go to sleep. God is at work whilst we slumber and sleep.

All that being said, however, I think maybe next time I feel like sleeping 14 hrs. straight I will try to wake myself up with some sort of caffeine. You know, that never occurred to me until just now ...

Florence: first impressions

2011-02-11T21:22:00.000-08:00

We arrived in Florence yesterday (that's me and my mother, for those who aren't aware). The only other countries I've visited before are Canada (which is pretty much like the U.S. but with funny road signs) and Mexico. Coming back from a month in Guadalajara, I was so shocked in the hours after getting off the plane by how grey and colorless everything looked. I don't know about all of Mexico, but at least the parts I've been to, they sure like bright colors. Well. Getting off the plane in Florence, I had a similar feeling: "Oh my gosh, this place is even more drab and colorless than the U.S.!"

We arrived at our B&B utterly exhausted, of course, but it was 4pm (not a good time for a nap) so I went for a walk to familiarize myself with the neighborhood. Holy freakin' cow. There are incredible, and I mean, included-in-Gardner's-friggin'-Art Through the Ages-famous statues and buildings everywhere. The Duomo is unbelievable. Gazing at it, I understood the term "Wonders of the World." Photos do it no justice whatsoever. I wish I was a painter so I could capture the--the--I don't even know how to describe it. Maybe I will write a poem about it or something.

But anyway, getting back to the colorlessness: I have blogged before about my theory that the eye/brain in some sense has to choose between processing color and processing contrast. That would be why the great old black and white movies are ruined by colorization: it detracts from the subtlties of contrast between light and darkness. And so I thought, perhaps that is why Florence is so drab: it's all about statues and edifices whose beauty is in the complexity and subtlety of form and shape. If there was more color, you wouldn't see the shadows as clearly, so you wouldn't see the shape as well.

The Duomo, though. Oh my God, the Duomo. It has color--quiet colors--light green and pink marble. Again, I am at a loss for words to decribe the astounding beauty of that magnificent structure. Anyway, those were some first impressions. I will probably write more later ...

Evangelical at Heart

2011-02-04T13:13:00.000-08:00

These days I find myself moving between the world of Fuller, where most of the people I know are firmly on the conservative end of the spectrum, and Immanuel Pres., a more progressive community where I’m doing an internship. It was a bit disorienting at first. Sometimes I don’t know which group I love more—evangelicals or liberals. Other times I don’t know whom I find more frustrating. I don’t strongly identify myself with either camp, but I think in this post my true colors come out.

Someone at my “liberal church” said that he has felt closer to God reading Eckhart Tolle's A New Earth than reading the Bible. That definitely set off the heresy alarm, my first thought being, “Eckhart Tolle! OH NO! I must do anything I can to keep this man from slipping into a horrid abyss of wrong-headed thinking!” Not that I know much about Eckhart Tolle—but in spite of my own longings for a mystic communion with God, I am very wary of that path, as it is well known that mystics tend away from orthodoxy.

I guess I really am evangelical at heart: I see the Bible as the necessary anchor and foundation of theology because it holds objective truth. And if subjective experience is leading someone away from the truth as revealed in scripture, I would have to label that subjective experience as demonic, not divine.

The problem with mysticism is that if you’re not careful (and I think you can be—as Thomas Aquinas[!]—but if you’re not) it becomes merely a journey inward, where there is no way of correcting one’s own biases and blind spots. I think it is no coincidence that this guy who likes Tolle so much also was complaining just before about how he disagrees with Immanuel’s focus on social justice issues. He would rather the church focused on God, and the Bible, and improving oneself. Perhaps if he was spending more time reading the Bible and less with Eckhart Tolle, he would see that social justice is very near to the heart of the gospel message.

When people just believe whatever “feels right,” whatever they find “inspiring,” whatever gives them a subjective experience of closeness to God, they cease to be honest seekers of the truth. Truth is objective. Objective reality has the ability to challenge us, to confront us, to show us when we are wrong.

As soon as the mystic blasphemously declares, “I and the Father are one,” she can no longer encounter God as Other. When the mystic proclaims himself divine, he loses the ability to learn from God, to hear God’s voice as distinct from his own. Thinking he is perfect jus t as he is, he cannot repent of the evil that still exists within him. Feeling that all of the universe is as it should be, she sees no reason to fight against injustice.

The Bible is in some ways hard to understand precisely because it is a witness to the objective facts of God’s intervention in history. Because of the historical nature of revelation, we have in scripture a source of objective truth. That is why we need to trust in scripture before our own feelings, so that we can remain open to being transformed by a God whose ways are higher than our ways.

P.S. A note on Eckhart Tolle:
As I said, I don’t know much about him, but I tried looking him up online to see what I could learn. His website is nothing but an advertisement. I am extremely skeptical about the “enlightenment” of any person who refuses to share their supposedly wonderful teachings for free and instead uses their renown to make money.

I Am So Moron!

2011-01-31T17:07:00.000-08:00

It was the end of a long day. I was tired. I tried to hand the cashier the giftcard, and he was like, "Swipe it in the machine." And I was like, "Oh, yeah ..." They gave me my food--I didn't think to ask for ketchup--I sat down and thought to myself, "I am so moron!" and then was like, "what the heck--I really thought that, didn't I? I really am moron."

But you know what really makes me feel stupid? Trying to learn Spanish. Oh my gosh, I feel utterly imbecilic when people try to talk to me, and I'm just like, "Uh ... uh ... uh ..." Not only is my vocabulary small, not only is the audial processing unit of my brain apparently about as quick as the old Tandy 500, but I just get so ridiculously anxious--my brain freezes up completely--even phrases I ought to recognize turn into terrifyingly meaningless syllables, demanding some sort of a response that I simply do not have the capacity to produce.

I think maybe it's because I keep expecting myself to just learn the entire language instantly, and I'm so ashamed of this terrible deficiency (I mean, I grew up in L.A.! Such ignorance is utterly disgraceful!), especially because it's such an easy language to learn. I mean, I don't feel nearly so bad about my Arabic skills having dropped off.

Anyway, it's very discouraging, but I suppose I need to just keep trying to teach myself. It sure is a heck of an intimidating lot of work, though. When I started my church internship, I was all excited about re-learning some Spanish (I took two courses at LACC a million years ago) but I was not anticipating it would be less of a cognitive than an emotional struggle. I guess that's just what sucks about being me: my stupid overreacting, dramatic, sensitive spirit is just always paralyzing me with its irrational freaking out. I am so moron ...

"The Doctrine of Substituted Love"

2011-01-19T15:52:00.000-08:00

I believe it was during our engagement that Brandon and I vacationed with his family at Lake Chelan in Washington. One day, we went out in a canoe, and I think we started out rowing together. But pretty soon I insisted that only one of us should row at a time, so that the other could sit back and enjoy the ride. And it gave me such pure joy to be rowing and rowing away--I didn't mind at all that I had to be so focused on rowing, I could not appreciate the peace and beauty of the lake, the gentle movement of the boat across the water--because I knew someone else was doing it--and I was helping to make it possible for him to enjoy.

I've been thinking about egolessness lately. I've mentioned before my previous irritation with the concept (in short, cogito ergo sum cannot logically be denied). Someday soon I will write more extensively on the subject. But for the moment: I think there is a kind of egolessness which makes it possible to share in another's joy as if it were one's own--a kind of self-forgetfulness, a cessation of one's habitual preoccupation with self and personal possessiveness.

I have always been more skeptical about the possibility of sharing another's pain. Particularly, the idea worked out in Descent Into Hell by Charles Williams (from which I got the title for this post). Perhaps it just seems too good to be true that I could really bear some pain on another's behalf, such that their burden would be lessened. But perhaps ... perhaps it is possible.

And I wonder if there is a greater requirement of egolessness not on the part of the person who is taking on the pain, but on the part of the person who gives it up. Perhaps it is even more difficult for the suffering individual to stop saying "my pain, my cross, my suffering," and allow another to bear it for them.

This thought seems unfinished, but I've been kind of stuck here with it for the past few months. I've had time to reflect on the idea during my time as a chaplain intern at Children's Hospital, but my thoughts never seem to have gotten past this point ...

On Humankind's Tyrannical Oppression of the Canine Class

2011-01-12T15:48:00.000-08:00

My brother was telling me the other day about a place in Siberia where they breed foxes according to their friendliness toward humans, and have thereby domesticated these lovely wild animals (which apparently you can purchase, if you really want). But the interesting thing is that the Siberian researchers were apparently (without knowing it) selecting for a kind of enduring juvenility. The friendlier foxes retained more puppyish behaviors and physical characteristics. So, to grossly oversimplify: domesticated dogs are friendly toward humans because we have bred them to be stuck in a sort of perpetual childhood dependency.

