Category Archives: friends

Magical Thinking

There must be something about the end of January and named snowstorms. This year it is Juno–exactly a year ago it was Janus. I’m making plans for another mega shoveling event (Jupiter, Jorge, Jockstrap or something like that) in late January 2016, since clearly there’s a pattern here. Or maybe that’s just magical thinking . . . as I considered exactly a year ago.

indexI am a huge college basketball fan. Actually, I am a huge Providence College Friars fan, not surprising since I have taught at Providence College and lived in Providence for nineteen years and counting. There’s nothing like Division One college basketball—I have had two season tickets to Friars games for nineteen years and have probably missed no more than a dozen home games (except for the semester I was in Minnesota on sabbatical) during those nineteen years. Last week I drove through Snowstorm Janus to an evening game at the dunkin-donuts-center-1Dunkin’ Donuts Center, then posted smugly on Facebook “I am in my seat at the Dunk” for all of my Facebook acquaintances who consider themselves to be “fans” to read and be shamed by.

Early in our time here in Providence, I received a Friars sweatshirt for Christmas. I particularly liked it because it was a turtleneck sweatshirt. I like turtlenecks. They are an essential part of a professor’s winter wardrobe (usually worn with a $_35corduroy jacket, an even more indispensable sartorial item—I have five). The comfort and warmth of this sweatshirt, along with its understated “Providence Friars” on the front, made it a “must wear” item for every home game.

 This item of clothing took on even greater importance when I realized, after several home games, that the Friars had never lost a home game that I attended wearing the sweatshirt. So, of course, I continued wearing it to home games and the Friars kept winning. This continued for more than one season, until on the way to a game one evening my son Justin noted that even though I do not have an extensive wardrobe, it was not necessary to wear the same damn thing to every game (especially since I also owned a hwl set=sku[20233460],c[2],w[500],h[375]&load=url[file product]T-shirt or two with the Friars logo). I then let him in on the secret: “We have never lost a game that I attended wearing this sweatshirt.” I felt that I had let my son in on one of the best-kept secrets of the universe, but he simply responded “Yes we have, Dad.” I vigorously denied his claim, of course, but to no avail. “You were wearing it at the final home game last year when Pittsburgh kicked our ass, and at the game before that when we lost in overtime to Villanova!” It sucks to have someone with total recall of trivial facts in the family—I knew better than to challenge his memory, since every time I have done so in the past I have been proven wrong. Thinking back, I speculated that Jeanne must have (without my knowledge) washed the sweatshirt for the first time ever before last year’s Villanova game and inadvertently washed away the secret substance that guaranteed Friars wins.

magical%20thinking%20button[1]I had been a victim of magical thinking—the identification of causal relationships between actions and events where scientific consensus says there are no such relationships. There is logical fallacy  describing this way of thinking with the very cool name “Post hoc, ergo propter hoc.” “After this, therefore because of this.” Since (at least according to my flawed memory) the Friars won every game that I wore my special sweatshirt to, I concluded that they must have won because I wore my special sweatshirt. Avid sports fans are notoriously susceptible to magical thinking—lucky clothes, coins, and ritualistic activities from what food and beverage is consumed on game day to the path driven to the sports bar all are treated as causal links to victory. But don’t scoff at or feel badly for the avid sports fans. All human beings are susceptible to magical thinking, often in areas of belief and activity far more serious than sporting events.

Adolf-Hitler-3009436 I am team-teaching a colloquium this semester that is rooted historically in 1930s and 40s Germany and the rise to power of the Nazis, and am learning that Adolf Hitler’s decision making throughout this period was energized almost exclusively by magical thinking. Believing that he had intuitive connections to truths and powers unavailable to others, Hitler cultivated the mystique and aura of a shaman, an aura that become more and more seductive and convincing to others as his actions over and over again led to seemingly “magical” results. As one scholar writes, “Hitler came to believe that he was blessed, that he was earmarked by Providence for a special mission. There was some kind of magical destiny for him.” Of course the destructive downside of such thinking is revealed when the conviction of a special destiny and connection to greater powers persists even when not verified by real world events. Magical thinking is answerable to no one other than the person doing the thinking, since it does an end run on logic, evidence and rational processes. As one of Hitler’s contemporaries described,

Hitler does not think in a logical and consistent fashion, gathering all available information pertinent to the problem, mapping out alternative courses of action, and then weighing the evidence pro and con for each of them before reaching a decision. His mental processes operate in reverse. Instead of studying a problem . . . he avoids it and occupies himself with other things until unconscious processes furnish him with a solution. Having the solution he then begins to look for facts that will prove that it is correct.

Hitler’s magical thinking was not  an aberration or evidence of psychosis or insanity. Although very few of us ever have the opportunity to use magical thinking as a basis for decision-making that affects millions of people directly, all of us are susceptible to it on a regular basis. Any time my belief in a connection between cause and effect is untouched by contrary data or information, magical thinking is involved. If I “know” that I am right even though I lack any reason to believe this other than my own “gut,” magical thinking is involved. imagesAnd whenever I believe that with an appropriate prayer, pious activity, meditative silence or good deed I can force the divine hand into producing a desired result, I am definitely infected with magical thinking.

Magical thinking is more pervasive in religious belief than any other sort. Religious belief for many is energized by the question of how to tap into divine power, to cultivate a relationship with what is greater than us. From prayers said in a certain way through rosary beads to donations to charitable organizations, virtually any practice can take on the aura of being the way to attract God’s attention, to make it most likely that the divine interest will be drawn toward my little corner of the universe. Vast numbers of books have been written concerning and dollars spent promoting the latest suggestions as to how to get God involved directly in my wishes and desires. The funny thing is that such practices and activities often seem to work. I prayed in a certain way for a person to be healed, for someone else to find a job, for a favored politician to win election—and it happens. Post hoc, ergo propter hoc. images.2Those who promote or invent seemingly successful techniques for gaining God’s attention rise to the status of guru or spiritual giant, and everything they say, write, or do takes on special significance.

But crashing disappointment always comes and it turns out that the life of faith is not magic after all. There are as many days and weeks of slogging through an apparently empty desert of belief as there are mountain top experiences when it seems that God must have decided to channel divine energy directly through me. It turns out that whatever the divine is, it is not a slot machine, a formula to be solved, or an incantation to be performed. This is why Jesus resisted performing miracles on demand. He knew that magical thinking is powerfully seductive because it is easy, because it seems to free us from the challenging work of day to day seeking. maskros.jpg w=714Jesus likened the divine to the wind, which we cannot predict and which blows where and when it wants. The very air we breathe is infused with the divine. Everything is sacramental, but there are no sacred cows.

Happy in Costa Rica

What is it about intentionally jerking people’s chains that is so satisfying? Every once in a while I come across something that I just have to put up on facebookFacebook with minimal comment just because I know it will set off a tirade and firestorm of outrage from all possible directions. Usually I have no particular horse in the race—I just enjoy observing people get riled for no good reason other than that increased heart rate for a short period of time is healthy. In Morgan’s Medical Manual, getting riled on Facebook and thirty minutes of aerobic exercise at the gym provide the same amount of health benefits.

My most recent opportunity occurred a couple of months or so ago when someone posted on my Facebook wall a link to “The Happiness Level of Every Part of the World in One Incredible Infographic.” My only posted comment was “I guess money can’t buy happiness after all!”

