AKMA’s Random Thoughts

I should have known not to have a second large cup of Peet’s coffee. I usually don’t make my coffee as strong as Peet’s does, and they didn’t have any clean medium-sized cups, so they were serving coffee in their oceanic “large” mugs. Margaret very sweetly wanted to get a refill for me, and I thought about asking for decaf, but I hesitated. By the time I had made a significant dent on the second cup, I was practically shooting electric bolts out of my fingertips. I couldn’t concentrate on anything of hours after.

Next time, a one cup limit.

Chris pointed me to this exciting book, bound to be more theologically profound than the more famous novel — itself a parody of historical investigation — on which this work is based.

And when it comes to conspiracies, secrets, symbolophagy, and the ultimate answer, Chris is one of two people I would rely on (Margaret, of course, being the other).

As I devote increasing time and energy to re-tackling my commentary on the Epistle of James, I encounter a paradox. On one hand, I work best with fewest distractions; turn me loose with my Greek text and a lexicon, and I’ll happily translate and analyze at a high pitch of intensity.

Yet, as I delve more deeply into the Greek text, and as I mull over subtle exegetical problems, I feel an increasing need to look into the scholarly literature, to check for particular reference material online, to compare various commentaries to see whether some other interpreter has addressed the particular features of the text that intrigue me. And of course, the environment that makes all those reference materials available, also makes available a whole array of potential distractions.

Since I already have more to do than I could possibly accomplish, it occurs to me to begin planning an essay (possibly a short book) on the nature of theological evidence. I’d be drawing on one of my favorite books of theory (Questions of Evidence), on Edward Tufte’s work on information design (especially including his most recent book, which I ordered yesterday), and miscellaneous other essays and articles.

I don’t know what I’d find out, but I bet it would be worth the effort — if I had time and opportunity.

If we truly believe in the Holy Spirit’s power to effect reconciliation and conversion, none of us has anything to lose from keeping a very low threshold for motion into and out of communion with the Anglican Core. Indeed, if we love another and hold as a goal Jesus’ will for us to be one, we owe it to the Truth not to erect unnecessary barriers between “staying in” and “moving out,” and (again) to eventually returning.

To this extent, I’m inclined to support the Archbishop’s “two-tier” approach to communion — not because I believe people belong in an inner or outer circle, but because such a proposal befits a transitional stage in which the church discerns the shape of its loyalties. If a congregation could move relatively simply from one tier to the other, we could rely on the Spirit to gather faithful souls where they can visibly, effectively bear witness to the sanctity, faithfulness, and (yes) justice to which all are called.

If in the end, it’s hard to tell the difference between the Anglican Communion and the Episcopal Communion (or whatever one might call the tiers), that itself might tell us something significant about our situation.

We brought Bea in for her summer haircut this morning, hoping to get her groomed before Margaret returned from moving Nate to Ann Arbor. Here she is, in her shaggy glory and in her shorn humility.

Margaret and Nate arrived safely this afternoon, and everyone’s exhausted — but the five of us are together for a week. What exciting adventures will we come up with? Maybe (in keeping with the family stereotype to which David linked) we should check out Who Killed the Electric Car?

I could’ve sworn that when I heard the Bush press conference Thursday morning, the President referred to “the United States and America” as two nations with a friendship one wouldn’t have predicted, since sixty years ago they were at war. But I haven’t heard or seen any follow-up to that, so maybe my ears deceived me.

I went over to Edward Tufte’s “Ask E.T.” forum to see what Tufte might have to say about the use of graphical information in An Inconvenient Truth, but it looks as though neither he nor anyone else has posted on this yet. Moreover — oddly — it’s not at all clear how a user might post a query to the forum.

On the other hand, his next book will be out soon.

Yesterday I wrote a long-ish comment on Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams’s recent response to General Convention. I didn’t post it, because I didn’t do a good enough job of clarifying the difference between how I feel about the current state of things (on one hand) and what seems practicable, honest, viable, and in keeping with demonstrated trajectories of thought and behavior.

The short answer is that his statement reminds me vividly of the legend of Thomas a Becket. I stress “the legend,” because my point doesn’t depend on what the historical Thomas was really like (or was he married to Mary Magdalene in the South of France by Leonardo da Vinci); the legend, however, simplifies Becket to the man who placed a higher emphasis on his sense of the office of Archbishop than on his friendship with Henry and his roistering temperament. I read Williams as a theologian serving the office of Archbishop as best he understands, over and above his personal inclinations. I respect that a lot, even when I wish it led to different outcomes.

If I were to place his response on a spectrum that extends from “my ideal plausible response” (omitting, that is, mass miraculous conversions of the heart) to “oh, my heavens, I can’t endure that” (and omitting “the renewal of Dioceltianic persecution), this sounds closer to “pretty good” than “pretty bad.” Whether U.S. church leaders are right or not, the whole of the Anglican Communion is not on board with their understanding of the gospel, and I can7’t see a sound theological basis for requiring that the rest of the church to let us have whatever we want and remain in strong ecclesiastical communion with them. (By the way, I wholeheartedly agree with what Alan Jacobs wrote here a few days ago: I’m sick and tired of hearing that “the Spirit is doing a new thing,” without the rich, respectful theological argumentation that might confirm people’s identification of the Spirit’s activity in recent developments.)Granted that the U.S. church isn’t about to repent, Williams’s picture of a two-tiered communion that grants the Episcopal Church use of the Anglican tag, but excludes it from doctrinal and policy decision-making just plain makes sense.

I wish we hadn’t come to this place, but I don’t see Williams making a more congenial response to where we’ve been taken.

Micah came over for a visit, providing the occasion for a rollicking argument over plot developments in the Harry Potter saga (inspired by the latest news from J. K. Rowling). Micah argues that Dumbledore is not dead, Snape is really Harry’s father, that the Avada Kedavra curse doesn’t actually work, that those who seem to have been killed by the curse are actually working undercover for the Order of the Phoenix (Pippa says, “No, they’re Unknowables working for the Department of Mysteries), and that Harry is not the one who dies (or that he does not die in a final way). He also said that Crabb and Goyle are girls, but I’m not sure he meant that; that may be a decoy.

In other plot prediction news, Si proposes that Ginny may sacrifice her life to save Harry. Pippa wonders whether Hogwarts can continue if the whole line of Slytherin were eliminated.

Even if he hadn’t been one of my favorite students, I would appreciate Will Crawley’s very direct request that I add him to my blogroll. You have my link here, Will, and I will get around to changing the blogroll (but I’m a tad slow about that).

Will works for the BBC (former employer of Euan and Tom) as host of a program about religion; he’s sharp and articulate and I ought to listen more often, but it’s hard to remember. . . .