The more you learn, the more you come back to basic wisdom. Last year I came up with the seven standard answers that will get you through seminary (or, with minor adusting, probably most higher education). You can see the original post here.
I've discovered an addendum, the all-purpose conclusion to any detailed paper, the quintessential way to bring a detailed and thoughtful conversation to its close:
"These things must indeed always be beyond our comprehension, and yet the endeavor to understand them is the endless task of [fill in the blank]." (e.g. history, theology, science, etc.) *
So here's the updated list:
The Seven Answers (and a conclusion) to Get You Through Seminary
Context matters.
It's our eschatalogical hope.
We need a new paradigm.
That's evidence of our postmodern mileau.
We need to create space for ambiguity.
Everything is an interpretation.
It's not an either/or but a both/and.
These things must indeed always be beyond our comprehension, and yet the endeavor to understand them is our endless task.
* This was the final sentence in a broad, wide-ranging and complex Christological discussion in God Was In Christ, by D.M. Baillie.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Hard to say so long
I am sitting in what will soon be another relic of the economic downturn of '09: the Starbucks in Stillwater. It's frequently been called one of the most attractive Starbucks anywhere: large windows overlooking a historic main street, ornamental cornices and friezes around ceilings inlaid with latticed glass, five distinct gathering places (six in summer, when the brick-paved patio is filled with tables). In architectural terms, this isn't Coffee House Modern. It's more New Urbanist. To wit: this Starbucks is the first venture that has thrived in this downtown venue (aka the Grand Garage, an old filling station) for years.Now I suppose it seems superficial to mourn the evinesence of a chain coffee house (this Starbucks location is to close Feb. 27), when friends -- including some of my own -- are being laid off. But everytime I walk in here I remember reading "The Great Good Place," a 1991 book by Ray Oldenburg. He sung the praises of third places, or "great good places," as the public places on neutral ground where people can gather and interact. In contrast to first places (home) and second places (work), third places allow people to put aside their concerns and simply enjoy the company and conversation around them. [Description courtesy of the Project for Public Spaces]
When I read Oldenburg's book 18 years ago, I lamented the U.S. had a dearth of third places, which had been so revered in Europe. Regardless of their corporate success in capitalizing on caffeine as the drug of choice for the millenial generation, Starbucks tapped into this sociological need. Certainly the coffee house is as much, or more, about civility and connection as it is about coffee.
Admittedly, I boycotted Starbucks' arrival in historic Stillwater. I was an aficionado of the locally owned Daily Grind (and fond of the late Dreamcoat Cafe, as well). Eventually, I succumbed. Perhaps it was the Tazo chai tea lattes. But it might be, too, that this became an office/living room/front porch away from home, inhabited by fellow travelers across an egalitarian spectrum (i.e. moms of preschoolers in the morning, city council members and downtown merchants at noon, students and preachers and writers in the afternoon, the young after school, and, yes, tourists on weekends.)
Rumor has it the lack of a drive-through at this location has doomed it to become a victim of Starbucks' latest recession. How fitting: a place that retains its civility precisely because it invites people to walk in and linger in shared, public space is excised from the corporate landscape because it can't cater to the moribund isolation of the suburbanized, American commuter.
Despite my personal whining about losing this small space of downtown Stillwater, which I admit reeks of the poutiness of privilege in the midst of real economic struggle, I do believe a societal loss is in the winds, be it at a coffee shop or any other place where the nourishment of the human soul is measured by profit margin.
That loss occurs at exactly the time we need it to be preserved, as the urban sociologist Oldenburg presciently observed:
“In the absence of informal public life, living becomes more expensive. Where the means and facilities for relaxation and leisure are not publicly shared, they become the objects of private ownership and consumption.”
And:
“What suburbia cries for are the means for people to gather easily, inexpensively, regularly, and pleasurably -- a ‘place on the corner,’ real life alternatives to television, easy escapes from the cabin fever of marriage and family life that do not necessitate getting into an automobile.”
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
What will happen in the new year?
There's no telling, for sure. Certainly not with the economy. But some things will happen this year. Some highlights:
January: The Czech Republic assumes the presidency of the European Union; Barack Obama assumes the presidency of the American union.
February: Awards month (Writers Guild of America, 7th; Grammy Awards, 8th; NAACP Image Awards, 12th; Academy Awards, 22nd).