The Happy World Maphappy planet map

I spent the fall semester with first-semester freshmen frequently exploring various perspectives on happiness from the ancient world, from Homer and the Jewish Scriptures through Socrates, Plato and Aristotle to the Stoics, Jesus, Paul and Boethius. Always ready to add another perspective to the list, I clicked on the link and immediately thought “Oh yes . . . I absolutely have to put this up on Facebook. Outrage will definitely ensue.” Why? Because at the top of the list of happiest nations is Costa Rica, followed by Vietnam, Colombia, Belize and El Salvador. The U.S. did not fare well, coming in at 105, while many of the European countries were in the 40s and 50s. Clearly the usual measures of happiness, which invariably include gnpGross National Product, were not dominant in this study. What were the criteria?

Within a few minutes, the expected responses starting popping up. Before he could have possibly read the article, a Facebook acquaintance posted “I’m sorry, but this map is absurd.” To which I responded “’Absurd’ is a word we all use to describe something that does not match up with our expectations.” Clearly any calculation concerning happy nations that places Costa Rica and Vietnam #1 and #2 in happiness raises eyebrows. This in itself does not make the calculation “absurd”—that adjective cannot be applied until the criteria used in the survey are made clear. So what makes Costa Ricans so happy?

According to the article, hpiThe Happy Planet Index is quickly becoming one of the world’s go-to indexes when it comes to measuring the stability and performance of the Earth’s nation states. We have come to assume that the best measures of progress, even of happiness, are financial measures. I was reminded of this just this past week as I spent two hours in seminar with eighteen freshmen considering Marx and Engels’ The Communist Manifesto. The authors eloquently and passionately describe how capitalism has reduced everything that matters to a cash value, drowning everything from meaningful work to m and eintimate family connections in “the icy waters of egotistical calculation.” Yet at least in the West we continue to assume that the best measure of success, happiness and fulfillment is best achieved in terms of dollar signs. We continue to believe that if we somehow get the right numbers to go up, we are going to be better off and things in general will be better for everyone. Why?

In a recent Ted Talk Nic Marks, one of the creators of The Happy Planet Index, describes how he and his colleagues began asking people all over the world a simple question—what is most important to you in life? What do you want out of life? The answers actually were not that surprising.

People all around the world say that what they want is happiness, for themselves, for their families, their children, their communities. Okay, they think money is slightly important. It’s there, but it’s not nearly as important as happiness, and it’s not nearly as important as love. We all need to love and be loved in life. It’s not nearly as important as health. We want to be healthy and live a full life. These seem to be natural human aspirations. Why are statisticians not measuring these?

Inspired by Robert Kennedy’s comment that “the Gross National Product measures everything except that which makes life worthwhile,” Marks and his colleagues began to think about how happiness and well-being might be measured within the boundaries of environmental limits They suggest that the ultimate outcome of a nation is how successful is it at creating happy and healthy lives for its citizens. Rejecting the antiquated notion that measuring a nation’s GDP is the best indicator of their overall well-being, the HPI calculates direct feedback from a nation’s population, along with the ecological footprint the nation has and their average life expectancy. The HPI is unique in that it takes the overall environmental sustainability of a nation into account. How much happiness does a country generate, and how does it use its natural resources to do so? For instance, although U.S. citizens might claim to be relatively happy and live long lives on the average, we rank 105 because of our “blood red colored ecological footprint score.”costa rica map Long, happy lives at the expense of abusing our greatest scarce natural resource—Earth.

At the top of the list is little Costa Rica. What’s going on there?

Costa Rica – average life expectancy is 78-and-a-half years. That is longer than in the USA. They are, according to the latest Gallup world poll, the happiest nation on the planet—happier than anybody; more than Switzerland and Denmark. They are the happiest place. They are doing that on a quarter of the resources that are used typically in [the] Western world. 99 percent of their electricity comes from renewable resources. Their government is one of the first to commit to be carbon neutral by 2021. They abolished the army in 1949. And they invested in social programs – health and education. They have one of the highest literacy rates in Latin America and in the world. latin vibeAnd they have that Latin vibe, don’t they. They have the social connectedness.

A current events FYI: Despite our best efforts over the past half century or more, Cuba (12) scored much better than the US (103) on the Happy Planet Index. Jeanne and I visited Cuba with an academic delegation a bit over a decade ago and this result fits my observation–people who are poor and challenged in all sorts of ways, but also resourceful, proud, and happy. Go figure.

All sorts of responses, of course, are possible—but it definitely made me think. As a teacher I know that one of the most effective tools in the learning process is anything that messes up everyone’s preconceptions and lets us know that one person’s “no brainer” is the next person’s big question. Nothing better than fiddling with the dials a bit, tuning in a new station with fresh assumptions, and seeing how different things look and sound. I’m not an economist or a statistician and do not have the tools to challenge or affirm the Happy Planet Index directly. But I am a human being and know from almost six decades of experience that there are many things more important to happiness than money—precisely the things that the HPI is interested in. Of course, putting a Latin American beach in Rhode Island would help.

lion and dachshund

The Dachshund and the Lion

Those who know me well or read this blog once in a while know that I live in a world dominated by dachshunds. Jeanne and I (and our Boston Terrier) share the house with two of them. FriedalinaFrieda is clearly the alpha of our three-dog pack—actually, she’s clearly the alpha-living-thing in the house, an extroverted diva who expects her world to work according to her agenda (and it usually does). Her agenda includes eating 24-7, being in charge of seating arrangements on all furniture items, and standing in the driver’s lap to look out the window while on a coveted automobile ride. 100_0870Winnie is a perpetual puppy who defers to Frieda in just about everything, wants nothing more than to have her belly rubbed, doesn’t like being outside or riding in the car, and has a few screws loose that cause her to bite strangers on the foot when least expected.

Friends and acquaintances know that my love of dachshunds rivals (but does not surpass) my obsession with penguins, so they occasionally forward to my Facebook page pictures or videos they think I will enjoy. My brother, for instance, a doctor who wishes he was a cowboy in Wyoming, send me a YouTube clip of a dachshund herding cows the other day.

I absolutely can see Frieda doing that (Winnie would run and hide in the barn). It would be good for Frieda—she could stand to lose a couple of pounds.

Here are a few things you need to know about dachshunds (whether you want to or not):

  • The tubular, short-legged body frame of the dachshund is a good example of what Darwin called “selective breeding”—human attempts to speed natural selection along for human benefit. Dachshunds were bred to hunt badgers (hence “dachshund”—“badger dog”); their low to the ground frame made badger lairs more accessible.watch dachshund
  • Remembering that dachshunds were bred to hunt badgers and that badgers are very nasty animals, it is not surprising that a 2008 study in the journal Applied Animal Behaviour Science ranked the diminutive Dachshund as the most aggressive of all breeds.
  • http://www.dogguide.net/blog/2008/07/the-3-most-aggressive-dog-breeds-revealed-pit-bulls-rottweilers-youll-be-surprised/
  • Dachshunds are notorious for being hyper alert. They are wary of strangers and tend to bark loudly when their suspicions are aroused. Or when a leaf blows across the lawn. Or when someone is walking another dog five blocks away.
  • Dachshunds were to Queen Victoria what Corgis are to Queen Elizabeth II. That’s probably because Queen V’s husband, Prince Albert, was from Germany—where the breed originated in the middle to late nineteenth century.Queen V
  • Things did not go well for dachshunds during World War I in the allied countries. Dachshunds were routinely kicked or stoned to death in the streets of England; owners of dachshunds who risked going out into public risked being labeled as German sympathizers and having their dachshunds killed in front of them.propaganda
  • Dachshunds are hard-wired to burrow. Since there are few badger burrows in the neighborhood, that means under your blankets, your clothes, anything they can dig under. 002They will burrow so deeply under things that they apparently have little need for oxygen while submerged.