As someone who has thoroughly bought into certain aspects of liberation theology, and as a hyper-rationalist so open-minded I sometimes believe (at least for a brief time) things that others would immediately reject as ridiculous, my initial reaction to this revelation was: Oh my gosh! How horrible! For hundreds of thousands of years, we've been depriving an entire species of its natural right to grow into autonomous adulthood. We've been stunting their emotional and physical growth to keep them beholden to ourselves. How sick and wrong!

But then I got to thinking about an idea from C.S. Lewis (and if I had my copy of The Problem of Pain, I would look it up--I suspect it's in there). I believe Lewis said something like, that domesticated creatures become something more than animals through their relationship with human beings. That animals attain to a higher form of love in relationship with humans than they could have if they had remained in the wild.

The spectre of Peter Singer is still hovering over me, disgusted by such gross "species-ism." But on second thought, I can dismiss that truly ridiculous shade by answering its taunt of "Who says human love is better than canine love?" with a simple, "Everyone but you, Peter."

So anyway, I think this is a helpful lesson for anyone who has struggled with the question of how a truly loving God could want to keep us dependent, as perpetual "children," rather than holding up autonomous adulthood as the ideal. As dogs become more "human" through their childlike dependency on humans, so may we become more "divine" through submission to our Creator.

Fun Movies! And Political Reflections

2010-12-20T17:52:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I feel like I'm overly critical of movies in general. I think that's because certain movies get really hyped up for some reason, and I just don't see why. Like Slumdog Millionaire. Or Inception. Or Crash. Although Crash, in my opinion, is not even a "good" movie, much less worthy of being named "Best Picture" of 2005. (Oh, those ridiculous judges!)

But anyway, oftentimes, I do very much enjoy a good, fun frivolous film. We watched two this past weekend:

Night Train to Munich (1940): Often overlooked, perceived as derivative of The Lady Vanishes (1939), this WWII espionage thriller is simply delightful. I have not seen The Lady Vanishes, but if it's anything like Hitchcock's other films, I'm sure Night Train to Munich is a great deal more humorous and lighthearted. Which I would imagine to be an improvement.

Tron (1982): Such an odd film! The visuals, the story, the dialogue--they're just so ... interesting. Solid storytelling, acting, character development--all the elements of a pretty good movie--with the added element of novelty.

Tron is especially interesting from a theological viewpoint because the citizens of the digital world, personified computer programs, regard their programmers ("users") as deities. Programmer Kevin Flynn, having been transported into the digital world in the likeness of a program, becomes a Christ figure of sorts.

A fun moment that stuck with me was when one of the programs, named Tron, discovers that Flynn, who has been assisting him in his mission, is actually a "user" (i.e. a god). Tron exclaims that this must mean everything Flynn has been doing was according to a greater plan. Flynn shakes his head and says no, actually, users, just like programs, are often just going along, trying to do their best, without an overarching plan in mind.

While I don't think this insight can appropriately be applied to God (I have a high, Calvinistic view of Providence), it's very apt with relation to human authorities. However much people may complain about the way the country is run, for the most part, here in the U.S. we have a sense that the people in charge, though they make some mistakes, generally know what they're doing (or at least we think that of whatever political party we support).

But I'm pretty sure that in reality, the people at the top don't know what they're doing. And I've always found that very disheartening. So I liked that moment in Tron, because it wasn't a terrifying, depressing revelation to the programs--merely surprising. I guess it's okay to find out that that's the way things are; we can still work with that.

Perhaps the real difference it makes, knowing that politicians are just as stupid and incompetent as regular people, is that it means it's our responsibility as citizens to work with them, alongside them, helping them in whatever way we can--rather than looking to them to fix everything and handing them the blame when things go badly.

That is, instead of being angry at politicians, especially those in the White House, we should have compassion on them, because they have one fucking hell of a job, and we would probably not do so well at it ourselves, despite the best of intentions. Perhaps if we could be inspired with pity for all the stupid, incompetent politicians, we would more willingly try to do something to help, rather than just complaining all the time.

Inception: Know What You're In For

2010-12-14T17:15:00.000-08:00

I had been told in advance that Inception is "not mind-bending," but still "very well done." Although I think that's a fair estimation, I was still disappointed; I was expecting something in the genre of, say, (one of my favorite movies) Memento--a film driven by a creative, clever plot. But I'm afraid Inception is really just an action movie with a fun premise.

I suppose the plot is uncommonly smart and original, for an action movie. But I'm not a huge fan of action movies. I don't like having to overlook contrived plot devices and apparent lapses in logic. The "contrived plot devices" part bothered me most. The "rules" of entering someone's dream have nothing to do with what dreams are actually like. For example, in Inception, if you die in a dream, it causes you to wake up. This makes for a good plot device, but it does not at all correspond to my experience of dreaming. If I die in a dream I might wake up, or the dream might change to something else, or my vision might go black and I would be thinking to myself it's not so bad being dead. Or the dream might rewind five seconds and then as it replays, I avoid getting killed after all.

The dream world in Inception operates according to very strict rules--which, again, is useful to the author of the script--but as a result, the "dream" sequences are really not that dreamlike; they're much too coherent--and some of the rules of the dream world are just plain silly.

Although I would highly recommend Inception to action movie fans, if you want an artful exploration of the fascinating idea of entering someone else's dream, check out Paprika instead.

'Tis the Season

2010-12-02T18:03:00.001-08:00

On my way to the train station, I walked past two men shouting angrily at each other:

"--CUZ I'M GOING TO PRISON!!!"
"WHY THE F--- YOU WANT TO KNOCK SOMEBODY UP?!"
"I'M MAD, CUZ I'M GOING TO PRISON, I WANNA HURT SOMEBODY!"
"F--- YEAH YOU GOIN' TO PRISON, I'LL TAKE YOU TO PRISON--"

Continuing on my journey, I eventually got off the subway. Again, I heard a man's voice screaming enragedly. Some Asian dude was kicking a white guy out of his convenience store: "NEVER SAY THAT KIND OF THING IN HERE AGAIN! GET OUT! GET OUT OF HERE!"

The next day, on the train again, a young boy was wailing. His mother told him to shut up. He kept crying. She tried ignoring him. He just kept sobbing, louder and louder. Mom starts losing her temper, angrily ordering the boy to shut his mouth. She tries grabbing him and muffling him with her arm--he gets louder, and louder--I shut my eyes, thinking, "The holiday season is officially upon us. People freaking out left and right." And then--suddenly, it's quiet.

I look up, and there's this woman--just another passenger--and she's giving that young man a good talkin' to. She's calm, speaking quietly, but with authority. Everyone around is gaping in awe and wonder. That screaming little boy has turned into a perfect angel. People are laughing with relief and delight. "Can you come over to my house--to live?" more than one onlooker asks.

Blessed are the peacemakers. We could use a few more in the world, to say the least.

octopus balloon story

2010-11-27T16:30:00.000-08:00

My sister recounted this vignette, told originally in her Plants and the Environment class at Pepperdine: the professor of this class has a young son (about three years old) who one day saw a shiny metallic balloon, shaped like an octopus, and begged his mother to buy it for him. She was reluctant but eventually gave in. Little boy enjoys balloon, until it slips from his grasp and floats away into the sky. Little boy cries and cries. His mother tries to console him, saying, it was only a balloon. "But Mom," he weeps, "the fish are gonna die!"

In the words of my other sister, "That's one awesome little kid."

Further Reflections on "Candidating"

2010-11-18T17:51:00.000-08:00

As I stood in line to take communion at the presbytery meeting last week, I was thinking to myself, "How incredible, that in spite of all my faults and flaws, not only does God accept me, but even this group of people has accepted me--and not just as a member of the Christian community--but as someone genuinely called to pastoral ministry. I guess you don't have to be perfect to be a pastor. And thank God, 'cause otherwise we wouldn't have any ..."

You don't have to be perfect to have a genuine calling to the pastorate. I can imagine that's a good thing to realize sooner rather than later. Not that it isn't imporant to strive toward living a holy life, pleasing to God. But as someone who holds herself to the standard of perfection and constantly, constantly falls short, I tend to get discouraged. So it's good to have the affirmation of a large roomful of pastors and elders that I am not too much of a failure to be recognized as having a genuine call to ministry.

We Need More Angry Preachers!

2010-11-12T16:52:00.000-08:00

At the presbytery meeting this past Tuesday evening, I was advanced to the Candidacy stage of the ordination process. I have shared below the statement I submitted for that occasion. There were only two questions from the floor (so disappointing), but one of them I've been thinking about. Someone asked me to explain how suffering is a gift for ministry. I incoherently muttered something about how suffering opens up this tender place in your heart so that you can really empathize and be sensitive to others' pain.

