Quickly —

Travel worked fine yesterday, the ’net finally came live at our hotel, we like Jennifer’s boyfriend (they drove up from NYC to see last night’s performance, which was evidently excellent). Margaret and I love New England; the topography, ecology, demographics, cultural practices, all make sense to us as indigenous, as culturally given. Jeanne and Pippa have driven in from Maine, and we’ll meet them on campus for the play. I’ve taken some pictures already, will take more tonight, and some at tomorrow morning’s group brunch (didn’t think to take any while we were with Jennifer).

Show is tonight at 7:30, opposite the basketball game on whose outcome the struggle of good against evil depends — Si couldn’t persuade Marlboro to reschedule the performance till after Duke had put Carolina away (I hate writing that kind of thing, because it just invites providence to contradict what I’ve written — but this is just the way it has to be, I guess). I’ll boast write about both the play and the game when I find out how they end.

[Later: I shoulda known better; well done, Carolina.]

Convergence

From all over the country — or at least, “from Maine, North Carolina, Illinois, and Minnesota,” which is pretty good coverage — people are converging on Marlboro, Vermont, to see Josiah Adam in tomorrow night’s performance of Angels in America.

Margaret has shrewdly plotted our trravel paths through Bradley Airport and a hotel in Brattleboro, both of which offer free wifi. Still, the odds suggest a diminished online presence over the weekend. Eventaully, there’ll be pictures and stories.

[Later: Arrived safely, if ravenously. It seems as though Bradley is trying single-handedly to punish United for its recent brush with bankruptcy, but with the diligence of the truly hard-core, I found an open wireless signal.]

Ash Wednesday

Ash Wednesday is not usually a festival of mirth and hilarity, but our service today was a little more solemn even than the usual, as we prayed for Dr. de Villa. Our guest preacher, Fr. Douglas Brown of the Order of the Holy Cross, gave a sermon that fit both the day and our additional observance. We remembered, reflected, prayed, and committed ourselves to a holy Lent.

For myself, the convergence of these circumstances suggested that I make my Lenten discipline a determination to spend time every day in an earnest memento mori; I suspect that some of the burdens I work with would benefit from my sizing them up in perspective to my own mortality: the things that I ought to make sure to have done, and the things no one will mind if I leave behind, obligations to my family and friends, and indifferent matters that no one cares about that much. We’ll see how that works out.

Goodnight

Joey’s dad died yesterday. If you knew him, your heart aches and you miss him; if you didn’t know him, then people you care about miss him so much that it makes you feel bad.

Margaret and I spent bits of the wedding weekend with him, and found him to be every bit the graceful, kind, generous, brilliant, loving man upon whom a guy like Joey might model himself. I’m presiding at Seabury’s Ash Wednesday mass tomorrow, where we will pray for him and remember that we all are dust, and to dust we shall return; yet even at the grave we make our song, “Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.”

Reverse Tagging

Or “anticipated search terms” or something. I’m filling out the Author Information sheets from Fortress, and one of the things they ask is “Please list ten key words that will assist a customer when searching for your book on a web site. These ten key words should be different than the words found in the title and subtitle of your book” (that is, Faithful Interpretation: Reading the Bible In a Postmodern World). I’m also working on the fifty-word summary of the two hundred pages worth of careful argumentation I’ve put together over the past fifteen years or so of writing.

It’s great that they’re thinking in these terms (though I’d have written “different from the words”). But since the terms “interpretation,” “bible,” and “postmodern” are already there in the title/subtitle combination, I’m having a hard time coming up with ten other possible searches for which Fortress might want to buy ad space. You, dear readers, have slogged through several of the essays as I churned through them, and you know the kinds of thing I’m liable to say; anything come to your minds?

Technorati Tags:
, , ,

She’s Leaving

Yes, “on a jet plane” — but there’s no need to sing the song. We had a marvelous visit, and enjoyed keeping track of Pippa’s adventures in Maine, working on common academic interests, and generally sinking our teeth into a weekend together alone. We’ll connect up again next weekend when we go to see Si in Angels in America at Marlboro.