Frieda and Winnie are great companions; Frieda, in particular, has been my tubular “Mini Me” for all of the years since she showed up in our house and decided I would be her pet human. I have learned a great deal from them about confidence and persistence. I have even learned things from the random dachshund videos my friends and acquaintances send me.

A few days ago I posted an essay called “Playing with Fire” in which I considered the tendency of the typical person of faith to be satisfied with tame and safe versions of engagement with the divine rather than risking being burned or consumed by the real thing.

Playing with Fire

In a comment, a new friend named Mitch—the new priest at the Episcopal church we attend—wrote “We certainly do want domesticated warmth; to tame the untamed God & capture the God who is known in freedom. barthReminds me so much of Barth in this. God will do what God wants; not our will.” I hadn’t been thinking of Karl Barth when I wrote the essay, the twentieth-century Protestant theologian who, among many other things, continually emphasized that “God is God and we’re not” in his voluminous writing, but Mitch was right. His comment reminded me of something my preacher/teacher father used to love to throw regularly into a sermon or class: Barth used to dismiss the notion of “defending the faith” by asking “if you had a large and hungry lion in a cage, what would you do when threatened—stand in front of the cage and defend the lion, or open the cage door and let the lion defend itself? The lion can take care of itself. And so can God—just get out of the way.”

Which reminded me of something else. From domesticating the divine through Karl Barth to a dachshund video—pretty typical of the connections my brain makes.

Comments on Facebook ranged from “Chomp!” to “I wonder what the lion had for lunch before this—it must have been good!” and “One day that Lion’s gonna find some mustard and a bun.” But from one commenter who actually knows the story, the following:

That is Bone Digger and the puppy is Milo. Bone Digger had problems walking when he was a baby and this little dog would go and bring him his food and literally put it in his mouth. He saved this Lions life. Such a touching story. He lives at the GW Zoo in Wynnewood, OK; you can see him any day of the week.

Lions are often used as placeholders for the power and majesty of the divine; just think of aslanAslan in C. S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia or, if you would rather go secular, Simba in The Lion King. Nice to look at and admire from a distance, but likely to have you for a meal if you get too close. But the flip side of that—and of “Playing with Fire” a few days ago—is that this wild, powerful and consuming God reportedly is interested in intimacy with us mere mortals. Bone Digger not only enjoys his pint-sized friend Milo, but at least at one point in his life needed Milo. What does God need from us (besides someone to rub up against the divine fur and provide a needed teeth cleaning)? I have no idea, but I won’t find out unless I muster some dachshund-like nerve and confidence on occasion and venture into the lion’s den.100_0865

Zombie Jesus

A bit over year ago, as I prepared for the depression sure to occur upon the end of “Breaking Bad,” I ruminated on just how great television is these days–except for zombies. I hate zombies. But they get me to thinking . . .

Breaking-Bad-1[1]We are living in the golden age of television. I grew up on sitcoms, westerns, and sports—when we were allowed to watch television, that is—subjected to a three network, pre-cable fare that made the term “idiot box” entirely appropriate. That has all changed. Without ever having to check the basic networks other than for news and sports, viewers today are offered options rivaling anything on the big screen in both production value and quality of acting. Thanks to the wonders of on demand viewing, I can keep up with “Breaking Bad,” “Mad Men,”imagesCA3I36MA “Sons of Anarchy,” “The Newsroom,” or something from across the pond like “Downton Abbey” or “Broadchurch” with no scheduling conflicts while fast-forwarding through AMC or FX commercials, Downton_Abbey[1]descending just a notch or two lower to “Boardwalk Empire” or “Game of Thrones” when I feel like slumming it.

When Jeanne and I discover a series that’s been going on for a while, we can use Netflix to catch up on several seasons in short order, swept up in a viewing frenzy that is limited only by our inability to stay awake into the wee hours of the morning. This most recently happened when we discovered the great BBC series Inspector-Lewis[1]“Inspector Lewis” which eventually made its way to PBS’s “Masterpiece Theater,” watching six seasons worth in little over a month, and then descending into temporary television depression when realizing that we would no longer be swept up into the underbelly of Oxford with DCI Lewis and DC Hathaway because the sixth season was the final one. I was sucked similarly into “Breaking Bad” a couple of springs ago when my oldest son kept pestering me into watching. “You’ve got to watch ‘Breaking Bad,’ Dad!” Caleb insisted. “The main character Walt reminds me of you!” After using my Amazon Prime account to watch the first two episodes on my computer, I called him back. bryan-cranston1[1]“The only reason Walt reminds you of me is he’s a teacher and so am I! You don’t see me making a bit of extra money on the side by cooking meth with a former philosophy student, do you??” But I was hooked and literally watched five seasons of “Breaking Bad” in two weeks of extended evening viewing on my computer sitting in bed with a dachshund on either side while Jeanne was on the road. I am now preparing for an extended period of withdrawal from the adventures of Walt, Jesse, Skylar, Marie, Hank and Walt Jr. once the current final season concludes in a few weeks. I’m not over the withdrawal yet.

One of the side benefits of the current fabulous fare on television is how it regularly works its way into conversations with my colleagues on campus, conversations that in the past might have been focused on the intricacies of Descartes’ cogito or Hegel’s Logic rather than the unexpected bloodbath at the conclusion of season three of “Game of Thrones.” imagesCA1LUVQZOften these conversations turn into a confessional of just how much time each of us spends watching TV, as well as (usually) good-natured debates about which series is the best. “What do you mean you never watched ‘The Wire’??” a fellow philosophy professor sputtered as we were having a beer or two the other afternoon. “That’s the greatest television series ever!” he claimed, implying that I would forever be stuck in the television-viewing minor leagues until I graduated to the big show of “The Wire.” Things calmed down shortly after when we agreed that regardless of the current “Greatest Series Ever” title holder, it was soon to be replaced by “Breaking Bad” when its final season ends. Following my colleague’s advice, I watched one episode of “The Wire” on my tablet per visit to the gym this past summer. Great show.

banner_stargate_studios_the_walking_dead_952px[1]There is one show that has been touted and recommended to me by at least a dozen people as the best out there, a show that I guarantee I will never watch. “Have you ever watched ‘The Walking Dead’?” I frequently am asked. “Man, you’ve got to see that! Acting, storyline, suspense—there’s nothing better!” Let’s suppose, just for argument’s sake, that “The Walking Dead” is the greatest show ever to grace the small screen. I still won’t be watching it. I don’t like zombies.

As a philosophy professor I should be both familiar and comfortable with zombies, since in philosophy of mind the analysis of zombies has been somewhat of a cottage industry for at least a couple of decades. Really. Zombies in philosophy are imaginary creatures used to illuminate problems about consciousness and its relation to the physical world. issue96[1]Unlike those in films or witchcraft, philosophy zombies are exactly like us in all physical respects but without conscious experiences: by definition there is ‘nothing it is like’ to be a zombie. Yet zombies behave just like us, and some even spend a lot of time discussing consciousness. Lest the non-academics among you take this philosophical zombie obsession as evidence that the ivory tower needs to be torn down or blown up, it gets worse. I have been at large philosophy conferences where more than half of the papers presented were focused on the philosophical analysis of zombies. I did not participate—zombies creep me out.