But I was thinking--perhaps I am a little more unusual in feeling that not only can I bring to ministry what depths of sadness, loss, and despair I have felt, but additionally, anger. Perhaps most people would not think of me as a particularly angry or violent person. But indeed I have long struggled (especially in adolescence) with feelings of terrible rage.

Some people are afraid of their own and others' pain, and many are terrified by their own and others' anger. Having suffered some prolonged, seemingly unbearable emotional pain (and survived) I'm not so scared of acknowledging others' pain. And likewise, having myself experienced seemingly boundless rage, I am not too worried by others' expressions of anger.

This becomes an asset for ministry because it helps me both to be able to create space for someone to express their anger and be accepted (rather than shut down or ignored) and because sometimes people are upset about injustices that the community ought to get on board trying to address.

I think we could really use some more angry preachers in middle class American churches. I wonder to what degree the repression of anger in our society is symptomatic of a socio-political system where those "at the top" need to keep a lid on the righteous indignation of those "at the bottom."

Statement of Faith, Motivation, and Service

2010-11-12T16:50:00.001-08:00

This is a statement I wrote and submitted to my presbytery as part of the ordination process.

When I was twelve years old, I read G.K. Chesterton’s account of how, after Thomas Aquinas had written an important treatise on transubstantiation, the crucified Christ appeared to him in a vision, saying, “You have spoken well of my body; what would you have as a reward?” And with the innocent audacity of a genuine saint, Thomas replied, “I would have thyself!” And thereupon he was blessed with the beatific vision, after which he said all his voluminous works seemed to him like straw.

And so for years, in spite of my Presbyterian upbringing, I believed in the doctrine of transubstantiation. I don’t anymore. But I still identify myself with Aquinas--the mystic theologian. My desire is to see God. And like Aquinas, I strive with intellectual ardor to know God more fully.

Even as a small child, I knew the joy of being in God’s presence; I am blessed to have had a deep faith from as far back as I can remember. But I first started to feel a call to ministry around age 14. In retrospect, that’s interesting, considering it was also around age 14 that my life became hellish. Though suffering severe stress for three years, I never sought relief in external things--drugs, alcohol, etc.--rather, I turned inward, searching out the blackest reaches of the soul, daring anguished inquiry into the darkest of life’s questions. And there in the dark night, Love found me.

I put off starting the Inquiry process for a long time--years, in fact. I think partly it’s because, even though I have been quite sure of my calling to ministry for a long time, I still felt unready. Years of internal struggle have made me acutely aware of my weaknesses and limitations--but they have also forced me to discover where genuine strength and help can be found.
Being about halfway through my CPE unit at Children’s Hospital, I have been amazed at how easy it has been. And I think that’s because I’ve been through some difficult times, and have already had frequent occasions to reflect theologically on questions of suffering, and of who I am, what I believe, and how that informs my work and relationships. My time at Children’s Hospital has demonstrated to me how my suffering is a gift for ministry, and how surprisingly well it has prepared me for entering a pastoral role.

I have also had the opportunity this fall to begin an internship working with various ministries at Immanuel Pres., including their Healing Center, Young Adult Group, and work with One L.A. (a community organizing group). My internship at Immanuel is stretching me in an area I had been worried about not being gifted in before, namely the more practical, mundane, yet nebulously defined area of planning and developing events and coordinating programs. As more of an abstract, big picture thinker, I’m more comfortable in the roles of preacher, teacher, counselor, not so much administrator. So I’m really glad to be getting experience in that area.

I continue to be amazed by the faithfulness of God in preparing me for the pastorate. Looking back over my life, I can see the hand of God forming my heart for compassionate service, my mind for theological perspicacity, my soul for reliance upon grace, and my will for seeking the righteous rule of God. I am eager to continue to serve my Lord Jesus Christ in whatever way God wills, and particularly as I continue to prepare for ordination to the ministry of Word and Sacrament.

Bug Stories

2010-10-11T19:30:00.000-07:00

During the heat wave, pestilential pantry moths invaded our cupboards. We had to clean everything out and put all the dry goods into airtight containers.

When I mentioned this to one of the people I work with at the hospital, he nodded knowingly and proceded to tell me about how he lived in a house where the front was covered in ivy. One evening he came home and noticed something moving in the ivy. He looked closer and saw that it was snails--hundreds of snails--"I kid you not, Virgie, it must have been over a thousand snails." So he and the other resident poured salt water all over the legions of snails before they could destroy the plants.

When I mentioned the moth problem to a woman I work with at church, she gave the same wise nod and told about the time her brother wanted to replace a broken tile in her kitchen floor. The night the tile was removed, she noticed the cat acting strangely--jumping around, all agitated--and when she went into the kitchen, the floor was just crawling with termites. It sounded like something from a horrible nightmare.

Does everyone have a bug story, some disturbing encounter with the world of creepy crawlies that they're just waiting for the opportunity to talk about? There's something primal, even archetypal about the horror of seething insectoid masses. Removing a tile, turning over a rock, it feels like uncovering a frightening alien world--a world that feeds on the death and waste of our own kind.

And it's frightening how powerful insects, spiders, scorpions and the like can be. So tiny and fragile, yet capable of sickening, even killing; destroying homes; decimating food supplies; spreading disease. I suppose an intractable enmity is to be expected ...

Presbyterian Fatalism

2010-10-07T18:25:00.000-07:00

Last week my supervisor at the pediatric hospital asked how I've been dealing with all the tragic stuff I see. I was caught off guard and it took me a moment to understand what he meant. I really have not been very deeply affected by all the sad, sad stories which I step briefly in and out of. When I'm in the room, I feel sad if the patient/family is sad, hopeful if they're hopeful, but I generally don't take anything with me when I leave--except some anxiety about how I could have served them better.

Reflecting later upon this sense of detachment, I thought perhaps it comes from a kind of Presbyterian fatalism. I really do believe that the entirety of creation is ordered by the inscrutable wisdom of God. I don't know why God would ordain so much evil, so much suffering and pain--especially for children--but I did not create the world. I cannot see from my limited perspective how it is happening, but I trust that all things are working together for the good of those who love God.

A high view of providence is very much out of style nowadays, I think. Such a view seems to make God the author of evil. I don't think it does--perhaps another time I'll go into that, but right now I want to consider whether it's monstrous of me not to be overly upset by evil because I trust that God's purposes are being worked out through it somehow. Am I falling into a kind of white-washing of evil, pretending things are okay when they are not--am I guilty of the very thing I deplore?

I want to say: No, because I simply cannot bear the weight of grief and outrage that I would feel if I responded commensurately to the horror of every awful happening I found out about. If other people's tragedies became my tragedies, I would never stop crying. So I feel as much sorrow as I must in order to serve the suffering persons well. But after that, I must entrust them into God's hands.

I'm not really satisfied with that ... Perhaps because I'm falling into the ancient ("original") sin of wanting to be like God. God alone bears the full weight of the whole world's suffering. To be mortal is to accept limitations. It seems odd not to accept simply and gladly the limit mercifully placed on my own suffering, yet we human beings are a perverse lot.

Perhaps also, though, I know that things are not supposed to be too easy. ... Wait a minute. Or are they? Jesus said to take up his yoke, which is easy, and his burden, which is light. Hmmm ...

Well, I don't think I'm going to resolve this one before dinner. Which I'm supposed to be serving right now. Perhaps clarity will come another time ...

evil an illusion?

2010-10-01T14:21:00.000-07:00

Studying world religions in college, I found there was something profoundly appealing about all of them, except Buddhism. To me, Buddhism felt tepid, lukewarm. The ideal of moderation in all things I do not find ... inspiring. The Buddhist way of being sounded very dull and boring to me.

Also, I think Buddhism is the most difficult of the major world religions to reconcile with a western-rationalist worldview. I appreciate having some ambiguity, some paradox--but some of those maxims and koans and stuff in the Buddhist tradition seem quite anti-rational; they offend my desire to undertand and make sense of the world--as well as my expectation of others that they should communicate clearly and try to facilitate mutual understanding (not confustication).

But I think most of all, what bothered me about Buddhism is the idea of evil being an illusion. It's very important to me, both because of my personal history and as a disciple of Jesus Christ, to name and confront evil. Unmasking the wicked injustices of his time was a very important aspect of Jesus' ministry--culminating in his crucifixion. The crucified Son of God is the ultimate witness against human violence and degradation. We are rightly ashamed to acknowledge that the execution of an innocent man is no aberration in an otherwise peaceful society, but rather that it is representative and symbolic of how human beings normally treat each other ...

