Week-End Update: Cooking and Other Types of Mood Management

In some ways, it was a good week-end.  Sunday at Faith Lutheran in Bristol, Tennessee went well, the kind of Sunday where I find myself wishing this position as a Synod Appointed Minister could continue for several more years.  It might, but much of that decision will not be up to me.

It was the kind of week-end where I hear about the travel plans of neighbors and feel a weird sense of emotion.  It's not envy, exactly.  They're taking a 10 day walk across England, 7-8 miles a day, carrying everything they need on their backs, following the same path that the pilgrim's in Chaucer's Canterbury Tales traveled.  They are at least 10 years older than I am, maybe 15.  It's the kind of plan that makes me wonder if I should retire/work less now rather than later.  But I am not sure we could make this kind of trek now.  For one thing, the long airline flight to get there is a dealbreaker for me.  And my spouse would need a very flat route, and he would need to do some training to be ready for even a flat route.

So, not envy, but the kind of feeling I have had so often in my life, wondering what is wrong with me that I don't want what so many other people seem to want.  In the above paragraph, it's vacation plans and bucket lists.  I look at the larger culture, particularly the desire to have the latest cell phone and hours to spend scrolling, and I don't feel like something is wrong with me.  I do worry about the health of the larger culture, particularly when I stumble across particularly disturbing information about what tech is doing to our brains.

I organized a cookie tasting for our neighborhood group, and I tried to make a recipe, pecan sandies, from childhood.  As with the chocolate chip cookies I've tried to make, the butter seemed to melt outside the cookie and fry it.  Not untasty, but not the memory of the cookie.  And there was that distressing moment when I said, "I can't cook anymore."  A ridiculous thought, but a distressing one.

Yesterday, though, we had great success making pizza with cast iron pans.  Before putting them in the oven, I turned the burner to medium heat for 3 minutes, as recommended by this blog post from King Arthur Baking Company.  It was the first time since being in this house when we've had a good homemade pizza.  My usual experience is to go through all the effort to make homemade pizza, only to be left with a mess of a kitchen and a blah pizza and a yearning for pizza from somewhere else. 

Yesterday as we ate pizza, we watched the recording of the Sunday worship service at the National Cathedral.  The service was beautiful, and once again, I found myself observing a strange mood evolving in me.  There was some nostalgia for the year I spent in seminary, where I went to the Cathedral occasionally.  I felt nostalgia and wistfulness and sadness for a time that is gone and won't be coming back.  I felt fortunate to have had the experiences and the opportunities and at the same time, I know what I had planned to do with that time in the city and the ways I fell short.  I tried to keep focused on what I did manage to do.  

When the worship service was over, we switched to Saturday Night Live snippets, so it was easier to manage my mood.  And then it was off to bed; I've been going to sleep increasingly earlier, and I feel like I need to get back on a more reasonable track.

Glory Days: 1995 and Now

Yesterday was the kind of teaching day that made me so grateful to have a chance to do some of this again, to do some of it for the first time.

I got to my office and sent an e-mail to my English Dep't colleagues to let them know that I had volunteered to be the faculty sponsor for the Poetry Club.  Lo and behold, another colleague had also volunteered, so we strategized about how to move forward.  We're both relatively new to Spartanburg Methodist College, so we're both grateful not to be going it alone.  Later, we talked to the student who is taking leadership too; she's in my Creative Writing class, and I like her energy.  As an added bonus, she's got visual art skills, so she'll be making the posters and flyers for the Involvement Fair on Monday.

I got grading done, so I'm caught up until Monday, and I've strategized my classes for next week.  The two classes that I teach on MWF went well.  In fact, after my Brit Lit survey class, one of my students said, "This is the only class where I wish it could go longer."  I think he was being sincere, not giving me empty flattery; he had been engaged for the whole class.

Yesterday we talked about Dorothy Wordsworth in all her Grasmere Journal glory.  She's now in the Norton Anthology of British Literature.  When I first started teaching her in the early 90's, I was bringing in handouts to augment the mostly male anthology.

As I drove home, I wasn't as interested in the NPR stations, so I listened to a station that was in the middle of a 90 minute "rock block"--and several songs in a row were from 1995, when I would have been driving back and forth from my home base near Charleston, SC, where I had a full-time teaching job at Trident Tech, to Columbia, SC, where my spouse was back in grad school.  As I listened to Seven Mary Three's "Cumbersome," I had that time wrinkle disconnect:  here I am in a tiny, fuel efficient car, driving on I-26, after having taught Dorothy Wordsworth to a group of students who were incredulous/aghast at the idea of Mary Hutchinson being willing to marry into the William-Dorothy dyad.

As I said, I am so grateful to be having a chance to relive some of my glory days, while at the same time wondering if I should be sad that my glory days don't involve something more transgressive (spoiler alert--I'm not sad).  Most people have glory days that revolve around ill-fated but glorious love affairs or some sort so sports/athletic achievement or some other advancement.  And mine revolves around a time when I was teaching literature I loved while writing poetry that amazed me.

We settled into our Friday night routine.  I bought the series Back to the Frontier only to find out that we would be getting it episode by episode, with each episode available early on Friday.  It's been another kind of time wrinkle, discovering that the whole series did not drop at once.  And I've enjoyed tuning in each week, just like we would have in 1995.

The show owes a HUGE debt to the PBS show Frontier House, which we watched in 2002, when it was on the air.  Three families see if they could live like Homestead Act settlers did in the late nineteenth century.  It's compelling, even as we realize that they are living a much safer variation:  no other humans attacking them and no animals attacking them and if the weather turned really ugly, they'd be rescued.

I discovered that we could watch Frontier House on YouTube, and so we watched about half of it last night.  It's not as compelling as when we first watched it, perhaps because we've had so many variations of reality TV since this early pioneer of reality TV aired.