I really do not get the general infatuation, academic or otherwise, that our culture has with zombies. A few weeks ago, as Jeanne and I were riding with our friend Michael and his eleven-year old son Sam to the grocery store during our annual Florida trek, we rode past a sign on the side of the road advertising a “5K Zombie Run” in downtown Tampa a few days later. I’m not sure how zombies could run five kilometers without falling apart, but my question was more general. “What the hell is the big obsession that people have with zombies??” I wanted to know. In short order Sam started to talk about zombies in a stream-of-consciousness fashion, zombies in books, in movies, in video games. “Really,” he concluded, “all a zombie is is someone who was dead and now isn’t any more. Hmm–Jesus was a zombie!”

zombie-zoom[1]I thought Sam’s “Zombie Jesus” connection was original—boy was I wrong. Just Google “Zombie Jesus” and see what happens, but don’t do it until you have taken your gross-out pills and fortified yourself with a main-line injection of irreverence and stupidity tolerance. The image to the left is the most tasteful one I could find. Zombie Jesus day (Easter, in other words), Zombie Jesus Facebook pages, a short film called “The Passion of Zombie Jesus” loaded by someone called “championofhell” on YouTube and described as “the most sacrilegious film in human history” (I didn’t watch it)—you  get the point. I find this laughably weak if intended to be a critique of Christian belief; certain believers might be outraged, but something tells me that the divine does not fall off its throne or lose any sleep over such things. But there it is again—the zombie meme has a viral life of its own, and I just don’t get it.

Unless, of course . . . unless the zombie thing is just another way in which the human desire to believe that there is more to our existence than just our short-term physical presence on earth pops up. Beneath the crudity and lack of imagination of the zombie obsession lies that deep human need to believe that this is not all there is. The-Walking-Dead-S3-Mid-season-1[1]It says something about the limitations of the human imagination that a bunch of almost-dead, decaying corpses staggering around and eating the flesh off fully alive humans is the best “life after death” scenario we can come up with, especially since a much more exhilarating and inspiring story is available.

“He who believes in me will never die.” That’s a pretty shocking and “out there” promise, but the prospect of taking it seriously enough to try to figure out what it means and how it might transform a life is far more attractive than wasting time with the undead. Sam’s attraction to zombies is understandable—things that were once dead do not generally come back to life, even in a half-baked, decaying form. But a full-fledged resurrection from the dead, new life awakening in a soul left for dead?  “Whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst . . . It will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” Someone should make a television show about that!

lilium_lily_uplandin_20090615_lah_005[1]

the jesus lizard

What I Would Love to Find

bird by bifdIn Bird by Bird, the best book on writing that I have read, Anne Lamott tells the writing wannabe to “write what you would love to find.” That’s great advice—but of course that means the prospective writer has to do a lot of reading. At least I do, since I often don’t know what I would “love to find” until I find it. When things get busy, when I tell myself that I don’t have the time to read anything other than what I’ve assigned my students for the week (since it’s always a good idea to be a class or two ahead of them), my blog writing begins to resonate like vibrations in an echo chamber or the sound of one hand clapping. one handWhen I tack a new paragraph at the beginning of an essay I wrote a year ago and call it a new essay, I know it’s time to find another hand to clap with.

In my current state of affairs, this happens during semester or summer break. Last summer was filled with reading multiple volumes of Scandinavian noir mysteries which provided me with new ways to consider the familiar. What would I discover during the all-too-short Christmas break between semesters that just ended? I have learned to trust the apparently random suggestions of friends and colleagues for new reading material over the years, and once again they delivered. Thanks to two friends, I have discovered two more authors to love and to use as new sparks of writing energy.

The first suggestion came from my friend and colleague Bill, who occupies the office directly across the hall from mine in our still-new cathedral to the humanities. Bill and I know each other well; we have taught on an interdisciplinary faculty team together, have frequently talked about pedagogical issues, and share the privilege (?) of having directed the program I currently run (he was the director before I was). abyssBill brings his sons to his office on occasion—they like to peek into my office to see the penguins. And Bill reads my blog. One morning not long ago he said “I’m reading a book you would like. It’s called My Bright Abyss; Christopher Wiman is a poet, but this is sort of a spiritual memoir. It’s tough reading at times, but he writes about the sort of things you write about.” On Bill’s recommendation I ordered it from Amazon, despite Wiman’s being a poet (I have frequently described myself as “poetry challenged”).

Boy was Bill right. One of the many things I love to find is well-trampled territory described as if the author just discovered it for the first time.

Faith steals upon you like dew: some days you wake and it is there. And like dew, it gets burned off in the rising sun of anxieties, ambitions, distractions.

Ain’t it the truth? I call myself a “person of faith” regularly, but that makes faith sound like something that—once the decision is made—is a regular part of one’s daily apparel like shoes or underwear. But faith is much more ephemeral than that, something that Wiman captures perfectly. When Jesus asks Peter, whom he has just rescued from drowning at the end of Peter’s ill-fated effort to walk on water, doubt“Oh you of little faith, why did you doubt?” I’m hoping Peter answered (or at least thought) “Because I’m a human being and this faith thing is like a magic trick: Now you see it, now you don’t.”

Wiman also has little resonance with the notion of finding comfort in religious belief. My students often suggest that “comfort” is the main attraction of faith commitment: comfort that “all things work together for good” and comfort that in an afterlife “everything will work out.” The next time I hear that in a classroom discussion (or anywhere else), I’ll introduce this from My Bright Abyss:

shardChrist is a shard of glass in your gut. Christ is God crying I am here, and here not only in what exalts and completes and uplifts you, but here in what appalls, offends, and degrades you, here in what activates and exacerbates all that you would call not-God. To walk through the fog of God toward the clarity of Christ is difficult because of how unlovely, how “ungodly” that clarity often turns out to be.

Imagine if Jesus had said that “following me will be like a shard of glass in your gut.” How many followers would that have attracted? Come to think of it, though, the gospels claim that Jesus said many things like that. We just tend to ignore them.

My other Christmas break discovery came to me when my good friend Marsue asked if I had ever read in the darkLearning to Walk in the Dark by Barbara Brown Taylor. “I want to get it for you,” she said, “but the last time I got you a book you already had it.” I had not read any of Taylor’s work, but her books have showed up frequently enough in the “Suggested Reading” on my Amazon Prime site (which I guess is generated based on what I have purchased in the past) that I have had this very book on my “Wish List” for a few months. Not wanting to undermine Marsue’s intended generosity, but taking this suggestion from a trusted friend seriously, I read three of Taylor’s other books over break. Not only have I found another literary soul mate, Jeanne is reading these books as well.

Barbara Brown Taylor’s Leaving Church is her memoir of how tending for her own spiritual health and growth required her leaving the active Episcopal priesthood, a story that I resonated with at many points. Her treatment of suffering and the book of Job in altarAn Altar in the World, however, was unforgettable, beginning with her memorable description of why pain and suffering are not logical puzzles to be solved or abstract challenges to faith to be overcome.

Pain is so real that less-real things like who you thought you were and how you meant to act can vanish like drops of water flung on a hot stove. Your virtues can become as abstract as algebra, your beliefs as porous as clouds.