And of course, the Christian understanding is that only by naming and confronting evil can it be overcome. Forgiveness required a cross. Evil could not simply be ignored and quietly pardoned, under the table, as it were.

Anyway, that's why I always felt antagonistic toward the ideas of Buddhism. But recently I've gotten more interested in meditation (through self hypnosis, which I learned about from a library book years ago). And I started thinking: you know, some kinds of evil actually are illusions, in a sense. Some evil comes simply from wrong ways of thinking and faulty beliefs that I have. They have no objective reality; they're just psychological mistakes I keep making, over and over. And I think meditation can help to free me of such "illusive" evils.

Anyway, that's something I've been thinking about ...

if you had a hermaphroditic child ...

2010-09-24T18:34:00.000-07:00

Sorry it's been forever since I last posted. Been busy with two internships: one at a church, one at a pediatric hospital.

Anyway, I was thinking the other day, "If you had a hermaphroditic child, would it be better to choose one gender and treat him/her as that, or to raise her/him as an androgynoid?" It seems like it would be better to raise him/her as an androgynoid, since that would be true the child's anatomy. If you just chose one gender arbitrarily, it would be like denying and rejecting a basic part of who your child was.

I can understand that people think it will make their child's life easier to think of her/himself as only one gender or the other, since that's what society expects. But if, by virtue of your physical makeup, you simply do not conform to the expectations of society, and if (short of having doctors mutilate your body) there is no way to change that, surely it is better to be honest about the disconnect rather than to deny it and pretend to be "normal."

NO MORE SCHOOL(!!!)!

2010-09-03T16:37:00.001-07:00

You may think that this post about how happy I am to be finished (forever!) with classwork ought to have come earlier--as in, at the end of my last class in June. But I am only truly feeling the elation now because only now am I not only free from all wretchedness of academia, but also free to do what I really want to do: work! ministry!

THANK GOD I NEVER HAVE TO TAKE ANOTHER CLASS IN SEMINARY AGAIN! I CAN WORK NOW! YAY!

This week I started a chaplaincy internship and a church internship. I think they're both going to be great! I'm so happy--which has made me realize how much I hated being a full time grad student. Which seems odd, since I still love learning--reading and writing--and on scholarly subjects, even. But I hated the unnaturalness of relationships. Particularly the teacher-student relationship. That felt somewhat demeaning to me. And relationships with other students were always so superficial. There was no cohort, so you were only in the same classes with people for one short quarter and then you might not see them at all the next quarter.

Anyway, thank heavens that's all done with and finished now. Time to continue being happy!

a broken sonnet

2010-08-19T13:15:00.000-07:00

Intercession Interrupted

Why pray at all? stiff measured reason frowned
though heart unheeding would for love implore
--be logic damned--yet heart now ceded. For
He came
Whose love through every soul inch wound
and intercessor’s frantic fervor drowned
in faith, content unpleading to adore.
As if he’d said: “I could not love them more.”
I: “Lord, it’s hard to pray with you around.”
For where I would cry out with tears, instead
by glory crushed, but whisper hallelu!
Yet mortal fools must ask our daily bread;
at once admit we doubt and know him true,
while God alone perceives, directs above
unyielding logic of unmeasured love.

Blyth's Tragopan

2010-08-09T15:26:00.000-07:00

Sometime last year, we went to the San Diego Zoo. There we saw a most strikingly beautiful bird: Blyth's tragopan. I decided I wanted to do a painting of it and, more than a year later, I have finally done so.

There were two of them at the zoo. One was running and one was roosting.

I wanted to do a more stylized portrayal, but it was a bit beyond my skill level ... Maybe next time.

The Oinkster

2010-08-06T14:32:00.000-07:00

Brandon and I have been trying to hit all the landmark cheap eats in the area. So far we've had burgers at Rick's, Pie'N'Burger, Hamlet and Jake's--chili burgers at Tommy's ("chili" should properly be in quotation marks--it's more like a chili flavored starch paste)--and pastrami at The Hat and Brent's. Last weekend we experienced The Oinkster--which, Brandon pointed out, is like the best of all the other landmark cheap eats combined.

Check this out:

Brandon had the pulled pork sandwich (top/right)--which was okay. But I just had to go for "The Royale" (bottom/left): classic cheeseburger with lettuce, tomato, pickles, and Roquefort; pastrami; bacon; and chili sauce. I was expecting it to be a messy ordeal, but as you can see, the burger is exceedingly well constructed: compact, easily bite-able, with perfect proportions, such that each flavor is accented yet does not overpower the others.

Yum. And I don't even like chili! (Not until last weekend, at least.) Also, the fries were excellent. I think we paid $25 (including a generous tip).

beauty is in the eye of the astigmatic

2010-07-12T15:42:00.001-07:00

As I sit here typing, I can see above the computer screen, through the window, across the quad, in the eucalyptus trees, a shiny purple, silver and gold balloon, torn and caught in the branches. It's been there for quite a while. The day I got my new glasses, I put them on so I could see how much clearer it would look from here. I was surprised that although the image became much sharper, the brightness and prominence of the colors were very much muted.

I like my glasses because, with them, I can read signs that are far away, and I can see leaf shapes, bark texture, birds, and animals more clearly from a distance. But in some ways, the world is more beautiful with the vertical axis out of focus.* Wrinkles, pores, and tiny hairs on people's faces are smoothed away. Colors are more striking. The whole world looks softer, friendlier. It's like living in a Monet.

In what sense do the glasses improve my vision? I can see the details better, but the larger picture becomes less clear. Is a photograph or a painting a more accurate representation of an object? From a scientific perspective a photo may be better--but from the perspective of human experience, from the point of view of one who does not merely see, but who attends, who looks with intention, who evaluates, appreciates, and longs for beauty, a representation that omits the details but brings out what is most important--the glory of purple and gold, shining among dusty green leaves--may be more true to the object than photographic realism.

*Vertical axis out of focus: I use this phrasing because astigmatism does not actually cause a general blurring of vision (it is not like unfocusing the lens of a camera)--it's more similar to seeing double.

Harry Potter and Imaginative Writing

2010-07-02T15:42:00.000-07:00

I am not a fan of the Harry Potter books. I read the first three, and thought they were fun, but nothing to write home about. On the fourth book, I completely lost interest because the long detailed descriptions of the wizarding world held no interest for me. But all that descriptive writing, which I find so tedious, seems to be what the fans love.

From what I have read of the books, it seems the creative acheivement of J.K. Rowling is not in the crafting of a story, nor in the style of writing, nor in any kind of genuine originality, but in the fact that she created a fantasy world with a vast amount of detail. That's why to one person the books may seem irksomely cliched and "imaginatively derivative," whereas to someone else they are "richly imaginative."

But the way in which J.K. Rowling gave her imagination free reign--although it results in a magical world where anything can happen--is, I think, detrimental to the art of storytelling. Another blog I was reading discusses how an author can fall into the error of letting magic in their stories become poorly thought out, and even inconsistent or illogical. This is increasingly a problem the fewer limitations the author has decided to work with.

The use of magic in a story is much more fun and interesting when it has clear limitations. We see it in all the classic fairytales--the hero/heroine is given three magic objects, each of which can do one thing only; the wicked fairy places an enchantment, with a very specific result, and a very specific antidote (she will sleep for one thousand years ... it can only be broken if a prince breaks through and kisses her). These stories would not work if magic could be used for anything, by anyone, at any time.

This is something I've struggled with in writing my own young adult fantasy stories. It's hard to make the use of magic both fun, and creative, as well as limited and specific, so it doesn't get out of hand. So in that sense, I suppose I have a certain degree of respect for J.K. Rowling, since she did write books where the use of magic "works" for most people--though not for me, I'm afraid.

New Glasses and Birds

2010-07-01T15:00:00.000-07:00

So, having lost my glasses back in, oh, February or so, one thing I have been looking forward to doing when I finally get new ones is looking at birds. There are some interesting birds around here, and it would be nice if I could see them clearly from a distance.

But that is not the real connection between new glasses and birds. The connection is that when I went for the eye exam (20/40 far vision--which, as the optician said, means, "You're not blind, but you can't see very well"--though I still have 20/20 near vision--not sure how that works if the primary problem is astigmatism--but as I was saying), I was looking at frames and I saw my same old frames from before that I loved so much!

I loved the old frames because on the side they had this fancy schmancy little stylized bird design. It looked kind of like a quetzl or even a phoenix. It very much endeared those frames to me. But then, there were these other very similar frames, that were in a color I liked better and were a little larger, so they don't mess as much with my peripheral vision. They were the same brand and also had a little stylized bird design on the side. But the bird was very lame by comparison--it looked like a sitting seagull.