Pointing to Flickr reminds me of the changes in their terms of service. Much as I like the people behind Flickr, I don’t in the least like the direction their application has taken in the past few months. While they justifiably need to protect their service against abuse (it’s not a bandwidth sink for banners or other page design elements, and they have to abide by others’ copyright laws), the ludic t-shirt phase of Flickr has passed, and the serious button-down shirt phase has arrived — pretty soon, Flickr will be wearing a power tie and fancy suit, and its early enthusiasts will have migrated elsewhere. I don’t assent to the premise that “sharing digitized photos” and “sharing other digitized images” constitutes a fundamental distinction in the value of the service (and if it were that important, it would not be overwhelmingly difficult to implement a “photo” on/off switch to guide searches). I don’t agree that Flickr needs to forbid “photos that include frontal nudity, genitalia or anything else that your bathing suit should cover” (that’s what their sensible “this might be offensive” button was meant to deal with). I don’t think that the recipe for enduring business success involves abandoning the spirit that made you popular.

I wish everyone well, and I may keep on using Flickr out of inertia (even though I regularly upload non-photo images, the horror!). But is this what Web 2.0 is about? I don’t think so.

Technorati Tags:
,

Another Kind of Tag

I used to have three taglines for this blog:

All times are local.
Local times may vary.
Minutes do not expire.

drawn from various advertisements and warnings. Our family loves pondering the metaphysics implied by claims such as these.

Margaret reports that Nate spotted another such line in an advertisement for a Rochester auto merchant: “Central location is minutes from anywhere.”

As opposed to. . . ?

And since I’ve found a spot to bury this information in an unrelated post, I will note here that Fortress has announced the publication for Faithful Interpretation for October. W00t!

Technorati Tags:

Theology Day at O’Hare

I went out to O’Hare Airport to pick up the most wonderful theologian in the world (my fantastic wife Margaret), but her plane was delayed. I took the opportunity to pace back and forth the length of Terminal 1, listening to tunes (i.e., podwalking). As I neared Baggage Carousel One, I ran into Jim Poling, pastoral theology professor at Garrett and all-around nice guy. We usually greet one another at Cafe Express (soon to be renamed The Brothers K), so crossing paths at the airport was both nothing special and a little surprising. But that wasn’t all.

As I gazed at the Xerox Color advertisement by the rest rooms, somebody prodded me — and it turned out to be celebrated nominee for Bishop of California, Bonnie Perry. I respect Bonnie intensely; she’s wise, committed, an extremely effective congregational leader, and would (controversies aside) be just the sort of bishop of whom I wish there were more. She’s the kind of church leader I feel comfortable disagreeing with about the topics on which we do disagree — I absolutely trust her not to go all passive-aggressive on me, or to construe thoughtful, principled dissent as “questioning her authority” or any of that nonsense.

So while I think that (controversies aside) she’d do a great job, one can’t simply wish away the controversies that surround episcopal elections these days, and I was glad to have a chance to say “Hi” to her and promise her that I was praying that God bring about whatever is best for her and church through what will surely be a trying, tempestuous process. She’s a champ, even if she doesn’t turn out to be a bishop.

[I just downloaded the new version of MarsEdit, which incorporates tagging as part of its interface, so from now on I too will tag more regularly. Why I tag? Because it makes the internet ecology a more information-rich environment, where new modes of knowledge thrive.]

Technorati Tags:
, , , , , , ,

Unsatisfactorily Superficial Prescript on Justice

I think that I shan’t come to a point where my reflections on “justice” both measure up to the standard of deliberation and soundness that the subject requires, and avoid some besetting issues pertinent mostly to my particular situation. Instead of just dropping the topic, though, or waiting till I have time to develop a mini-treatise on what I think, I’ll float a few developed-intuitions, and see what that leads to.