My spouse and I always try to analyze how we'd do things differently.  We would not make for good reality TV--we would know what we signed up for and not whine constantly.  Of course, I'm not sure whining makes for good reality TV.

I do know that if I viewed my morning by way of some camera, this morning would make me long for such a life:  a good week teaching and pumpkin cinnamon rolls rising on the kitchen counter, my spouse sleeping while I'm writing.  Perhaps I have died and gone to Heaven, where I get to keep reliving these glory days.

Thursday Strands: Mountains and Abandoned Summer Camps and a New Version of "Frankenstein"

This morning, I'm a bit tired, and yet I still have two teaching days to go.  So let me collect some strands and see if they make a coherent cloth:

--I am officially done with CPE, although I'm sure I'll continue thinking about it and processing it all for some time.  It was such a mixture of things:  rewarding, exhausting, challenging, on and on I could go.  I feel very lucky to have had a great group of people in the Chaplains department.  I have heard the CPE horror stories, and each day I felt immense gratitude for the people around me.

--Yesterday, the morning view of the mountains was stunning, with swirls of clouds.  I thought, I will miss this view.  Of course, I'll have other views of other mountains throughout the week as I drive back and forth to Spartanburg and Bristol.

--I read an interview with Guillermo del Toro, who has directed/created a new version of Frankenstein.  How fortuitous that it comes out the same semester when I'm teaching it!  It sounds like it will be a movie that is more faithful to the book than past movies have been, but I've been fooled that way before.

--Last night, as I focused on bill paying tasks, my spouse had a YouTube video playing about Thoreau's Walden--it was a delightful listen of snippets from the journal along with some biographical and historical tidbits.  I have no idea what the purpose of the video was; it didn't seem deep enough to have an educational purpose, and it didn't include a lot of personal appreciation.

--This morning, as I walked around camp, I thought of families who have bought old camps.  I thought of the E. B. White essay, "Once More to the Lake," that my Creative Writing class is reading and using for inspiration.  I'm thinking of a book for middle school readers, sort of a Harriet the Spy, if Harriet lived at an abandoned summer camp and was an aspiring naturalist.  Or maybe it's a story for older readers, and maybe it involves a ghost from the 19th century.

Reviving History

I stayed up later than I meant to last night.  I started watching The Chosen a week ago, and I thought I'd just watch another episode last night before turning in--yep, three episodes later, I was still up.  I'm fascinated by this show:  by its approach to the familiar story of Jesus, by its production values, by the ways it leaves the Gospels yet stays true to them, by the way it shows us the larger context of Roman Palestine in a way that seems unique, by the way we see the differences among the followers.  What I'm trying to say is that the men look dirty when they would have been dirty in real life, that their clothes are raggedy, that they come from a variety of ethnicities, that the show feels real to me.  The background music is starting to annoy me, however, that mystical keening whenever there's a long shot of people on the move or a single person musing.

It's interesting to watch this show in the context of a religious revival that may or may not stay localized to a small school in Kentucky, Asbury University.  Two weeks ago, a friend wrote to tell me that she hoped that the revival happening at Asbury would spread to my campus, and that was the first that I had heard of it.  That small undergraduate school is very different from my seminary.  I'm pretty sure we would not be met with leniency by our professors if we decided to stay in chapel for two weeks instead of going to class and turning in work.  But perhaps I am jaded.

One of my fellow students went to Asbury.  I don't know her well enough to have a deep conversation about what she experienced.  By the time she went, thousands of others were there too, which would have changed the dynamic.

In the past week, I've noticed that more people are writing about the revival.  Nadia Bolz-Weber kept tuning into the live stream from the assembly:  

"But there is something in my soul which longs for what I am seeing on these live-streams. Or what I feel I am seeing.

So rather than make big stroke proclamations about what the Asbury Revival is or is not, I’m trying to just pay attention to what longing inside of me is being drawn up in buckets each time I tune in."

In an Opinion piece in The New York Times, Ross Douthat writes about revivals throughout the history of Christianity and concludes:  "And if you’re imagining a renewal for American Christianity, all the best laid plans — the pastoral strategies, theological debates and long-term trendlines — may matter less than something happening in some obscure place or to some obscure individual, in whose visions an entirely unexpected future might be taking shape."

Much like what happened to that original band of people who followed Jesus, the experience that The Chosen captures in such a captivating way.

Locker Room Theology

I couldn't resist the title, although it does give me pause to think about the kind of searches that might turn up this particular blog post. 

Lately, I've been thinking about the kinds of theology that people consume outside of church and books.  There's a woman at my gym who showers at the same time I do.  She always has something playing on her phone, and since she's not using earbuds, I get to hear it too.

At first, I was irritated.  I am weary of all the noise that comes my way each day, both the invited kind and the uninvited kind.  But then I became curious about what she's listening to.

It's all inspirational stuff, some of it tinged with theology, some not.  It's the "if you can believe it, you can achieve it," "change your attitude, change your altitude" kind of message.  Part of me enjoys hearing it.  Part of me pokes holes in the logic.  Part of me wants to argue back about the ways that society is structured to keep most of us from achieving, no matter how committed we are.

I'm most intrigued by the same message delivered in the thunderous style of old-timey preachers.  Now the language is cloaked with some religious ideas about praying and offering up to God and such, but still no mention of God's vision of justice and working for those who don't have our same opportunities.

Part of me wants to believe it's fairly harmless--in fact, better than some things we could be listening to first thing in the morning.  Part of me wants more comfort, some relief from this message of relentless striving.  Part of me wants to be encouraged to dream a different vision.

The Spiritual Lives of TV Characters

In the past few weeks, we've occasionally watched reruns of M*A*S*H; we've watched about 8 episodes.  I have been struck by the religious themes in the show that I didn't notice when I first watched those re-runs and originals years ago in the early 80's.