I have for the most part been mercifully free in my life thus far from the sort of paralyzing pain that she is describing. I also have no reason to believe that the faith I care about and profess would mean much of anything in the face of such pain. But her directness and honesty is unusual and much appreciated from a priest and theologian. She’s excellent at “making it real”—something I continue to strive for both in my writing and in my life.

What would I like to find (and what am I interested in writing)? Anne Lamott is right—the answer is often the same to both questions. A friend and colleague the other day asked who the audience is for what I write. I couldn’t believe it when I answered “I guess my audience is people like me.” I’m writing in the hope that once in a while something I write will be what someone else will love to find. I write for people who might resonate, as I do, with Christopher Wiman’s analogy for the life of faith:

To live in faith is to live like the Jesus lizard, quick and nimble on the water into which a moment’s pause would make it sink.the jesus lizard

no tech

Computer Sabbath

If multitasking is the enemy of reverence, which I’m quite sure it is, then I’m in trouble. Me, a week ago

seventh dayAnd on the seventh day God rested. According to the Hebrew Scriptures, God’s decision to take a day off after six days of hard work was intended to serve as a model for how human beings should structure their lives. If the Big Guy thought it a good idea to take a break from the usual “creating the heavens and the earth” grind, then perhaps mere mortals should also schedule regular breaks from their usual routines. Hence the Fourth Commandment:

fourth commandmentRemember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is the Sabbath of the LORD your God. . . . For in six days the LORD made the heavens and the earth, the sea, and all that is in them, and rested the seventh day. Therefore the LORD blessed the Sabbath day and hallowed it.

To which the general contemporary American attitude is “Whatever.” You can’t run a business or a career that way—it’s not clear that a modern life can be lived that way either.

But I’ve had the first cousin of the Sabbath—sabbatical—on my radar screen for a while. The early books of the Hebrew Scriptures have a lot to say about how the newly liberated children of Israel are to organize their communities once the Promised Land is occupied and the pesky inhabitants are killed or thrown out. sabbaticalOn a once-every-seventh-year rotating basis, slaves are to be set free, fields are to be left fallow, debts are to be forgiven—behold, all things are become new. The Sabbath/sabbatical idea incorporates some sort of divine insight into how things work; fortunately, in my profession the opportunity for sabbatical is still available for the fortunate few. And I am one of them—my third sabbatical, the first one to last a full year, will begin on July 1. To my non-academic friends and family who believe that I will be on a year-long vacation doing nothing, I respond that sabbatical is not about doing nothing. It is definitely about doing different things, but even more is about doing things differently. And so, I suspect, is the core Sabbath idea. The point is not to stop doing things one day out of seven. The point rather is to include in my life a structured reminder to see, think, and act differently than usual. Doing that on a weekly basis is far more challenging than planning for a once-every-seven-years extended sabbatical.

In last Monday’s blog post I revealed that my one New Year’s resolution is to be a more reverent person in 2015:

Freelance Christianity: One Thing

I’m sure that this decision is a confluence of thinking about sabbatical and reading BBTBarbara Brown Taylor’s An Altar in the World in which she writes engagingly about how important taking a true Sabbath every week has been to her in the years since she stepped down from the manic energies required by being the rector of a thriving Episcopal parish. As I thought about what reverence might mean outside the confines of its usual religious implications—what “secular reverence” might be, if you will—I kept circling back to a negative definition: Reverence is the opposite of multitasking. If being reverent means paying careful attention to the tasks, persons and items in my life as they show themselves, it also means not dividing that attention fifteen different ways.

As I sat in our lovely little library room before dawn last Saturday morning, the first morning after choosing reverence as the focus of my one New Year’s resolution, I wondered “What is the thing most likely to suck me into multitasking?” The answer was obvious—my greatest temptation to non-reverence was (and is) my beloved surface 2Surface II tablet, recharged and waiting for my use, laying on the bottom shelf of the table next to my chair. And I had a “What If?” moment. What if I tried to spend twenty-four hours without turning my tablet (or either of the other laptops in the house) on? What if I deliberately removed the greatest temptation to multitask and lived in a “tablet-free” zone for twenty-four hours?  What if, in other words, Saturday January 3, 2015 was a “Computer Sabbatical”?

Immediately a swarm of questions and concerns swept over me like locusts over Egypt.locusts

  1. But what if I want to work on some essays today?
  2. What if an answer to one or more of the cosmically important emails I sent out yesterday comes in today?
  3. How am I going to be able to track how my blog numbers are doing?
  4. I was going to finish the syllabus for my upcoming Philosophy of the Human Person class today.
  5. Should I tell Jeanne what I’m doing?
  6. Would using my cell phone count as a violation of computer sabbatical?
  7. How am I going to print off the essay I wrote yesterday that I’ll be using at Living Stones seminar tomorrow after church?
  8. Most importantly, how am I going to find out when the Friars game this afternoon is?

As the above concerns flooded into my awareness (all within five minutes of my declaring the day “computer free”), I scribbled them down in a yellow pad of paper. Which immediately answered concerns 1 and 4 above—there is a remarkable invention, almost as amazing as tablets, called “paper” upon which one can record one’s most profound thoughts even when no computer is available. I did indeed write a new essay last Saturday; I dutifully typed it into my tablet on Sunday. I also finished off a few syllabus-related items in long hand. I had forgotten how horrible my handwriting is.

I’m not sure how #5 ever came up, since the sight of me without my tablet surgically attached everywhere I go would have alerted Jeanne that something was up. I did tell her what I was up to as soon as she arose because I needed her wisdom concerning #6. androidDoes my computer sabbatical apply to my phone (which isn’t technically a computer after all)? “Yes it does apply,” she immediately said, “since you use your phone like a computer instead of a phone.” True enough. I hate getting phone calls, but love checking my emails and blog numbers on my phone. Which focused my attention on #2 and #3. On Sunday morning I found out that although about twenty-five emails came in on Saturday, none of them were the responses I was looking for; I deleted all but two of the twenty-five without even reading them. Which tells me, I guess, that perhaps the emails I sent weren’t cosmically important after all.

As for checking my blog numbers, this was a big problem. I had no idea how often I do this habitually until computer sabbatical day. I have taught logic classes before and know all about the post hoc“post hoc, ergo propter hoc” (“after this, therefore because of this”) fallacy, but I have been convinced for a long time that the number of visits to my blog during a given day is directly proportional to the number of times I check my blog numbers. And guess what? Computer sabbatical day proved my theory to be correct. Last Saturday was my worst blog activity day in close to a year—obviously because I didn’t check the numbers all day. By the way, I found out when the Friars game was when I remembered I had a calendar in my backpack with all of the college sports events for the year listed by day and time. I shouldn’t have bothered. They lost.

I did make it through the day without turning a computer on or messing with my phone. Instead I took down the Christmas tree, wrote a new essay, finished An Altar in the World, listened to the Friars lose on the radio, watched a bunch of TV (only some of it worth watching), ate more than usual, and sort of felt like I didn’t get that much done in the day. But the evidence of baby steps in reverence was there. For instance, I am in the habit of noting in the index the chapters of any book I am reading that I especially like or find insightful. Was it a coincidence that three of my four favorite chapters in altarAn Altar in the World are chapters that I read without tablet interruption on Saturday morning? And when Jeanne told me early in the evening on Saturday that I looked “extremely content” sitting in my chair in the living room, I concluded that maybe the computer sabbatical experiment is worth repeating every Saturday for the foreseeable future. As regular “no computer” days become habitual, I hope to notice that at least once a week less multitasking means more reverence. And as to #7 above: I did not have print off a hard copy of my new essay for Living Stones on Sunday morning after all. I just brought my tablet to church and read it off the screen.