It was an agonizing decision. Do I choose the glasses I like better with the lame bird, or the glasses I like less with the awesome bird? The purpose of getting glasses is to help me see better, so the lame bird prevailed. I'll just tell myself it's really an albatross. Then it can be awesome, too.

Also: I saw a funny pesticide commercial in the waiting room. It shows black and white footage of happy children, as an ominous voice tells you that millions of children are made sick from pesticides every year. Then it tells you about their safe pesticide--and shows people spraying it all over the place--all around the house, on the sink, on a little girl's arm! "It's so safe," announces the voice, "it even says 'safe' on the label." That is some irrefutable logic. "Can your pesticide do that?" Good question. My pesticide probably is so dangerous that even if I tried to up a sticker that said "safe" on the label, it would peel off instantly. Who the heck wrote this commercial? Did they realize it was funny?

Colombian Hot Dogs!

2010-06-15T12:32:00.000-07:00

Last weekend, I said to Brandon that if we were going to go to the dollar theater, we should also stop at the nearby shop that sells Colombian hot dogs, because who knows! It could go out of business before we ever had gone in and tried out the hot dogs. So we went. And there on the sign, it said that they were going to be closing within a week! We were just in time.

The hot dogs were quite good, and now we know how to make them for ourselves:

Begin with a big, substantial bun. Lay a slice of ham in it. Add a goodly amount of mozzarella cheese, a quality beef frank, and some pineapple chunks. Melt the cheese. Top with crushed potato chips, and drizzle with ketchup, mustard, and mayo in a zigzag design.

Brandon and I speculated it might be a better idea to put the condiments underneath the potato chips. The dog would not look as pretty, but the chips might get less soggy.

Election Day Tomorrow

2010-06-07T16:49:00.001-07:00

Here in California, we are having an important primary election tomorrow. Several weeks ago I saw a scrap of paper on a bulletin board at Fuller. It was covered in crazy looking handwriting--you know, the kind that is not consistent in size and capitalization. I wish I had run home to get my camera--it read something like:

HeLLO MY NaMe IS JOhN HaRRiS I Am A US CiTIZeN I Am RUNNiNg FOR GOVeRnOR OF CaLIFORNiA WRITe In CaNDIDATE SO PLeaSE JUST VOTe FOR Me OKaY

A few days later, I received the official voter's guide in the mail. Let me share a few statements by the candidates for governor:

"Build Solar Panel Factories. Install Solar panels on 10 million homes." (Democrat)

"I am a Christian living by principles in God's Word. I speak the truth ... I am qualified with an AA, BA (zoology/chemistry), MA (theoretical/research) and Ph.D. (clinical psychology)" (Republican)

"As your Governor, I will ensure all pedophiles will leave the State or volunteer to live confined to Santa Rosa Island, at no cost to Californians, as they will have their own self-supporting village" (Republican)

These are the people Brandon affectionately refers to as "Yahoos." And they are in the official voter guide. (The serious candidates are not.) How does a BA in zoology and a PhD in clinical psychology qualify someone to run the state of California? Because we are all a bunch of crazies who behave like a pack of wild animals? Hm, come to think of it, maybe those are reasonable qualifications after all.

Listen to this boast by Attorney General candidate Steve Cooley: "My office has ... obtained more death penalty convictions than any other district attorney in California."

I'm glad I'm not required to vote for any of these people. Tomorrow I will probably be leaving the majority of my ballot blank ...

Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland

2010-05-24T13:40:00.000-07:00

Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland captures perfectly the dream-like effect of making the fantastical and bizarre seem simply mundane, strangely unaffecting, even boring. I don't know if that's the effect he was going for. It makes for a seriously lacklustre movie-going experience. I liked the Cheshire Cat, and some of the visuals. Otherwise, there was very little in the film to be enjoyed. Maybe it works better for kids. Children who are not easily disturbed by the grotesque may find the characters amusing enough that they will remain interested in the story despite the film's lack of emotional depth.

A Serious Infestation

2010-05-20T13:35:00.001-07:00

The other night, I dreamed I was inspecting a broken down old shed, and it turned out to have rats. They were huge. One fell out of the ceiling--it was almost the size of a capybara. And really fat. It seemed only mildly concerned about the presence of humans and dizzily stumbled away (must have hit its head pretty hard). There was some guy (an exterminator?) with weapons who started firing on the rats. But then the rats had guns, too, and started shooting at us. We had to run away.

Rats with guns. It's comical, and seems to have some kind of philosophical meaning I can't quite make out. I try to pin it down, but nothing truly does justice to the image. It's more than getting a taste of one's own medicine, more than a commentary on the escalation of violence in war. Because they're rats, for crying out loud. Perhaps it's an image of a world gone horribly wrong--rats having guns is even worse, in some way, than children having guns. Animals should not be capable of intentionally doing evil. Animals can't commit murder. The dream-rats were not anthropomorphized; just enormous.

Perhaps it's silly to look for coherent meaning in a dream. But this one seemed to ask for it.

Thoughts on Iron Man 2

2010-05-19T17:32:00.000-07:00

Iron Man 2 was awesome. Robert Downey Jr., Mickey Rourke, and Sam Rockwell all turned in delightful, top-notch performances. I thought the film was about as good as the first one, although I did not enjoy it as much. What blew me away about the original was not so much its artistic and technical merit per se, but that it was just so much fun to watch. But some of the themes Iron Man 2 deals with are darker, more frightening and worrisome; it made for a different movie-going experience--more tense--even thought-provoking. Brandon is still speculating on what political statement the filmmakers wanted to imply with the line about "privatizing world peace."

I was also irked by the introduction of Scarlet Johansson's character. Her personality can be more or less reduced to the words "super-sexy and dangerous." I think it is a sign of the failure of women's liberation that a female character is not allowed to kick ass unless she's all seductive about it.

That was another thing I loved about the first movie: they included the throw-away sex-object female characters, and contrasted them with Pepper Potts--strong, competent, loyal, caring--a real person--who also happens to be beautiful and sexy--but not hyper-sexualized, and not defined by her sexuality.

One of my professors was asking (rhetorically) the other day about why it is that the U.S. has never elected a woman to its highest political office. India, Pakistan, Britain, Argentina, and Chile are all, surprisingly, ahead of us there. I wonder if it has something to do with the fact that here in the U.S., the image of the powerful woman is also hyper-sexualized (like Scarlet Johansson's character in Iron Man 2), which may be okay for a superhero movie, but not for a political candidate. And although Pepper Potts is still a strong character, and tough in her own way, she clearly plays a supporting role to Tony Stark, and is not a hero herself.

I don't remember the Kill Bill movies very well, but I think Uma Thurman's character was a good example of what it would look like for a female lead to be powerful but not defined by sexuality. (Although she's more of an anti-hero in some respects--not necessarily someone you would want to be like.)

Anyway ... Iron Man 2 ... like most films, it brings up some interesting issues about gender stereotypes in the media ...

Surprisingly, Convinced

2010-05-07T15:43:00.000-07:00

My last post described how I balked at the expectations for the Company of New Pastors. After writing that post, I went home and discovered I was mistaken--it's not just 4 scripture readings; it's 5-7. (Plus the selection from the Book of Confessions.)

After gnashing my teeth and deliberating a while, I said to myself (teeth still gnashing away), "I will try following this spiritual regimen for a week, and I will time myself to see how long it takes, and I will get an idea of just how burdensome it is before I decide it is not for me." I held out no hope that the exercises would actually be worthwhile, but I was willing to give them a try.

So, it's been five days now. And I love this new spiritual practice! It's great! And it really doesn't take that long.

So ... the moral of this story is: don't knock it 'til you've tried it.

(Sesame Street, you have taught me well.)

Presbyterian Boot Camp?

2010-04-30T13:35:00.001-07:00

Around the turn of the milennium, the Presbyterian Church (USA) did a study to see how frequently their pastors and church members read the Bible. As one would expect, the answer was: not often. So they created this thing called "Company of New Pastors," where Presbyterian ordination-track students in their final year of seminary commit to doing some daily devotions and scripture reading, and meet once a month for worship, fellowship, etc. Well, a professor suggested to me I might do that, and I thought it sounded like a good idea.

We had our first meeting today. They passed out these prayerbooks with prayers for morning, midday, and evening services, and a special 2-year lectionary plan, with four scripture readings and a selection from the Presbyterian Book of Confessions for each day--and I was sitting there, thinking, "I'm not going to do this. Do they really expect us to do this? This is simply not going to happen." I thought this especially when it was made clear that we are expected to continue these daily devotional practices for the remainder of our careers.