I watch the shows in a haphazard fashion, so it's hard for me to support this theory:  Father Mulcahy becomes a more major character as the show progresses, and therefore, more of the shows have a spiritual undercurrent.  The first few seasons of the show had a much more coarse tone, with much more unlikable characters.  I much prefer the later episodes.

This week, we watched the episode where the unit finds an abandoned baby and has to decide what to do.  They wrestle with several unattractive choices.  Father Mulcahy has a connection with a local monastery, and in the end, that choice seems best for the baby.  I liked the nod to ecumenism, and I know that in other episodes, Father Mulcahy works on a variety of projects with the local religious communities in Korea.

My favorite episode of the last few weeks was the Christmas episode that ends with the whole cast singing "Dona Nobis Pacem"; you can watch it here.  Father Mulcahy talks about singing it every night before sleep--it's a great practice.  I wish I could remember to sing/hum it every time I feel anxious.

I love that the show deals with the doubts that even the most religious people can have.  I love that it doesn't see these doubts as something that needs to be wrapped up in the 22 minute story arc of an episode.  It's a very realistic depiction of life, both the life of faith and the life of doubt.

I also like the depiction of the community that the medical unit has developed.  There's an acceptance of the priest that is part a feature of the forced nature of the community, part a feature of the time period of the Korean war, and partly because of the characters themselves.  Father Mulcahy is likable, after all.  He could have been a very different kind of priest.

I like that the community supports him, even as they aren't going to make lifestyle changes to make him happy.  I like that the priest doesn't reject the members of the community who behave in ways that might offend him.  I like that the priest offers a prayerful presence.

As I watch these shows, I'm struck again and again by how masterful they are:  great storytelling, marvelous character development, wonderful dialogue, skilled acting, and amazing TV.  I remember watching the movie years after I fell in love with the later episodes of the TV show, and I was so disappointed.  The TV show is much better.

As I watch the reruns and then switch to TV being created now, the twenty-first century shows (the ones created for network channels) seem much flatter.  The characters could use more of everything, and one of the things I most crave is more of a depiction of inner life.  I'm not demanding that the shows explore the spiritual lives of characters.  Surely these TV characters must have some yearnings.  I'm struck by how seldom we see characters with a thirst for social justice or a craving for a creative life or a spark of seeing the Divine in some aspect of modern life.

Sigh.

Happily, we're in a time period where all sorts of filmed narrative is available to us.  But often, I want the older material that's stood the test of time.  Happily, M*A*S*H is still widely available.

Those Who Defy Gravity: Elphaba as Christ Figure

I'll be the first to admit that I'm often interpreting characters as Christ figures, and I do wonder if I do the same thing in my own life.  In real life, I'm less likely to be looking for a Christ figure, and more likely reminding myself that I am not called to be the Messiah.  But in my reading and viewing, my brain often goes to the Messiah story as metaphor.

So, I'd have likely come to the idea of Elphaba in the musical Wicked as Jesus, even if I didn't know that the creator of Godspell, Steven Schwarz, wrote the score.  I didn't see Elphaba as a Christ figure when I read the book--at least, I don't think I did--I read the book a very long time ago.

And it took me some time to get to Elphaba as Messiah in the musical when we went to see it yesterday.  But by the end of the first act, I was convinced.  Just consider:

--Elphaba is an outsider, misunderstood, taking on a powerful emperor. 

--Oz and the Roman empire have many similarities:  a brutal empire pitting people against each other, with powerful rewards for those who comply and crushing cruelty for those who don't.

--Elphaba has powers that she doesn't understand and can't fully control.  In some parts of some Gospels, Jesus, too, takes time to understand his mission and his power.

--Both Jesus and Elphaba are rejected with their reputations besmirched.

--And yet, they are both attractive, and they win followers.

--There are temptation scenes, the offer to use their power for a different vision.

--There are scenes in both stories of friendships and understanding, only to have much of it undone.

--And then, of course, there's the resurrection at the end of each story.

I caught whiffs of Godspell in the Wicked score, in both the music and the lyrics.  But I am sure that somewhere, some grad student is already working on this--I'll await the book which will do this analysis in depth.

Fifty Years of Life in Fred Rogers' Neighborhood

On this day in 1968, Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood premiered.  While I'm fairly sure I didn't see the first episode, I was a regular viewer by 1969 or 1970.

Those were halcyon days for children's television.  I was one of the first viewers of Sesame Street and The Electric Company, and later Zoom.  I got to first grade knowing how to read, and pretending that I didn't; I knew how to read in part because my parents read to me and in part because of these T.V. shows.

I do remember the premiere of The Electric Company, which even as a young child, I could realize that they were trying to teach more complicated concepts.

At the time and for years afterwards, I thought they were more complicated concepts.  The Electric Company was trying to teach kids to read, I reasoned.  What did Mr. Rogers do in his show?

Now that I am older, I see Fred Rogers as having the more complicated task, as he taught children how to manage their anxiety, to accept themselves, to know the difference between fantasy and reality.  I can still sing the ending song that tells us it's such a good feeling to know we're alive.

Fred Rogers came to his signature show from a variety of backgrounds:  Presbyterian minister (ordained but not a preacher) and puppeteer, and a variety of TV shows.  He composed all of the songs on the show and most of the music.  He had background not only in theology but in child development.  All of these talents came together beautifully in Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood.

I find it interesting that Rogers was ordained, but that the larger Church realized the importance of his work with children's television and commissioned him to keep doing that.  It's a good reminder to those of us who feel called to ministry that our ministry can encompass many avenues--including those that earlier generations wouldn't have foreseen.  Fred Rogers went into the field of TV because he hated the medium, but wanted to see if the power of TV could be harnessed for good.  He wanted to see if TV could nurture us.

I'd say that the answer to his question is a resounding yes.  I know that our psychology is shaped in essential ways in our early years, and I feel so lucky that I was one of the earliest visitors to Fred Rogers' vision of a neighborhood. 