Convocation_2007_16

Nice Work If You Can Get It

The new semester begins in a week. I was interested a few days ago to read a Huffington Post article summarizing the results of what a bunch of anthropologists found out concerning the daily work habits of university faculty.

What Do Professors Do All Day?

After spending two weeks with a non-random sample of sixteen faculty of different ranks at boise stateBoise State University, the researchers found out that on the average the faculty worked 51 hours during the work week and 10 hours on the weekend at a host of different tasks. Amazing. It took a study to find out that teachers have full-time jobs after all and actually do work-related things on the weekend (although the numbers for both week and weekend seem a bit low). I’m wondering how to square these remarkable results with an article I read a year ago claiming that “University Professor” topped the list of “Least Stressful jobs of 2013.” Of course I had to respond . . .

Those who read this blog regularly or even occasionally know that I believe I have the greatest job in the world. For those who are finding this out for the first time, let me repeat—I have the greatest job in the world. As a matter of fact, it is so great that I don’t consider it to be a job at all. For me, teaching is a vocation rather than a job, something that I truly believe I am called and was born to do. Convocation_2007_16I raise eyebrows occasionally on the campus of the Catholic college at which I teach when I say that I consider teaching to be a vocation for me just as much as being a priest is the vocation of the guys who walk around campus in white robes. But even though I love what I do to an almost unhealthy extent, I taken aback when I learned from a colleague via Facebook that “University Professor” is listed by CareerCast.com at number one in its top ten list of “Least Stressful Jobs of 2013.”

The Ten Least Stressful Jobs of 2013

Really? Or as one of my colleagues commented on Facebook “Bullshit!!! [pardon my advanced degree French].” I guess I must have failed to notice how non-stressful my job is during my 25 year university professor career.

Every person who teaches in higher education has a virtual file full of stories about how difficult it is to get a non-academic friend or family member to understand exactly what is involved with being a college professor. pic_short_teaching_courses_londonMost difficult is getting someone to understand that this is not a part-time job. For instance, Cousin Bob finds out that the typical teaching load for a faculty member at a teaching college or university is three or four three-credit courses per semester (or perhaps five at a two-year college), meaning that the faculty member is in class at most fifteen hours per week. Must be nice to make a full-time salary at a part-time job! Cousin Bob remarks. Early in my career I often patiently pointed out to the Cousin Bobs in my family that a good rule of thumb is that a teacher spends three to four hours outside of class (preparation, reading, grading, meeting with students, etc.) for every hour spent in class. “Really?” Cousin Bob replies. But he clearly is not convinced, since as we all know, easy working hours is the main reason that a person becomes a teacher.

Then, of course, Cousin Bob wonders about all of the weeks of the calendar year that I am not in the classroom. Christmas break, Spring break, the summer—teachers apparently get at least twenty weeks per year off.images Must be nice to make a full-time salary at a part-time job! With what begins to feel like infinite patience, I explain to Cousin Bob that teaching is only one part of a university professor’s job. In order to advance through the ranks of promotion and, more importantly, in order to get tenure, one must research and publish on a regular basis. For most college faculty, the time and focus required for this aspect of the profession is not available during the semester, so the “breaks” are all about research, writing, and praying for publication. But I’m not in the classroom, right? Must be nice to make a full-time salary at a part-time job! You get the idea. A colleague once told me about his frustrated response to a relative after one too many such conversations. Upon hearing Must be nice to make a full-time salary at a part-time job! one too many times, my colleague replied “It actually is really nice. If you were smart enough you could have a job like that too.”

CareerCast’s explanation of why University Professor is the least stressful job of 2013 has more than a whiff of Cousin Bob behind it, just expressed in a slightly less aggressive fashion. For instance, the article explains that

University professors are at the pinnacle of the education field. Their students are largely those who choose the classes they attend, and thus want to be in class. Unlike elementary and secondary educators, the performance of college professors isn’t evaluated based on standardized tests. 15rfd-image-custom3University professors also have the opportunity to earn tenure, which guarantees lifetime employment.

A full response would require something more like a book chapter than a blog post. Suffice it to say that the author of the article (1) has apparently never heard of core requirements if he thinks that college professors face “students . . . who choose the classes they attend, and thus want to be in class,” (2) is not aware that despite the (usual) lack of standardized tests, college teachers are evaluated by their peers, answerable for the results of student evaluations, and are under regular scrutiny in every aspect of what they do, and (3) needs to learn something about the tenure process (assuming that the faculty member is fortunate enough to be teaching at an institution that uses the tenure process).

Tenure. Such job security is certainly unusual in today’s job market and tenure is an attractive “perk” of the academic life. Once one earns it, that is. one-does-not-simply-become-an-adjunct-professorTenure-track positions are hard to come by in academia, more and more so as many institutions opt for hiring year-to-year adjunct professors or special lecturers then proceed to treat them as well-dressed slave labor (don’t get me started on that one). Should a teacher be fortunate to land a tenure-track position in today’s heavily buyer-skewed academic marketplace, the stress she or he will experience in the next several years leading to the tenure decision will be sufficient to last a lifetime. As is undoubtedly the case in many workplace environments, the tenure decision is often as much or more about internal campus politics as it is about the qualifications of the candidate and those things that she or he can control. “The opportunity to earn tenure” is indeed that—an opportunity that, unfortunately, for many talented and qualified teachers will never be available.

Then there’s the money. The article author points out that

csreport_header02_r1_c1_s1Harvard University pays full-time professors $198,400, with a 7:1 professor-to-student ratio, while University of Chicago professors receive $197,800 per year with a 6:1 ratio. Among public universities, the University of California at Los Angeles (UCLA) is highest paying, with an average wage of $162,600 for its full-time staff.

Really? All of them? At all levels? In all disciplines? Such “statistics” are useless without context, about as useless as telling a lawyer in a public defender’s office working 80-100 hours per week and struggling to make ends meet that the senior lawyers in the top firms on Wall Street often make seven-figures annually. Here’s an anecdote from the real world. At least a dozen years into my teaching career, still paying off the loans from ten years of college in order to earn the PhD required to teach at the college level in my discipline,business-ethics it occurred to me one day that the second semester seniors in my Business Ethics class, most of whom would be entering the work force shortly after graduation as entry-level persons with undergraduate business degrees, would be starting at a monthly salary noticeably higher than my own. As I once told a younger colleague when I was chair of my department, in response to his complaints about how little he was being paid, “if you became a teacher for the money, you’re a moron.”

1385581_616281185091038_1215320450_nI have reached the level of experience and rank (a tenured, full professor) at which one could expect that maybe stress levels might reduce and ultimately disappear. But persons such as I are those who are tapped, appropriately, to significantly commit themselves to the third leg of the academic stool (along with teaching and research): service. After four years as chair of a department of 25 faculty and now in the middle of a four-year stint as the director of the core academic program at my college, responsible for 80 faculty and upwards of 1700 students at any given time, I realize that one sort of stress just gets replaced by another.

