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Margaret and I have been fans of Michael Bérubé for ages; I especially remember an article of his in the Village Voice from around the year 1990, in which he offers a clear-sighted perspective on the effects of “postmodernism“ etc. on the well-being of Western Civilization. Margaret, in turn, read Life As We Know It with enthusiastic appreciation; we gave copies to several people, and we have an extra copy on hand right now, waiting for someone who seems to need it.

When Bérubé started blogging, I added him to my bookmarks right away, and someday I’ll get around to blogrolling him (though I maintain a consistent track record for sluggishness in modifying my blogroll). I knew a moment of delight when he left a comment a few months ago (he was gently correcting my recollection of his institutional affiliation).

All that is background for my presenting the following two links to posts that describe ways that Michael’s son Jamie has been learning since Michael wrote Life As We Know It. These stories encourage us to remember how much more expansively people are ready to learn than even encouraging, loving supporters such as Jamie’s dad necessarily imagine — and Margaret’s and my experience amply confirms the anecdotal evidence that these posts provide.

Not only will people always surprise you by their hunger and capacity to learn, but their learning frequently (I’m tempted to say “always”) depends for its quality on their desire to learn. Again, my experience confirms this, as a learner and teacher and as a home-school dad. Few things stick with me from high school as well as the probability theory I taught myself, the soliliquies I memorized walking to and from school, the basics of international relations, organizational politics, and diplomacy that I learned in Student United Nations and the Strategic Gaming club. We grounded our approach to teaching Nate, Si, and Pippa on that premise; I’ve wished any number of times I could teach seminarians that way (and I’m always looking for ways to approximate that more closely). I don’t think we should abolish schools and classes in favor of un-organized general learning, but it would take a lot to convince me that the goal of learning is best served by the assembly-line, compartmentalized structure that institutional education has taken in the U.S. and its sphere of influence.

By all means, let’s support teachers. They [we] need all the help they can get. And let’s remember that learning doesn’t depend on teachers, but teachers contribute to, enhance, enrich, catalyze, provoke learning in vital ways, and they [we] do so best when all of us devote deliberate energy and respect to the ideal of learning, continually, deeply, in company with other eager learners. When we consign “teaching” and “learning” to factory schools and limited, scheduled hours, we impoverish everyone affected by our culture (but especially the people hungriest to learn).

Jamie teaches us that’s another Paul we can’t afford to forget.

In the run-up to Christmas, anyone with a quarter-wit can start spouting off about what did or did not happen around the time Jesus of Nazareth was born. Even brilliant scholars succumb to the temptation to pump up the volume of imprecise, outrageous claims about history. For a counter-example, check out the online symposium over at Slate, where Alan Segal, John Kloppenborg, and Larry Hurtado talk over history, probabilities, and plausibility in appropriately measured tones.

I enjoy their conversation partly because I don’t agree with any one of them down the line — each makes strong points, each construes evidence in ways that I wouldn’t at various points, and all three address one another ccordially and respectfully.

As I read over their arguments, it occurs to me that biblical studies may approach the boundary of “disproportion of assent-claimed against evidence-available.” We have a relatively small pool of data, intensely studied over two thousand years, but we’re caught up in claims about belief (and certainty) that bear no durable relation to the quality of the evidence. That does not by any means suggest that I don’t believe what I say, or that I suggest that Christian (or other) faith is intrinsically implausible; it just means that my perspective on the evidence at hand provides me with little reason to suppose that I should be able to compel people to agree with me about what it adds up to.

To put the point theologically, the sketchiness of the data leaves ample room for the necessity of faith and grace — rather than making orthodox Christian faith the sort of logical outcome of any reasonable person’s deliberation about the evidence.

The kinds of thing Trevor and I proposed for the Disseminary continue to take shape — it’s just that other people in other places are making them happen.

The other day, Heather pointed me to the Anglican Decision website which effectively uses digital video to push its case for resisting the Episcopal Church’s present trajectory toward affirming full participation for gay and lesbian members. I disagree strongly with some of what they say, of course — they oversimplify and misrepresent those against whom they’re arguing — but one might bring the same accusation against some of the comments in the Via Media series. (I retain a lingering suspicion that my participation in the project was curtailed when it became clear that I’d be espousing a theological position at odds with the project planners. That’s entirely their prerogative, of course, and they permitted me to make at least a token appearance.) Whatever my dissatisfaction with their message, though, I have to congratulate them for going about it in a well-executed way that uses the internet for what it’s best at: disseminating.