Oprah Is Not the Messiah

I confess that I did not stay up to watch the Golden Globe Award show; I never watch those shows unless someone who is staying with me wants to see them.  Thus, I did not see Oprah's speech.  I haven't read it, but I've heard/read snippets.

It was inspiring, as I expected.  She's always had a great way of connecting with those of us who aren't super wealthy, of reminding us that she comes from very meager beginnings.

I think we're losing sight of how many of us came from very meager beginnings, if you go back a generation or two or three.  But that doesn't detract from Oprah's speechmaking skills.  Lots of people from meager backgrounds don't make the most of their opportunities and certainly can't speak about it as powerfully as Oprah does.

Lots of people have been taking up a lot of time by discussing whether or not she should run for president.  We can genuinely say that we've seen worse candidates.  But would she be best?

I think her powers of inspiration could be important.  I'd like a candidate devoted to calling us all to live our best lives.  Would she have the legislative capability to put programs and money in place to help us do that?  She might.

I've been thinking a lot about politics and about our desire for a messiah in that arena, someone who can swoop in and fix things.  Anyone who has been in a leadership position of any kind knows it's not that easy.  Some days we're lucky, and the ideas we offer are accepted with enthusiasm--and they work.  Other days we spend time redoing work we thought was finished months ago; if we're lucky, we do the work with grace and with better results.

 As the week has gone on, and Oprah-for-President/Savior fever has grown, I've thought of other stories we tell ourselves.  My thoughts have returned to The Last Jedi which I've written about at more length in this earlier blog post.

The movie explores the cultural desire for a Messiah, for someone who will save us.  But we're often doomed by our insistence on being the Messiah--it was interesting to watch this movie with the words of John the Baptist ringing in my head:  "I am not the Messiah."  I'm still thinking about these parallel ideas--how to respond to a world with so much need for a Messiah?  We can't be the Messiah, but people need more than just the promise that a Messiah will come.  I worry that I'm transposing my theological ideas on the movie, but here it is:  the Force (which I've always understood to be God) operates much more effectively in the world when there are spiritually attuned people to help.  Those light sabers and rocks won't move themselves. 

The idea that the Force can be used for good or for evil (or for profoundly mixed motives) isn't one that Christianity traditionally presents to believers, but it makes sense to me.  I don't see God as a parent, but as a partner, albeit a partner who knows more and has more resources than I do.

Our political lives would be very different if we saw our politicians in the same way, if we stopped waiting for someone to save us and instead saw opportunities to start creating the world where we want to live, if we did that hard and consistent work ourselves.

My religious tradition (mainstream Protestantism, of a Lutheran flavor) teaches me that God begins the work of salvation and through grace, I am saved.  But I am not saved just to sit on the sofa and whine about how no one cleans up this mess or helps out that population group.  One of Luther's quotes that is one of my favorites instructs that "faith moves our feet."

I have seen this same thread running through many religious traditions, those with saviors and those without.  We are not helpless in the face of injustice; on the contrary, the Divine commands/instructs us to get involved.

I might vote for Oprah--much depends on my choices.  I'd like to vote for someone with a political track record.  I'd like to vote for someone who is grounded by similar religious traditions as mine.  But if that candidate isn't running, I'd be happy to vote for someone who remembers what it's like to be on the outside and who can offer us a vision of a world where we're all better off.  Oprah has been that person in every incarnation of her life so far.  We could do worse.

And yes, I'm aware that we could do better--but we'll need to start thinking about that now and preparing now--and that work is necessary, not for the 2020 race, but beyond.

Everything Old Is New Again

I continue to think about the latest Star Wars movie and what it's saying about our current lives.  I found this post to have an interesting view of the political aspect of the whole series:  "In the original trilogy in the 1970s and early 80s, it was The Man– an evil establishment that needed to be purified by a younger generation. In the prequels of the 90s, it was evil corporations secretly colluding with a corrupt government to create endless war."

In the current movie, we get a main character, an "unstable young white man has this horrific ideology, access to far too many weapons, and the desperate desire to demolish anything that he perceives as a threat– or is told to perceive as a threat."

The author sees the new generation of Star Wars movies as anxious to announce that the old is out and the new generation is ascendant.  She doesn't address the question of the spiritual aspect of it all.  Is the movie saying anything about the ways that generations move through church?  What does it mean that this next generation, which may or may not have vastly different ideas about the society that should emerge from the ashes, has been taught by the best of the Jedi masters of the past generation?

I find the female main character much more interesting than the conflicted young man.  Rey, perhaps because of her orphaned status, has more respect for the past generation--in fact, she saves the books (I confess that I missed this detail, but I read about it in reviews).

It's an interesting meditation, too, on how we pass on knowledge--do we need to write down the important ideas of our generations or will those ideas be preserved if they're important enough?  As an English major and an admirer of the monastic tradition, I vote for preserving our ideas on paper and a back-up medium.

My brain keeps coming back to one of the main temptation scenes, where Rey is invited to join a different resistance--or is it a resistance?  Could she and Kylo Ren build something new or are they both too corrupted by the old to do it effectively?

It's a question that every generation must answer:  what is worth keeping and what must be discarded?  And what happens if we accidentally discard the essential?

But perhaps I'm making the mistake that many theologians warn us against:  maybe it's all essential.

Or maybe God can use whatever direction we decide to go.  Some of us despair at the way that some parts of Christendom condemn same-sex marriage, while others see the embracing of same-sex marriage as essential.  In the end, these arguments and conversations will lead us all to a different world than we'd have otherwise inhabited, and history tells us that it won't be exactly like what either side would have predicted or preferred.

And then another generation will come along to point out what we've been overlooking and perhaps to smash what we've spent so long creating.

The Theology of "The Mary Tyler Moore Show"

I was saddened to hear of the death of Mary Tyler Moore.  I was most familiar with her as the character of Mary Richards, and all through the afternoon after hearing of her death, I thought of her as a character and the show as a shaper of my expectations of what grown up life would be like.