So, first, I’ve been struck by the recent imperative of inserting the word “justice” into every possible liturgical and hymnic opportunity, often with little rationale from context (or in a literarily painful wooden didactic setting). The effect is amplified when the writer extends the phrase to the prosaic (and possibly tautological) “social justice.” My discomfort with the constant refrain of “justice, justice” increases to the extent that these solemn invocations spin free from demonstrable pursuit of robust theological insight into “justice.” While some theologians commendably devote sustained attention to the complexities of what constitutes justice and how an ecclesial body may work toward it, the framers of liturgical and lyrical invocations of justice have generally not successfully integrated those reminders with grammar of eucharistic prayer (and often, without competent poetic expression).

The matter of justice must not be minimized in dogmatic or doxological theology. When we address “justice,” however, the reflexive recitation of the apotropaic formula “justice” neither absolves a theologian of the obligation to work out the meaning of that topic in conjunction with Scripture and the church’s inherited wisdom — not solely in terms of a liberal progressive nostalgia for “the good causes.” One certainly can articulate a theology about justice that reaches many of the ends that left-leaning, or liberal, or progressive Christians espouse, by way of taking pains to enlist a strong array of testimonies from the biblical and dogmatic tradition. That might mean placing a stronger emphasis on righteousness, charity, and impartiality (terms that cover much terrain in common with “justice”), and would certainly mean construing “justice” in terms less dominated by late-twentieth-century/early-twenty-first-century cultural contexts.

Yet we all ought to resist any tendency to extrude “justice” into contexts where it sits inert, disengaged from context, determined mainly by unstated premises (or by a banal rhetoric of “inclusion”). When good reasons abound for thoughtful, “progressive” theological expositions of what a just life entails, we do no one any honor by skimming past those good reasons. Indeed, if we rely not on the careful reasoning (or in hymnic context, the literary finesse) but simply on the sense that “of course, we all support justice,” we risk engendering the impression that we’re trying to arm-twist people into accepting social-progressive imperatives for societal behavior by putting the word “justice” into their mouths and ears without inculcating a corresponding understanding of what’s at stake. When we do articulate our convictions about the shape of a just life, though, we necessarily set our case in a context within which it might be controverted by people who envision a different sense for “justice”; I regard that as a good thing, since it encourages participants in theological life to offer their best cases for the Name by which they are called and for the hope that is within them.

Now, I’m writing from a position of relative social privilege; I don’t need to worry about “justice” on any social-structural grounds, and I must bear in mind that people for whom justice comes as the flicker of an elusive hope may with perfect wisdom emphasize “justice” as a constitutive element of their Name and their hope. To these sisters and brothers of mine, I conclude by just warning that when privileged people lay claim to a topic like justice and make it dance to their tunes, they often disarm its value for raising consciousness by rendering it so tediously familiar and unthreatening that those who need justice have nothing left to which to appeal: “Of course we’re for justice.” My considered intuition suggests that many of the hymns and prayers that tag “justice” into a laundry list of things “we” support, or that compel congregations into implicit endorsements of policies from which they may be inclined to dissent, do not advance the gospel. In such cases, “justice” no longer bespeaks the love, equity, and mercy of God, but only serves the cause of partisan cheerleading; it makes of “justice” a fetish, a keyword which, if cited often enough, absolves speakers from critical reflection and practice.

But at this, I relinquish the last word, and will not say more unless invited.

In Passing

“In passing” is how Steve and Pippa evidently encountered one another at L. L. Bean’s last Sunday. I love the Web!

Michael Bérubé is shamelessly campaigning for “Worst Professor in America,” and last time I checked he was steam-rollering other candidates. I feel a little chagrin on behalf of the true-red lefties over whom Bérubé is exerting his imperialistic superpower might, but more than that I’m frustrated that an ostensibly “democratic” poll omits any option of writing in a candidate for Worst Professor of whom the Front Page organization might not have heard yet (say, because they work at a small, obscure Episcopal seminary). My students deserve the right to denounce me, and Front Page throttles their free expression by precluding them for voting for me for the Worst.