This morning, Kendall’s blog points me to the news that Holy Trinity Brompton, the home of “Alpha,” is building a complement of strong theologians who will participate in a parish centre for theological education (apparently including online distribution of video resources). Again, I’m not on the same wavelength as Alpha, but the point that learning about Christian faith actually strengthens and deepens, enriches, and extends the reach of congregational life deserves ardent applause. This is, again, just the kind of thing we proposed years ago. I just wish someone had taken us up on it.

It’s probably true that you can find anything on the web, someplace — but the undergrowth is getting thicker and harder to navigate as people catch on that the cost of offering goods online amounts to hardly anything.

My case in point involves my research instinct’s interest in having correct dates for music in my iTunes database. Whereas GraceNote and its rivals often return a date that reflects the year a CD or compilation was issued, I prefer to associate a selection with the year it was performed or released. So when I play Estill C. Ball’s performance of “Poor Wayfaring Stranger,” I want to know when Alan Lomax recorded the song, not when Rounder re-released it. If I search for “Estill C. Ball”and “Poor Wayfaring Stranger,” though, I get an unceasing stream of sites that offer the CDs for sale. Throw in “Lomax” as a search term, and eliminate a couple of giveaway phrases from the constantly-reproduced sales copy, and the overwhelming preponderance of search results still amount to nothing more than a track listing.

The original Atlantic recording was evidently released in 1960, and Lomax travelled the south in 1959-60, so I’ll enter 1960 and be done with it — but it would be helpful to have a more robust filter to segregate commercial results from noncommercial information.

No, I’ not talking about the new Intel Macs — though they certainly seem to qualify, and Josiah has been moaning and panting ever since Steve Jobs announced the new MacBooks. I’m talking about this collection of photo templates to which Jordon pointed the other day.

While I was putting together the links for this post, I searched Flickr for images tagged “keynote,” thinking I might find a snappy image of King Steve hawking his wares, where I found this familiar profile. Was David Weinberger caught up in the Apple mania since his hesitant embarkation on the journey from Wintel to Apptel? No, but with a little jiggery-pokery from Flickr Toys, I can associate David with the exciting news from Cupertino. . . .

[Meanwhile, Jeneane caught the Flickr photo wherein Jennifer caught me singing while washing up the dinner dishes.)

Until yesterday afternoon, our house was as full as it had pretty much ever been (as far as inhabitants go): Pippa and I, with Margaret, Nate, Jennifer, Si (an enlarged version, from the swelling where his wisdom teeth used to be), and Si’s roomie Simon (he’s the one taking the picture).

But yesterday afternoon, Margaret dropped Nate at the train, and this afternoon Si dropped Margaret at Midway for her flight back to North Carolina. We lose Simon tomorrow, Jennifer on Thursday, Si on Saturday, and then Pippa and I are on our own again. Well, with Bea.

It’s been a wild and wooly interval, but they’re all very wonderful, and I fear the house will seem quite silent with them gone. Come back soon, okay?

I’ve often mused about the way that a few minutes’ inspiration, or lack thereof, can constitute an enduring monument to a person — perhaps subsidizing their family finances (if, for instance, they write a really catchy pop song) or damning them in lasting memory (for making a stupid remark on a broadcast medium).

I’ve poured months of blood, sweat, and tears into biblical scholarship, and I still think I’ve done some pretty good work there. I’ve been serving the church, offering what I can to congregations and people. I try to be a good neighbor, teacher, father, and husband.

But the other day I checked in at the LibriVox project. I casually glanced at the catalogue: that’s an amazing repertoire of great reading, all for free.

The connection is — on the “about” page, Hugh McGuire tells the world that “LibriVox was inspired by AKMA’s audio volunteer project to bring Lawrence Lessig’s book, Free Culture, to your ears.” Hugh’s contacted me a couple of times, and I looked in at LibriVox earliler, when the catalogue was less lengthy; but this has caught on to an extent that I’d never, never have anticipated. Three cheers to you, Hugh, and thank you for doing the hard work of making my one-off fanciful notion into an estimable legacy of free recordings of great texts.

Now, I have to get around to contributing some myself!