This morning, as I was casting about for blog topics, I thought about the theology of the show.  Now I am the first to admit that the show was not overtly Christian--nor was it religious in any kind of subtle way.  The characters don't seem to have any spiritual practices, beyond something that might be yoga-like, but would probably be called calisthenics.

And yet, the show has spiritual lessons, along the lines of how to live a good life and be a good person spiritual lessons--and those kinds of lessons seem to be a major part of most theologies.

Let us consider the theology of "The Mary Tyler Moore Show":

--You must be kind to your coworkers, no matter how much they exasperate you.  Even Ted or Mr. Grant may be enduring a great challenge about which you know nothing.  Even insufferable Sue Ann may be suffering.  Treat everyone gently.

--Your life may not have turned out as you planned.  But if you keep going, you may find your unplanned life is better than the one that you thought you wanted.

--Your behavior changes those around you.  In the beginning years, the other newsroom characters were much more extreme:  Mr. Grant was crusty and irritable, and Murray was acerbic without stop.  Through Mary's behavior, her coworkers become more gentle.  They are able to open up and feel more in the way of emotions, and thus make truer connections.

--I think of the theme song of the show, about turning the world on with your smile, taking a nothing date and making it seem worthwhile.  It's not overtly Christian, but it seems to synch with the verses that tell us we are the light of the world and the salt of the earth.  Christ gave us models for how to do that, and so did Mary Richards.

Poetry Friday: "Adjunct Professor, Ebenezer Scrooge"

On Sunday, as we flipped through channels, we came across A Christmas Carol, one we hadn't seen before, with Patrick Stewart as Scrooge.  It was so compelling that we kept coming back to it, eventually switching back and forth between it and The Simpsons.  I finally had to call it a night after the Ghost of Christmas Past was done.  At some point, I hope to see the rest because it was so gorgeously done.

I thought it was a film released to movie theatres, that's how beautiful it was. But it was a made for TV movie, done back in 1999.  I'm amazed that it's been around so long, and I haven't stumbled across it before. 

I've spent a few days thinking about my involvement with this text, both the one that Charles Dickens wrote, and the many filmed versions--and the larger pop culture world of texts (I'm using that word in its largest context) influenced by A Christmas Carol.  I have yet to see a filmed version that captures how dirty London would be during Scrooge's time, how claustrophobic it would feel to be on the street.

I also thought about a poem I wrote years ago, when I was in the midst of accreditation paperwork and hiring.   This year, I'm also in the midst of accreditation paperwork and hiring, and I went back to the poem. 

I've always delighted in taking fictional characters, and putting them in different situations--this poem is one of those.  I think it holds up well, and here it is, available to the wider world for the first time.  It has a sort of spirituality, but its much more understated than many of the poems I post here.



Adjunct Professor, Ebenezer Scrooge


Ebenezer Scrooge decides he needs
a change of scenery
and so he returns to the university
to teach a class in the Business School.

He’s not really credentialed,
but because he was brought on board
at the last minute, an emergency
hire, the dean overlooks this lack.

Also, he’s never taught.
The department chair argued
that his years as boss
should count, and thus, his entry.

Within weeks, students line
the hallways, waiting to complain
to the department chair, the dean, the president,
anyone who will listen.

Scrooge doesn’t ever return
their papers. He ignores
office hours. He won’t respond
to e-mail. And his imperious attitude!

When questioned, Scrooge complains
about the insistence of the modern student,
the 2:00 a.m. e-mails, the impatience
at 4:00 a.m. when he hasn’t answered.

The chair nods; he’s unbearably familiar
with students who expect him
to discipline their professors
as if lodging a complaint about a bad waitress.

Still, the dean insists on action,
an improvement plan. Scrooge quits.
He returns to his life of keeping tight
reign on costs and his employees.

Only occasionally does he miss
campus life, the walk across the quad,
the shiny labs with the latest technology,
the library, full of unread books.

Activism Then, Activism Now

I began my Sunday by listening to On Being, as I do most Sundays.  Krista Tippett interviewed 2 people who are activists, but of different types.  Patrisse Cullors is a founder of the Black Lives Matter movement and Dr. Robert Ross has been doing amazing thinking and work in the field of public health.

He said this about young offenders:  ". . . why do we have juvenile incarceration at all, period, for anybody in this country? And so, again, we are criminalizing sick, traumatized, oppressed children early. This is powerfully spiritual, important work upon which the future of this nation rests. And I think it calls upon us to bring the best of the total experience of our best selves to the table. We can’t mail it in on addressing inequality in this nation. Each of us is going to have to bring the best of ourselves to the equation. Not just the best of ourselves, but the best of ourselves in unity and in coalition."

He talked about how our current Zero Tolerance approach puts young children on a path to jail--as Dr. Ross put it, zero tolerance is "the portal to the incarceration superhighway."

Because it's a show on spirituality, Krista Tippett brought us this nugget:  "I heard something that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about. At the American Academy of Religion meeting this year, which is, like, 12,000 theologians, Ruby Sayles, one of these women whose name we don’t remember, talked about how — she said none of us considered ourselves to be religious in the way our parents or grandparents were. There was a lot of religion, but we were rejecting so much of what we’d grown up with. We didn’t think that defined us. And we only realized later that even though that was true, we were steeped in that tradition, in the hope, in the sense of love, in the songs, in the community. We had our armor on. And she said, and then, we became involved in policy and we sent our children out into the empire without their armor on."

Patrisse Cullors pointed out that many youth today are not welcome in their churches, because of their activism and because so many of them are queer.  She also pointed out the patriarchy of the black church.  But she handed it graciously by saying this, "But that hasn’t stopped us from being deeply spiritual in this work. And I think, for us, that looks like healing justice work, the role of healing justice, which is a term that was created probably about seven or eight years ago, and was really looking at how, as organizers, but also as people that are marginalized, that are impacted by racism and patriarchy, that are impacted by white supremacy, how do we show up in this work as our whole selves? How do we be in it as our best selves, and how do we look at the work of healing?"