I've tried to be spiritually disciplined in the past. It's always turned out badly. So eventually, I decided to lower my expectations, and set myself a reasonable, attainable goal (read some scripture, and pray for a bit, every weekday at lunch time). I was thinking "daily devotion and scripture readings" meant something like, working through a curriculum that would include one scripture passage and some kind of supplementary material for each day. But three times a day, reading through a substantial liturgy and multiple readings--my gosh! That really sounds burdensome--and unnecessarily so.

The more I think about this, the more I think it is completely unrealisitic. I feel like I unwittingly signed up for a monastic vow. And monastic vows were designed for unmarried persons. I suppose if I were single, living alone, then I could do this sort of thing.

But I would hate to back out now--I suppose I can find some way to make this work for me. It will be a challenge, that's for sure. And I guess that's a good thing. Though I'm not yet convinced, even of that.

Another Pointless Rule?

2010-04-23T16:07:00.001-07:00

As I was brushing my teeth last night, I noticed the Band-Aid box says on it, "For medical emergencies, seek professional assistance." Under what circumstances would this advice be helpful?

Person 1: I have been mauled by a puma! I am bleeding profusely!

Person 2: Oh my God! [Runs to the bathroom, returns with a box of Band-Aids.] Oh no! The Band-Aids are too small for your severe lacerations! What shall we do?

Person 1: Read the Band-Aid box. Perchance it bears valuable instructions.

Person 2: No! There are no instructions!

Person 1: I ... grow dizzy ... and faint.

Person 2: Wait! Yes! Here, it says, "For medical emergencies, seek professional assitance." How do I do that?

Person 1: Call ... 9 ... 1 ... 1 ...

Person 2: 911? Is that an area code? What is the rest of the phone number?!

If a person does not know that Band-Aids are insufficient to deal with a medical emergency, will they know what it means to "seek professional assistance"?

Are the instructions intended for young children? If so, why are they in such small print?

Do other brands of band-aids carry the same advice? Is it an industry standard? A legislated requirement?

Aha! A plausible explanation. Perhaps all medical supplies are required to carry these instructions, due to someone coming up with an idea that sounded good, but was not thought out very carefully.

I can think of some reasons why people would not seek professional assistance in a medical emergency: 1) they are undocumented immigrants 2) they have an irrational phobia of doctors 3) their injury resulted from illegal activities 4) they are freaked out by the prospect of medical fees 5) they did not recognize they were having a medical emergency.

In none of these cases would the advice on the packaging of medical supplies be helpful. Is my imagination too limited? Am I overlooking a plausible foreseeable situation in which the advice on the Band-Aid box would actually help someone?

Caffiene

2010-04-22T07:55:00.000-07:00

Last night, for the first time in my career as a student (having made it to the last quarter of classes, my third year of graduate school), I thought to myself, "I could drink a caffeinated beverage to help me stay awake and alert to write the paper that's due tomorrow morning."

I've always known that that was something other people do. And it's not as if I had made a decision to avoid caffeine. It simply had never occurred to me that I myself might use caffeine to stay awake.

It worked beautifully, until I finished writing my paper and wanted to go to sleep. Then it was not good at all.

So I think now I will intentionally avoid drinking tea at night.

Review: Shutter Island

2010-04-19T11:12:00.000-07:00

Shutter Island is not a great film (i.e. it's nothing new or original), but it's a good film, which employs the elements of its genre well, and I enjoyed it quite a bit. But then, I've long been fascinated with mental illness, so just about any movie set in a mental institution would automatically pique my interest.

I would have to partially agree with some of the critiques--that because the primary protagonist (U.S. Marshal Teddy Daniels) is so closed and defensive a character, a certain emotional involvement is lacking. So I found myself impatient to get to the end.

But now that I know the ending, I think it would be even more fun to watch the film a second time. Although, unfortunately, knowing the ending is not sufficient to explain every detail of the plot. There are some scenes that don't make a whole lot of sense, even in retrospect. Some kind of commentary from the director would be helpful.

So, anyway, those are my thoughts ...

Grandma

2010-04-16T20:06:00.000-07:00

I remember Grandma’s garden
her, patiently, peacefully
holding the hose
the water
running in rivulets, pooling in puddles
Sunny afternoons
cool in the shadow of the house
she would clip a few roses
I watched, she broke off each thorn
and handed me the bouquet
color, loveliness
for the dining room table

when Grandma came over
rustling plastic bags of
pink curlers, crosswords
cartoons and cookies
we spent calm, quiet evenings
munching cheese puffs, “oriental mix”
watching Batman and Speed Racer
She presided
at the table with her magazines

Grandma was adopted
an outsider
her roses grew in plastic bins
on crates, on concrete
tended well, and well contained

she wanted peace, and now
She rests

Excitement!

2010-04-13T14:41:00.000-07:00

Sita Sings the Blues is going to be re-released in theaters April 23rd! I don't remember how I heard about this movie, but I've been wanting to see it for the longest time. I hope it is as good as people have made it out to be.

Additionally, IRON MAN 2 IS ALMOST OUT IN THEATERS! MAY 7! ONLY 24 DAYS AWAY! YAAAAAAY!

The question is, did I enjoy Iron Man so much because of its intrinsic merits, or was it more because the day we went to see it, I had just finished the first draft of the first book of my children's/young adult fantasy series, and I was already kind of euphoric about that? I hope someday the stories I write will bring as much joy to someone else as the movie Iron Man brought to me ...

Added to Blogroll: Hyperbole and a Half

2010-04-02T15:10:00.000-07:00

Check it out: Hyperbole and a Half. Some of these are a little too sick for my current tastes, but others are stinkin' hilarious.

I used to like really disturbing humor. When I was a kid, and my grandmother read me that part in Genesis where Joseph interprets the baker's dream, and says he's going to be impaled and the birds will eat his flesh--I thought that was just too funny.

Maybe I've changed because now I'm too aware that any imaginable horror has been actualized, or equalled by some other atrocity, multiple times in human history--and is likely to be repeated--which is a very saddening thought.

Wiki-Nostalgia

2010-03-24T15:52:00.000-07:00

When I talk to people about that sugary breakfast cereal that was only around for a short time, and had a robot for a mascot, I get blank looks--even when I further remind them that it got really soggy and had red, orange, or purple inside it. But Brandon (that bounteous spring of obscure factoids) remembered it was called "Treasures." Saith Brandon, "How much information do you think Wikipedia has on it?" I doubted it would warrant its own entry. I mean, talk about a trivial subject. Oh, me of little faith. (See the Hidden Treasures (cereal) wiki!)

There could be a whole wikipedia of nostalgic items--and they could even have a separate Wiki-Nostalgia for Baby Boomers, Gen X, Gen Y, etc.

Why, just a few weeks ago, as the professor lectured on Calvin's concept of "virtual realism," I suddenly remembered what may be the most inane t.v. theme song I have ever heard. It was for a show called VR Troopers, and the song went, "Troopers. Three. (Go!) Virtual reality. Troopers. Three. (Go!) Virtual reality." And so instead of listening to the lecture, I was thinking about how stupid that theme song was.

And remember that cartoon about crime-fighting t-rexes wearing suits with different colored bow-ties and sunglasses? Who sat at a round table? It was called The Adventures of T-Rex. It ran from 1992 to 1993. Oh, Wikipedia! What a wonderful waste of time!

So, anyway, I am having a good Spring Break. But mostly because I've been working away at my children's/young adult fantasy fiction series. Just finished a draft of Book Three. Ideas for Book Four are starting to shape up. Soon, I will have Books Two and Three cleaned up enough to ask people to read and give feedback. Mwahahahaha! (Not evil laughter--just a little maniacal.)

Sherlock Holmes (movie!)

2010-03-09T15:34:00.001-08:00

We saw the Sherlock Holmes film this past weekend. I went in with very low expectations. I assumed there would not be any kind of a mystery, and that the characters had been vaguely inspired by the books, but more or less completely re-envisioned. I also thought Robert Downey Jr. was too nice and sweet to be a good Holmes.

I was surprised to find that not only was there an element of mystery, but its resolution was based on Holmes' keen obseravtions and vast knowledge, which is very much in keeping with the books. And likewise for Downey/Richie's interpretation of Holmes. The detective is not the same character from the books, but he is very much in the spirit of the "real" Sherlock Holmes.

And that's probably the most one can reasonably expect. I suppose Sherlock Holmes as written by Conan Doyle and illustrated by Sidney Paget is too vivid a character ever to be depicted accurately on screen. A good movie adaptation shouldn't aim for slavish imitation, and I thought the film did a good job of creatively re-imagining Holmes while also remaining faithful to the essence of the character.