Richard Kieckhefer’s inaugural lecture “Bewitchment of the Imagination: Mythologies, Witchtrials, and Public Anxiety in the 15th Century” gave my own imagination an exhilarating kick. I can’t adequately summarize Richard’s finely-woven thesis, but it involved distinguishing conventional accusations of miscellaneous sorcery (cursing cattle, love charms, and so on) from prosecutions in the context of an articulated mythology of witchcraft (involving elaborate scenarios of ritualized behavior) — then further identifying two specific patterns of mythologies, one evident in the Vaudois inquisitorial prosecutions and one in Paduan juridical proceedings. The former, it seems, was imposed on the trial by the inquisitors’ expectations; the latter emerged as an expression of common expectations relative to witches (strega sg.) and their behavior. He tied these distinctions into the social function of witchcraft persecution, the social locations of accused witches, and the ways imagination functions to generate, intensify, rationalize, and focus manifestations of mythological power. The lecture was great, I had the privilege of sitting next to Barbara Newman at her husband’s inauguration for the chair in religious studies for which she holds the twin appointment in English, and merely soaking up the ambient intelligence of the audience made me temporarily smarter. Alas, only temporarily — but it’s a start.

I’ve been contemplating my “justice as fetish, process as idol” blogpost for months now, and haven’t gotten to the point that I have a claim even close to readiness. Partly it’s because I’ve been wrestling the last few words of the book review into submission (that’s a joke, friends, a joke), and partly because other topics intervene — such as blasphemy. I was thinking about the ways one might mount an argument against blaspheming other people’s deities. If those quarter-baked ideas come round to anything, I’ll post them.

Day of Healing

Yesterday I pushed some words through my keyboard into the book review and the sermon, and I think they turn out okay (I’ll post the sermon below the jump). It made for a long day of typing, deleting, staring off into space, and so on (and the “day” didn’t quite end till “wee hours of morning,” to be exact). Today I presided at Seabury’s daily Eucharist, with special intentions for Joey’s dad and for another friend who asked for our prayers.

Immediately after mass, we headed into an all-day faculty meeting, and immediately after our faculty meeting I’m heading over to Richard Kieckhefer’s lecture. Luckily, I have leftover pasta from last night’s dinner. Then I collapse in a heap, and try to rest up some on Thursday. (It’s great to see that Pippa’s having a wonderful time in Maine!)
Continue reading “Day of Healing”

Monday of Reading Week

I spent most of today struggling over a review of Philip F. Esler’s New Testament Theology: Communion and Community, a book that impresses me a lot, both positively and negatively. I’m trying to hit the correct balance between appreciating the book’s insights and identifying the book’s flaws, a job made trickier by the fact that the flaws seem to stand in painfully prominent contrast with the insights (indeed, they undermine the insights). As the day wore on, more of my time was devoted to sentences that I typed, then deleted. I haven’t written anything for the past ninety minutes.

So, I think I have officially given up trying to finish the review tonight. I wouldn’t mind so much, except I have to preach Wednesday morning, so I need to compose a sermon tomorrow; that may interfere with finishing the review, darn it, and then the rest of Wednesday is devoted to an all-day faculty meeting followed by Richard Kieckhefer’s inaugural lecture as John Evans Professor of Religion at Northwestern, so I may not be able to finish the review Wednesday, either. We’ll see.

I found two more hearts yesterday: one in a notebook, and one in the box of frozen veggie burgers. Sooner or later, I’ll run out of hidden hearts — I haven’t found any today, but then I have hardly stirred from my chair except to go to chapel and fix dinner. Oh, and go to Greek reading group, where Brooke and Beth and I had a great time tackling Hebrews 8. But now I’m shutting off my brain till tomorrow morning.