It was a well-balanced show, an interesting look at where activism is now.  To hear it or to read the transcript, go here.

Later yesterday, I watched the new documentary on the Black Panthers--activism then.  I found it fascinating, but despite it's length, lacking.  I wanted more on the formation, on the community building, on the interaction with the other activist groups.  But I also realize that a 2 hour documentary can't do everything.

I would love a follow up documentary with the surviving Panthers.  Many of them were interviewed, but they were speaking about the past.  I'd like to know what they're doing now.  I'd like to know what that intense activism at a young age meant for them as they moved into their 60's and beyond.

I'd love to know what their spiritual lives look like, and whether or not their early activism shaped that.  But that, too, would be a subject for a different documentary again.

Politics, "Star Wars," and Hope for the Future

I have a new post up at the Living Lutheran site.  It looks at the political race, at the latest Star Wars movie, and what those yearnings might tell the Church.

Here are some quotes to whet your appetite:

"Oddly, this [story about politics] made me think about the release of the latest “Star Wars” movie where we also see people in need of a savior, people willing to take huge risks to be part of a quest that’s bigger than themselves – the outlines of which they only dimly perceive. In many cases the characters face very long odds, an almost impossible mission, and yet, the community they create is one that makes it worthwhile."

"But it’s not just those characters in the movie – it’s also about those of us who flocked to see the movie the week it opened."

"What can churches learn from the popular culture that surrounds us?"

Go here to read the whole piece.

"The Truth Is Out There": Where We Locate 21st Century Truth

The full moon in the western sky tells me that we're about a month from Christmas.  I remember driving back from Christmas Eve services, and we commented on the gorgeous moon, the awe and the hush, and the sense that an angel choir would not be out of the realms of the possible.

I had just gone to see the new-but-not-unfamiliar Star Wars movie, and here, a month later, we are on the cusp of a relaunched The X-Files.  I've been thinking about these story lines, about ancient Christianity, and what it means for those of us in the 21st century.

In this year in which we will elect a brand new president, no matter who wins, politics is never far away from my mind either.  In the coverage of campaigns, I am struck by those who are certain that their candidate will save us all, that their candidate can do what has not been done before.

I am also thinking of the idea of The Truth--who has access to it, and who is deluded.  I'm thinking of The X-Files as the new Gnosticism.  I never watched the show in its heyday, but my friends did, and thus, I feel like I saw the whole series.

I think of The X-File, Star Wars (the older version and the new one), and political campaigns, and the story line that unites them all:  we see a band of people  who are united in this cause that's larger than themselves, the outlines of which they only dimly perceive.  In many cases, they face very long odds, an almost impossible mission.  And yet, the community they create is one that makes it worthwhile--and in the case of campaign workers, I imagine it will be something that they will miss forever.

I'm also struck by the yearning for a savior--even if the savior ends up being one of them, these are groups that need a savior.  They're not going to find what they need by meditating, by going on solitary retreats, or by going inward in other ways. 

And again, my thoughts return to Christianity of all sorts, from the ancient to the modern.  What can churches learn from the popular culture that surrounds us?  Should we be more vocal in our offerings of what can soothe the yearnings of the 21st century searcher?  Or should we do what we do and assume that people will come to us as they notice us moving in the world?

David Bowie and Theology

I was surprised this morning to hear that David Bowie has died.  I had no idea that he was sick--why would I?  He just released an album, which sounds like it's fabulous.  This podcast made me want to go out and buy the CD right now, except that no stores are open.

I can't seem to think about anything else, so let me think about David Bowie and theology.  Can I make any connections?

Let's think about David Bowie as performer.  I've always been intrigued by David Bowie's ability to reinvent himself--and often to become exactly what the culture needed, but didn't know they needed.

The part of my Christian faith that appeals to me most these days is the part that tells me that I, too, can reinvent myself too--it's never too late to explore different possibilities for my life and my art.  I love the fact that David Bowie spent the last years of his life creating a jazz album that's not only a solid effort, but may well come to be considered a brilliant contribution to the field.

I also admire David Bowie for seeming to stay above societal pressure in his art.  The easy thing would be to do what one has always done, what the fans clamor for, what society expects one to be.  David Bowie rarely bowed to those pressures.

But how do his lyrics work as theology?

I am most familiar with the Bowie of the Let's Dance era of the early 80's, so I can't do as much with the 70's Bowie, although it wouldn't take much to see some of his personas as Christ-like, what with their other-worldliness, their androgyny, an almost gnostic idea of a creature from a distant star who comes to us with knowledge that few of us can access.  The Diamond Dogs Bowie could also be seen as Godlike, in that we are there in the ruins, as God is here in the ruins with us.

In terms of lyrics which most fit my theology, I'd choose "Under Pressure," the song co-written with Queen.  The beginning of the song talks about "The terror of knowing what this world is about"  and then goes on to explore what we should do about this terror.  The song ends with these lyrics, which seem like sound theology to me, especially if we come out of religious traditions which see God as the ultimate expression of Love:

"Love dares you to care for the people under pressure." 

"Love dares you to change our way of caring for ourselves."

I always feel a twinge of sadness when I hear of someone's passing--but when it's someone as talented as David Bowie, the world seems washed in tears.

Thinking about the Theology of "Star Wars" on Christmas Eve

I have seen the new Star Wars movie, and I will write a post that contains no spoilers.  I will also assume that we're familiar with the older movies, and that I'm not spoiling anything if I say that the new movie carries on with the familiar themes of light and dark, of duty, of right and wrong, of forces in the universe that surround us all.