The portrayals of Watson and Irene Adler were much freer, which is understandable. They weren't all that interesting to begin with so it's not distressing to see them conformed to fit contemporary character types.

I think that of the four of us who went, as the only Sherlock Holmes / Arthur Conan Doyle fan, I enjoyed the film more than anyone else. (Other people's comments were along the lines of "Not bad at all!" and "I would watch a sequel"--I was like "Woohoo! That was fun! That was about as good a contemporary re-imagining of Sherlock Holmes as one could hope for!") So, if you've been trying to decide whether to see it or not ... there's my estimation, for what it's worth.

Wild At Heart / Captivating

2010-03-05T16:21:00.000-08:00

I finally picked up a copy of Wild At Heart and its companion book Captivating (for those unaware, these books by John Eldredge--the second one in collaboration with his wife, Stasi--are about their idea of what it means to be a real Christian man and real Christian woman. The books have been quite popular among some evangelicals--Wild At Heart especially).

If I had known when I started the books that Eldredge is a Focus on the Family man, I would probably have read with a less charitable eye and would have caught on quicker to some of the problems with the books.

Now, I don't want to disparage the books too much, because I think they communicate a good deal of powerful truth. They preach the gospel, and I respect the apparent fact that so many people have found genuine healing in from these books. It is certainly true that every man and every woman is deeply wounded inside, and that God alone can heal our brokenness.

I think it's kind of helpful that they frame "the wound of the masculine heart" in terms of feeling inadequate, or not up to the task, and "the wound of the feminine heart" as feeling unloveable, or unworthy.

But this would be much more helpful if they understood that gender differences are really only general tendencies, not rigid categories. Often times women are plagued by feelings of inadequacy and not being up to the task. And it would be absurd to say that men care nothing about being loved.

The Eldredges make some statements that seem on the surface to support the kind of role flexibility that is truly healthy and helpful (e.g. they talk about wonderful Christian women they know who are not into "girly" activities, but are nonetheless "captivating"). But these efforts at accomodating the outliers on their gender map go unexplained and unreconciled to the main thrust of their argument--e.g. part of their argument being that every woman dreams of being a beautiful princess.

Which brings me to my second complaint: the Eldredges make no effort to distinguish what is healthy and what is unhealthy in the gender role expectations set by the media. Instead, they appeal to popular movie themes as if these could tell us what the innate desire and fantasy of every man and woman must be. It as if it never occurred to them that the media shapes people's fantasies, often in unhealthy ways.

Perhaps most glaringly, however, these books openly reject the teaching of scripture, without giving any explanation. They pretend to draw conclusions from a handful of stories and passages, but it seems pretty clear that they are reading into these texts what they have already decided to be true.

They reject the image of the industrious, hard working wife described in Proverbs 31 as impractical. They state that Christian women are too busy and are only tiring themselves out in trying to serve others. Instead, women should be putting their effort into being beautiful and seducing their husbands. Because the real purpose of a woman is to cultivate her own beauty. And here they appeal "every woman's" desire to dress up in beautiful clothes, and "every little girl's" interest in make up and doing things with their hair and being a princess.

Now, the last time I checked, vanity was a sin. 1 Tim. 2:9-10 exhorts women to "dress modestly, with decency and propriety, not with braided hair or gold or pearls or expensive clothes, but with good deeds" (NIV). Likewise, 1 Pet. 3:3-4 advises wives "Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as braided hair and the wearing of gold jewelry and fine clothes. Instead, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God's sight" (NIV).

I am sure the Eldredges would protest that they are advocating the same kind of inner beauty of which 1 Peter speaks. Perhaps they are. But they are also advocating the kind of vanity about one's personal appearance that the texts are warning against.

The same problem occurs in their discussion of masculinity. The books hold up male aggression and even violence as what God created men for. But the New Testament seems much more concerned about curbing aggression than encouraging it. Just before the previously mentioned advice to women, 1 Tim. 2:8 exhorts men "to lift up holy hands in prayer, without anger or disputing" (NIV). And 1 Tim. 3 states that male church leaders should be "temperate, self-controlled, respectable," "not violent but gentle, not quarrelsome." This sounds a lot more like the "domesticated" man John Eldredge despises than the "dangerous" and "wild" man he upholds as a model.

As I said before, there is some powerful truth in these books, but unfortunately it is mixed with some highly destructive falsehoods. And the more I try to wrap my head around what exactly John and Stasi Eldredge wanted to say, the more I conclude that they are in fact, two deeply hurting, broken, and very confused people, who don't really know what they are talking about, but who are grasping hard, both at the gospel message, and at the stiflingly rigid gender roles they advocate.

After the Downpour

2010-02-24T16:41:00.000-08:00

The puddles all ’round were still, smooth at last. Except beneath the trees, their bark soaked, leaves dripping. Someone looked up, “Hey! A rainbow!” and everyone turned, no matter what they were doing. Against the dark blue-purpley clouds, squeezed empty of their load, a perfect arc of prismed light. Dim at first, its hues brightened as we watched. We were in shadow, gray and gloom, but there beyond, and up, the tops of pine, palm and cedar were lit with the brilliant red-gold of a dying sun, and over all, a promise writ in living color. Its hopeful decree announced, the rainbow faded, we shivered with cold, we turned to go, the light still in our eyes, ready to tell anyone, why we were smiling so.

(Part of a creative writing assignment for the awesome homiletics class I'm taking.)

Salvation Army Church Service

2010-02-22T11:06:00.000-08:00

We were out late Saturday night and therefore not up to rising early enough to get to our usual church Sunday morning. So we visited the nearby Salvation Army Tabernacle. It was ... really something.

Just entering the church was a little bit of a shock, since there were so many people wearing military-style uniforms. Not everyone, but several people. We went into the sanctuary and saw that up on the "stage" (for lack of a better word), there was a full brass band--about 20-25 members. They were also wearing uniforms. And behind them a choir of 40-45 dressed in the same manner.

Throughout the service, the various people leading worship (all in uniform) continued to use military terminology--the ministers being called "Lt. Colonel So-and-So" or "Sgt. Major So-and-So." They talked about their upcoming "Soldiering Class" (Confirmation/New Members Class?). The choir, band and congregation were all conducted in a military style.

Apparently they place a high value on learning to play brass instruments. During the announcements, they gave special recognition to a young man who had competed in Academic Decathlon and won a bronze in Music. After the applause had died down, it was mentioned in passing that he had also won a gold in Economics and silver in American History. Interesting priorities.

Aside from the whole "army" theme, it was a wonderful service--the band and choir were excellent, the congregational songs were very singable and easy to learn (they were neither traditional hymns nor contemporary praise music, but came from their own Salvation Army Songbook). The preaching was quite good ("inspired and adapted" from Rick Warren's Purpose Driven Ministries book). And the people were super friendly and welcoming.

But I think it would take several visits for me to get over the military uniforms and language. I suppose I have some first-hand experience now of what an "un-churched" person might feel coming into a "normal" church service ...

Fun Web Comic!

2010-02-19T15:21:00.000-08:00

I finally got around to adding Koalition Comics to the blogroll. Check it out. It's an awesome web comic by an artist who went to our church for a brief period before moving to Reno.

On Crossing the Street

2010-02-16T10:54:00.000-08:00

Recently they've put in some new signals for the crosswalks in Pasadena. They're the kind that tell you how many seconds you have. Every time Brandon and I are crossing the street and it's down to the last few seconds, as it turns from 1 to 0, I just have to leap for the corner, flailing my arms around, like a person running from an explosion in a movie. Oh my goodness, it never gets old! It's the most fun I've had crossing the street since we were in Canada. (In Canada, you must cross the street with an erect, jaunty pose, just like the funny little guy in the picture. Here in the States our little crossing the street guy has terrible posture. Now what does that say about us as a nation?)

Nico Eaten By Giant Frog!

2010-01-22T14:55:00.000-08:00

This Epiphany, we gave Nico (my youngest sister) a fun present, but then she got eaten by it. Watch the video to learn of the happy ending.