March: Madness.
April: Baseball's Opening Day (6th).
May: The new wing opens at the Art Institute of Chicago.
June: Milwaukee's Summerfest begins (27th).
July: John Calvin's 500th birthday (10th).
August: Most of Europe takes a monthlong holiday. Let's follow suit.
September: The UN General Assembly meets in New York.
October: The International Olympic Committee announces the host of the 2016 Summer Games (2nd). In the running: Chicago, Madrid, Rio de Janeiro and Tokyo.
November: The UN Climate Change Conference, seeking to reach a new agreement on cutting greenhouse gases, opens in Copenhagen (30th).
December: The largest cruise ship ever built, the Finnish-made Oasis of the Seas, takes its maiden voyage with 5,400 passengers.
January: The Czech Republic assumes the presidency of the European Union; Barack Obama assumes the presidency of the American union.
February: Awards month (Writers Guild of America, 7th; Grammy Awards, 8th; NAACP Image Awards, 12th; Academy Awards, 22nd).
March: Madness.
April: Baseball's Opening Day (6th).
May: The new wing opens at the Art Institute of Chicago.
June: Milwaukee's Summerfest begins (27th).
July: John Calvin's 500th birthday (10th).
August: Most of Europe takes a monthlong holiday. Let's follow suit.
September: The UN General Assembly meets in New York.
October: The International Olympic Committee announces the host of the 2016 Summer Games (2nd). In the running: Chicago, Madrid, Rio de Janeiro and Tokyo.
November: The UN Climate Change Conference, seeking to reach a new agreement on cutting greenhouse gases, opens in Copenhagen (30th).
December: The largest cruise ship ever built, the Finnish-made Oasis of the Seas, takes its maiden voyage with 5,400 passengers.
SOURCES: The Economist and the International Herald Tribune.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
LemmonDrops
If anyone has read the LemmonDrops blog but hasn't checked in lately, this news will be sad and poignant. The Pioneer Press' Molly Millett wrote this story last week: Read story here
Emilie asked to meet me for lunch some years back when I was still at the Pioneer Press. She was a reporter at the Catholic Spirit at the time and said she wanted to learn what she could about daily newspaper journalism.
As it turned out, through Emilie's courageous testimonial blog for these past several months, I learned far more from her.
As the old year turns to the new, peace.
Emilie asked to meet me for lunch some years back when I was still at the Pioneer Press. She was a reporter at the Catholic Spirit at the time and said she wanted to learn what she could about daily newspaper journalism.
As it turned out, through Emilie's courageous testimonial blog for these past several months, I learned far more from her.
As the old year turns to the new, peace.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Something Unexpected
Children will play in the snow,
and reluctantly come in when gently prodded
by those who will have prepared
for them
a hot meal.
A long conversation
that languishes over dessert and shared
stories will carry on until the fire burns down
to red embers in the fireplace.
Their beds will be warm.
Those with no children will know, too,
the sounds of laughter, the joy of a meal
shared among those who care about their stories.
Who see to it they, too, will never be cold, not even in winter.
Not even in winter, when people gather
and gift each other with memories of Christmases
past, not even then will there be sadness,
or wistfulness,
or the remembering of anything other than
God’s visiting the common people in the middle of the night.
God being born, again and again, year after year,
day after day even,
God incarnate.
As a baby, sure, as a baby at first.
But as something unexpected
always.
Spring will follow, like morning after night,
streams trickling, then rivers gushing noisily.
We will get out of doors, and breathe in,
and remember what it’s like to run.
None shall be confined anymore.
None shall be lame.
Each of us will be resurrected
and live in gratitude.
As days lengthen and the nightfall recedes,
we will realize God has made good
on winter’s promise.
We lived in darkness, but now we have seen a great light.
We will see beauty, in old men resting their hands upon canes
as they sit on park benches
or perch around tables and share coffee and doughnuts.
In neighbors from Mexico, Laos or Iowa.
In cities that are clean.
In groups of teenagers walking down the street.
In storm clouds.
In the eyes of those who sit on our left and our right.
Trees will not die of Dutch elm disease.
Fish will not wash up on trash-littered beaches.
Greenhouses will nurture hyacinths and dahlias,
but the term will cease meaning for the trapping of noxious gases in our atmosphere.