Before I saw the movie, a friend and I were corresponding via Facebook about the themes of the movies.  I wrote, "The Force is always with you, even unto the ends of the earth."  I'm not sure she caught my Biblical allusion.  I was intrigued to see how much the new movie continues the idea of the Force as a variation of God.

I have always been uncomfortable with the idea of God as something humans can channel for our own selfish, or even selfless, gains.  I have been impressed with the way that the movie engages this issue.

This movie paints its view of right and wrong in bold colors with little subtlety.  But there is the acknowledgement that we're all temptable.  The movie, while not subtle, does more with the idea that we're none of us fully formed than past movies have done--as I would expect, these forty years later.

It's  an interesting movie to see as Christmas approaches, with Advent texts ringing in my head.  The movie does interesting things with light and dark--nothing unexpected for me, nothing that surprised me--but it did delight me.

Because I am an English major and an amateur theologian, I found all the symbolic stuff irresistible.  As I always do, I think about the larger message.  Is it a movie about God?  Do we see a Christ figure?  I love the intersections of pop culture and religion.

If you do too, don't miss this series at the Sojourners site.  There's a great piece on Han Solo, the Han Solo of the original movie.  I love this insight:

"The Bible is full of stories of people being given honors and responsibilities they don’t think they deserve (and to our eyes, definitely don’t): The ascendant king David welcomes Mephibosheth, the grandson of his deposed enemy, to dine at his table. Paul, a violent oppressor of the Christian faith, becomes a leader of the oppressed church. And in the Christmas story, an entire planet full of people who have learned to be content living in the dark get shown God’s wondrous light — at great expense to the light-giver himself.

It’s in God’s character to want more for people than they want for themselves. This shows up again and again in the ways God interacts with our world. And we are made in God’s image — when we see this kind of story told well, we respond to it.

The original version of Star Wars tells this kind of story about Han Solo. At the outset, Han is living moment-to-moment with no check on what he is or isn’t willing to do. The only guideposts he lives by are whether the options before him are enjoyable and beneficial to him. When he says he isn’t a freedom fighter, he’s not just saying that he’s too busy to take part in a revolution — he’s also saying that he believes himself to be too much of a scoundrel to be trusted or relied on for anything morally upright. He doesn’t deserve to be part of the club. But over the course of the movie, he is shown grace by the other characters, and offered a seat at their table just as he is. That offer moves him and changes him."

Do we see these elements in the new movie?  I haven't had enough time to process it all yet, and truth be told, I will need another viewing before I can be sure.  As I always tell my students, the first reading/viewing of a text has us all figuring out the basics, like plot and character.  It takes additional readings/viewings to discover the more subtle aspects, like the symbolism and the deeper themes.

That's one way I teach students to determine the difference between works that will stand the test of time and fluff that we don't need to spend much time with.  Good texts bear that revisiting and reward us.

And I suspect that the new Star Wars movie would hold those sorts of rewards.

Theology, Great Pumpkins, and Sincere Patches

Last week while I graded a threaded discussion for my online class, I watched/had on in the background It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown.  I've returned to this show periodically throughout my whole life.  It's interesting what leaps out at me each time.

When I was younger, I didn't think much about the theology behind the show.  But in my later years, as I watch Linus sit in the patch, a process which none of his peers understand, the theology leaps out at me.  I, too, go to my local pumpkin patch of a church, where we try to be sincere and to shape ourselves for the arrival of God.

I'm deeply uncomfortable with the theology of Linus.  I don't like the idea that the pumpkin patch must prove itself before the Great Pumpkin (God?) will arrive.

I recognize the fear that buzzes around the show:  what if all of this is a lie we tell ourselves?  What if there is no Great Pumpkin?  What if we have missed out on the candyfest because we were deluded?

Of course, as I watched the whole show, I saw the disappointment that the larger culture gives us.  Maybe we're not really invited to that party.  Maybe we'll go out hoping for treats in our bags but only get rocks.

The show was in some ways a lesson in scarcity thinking:  there's not enough to go around.  I've spent much of my adult life trying consciously to disrupt that kind of thinking.  If I can unclench my hands, the universe/God/life will fill my hands with goodness.

The later part of the show redeems itself a bit.  Lucy puts Linus, worn out from his night of waiting, into bed.  We are all assured that there will be a Halloween next year.  We haven't lost out on our only chance.
The show is full of other lessons too.  I wish more people would follow the advice of Linus when he said, "I've learned that there are three things you should never discuss:  religion, politics and the Great Pumpkin."

But here's the larger lesson:  Sometimes we have to wait in our pumpkin patches while others get to have parties and treats.  Sometimes we sit in our patch, hoping its sincere enough for the Great Pumpkin.  Even if the Great Pumpkin (whatever that represents in your life) doesn't come or is delayed, you can still have interesting adventures along the way.  Some of your friends and family will understand your life in the pumpkin patch.  Many more will not. 

And here's an even bigger message:  even if we feel we're all alone in our pumpkin patches, we're not.  We have friends who will look out for us.  This year I was struck by the fact that Lucy asks for candy for her stupid brother who is wasting his life waiting in the pumpkin patch.  I was also struck by the fact that the characters think that Linus is a bit loopy, but they still love him.  They may not sit in the patch with him, but they won't reject him.

And yes, I'm troubled by this theology too--and yet, it seems quite realistic to me.  Most of the Christians I know are like Linus in the pumpkin patch:  we gather, we invite, we have customs, we have hope, we keep watch, but in the end, we're not sure whether or not we've been abandoned or not.  At least, that's the way it seems to me, here from my precarious perch at midlife.

The God of Genesis and Transgender Issues

Yesterday on my creativity blog, I wrote a long piece about Caitlyn Jenner, and the transgender cultural tipping point--but is our society really at a cultural tipping point?  Only time will tell.  I think that the answer is "Yes and no."

In some ways, this magazine cover and the responses to it shows that we're still a long way away from full acceptance of everyone.  If you're famous, if you have money, you will face a much smoother road.  You'll be insulated from many of the literal assaults--but perhaps not from the assaults that come from inside.