And actually that’s fine, since it is all part of the vocation I was born to inhabit. There are many attractive features to the life of a university professor. I can think of no other profession in which one’s creativity is required more often or in which one has more autonomy and flexibility. But it is anything but stress-free. A teacher never leaves the office. Your work goes with you everywhere. I realized at one point early last December that, other than Thanksgiving Day,  I literally had not had a day off since the middle of August. This is why I have recommended the teaching profession to no more than a half-dozen of my best students in more than twenty years of teaching. If you are looking for a profession that will fit nicely with your family obligations and other interests, don’t become a teacher.nice-work-if-you-can-get-it-1180 If you want to make a living wage at a stimulating 40-45 hour per week job, don’t become a teacher. If you want to “work to live” rather than “live to work,” you probably should not become a teacher. If you think of teaching as one among many equally interesting career possibilities, don’t become a teacher. But if you are incurably obsessed with the life of learning, if the dynamic of new ideas exhilarates you, if you suspect that you might have the heart of a teacher and nothing else will fulfill you, then this highly stressful but highly rewarding vocation might just be for you. It’s nice work if you can get it.

one thing

One Thing

In the 1991 movie City Slickers, Billy Crystal plays New York executive Mitch Robbins, whose hassled life is wearing negatively on his work, his marriage, and his friendships. At thirty-nine years old he finds himself deep in a midlife crisis. three amigosFor his birthday, his two best buddies purchase a two-week vacation for the three of them at a dude ranch in New Mexico to participate in a dude cattle drive. As is usually the case with Billy Crystal, hilarity and poignancy ensue simultaneously. The tough-as-nails trail boss Curly, played to great effect by Jack Palance, is an enigma to Mitch from day one—Curly is silent, curmudgeonly, skilled at his job, self-assured, and clearly in possession of information that Mitch badly needs. One day while rounding up strays, Mitch asks, “Curly, what is the secret of life?” As a good philosopher should, Curly answers with another question.

You know what the secret of life is?

No, what?

(Holding one finger up) This. one thing

Your finger?

One thing. Just one thing. You stick to that and everything else don’t mean shit.

That’s great, but what’s the one thing?

That’s what you’ve gotta figure out.

One thing. Finding out what that one thing is might be the point of anyone’s life, but that’s a pretty big task. At the beginning of a new year, a more manageable question might be “What is the one thing that I resolve to do this coming year?” And I don’t mean something like drinking less coffee or going to the gym more. I mean “What is the one thing that I resolve to do in this coming year that will be good for the inner me, for my soul?”one more thing I gave this assignment to the Living Stones seminar group that meets once a month after church when we met in December, and they’ll be bringing their “one thing” resolution when we meet next. As for me, I resolve that in 2015 I will be a more reverent person.

Reverence is not a concept that is particularly in favor in Western culture—it probably hasn’t been for decades. The term is almost always used in religious contexts, especially during the holiday season just ended. The shepherds and wise men gaze reverently upon the Christ child, Mary listens reverently as the angel tells her that her world is about to be turned upside down, the stable animals chew their hay reverently as they observe Mary reverently giving birth to Jesus while Joseph reverently boils water and finds some swaddling clothes. I suppose that sort of faux holiness has its place (maybe), but that’s not what I have in mind.

The sort of reverence I am resolving to develop this year is more like Moses’ reaction to the burning bush in Exodus. As he is taking care of his father-in-law Jethro’s flocks one day, he notices something weird out of the corner of his eye—a bush that is on fire but is not being burnt up. He could have thought “that’s weird” and kept on going. burning bushHe could have made a mental note to check back later when he wasn’t so busy. He could have Googled “burning bush” on his tablet after dinner with Zipporah and the kids when he had a few minutes of down time. But he didn’t. Instead, he said “I must turn aside and look at this great sight, and see why the bush is not burned up.” Loose translation—“Holy Shit! What the hell is that?” Moses was willing to interrupt his busy day to take a look at something outside his usual frame of reference. Reverence begins with the ability to see in a different way, to notice what’s going on outside the boundaries of my agenda, to be attentive to even the most mundane items and events that cross my path. Most importantly, reverence is cultivated by an increasing awareness that everything is important in its own right. simoneThe Greek philosopher Protagoras famously claimed that “man is the measure of all things.” Reverence says that I am not the measure of anything—what is most important and interesting is almost never about me.

The work of the French, Jewish mystic, activist and philosopher Simone Weil has been important to me both personally and professionally for many years, but one of her many cryptic phrases has been a mystery to me until just recently. In Gravity and Grace, she writes that “Here below, to look and to eat are two different things. . . . The only people who have any hope of salvation are those who occasionally stop and look for a time, instead of eating.” This truly made no sense to me for a long time. But as I’ve learned something about peace, silence and attentiveness over the past few years, I’ve begun to see Simone’s point. Human beings are naturally acquisitive and devouring creatures—we are seldom willing to let things be as they are. If X is attractive, I want to buy it. If Y looks useful, I want to consume it. If Z is important, I want to make it mine. We turn these manic energies on the world around us and on each other on a regular basis. Simone’s point is that not everything is here for my use and pleasure. it isThe importance of what I encounter during a given day is not to be judged according to how important it is to me. And as I learn that everything is important in its own right, I can begin to see it differently. To “let it be,” as the Beatles sang, and to remember that “it is what it is,” as Jeanne frequently says.

So in practical terms, what does reverence amount to? At the very least, it means giving each task, person, and event in my life my undivided attention. A colleague of mine defines “multitasking” as “doing several things poorly at the same time.” If multitasking is the enemy of reverence, which I’m quite sure it is, then I’m in trouble. I find it very difficult to do one thing at a time—the very writing of this essay has been interrupted, sometimes in mid-sentence, by going to a second screen to check on my blog numbers, multitaskingthen a third screen to see if my latest important email has been responded to yet. During a typical evening it is not unusual for me to be watching a television show with Jeanne, farting around on my tablet, and grading a paper or two all at the same time.

So I resolve to ask myself the following question frequently in the following weeks and months: Is what you are doing worthy of your undivided attention? And if the answer is “yes,” then the follow-up question is Then why are you not giving it your undivided attention? Learning to give my undivided attention to each thing as I encounter it is the first step in recognizing the value inherent in even the tiniest and most insignificant part of reality. Moses took the time to check out something unusual and found out that he was standing on holy ground. And so are we. All the time.tutu

Happy New Year Jesus

Random Resolutions Revisited

Last year on New Year’s Day I posted several random resolutions for the new year–today I’m checking up on how I did.

1. I resolve to stop complaining about the stupid shit that people put on Facebook. If I am stupid enough to read the stupid shit that people put on Facebook, I get what I deserve.get-rid-of-dead-weight-on-facebook-L-X_hm8X[1]

FAIL: I don’t complain as much about stupid shit on Facebook as I used to, but sometimes the level of content is so abysmal that I have to say something. It has never helped.

2. I resolve never again to buy a Christmas tree from the guy who sells Del’s lemonade in the summer. No one can be good at both selling Christmas trees and making lemonade.dels_lemonade_cup__79765.1382898369.451.416[1]

FAIL: A Christmas tree purchased from the same lemonade man is sitting in our living room as I write. It started dropping needles well before Christmas, just a couple of days after moving in.

3. I resolve to never post a picture of what I am eating on Facebook. I have never done this and resolve to continue not doing it. For those who do, please stop.aecd87be60e079ba31daf89feed38cd2054bd378f8459b6bb14f88a7da8a7d9c[1]

PASS: This was one easy to keep, and my blood pressure still rises when someone finds it necessary to take a picture of their current gastronomic delight and put it on Facebook. Who cares?