The celestial sphere will regain its radiance,
a dome of awesome wonder,
stretching our imagination and our yearning
to heaven’s farthest reach.
Hot summer nights will not be filled
with the sound of husbands and wives arguing
behind open windows and closed doors.
Dark alleys will not invite fear,
for they will lead instead to curious bookshops and hidden cafes,
where people in cozy light will gab with strangers
about how the world somehow in all its complexity makes sense.
Their talk will linger on till morning and they once again
will have made it through the night
with no thought of ghosts underneath the bed.
War veterans will not worry where their next meal will come from,
not wonder under which bridge
to seek shelter.
We will stop making war veterans.
Grandmothers will need not long for the sound
of their distant daughter’s voice,
and grown brothers and sisters
will relish memories that no one else could possibly understand.
The imaginations of our childhoods will not be abandoned.
We will laugh quietly at the hubris of our “five-year plan”
and our latest diet
and the new leaf we intended to turn over,
but we will go easy on ourselves,
knowing God laughs, too,
when we become so sure of ourselves.
And less sure of God.
God who is there like wind and sky and leaves
falling every which way,
dripping like paint off trees,
dappling color in indiscriminate splotches.
God who speaks
as much as listens
and cries out for us to hear even when the roar
of doomsayers seems to drown out
the good word.
Knowing God is there,
we will not be afraid of silence.
~
We will not be afraid of autumn days.
We will marvel at the change of seasons
as an improbable gift of blessing. It will teach us to pay attention.
When our conversations move indoors
we will not talk of politics
but of how we might
be a community that helps each other.
We will not dream of peace but live in it.
We will believe the words when we hear them:
“The spirit of the Lord God is upon me,
because the Lord has anointed me;
he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed,
to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives,
and release to the prisoners,”
especially those who are prisoner to illness of body or mind,
or abuse,
or poverty.
There will be no joblessness,
because we will recognize our God-given abilities
are just what the world needs,
and the world will see that, too.
When the snow returns it will give rest to our souls.
We will wipe our brows from summer’s heat and harvest’s toil
and put on parkas
and be amazed at how God has created us
to adapt to changing conditions.
It won’t be commercials
that call us to contemplate the question,
what should we get for Christmas this year?
It will be something that stirs us to remember
what we’ve always known,
that we’ve already received more than we could have dreamt up,
and that Christmas is really Thanksgiving
all dressed up with lights.
Christmas is also a prayer, that all this shall come to pass.
All that God intended, the new heaven, the new earth, born in Christ, born in peace, born in joy.
~
Even in winter, when people gather
and gift each other with memories of Christmases
past, even then will there be no sadness,
or wistfulness,
or the remembering of anything other than
God’s visiting the common people in the middle of the night.
God being born, again and again, year after year,
day after day even,
God incarnate.
As a baby, sure, as a baby at first.
But as something unexpected
always.
and reluctantly come in when gently prodded
by those who will have prepared
for them
a hot meal.
A long conversation
that languishes over dessert and shared
stories will carry on until the fire burns down
to red embers in the fireplace.
Their beds will be warm.
Those with no children will know, too,
the sounds of laughter, the joy of a meal
shared among those who care about their stories.
Who see to it they, too, will never be cold, not even in winter.
Not even in winter, when people gather
and gift each other with memories of Christmases
past, not even then will there be sadness,
or wistfulness,
or the remembering of anything other than
God’s visiting the common people in the middle of the night.
God being born, again and again, year after year,
day after day even,
God incarnate.
As a baby, sure, as a baby at first.
But as something unexpected
always.
Spring will follow, like morning after night,
streams trickling, then rivers gushing noisily.
We will get out of doors, and breathe in,
and remember what it’s like to run.
None shall be confined anymore.
None shall be lame.
Each of us will be resurrected
and live in gratitude.
As days lengthen and the nightfall recedes,
we will realize God has made good
on winter’s promise.
We lived in darkness, but now we have seen a great light.
We will see beauty, in old men resting their hands upon canes
as they sit on park benches
or perch around tables and share coffee and doughnuts.
In neighbors from Mexico, Laos or Iowa.
In cities that are clean.
In groups of teenagers walking down the street.
In storm clouds.
In the eyes of those who sit on our left and our right.
Trees will not die of Dutch elm disease.
Fish will not wash up on trash-littered beaches.