I've also been thinking about theology and issues of gender--I've been thinking about theology and issues of gender for decades now.  Does my thinking change as I've learned more about transgender issues?

I'm still deeply uneasy about the patriarchal structure of churches, both individual churches and The Church.  The patriarchal nature--and the privilege structure that comes from a patriarchal hierarchical structure--will make it hard for The Church to be on the cutting edge of these issues.

Our churches mirror our societies.  If we lived in a society that celebrated the wide variety of humans along the gender spectrum (and the sexuality spectrum and the racial spectrum and the religious spectrum, on and on I could go), I'd be less uneasy about the time in history where we find ourselves.

I wonder if future sociologists will shake their heads at how eagerly some of us embraced the knife to make our insides match our outsides. 

 

And before everyone writes me angry comments about how I just don't understand how it feels to be trapped in the wrong body, I would say that I'm a female in a culture saturated with messages that tell me I'm doing femaleness wrong.  I've been overweight--50 pounds more than I am now, and I'm not skinny now.  I have had a glimpse into how it feels when one's outside doesn't match one's inside.

 

I want to be able to say, "If you have the money, great, transform yourself."  But I also know that many vultures are out there, feeding on our discontent, making lots of money, selling us solutions that will not work.  The harder work must be done by each and every one of us, and there's really no shortcut towards self-acceptance and fierce self-love and self-protection.

Here's where The Church can be its best self, with its reminder that God's economy is different from the human economy.  We can proclaim the Good News that God loves humanity so much that God goes to ridiculous/breathtaking lengths to be in community with us.

If we really believed in God's love for us, could we be easier in our human skins?  I am not the perfect one to answer this.  I have tried to alter my body in the traditional ways that humans do:  weight loss plans, exercise programs, hair color, a bit of make up, the idea that perhaps a perfect, transforming outfit is out there.  Clearly I do not believe that God loves me just the way I am.

I'm afraid that I worship the god of self-improvement plans.  It's the idol worship that seems to be running amok in our society.

But it's not the Creator proclaimed across religious faiths, across a variety of religious texts--and hopefully not the Creator we proclaim in our sanctuaries.

I go back to that very first creation story in Genesis, the one that's older than Adam and Eve.  I love the vision of that Creator, who proclaims each creation to be good--and at the end, it's all very good.  It gives me a sense of the Creator who is exuberantly in love with creation.

This very first picture of God does not show us a creator who says, "Hmm.  If only you weighed less/more, if only you sang differently, if only I had chosen a different color for you, if only, if only, if only."  The very first picture of God doesn't show us a God who throws away the rough draft in search of perfection. 

The first creation story declares perfection just the way we are.

I'm eager for our societies to match that declaration.  We are not there yet.  Some days, I feel us drawing closer.  Some days I despair about how far away we are from embracing that perfection--not a perfection that comes to me because of my striving, but my inherent perfection, no matter what I do or do not do. 

God has already declared us perfect.  Would that we all had ears to hear that message.

Heroines: Flawed, Awkward, and Full of Grace

On Facebook Tuesday, news zipped around that the director of Frozen would be making a movie version of A Wrinkle in Time.

I wrote:  "Oh the important casting questions. I hope they don't make the Meg character all glammed up. She needs to be studious and Calvin needs to be athletic, and they can find each other regardless."


Bookgirl then responded:  "I also immediately went to the casting of Meg. It's kind of like Jane Eyre. They never make Jane plain enough. They never make Meg awkward enough. (Might make an interesting blog post; would truly plain or awkward heroines make audiences too uncomfortable in a way that book readers aren't?)"

Bookgirl and I then went on to write further on this subject on our blogs.  In her post that elaborates on our Facebook exchange, Bookgirl sums up my feelings in two sentences:  "Meg is an awkward, difficult teenager whom people love anyway, and I think that’s part of the reason so many of us identify so deeply with her. She was not someone we aspired to be; she was who we actually were."

I wrote further about these topics in this post on my creativity blog. 

Since we've written, I've thought about the spiritual dimensions of the book and how the movie will deal with those.  There's the good vs. evil plot line--that one will be easy for the film to cover.

There are the three mystical creatures who guide the human characters.  What do they represent?  Dead stars?  Guardian angels?  The triune God?  The book is delightfully vague.  I suspect the film won't be.

As I thought about these topics, I've revisited the other posts I've written on A Wrinkle in Time.   Several years ago, I wrote this post about reading the book again as an adult.  Reading it again, this part leapt out at me:  "Meg is perfect, just the way she is.  In fact, all of these characters turn out to be perfect, despite their imperfections.  It's such a great message for a world that tries to get us to conform, to change, to squeeze ourselves into costumes that do not fit.  Meg doesn't have to slim down, to use the right make-up, to get a better hairstyle, to get the guy.  Meg doesn't have to settle down so that she can do well in school and get into a good college.  Her parents continue in their scientific pursuits, even though they aren't successful in traditional ways.  Charles Wallace is allowed to grow up at his own pace.  Calvin finds a family that fits him better, but he doesn't have to reject his birth family."

I was also struck that in this book, Meg's flaws turn out to be the very strengths that she needs to win the day.

We might not think of this quality of the book as particularly religious or Christian, but it is.  For me, the central message of Christianity is that God loves us exactly as we are; after all, God has created us and delights in us.  I know that not everyone gets this message in the Christian churches they attend, and that, in fact, some people get the exact opposite message.  Let me not digress into a discussion of the central heresies of the faith and who gets what wrong.  I will assert until I die that a God who loves us so much that God comes to live among us--that's a God who loves us and delights in us.

The world tells Meg she's imperfect and needs improvement.  But Meg's fierceness and stubbornness are traits which save her and her family.

If the movie gets this part right, it could be a very powerful movie, even if the casting decisions aren't ideal.