Good 'Ol Utne

2010-01-18T17:00:00.000-08:00

Sitting in a clinic waiting room earlier this month, I picked up a copy of the Utne Reader. It had a fascinating article about a woman named Aimee Mullins. She gave an address to some think tank titled "How My Legs Give Me Super-Powers." I don't have time to find a good link for you, but if you do decide to find out who she is, make sure the site you look at has pictures. (-:

A Wonderful Realization

2009-12-08T16:58:00.000-08:00

So, to give you some idea of what my life is like during this week of finals: here I am sitting in the library, reading through dozens of journal articles, thinking to myself I ought to stand up soon so I don't get a blood clot, although maybe a blood clot would be welcome, so I could have a legitimate excuse not to have everything done on time. And then I look at my watch and see that it says it's December 8, and I'm like, "Wait a minute, isn't Friday (when everything is due at 5pm) the 11th? That means tomorrow must be the 10th, and so today must be the 9th. Is my watch wrong? My watch must be wrong. How did my watch go wrong? No! Today is Tuesday, not Wednesday! Wait, is it really? Yeah! It's only Tuesday! OH MY GOSH THAT IS THE BEST NEWS ALL DAY!"

the voices in my head

2009-12-04T15:56:00.000-08:00

I dreamed I was in my house getting ready to leave for class, and I started getting anxious with worriesome self doubts. In the kitchen there was this funny looking, ugly, sullen little man in a tweed suit curled uncomfortably in the corner, making mean, disparaging, whiny remarks to me as I walked by. In the other room there was a tall blond-haired man, wearing a light grey suit. I went up to him and told him all about how I was feeling anxious and he listened patiently and I put my arms around his waist like a little kid, since he was, apparently, really tall, and after a little bit I felt comforted and then left for class.

Reflecting on the dream afterward, I thought: the two men in the house are kind of like the little angel and devil that sit on people's shoulders in cartoons, whispering good or bad things in their ear.

In the same way that I've internalized some people's criticisms so that they become a harsh, nit-picking inner commentator, contrastingly, I have also internalized some other people's caring encouragement. Certain people come to mind, but of course, the first is Brandon. The nice, tall guy in the dream looked kind of like Brandon--but older, taller, and with lighter hair.

It's not uncommon for people to talk about having hyper-critical voices in their head--whether they identify it as one of their parents, or their spouse, or even their boss--and it does seem like it's always negative, always a judging voice. But apparently it's just as possible to have a kind, loving voice in one's head.

Various

2009-11-28T11:39:00.000-08:00

We watched Julie and Julia last weekend and highly enjoyed it. It's not a great work of art, but we loved the characters--Streep's Julia Child most of all, of course.

Someone finally put the lyrics to Dan Crow's album Oops! on the internet: here it is! It's even better than I remembered. I'm now going to go around singing "American Gum" all day(!!!).

Thanksgiving was great! Hooray! But for the first time in my remembered life, I did not wake up the day after Thanksgiving super excited to put on some Christmas music. I've been too busy thinking about school stuff to get all anticipatorily excited about Christmas.

Also, not enough time has passed since last Christmas for it to be Christmas again. Did I mention that the rate at which time passes for me increased suddenly this spring? I noticed it as we were taking the train and subway to church. All of a sudden it seemed like a short trip (about an hour) instead of a long trip. And of course, at the same time I noticed the weeks were flying by as if they were only three instead of seven days. Odd that the process of time speeding up, which is normally gradual, made a sudden leap forward ...

Mosque Visit

2009-11-20T16:37:00.001-08:00

Today I went with a group from my "Current Trends in Islam" class to the Islamic Center of Southern California. For some reason, I've always been more impressed by the similarities between Christianity and Islam than the differences. Not so today! I must say, I was rather shocked by the sermon, which was exactly opposite in ethos from what is "normal" for me, as a Christian in the Reformed tradition.

The speaker talked about the Day of Judgement, and how there are seven things you can do to ensure that you will be saved. These included things like giving charitably such that the right hand doesn't know what the left is doing, or having a friendship which is based solely in the love of God, or (for men only) refusing to be seduced into committing adultery with a rich, beautiful woman. According to the speaker, if you just do one of these seven things at some point during your life, God will remember it in the Day of Judgement and you'll be saved.

And then there was another point in his sermon where he talked about how you should be proud of being a righteous person, you should be proud of not gossiping, not stealing, not doing drugs, etc. In fact, in the Day of Judgement, some people will be walking, some "riding" (we don't know upon what) and some will be dragged with their faces on the ground. And so when your friend says that if you don't do drugs, you sure are missing a lot, then remember that on the Day of Judgement you will be on your ride, and your friend will be missing a lot, with their face dragging on the ground.

If you suspect I am misrepresenting the speaker, you can listen to the sermon on the mosque's website.

Anyway, I've just never been so impressed as I was today by how very, very different the ethos of Islam is from the ethos of Reformed Christian faith. I still think it's a plausible notion that all religions are essentially similar in that they are all about placing absolute trust in God/Ultimate Reality/Truth (with a capital "T") or whatever. But it's an idea that needs some hefty qualifications ...

clearing clouds

2009-11-10T14:53:00.000-08:00

I’ve had twenty four professors at Fuller, only two of them women. 2 out of 24. This is bad, well, for a number of reasons, one of them being that it’s important for women to have female mentors and role models. Which is obvious. So I’ve been frustrated here in that regard.

But it only just occurred to me that I miss having role models or mentors of my own racial background. I hadn’t really thought of it because I’m so unused to the idea of anyone having the same racial background as me (other than my siblings). I know only one person outside my family who is of half European, half Asian descent (and he’s half Filipino, not half Chinese).

But now at Fuller I’ve had two biracial professors: one Caucasian and Salvadorean; another Swiss and Lebanese.

I was surprised to realize how much this matters to me. For some reason, it doesn't matter what mixture of races they are--just meeting someone else who is biracial is a happy occasion. And taking a class from someone admirable in Christian faith and scholarship who happens to be biracial also--that’s inspiring, that’s encouraging. Heck, they even kind of look like me in being--how to put it--whitish? Off white? Sort of Caucasian looking but not exactly.

I guess I'm one of those glass-half-empty people. Unlike one of my brothers who has said he thinks of himself as "both/and," I see myself as "neither/nor." And my perception that I don’t fit the normative categories leaves me with a loneliness so pervasive I don’t even notice it most of the time.

but the clouds begin to clear
I see two stars
the ground feels firmer

looking like a fool

2009-11-07T10:27:00.000-08:00

I’ve always liked the saying, “better to say nothing and be thought a fool than to speak and remove all doubt”--but it's not really true for me. I keep quiet and people think I’m really smart.

I should live more by a saying something like, “Better to be loved for the fool you are than to remain respected and aloof.” Too bad that’s not very catchy or humorous. Still, it's something important to me. Even though I’m afraid of looking stupid, I know it’s better to take a risk and be engaged than to retain my dignity. It's better to take a humble part in some kind of communal entity than to stay "above it all."

I realize this is all highly abstract, but I'm too embarrassed about the situation where it came up recently to tell you about it. And it's not very interesting, anyway.

ARABIC TONGUE TWISTERS!!!!!!!

2009-11-04T19:25:00.000-08:00

So, I had this incredible thought last night: what if I could learn some Arabic tongue twisters?!?!!!? Oh, my gosh. That would be so awesome, I would keel over and die. So I looked on the internet and found this website. It's hard to learn the correct pronounciation from the transliteration, or from the ones in Arabic letters since they don't have vowels, but look at the translations at the bottom of the page! Don't you want to learn how to say "Put the sour vegetables in the policeman's pocket"? Or "A cardboard in a cardboard, can you, the master of the cardboards be a cardboard?"

Just Like in the Movies!

2009-10-27T10:33:00.000-07:00

We had a little excitement on the train this Sunday. As the train approaches the Chinatown station, it crosses over the L.A. "River." The train came to a stop on the bridge and we heard the conductor talking to people outside (the intercom broadcasts both inside and outside the train). She said something about the police chasing a guy down the tracks. A few people started glancing around, out the windows, but we couldn't see anything.

"Don't do it," came the conductor's voice. "That's a suicide jump, you moron!"

Now heads were really turning. There was a pause. Then, "He's down, guys. He made it to the ground."

Then silence. The train was still stopped. Out the window, we could see a freight train passing by below. I thought, "Maybe he'll make his daring escape on the train!" So I watched. At first I didn't see anything. But then, there he was. Some guy wearing a white t-shirt and black shorts standing all cool and non-chalant between two of the cars. Off he went. We waited another little while.

"I'm gonna go by you guys really slowly, okay?" said the conductor. The train slowly passed by about five police officers. The conductor informed us, "The police were chasing a suspect down the tracks and it looks like he jumped onto the freight train."

And that was it. Crazy, eh?

relativity

2009-10-13T14:59:00.000-07:00

the human heart is fickle
mine especially
that woman
so irritating six months ago
today in a sea of unknown faces
my heart leaped at sight of her
blazing light of history shared
no matter contents half forgotten
there among strangers
my cherished best friend

[Some at best mediocre poetry. But I wanted y'all to know I haven't fallen off the face of the earth. I am enjoying the exquisite torture that is learning Arabic. Woot woot!]