I don’t have any; we don’t watch TV, so I didn’t see it (and from what I hear, I’m just as happy not to have cause to ask for my hour back). I’d be surprised if I haven’t learned all I need to from Todd, Jane, the Salty Vicar (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11) and Titusonenine. If I had extra time on my hands, I’d follow the link to the Diocese of Washington blog — but I don’t.

Short answer: I’m among the least-connected Episcopal clergy around, but I’m not aware of any congregation with so great a concentration of issues. I grieve at the doctrinal and ethical tone-deafness of the show (and many commenters thereupon). It’s not being “honest” about the church; it’s representing Hollywood’s imagination of itself in clerical dress, and supposing that that’s what the church must be like (as far as I can tell from incoming reports).

I don’t remember how I got here, but this site offers a wonderful package of free software for students. An institutional IT department could do well by starting from this package as the norm for a school, and adding from there only what’s needful — instead of starting from expensive commercial packages “because everyone uses them” and ignoring the flourishing open-source space.

Not only would such a gesture save the school real money right at the front end, but it would signify a different outlook about technology, institutional resources, and how we deal with them. It would send a compelling message to a constituency that already understands the power of open source, and it would teach that message to people who haven’t gotten on board yet.

In short, I’m not holding my breath. But when my tech friends say, “Well, you know a bunch of smart colleagues — why don’t you start up a seminary of your own?” this is the kind of thing we’d do in that fantasy world.

I’ve been wrestling with an Epiphany sermon for the latter part of the week, with a book review in the interstices, and of course classes started at Seabury. I’ll post the sermon in the extended area after I preach it at St Luke’s (already gave it a test drive at Seabury, and it’ll benefit from some burnishing).

That reminds me, the mp3 of the Advent sermon from St. Luke’s is online here, now.

A couple of days ago, Frank sent a pointed open memo to the administrators of the Women’s Media Center. He observed that “ the only place for news on women, links to women columnists, bloggers, media organizations and more” (according to their self-description) was overlooking some of our long-standing neighbors. Frank nominated the best–known, longest-standing friends of ours already, and some obvious omissions among those whom I don’t know so well. They might also think of adding the RevGalBlogPals blog, and Dorothea, Krista, Pascale, Liz, and Naomi (when she has time to blog).

Tripp tagged me for one of those survey thingies in which I resist participating, so I’ll give a cursory answer:

Appetizer: Have you ever seen a ghost or an angel?

I don’t know, but I would expect so.

Soup: What is your favorite board game?

Hmmm. My family had a Shakespeare game I used to play solo a lot, but for social play I suppose Monopoly prevails. Someday I may play Diplomacy again. . . .

Salad: What was the last movie you saw that made you cry?

I don’t remember, but it’s sure to be recent. I’m an old push-over for weeping at movies. Oddly, I didn’t cry at King Kong.

Main Course: What would you do if you had 3 months off from your job?

Work on the books I need to be writing.

Dessert: What kind of shoes are you wearing today?

Black church shoes.

There’s something else I’m thinking about, but I don’t remember what it was. Oh, wait, now I remember: Micah pointed me to Jeff’s observations on the new TV series, Daniel, and to Sherry Turkle’s observations on “authenticity.”

Oh, here’s the sermon:
Continue reading “Friday Stromateis”

Margaret and I attended a Twelfth Night party tonight that culminated in a very baroque gift blind exchange (I think they were making up the rules as they went along). I was in the tactically advantageous position of picking last; according to some of the rules, I might trade the unopened package behind Door Number Three for one of the opened packages I saw that other guests had opened. Although several guests had opened extremely interesting packages, Margaret made it very clear that I was to select the unopened package, thereby ending the game.

She was clearing her throat at me emphatically because when her turn came halfway through, she had used her choice to scoop up two vast hot-drink mugs (each holds about a hogshead of coffee or tea). She feared that if I selected one of the other gifts — the chirping cardinal, for instance, or the china flying pig — the other guest would invoke some hitherto-secret rule to extract the mugs from her. I don’t see how that would work, but I try to do as Margaret tells me, so I took the unopened package.

The package turned out to contain a book, No Time: Stress and the Crisis of Modern Life, by Heather Menzies. Looks interesting, and apposite — but I don’t know when I’d manage to read it. . . .

Somehow I volunteered to preside at Epiphany Mass at St. Luke’s on Friday, without noticing that I’m also presiding at Seabury at midday. That’s actually handy; one sermon will do for both. Now, the question becomes, what shall the sermon be?