Greenhouses will nurture hyacinths and dahlias,
but the term will cease meaning for the trapping of noxious gases in our atmosphere.
The celestial sphere will regain its radiance,
a dome of awesome wonder,
stretching our imagination and our yearning
to heaven’s farthest reach.
Hot summer nights will not be filled
with the sound of husbands and wives arguing
behind open windows and closed doors.
Dark alleys will not invite fear,
for they will lead instead to curious bookshops and hidden cafes,
where people in cozy light will gab with strangers
about how the world somehow in all its complexity makes sense.
Their talk will linger on till morning and they once again
will have made it through the night
with no thought of ghosts underneath the bed.
War veterans will not worry where their next meal will come from,
not wonder under which bridge
to seek shelter.
We will stop making war veterans.
Grandmothers will need not long for the sound
of their distant daughter’s voice,
and grown brothers and sisters
will relish memories that no one else could possibly understand.
The imaginations of our childhoods will not be abandoned.
We will laugh quietly at the hubris of our “five-year plan”
and our latest diet
and the new leaf we intended to turn over,
but we will go easy on ourselves,
knowing God laughs, too,
when we become so sure of ourselves.
And less sure of God.
God who is there like wind and sky and leaves
falling every which way,
dripping like paint off trees,
dappling color in indiscriminate splotches.
God who speaks
as much as listens
and cries out for us to hear even when the roar
of doomsayers seems to drown out
the good word.
Knowing God is there,
we will not be afraid of silence.
~
We will not be afraid of autumn days.
We will marvel at the change of seasons
as an improbable gift of blessing. It will teach us to pay attention.
When our conversations move indoors
we will not talk of politics
but of how we might
be a community that helps each other.
We will not dream of peace but live in it.
We will believe the words when we hear them:
“The spirit of the Lord God is upon me,
because the Lord has anointed me;
he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed,
to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives,
and release to the prisoners,”
especially those who are prisoner to illness of body or mind,
or abuse,
or poverty.
There will be no joblessness,
because we will recognize our God-given abilities
are just what the world needs,
and the world will see that, too.
When the snow returns it will give rest to our souls.
We will wipe our brows from summer’s heat and harvest’s toil
and put on parkas
and be amazed at how God has created us
to adapt to changing conditions.
It won’t be commercials
that call us to contemplate the question,
what should we get for Christmas this year?
It will be something that stirs us to remember
what we’ve always known,
that we’ve already received more than we could have dreamt up,
and that Christmas is really Thanksgiving
all dressed up with lights.
Christmas is also a prayer, that all this shall come to pass.
All that God intended, the new heaven, the new earth, born in Christ, born in peace, born in joy.
~
Even in winter, when people gather
and gift each other with memories of Christmases
past, even then will there be no sadness,
or wistfulness,
or the remembering of anything other than
God’s visiting the common people in the middle of the night.
God being born, again and again, year after year,
day after day even,
God incarnate.
As a baby, sure, as a baby at first.
But as something unexpected
always.
sps 12.13.08
Monday, December 1, 2008
Lake Delton: Fill-er-up
Remember the lake that vanished from central Wisconsin this summer?
It's coming back -- beginning this week, according to the Associated Press in this story.
Once again, it's only the economic impact that seems to make news. It remains a fascinating hydrogeographic event.
It's coming back -- beginning this week, according to the Associated Press in this story.
Once again, it's only the economic impact that seems to make news. It remains a fascinating hydrogeographic event.
Fortunately for her, she was wrong
A new biography of Michelle Obama details her years as a student at Princeton. The author (as quoted in this Chicago Sun-Times story) calls the conclusion of Obama's senior thesis "one of the most ironic sentences ever written." The sentence:Princeton "will likely lead to my further integration and/or assimilation into a White cultural and social structure that will only allow me to remain on the periphery of society; never becoming a full participant," Michelle Obama wrote.
Photo from Zimbio by Ethan Miller/Getty Images North America
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
What happy people do
Happy people spend a lot of time socializing, going to church and reading newspapers but they don’t spend a lot of time watching television, a new study finds.That's according to this New York Times story. Let's hear it for church and newspapers!
Something I did not know
Harrison Ford, Al Jarreau, Spencer Tracy and Dick Bennett all are alumni of Ripon College, a school of 1,000 students in east-central Wisconsin. Just something I came across while looking up something else.
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