4. I resolve to own a cat again before I die. More accurately, I resolve to let a cat own me again before I die.Regardless of gender, the cat’s name will be Mister Fabulous. (Random “The Blues Brothers” reference there–who knows what it is?) 

Calebs catFAIL, but I did at least meet a nice new cat this past year. His name is Bleistift (German for “pencil,” I think)–he was given this unfortunate name by my son and daughter-in-law (who is from Germany). He’s a lovely animal and has a far better attitude about life than he should, given the name he has been saddled with.

5. I resolve to stop thinking that the several dozen people I graduated with thirty-five years ago, with whom I have never been in touch, are now my friends because we are members of a Facebook group.join_our_facebook_group[1]

PASS: Another easy one to keep, since I never have thought that Facebook connections I have never met meet the ontological status of “friends.”

6. I resolve never to find out what it is like to tweet.tw[1]

EPIC FAIL: I am now on Twitter, thanks to taking the advice of blogging expert who said that being on Twitter is more important for a blogger than being on Facebook. I’m not buying it, although I do admit that I am more aware of how to say something in 140 characters or less than I used to be.

7. I resolve to never again check out a conservative media outlet’s Facebook page “just for the fun of it.” The cognitive dissonance is not worth it.FNCFacebook[1]

PASS, although I must admit that I really wanted to see what they had to say about Cuba, the improving economy and my favorite Catholic, Pope Francis, in the past few weeks.

8. I resolve to only check my blog once per hour to see how many posts I have. I don’t think I’ll be able to keep this one.imagesMZKPM2SC

BIG TIME FAIL. If I could get my blog stats intravenously 24-7, I probably would.

So there it is. I was 3-5 on my resolutions, which I expect is better, unfortunately, than average. I’m working on 2015 resolutions right now, ones that will have nothing to do with social media. In the meantime, Happy New Year Jesus

moving on

Moving On

“Get a picture of yourself ten years from now in your mind,” I said to my eighteen-year old freshmen. “Your job, whether you’ll be in a permanent relationship, whether you will have kids or have considered having them, where you’ll be living, graduate school or not. The works.” Most of them had smiles on their faces as they constructed their future selves in their imaginations. We were studying the Stoics, so I suspect they were wondering what this exercise had to do with the day’s material. “Got the picture?” I asked—they all nodded. “None of it is going to happen, or at least not at all in the way you think.” life is what happensThis appeared to be a surprise to some of them—at eighteen it is still easy to believe that much of your future is within your control.

We have all heard the related truisms: “Life is what happens when you are busy making other plans,” “If you want to give God a good laugh, tell her your plans” and so on. Anyone past a certain age—say thirty—nods bemusedly when hearing them because unlike many bumper sticker summaries of the complexities of human life, these sound bites are completely true. Sometimes the unexpected changes are welcome, other times we are surprised by events so challenging and disturbing that we doubt we’ll survive them. under constructionBut we do. The persons we are and will become have been and will be constructed out of what we never saw and won’t see coming.

I’m fifty-eight, well established in a profession that I deeply love, happily in love with and married to my best friend, living in my favorite part of the country—Jeanne and I have carved out a life that seems comfortable, predictable, and stable. She observed positively upon returning from visiting her family and the latest drama in New York a couple of weeks ago that “we really live a peaceful life.” Exactly as we want it. But on this New Year’s Eve I am on the brink of a year of significant change and am reminded that even within the boundaries of apparent stability, things never stay the same for long.

I am entering my final semester of directing a large academic program on my campus, a task that has consumed and defined my life both on campus and off for the past four years. When July 1 of next year arrives and I hand the reins over to my successor, I DWCwill have spent eight of my last eleven professional years as both an administrator and teacher (four years as department chair, four years as program director). I did not go into the teaching profession to be an administrator; although it’s part of the academic life to play administrator on occasion, I’m looking forward to finding out what it’s like to be just a full-time teacher. And yet . . . in a strange way I’m going to miss being a program director. I’ve learned a lot about myself as I juggle scheduling, faculty herding and student management on a daily basis. There are many indications that the program has become better over the past few years—and I sort of like being in charge. But all things come to an end, including this.

The timing of my stepping down from directing this program is intentionally coordinated with the beginning of my next sabbatical next July 1. sabbaticalThis will be my third sabbatical. I wrote a book during my first one, my life was changed during my second one, so who knows what this one will bring? It will be my first full-year sabbatical—I’ve told everyone that I wanted to have one full-year sabbatical during my career, and this is the time. By the time my next one comes around, I may be too decrepit and crotchety to appreciate it. I have a plan for what I want to do, but where it will happen and how is totally up in the air. Proposals have been sent, contacts have been made, feelers have been extended—and I won’t know how things will be shaping up for at least two or three months.

Outside of work things are also in flux. Jeanne’s job was eliminated a couple of months ago—who knows when or if someone will be smart enough to recognize what an asset she will be for them?Trinity Everything is moving on at the church we have attended and been involved with for the past four years. Our good friend Marsue, who is the reason why we started going to the church has retired (at least for a couple of weeks) and a new rector has been hired. Marsue used to turn the pulpit over to me about once every three or four months to give the sermon—I’ve probably given my last sermon at Trinity. A couple of months before Marsue’s retirement a full-time music minister was hired, which means three years of frequent, interim organ playing—one of the loveliest surprises that has come my way in many years—are at an end. Everyone at Trinity knows we started attending because of Marsue—will we be staying? Jeanne and I have answered regularly that it depends on what Big Bird is doing. The wind blows where it will, and no one can tell where it’s coming from or where it is going—so it is with all things Big Bird.

A couple of Sundays ago I was lector at church and read the Old Testament lesson from Second Samuel. After cementing his rise from shepherd to king through a series of struggles over many years against challenges both internal and external, David is ready to enjoy his middle-age years as monarch and to turn his attention toward God. arkHe tells his prophet advisor and sidekick Nathan of his plans to build a temple to house the Ark of the Covenant, a place for God to settle down and enjoy himself just as David plans to. Given that God’s dwelling has been a tent or movable tabernacle for centuries, Nathan approves of David’s plans. Until God sets Nathan straight in a dream, that is. When did I ever say I wanted a permanent place to live? God asks. Do I look like someone who want to settle down? I haven’t stopped being a nomad since I delivered Israel from bondage in Egypt and don’t plan to stop now. If you want to hang out with me, don’t get too comfortable and be ready to move. Then this wonderful promise passed on to David through Nathan: “The Lord declares to you that the Lord will make you a house.”

WimanIn other words, God already has a house—Us. You and me. That restless spirit of change that permeates everyone’s life? That’s God. As Christopher Wiman writes in his wonderful My Bright Abyss,

To say that one must live in uncertainty doesn’t begin to get at the tenuous, precarious nature of faith. The minute you begin to speak with certitude about God, he is gone. We praise people for having strong faith, but strength is only one part of that physical metaphor: one also needs flexibility.

This, Richard Rodriguez suggests, is what monotheists get for believing in a desert God.rodriquez

The desert’s uninhabitability convinces Jew and Christian and Muslim that we are meant for another place.

Which means that trying to confine this restless deity in buildings, dogma, or certainty is a mistake of cosmic proportions.

Desert is the fossil of water. Is dogma a fossil of the living God—the shell of God’s passage—but God is otherwise or opposite?

For those not inclined toward religious belief, feel free to come up with your own explanation for the contingency and uncertainty of human existence. You don’t need a pillar of fire to convince you that it’s all about moving on.moving on