Deja vu and the Moldy Oldie:
You may have noticed from the time stamp of my previous entry that I am supposed to be in class right now. Let me explain: Tuesdays are a real bitch and a half. It is a twelve hour day. I have a 9:30 a.m. class, choir practice at 12:00, a class at 1:00, and my once-a-week Rastafari class from 6:30-9:30 p.m. As previously stated, in order to arrive on time for my 9:30 class, I need to get up around 6:00 a.m. Which means I like to be in bed at 9:30 p.m. Until we actually do solve the riddle of the space/time continuum, this simply is not possible on Tuesday nights. Super charging my hybrid (which I affectionately call my granola rocket; no, really - that baby hauls ass!) and doing away with speeding tickets could help, but neither of those are real possibilities, either. So, I knew Wednesday mornings were going to be really ugly. This one was worse than usual. I had a massive headache that just didn't allow me to get any sleep. And then there is the class.
It is the Interpretation of Christian Thought class that is being taught by my advisor. I was really looking forward to this class. Because he is my advisor, and this class deals with my sub-discipline, I was hoping that whatever term paper(s) we had in this class would serve as the writing sample I submit with my PhD program applications in the fall. No such luck. There are nearly 200 people in this class, and despite the fact he has five teaching assistants, reading that many papers is just not practical or possible. The only grades will be weekly on-line quizzes, a multiple choice mid-term, and a multiple choice final. Strike one.
I began reading the text for today's class, and got through a few pages before tossing it aside in disgust. Not only is it the most basic and introductory information on this subject, (been there, done that, BORING!) it is out-dated and now widely considered to be inaccurate. The book was published in 1992, not terrible old, but it may as well have been 1922. So many new discoveries have been made, and re-evaluations, and reinterpretations have been posited and accepted, that this book is laughable. Strike two.
Today's lecture deals specifically with a subject on which I have written several times, and for which I have presented papers at a couple of conferences. I could give this lecture. There was no way I was dragging my ass (and aching head) out of bed after maybe three hours of sleep, throw on some clothes, drive an hour and a half for an hour and twenty minute class on information I could recite in my sleep, then drive home while trying not to fall asleep at the wheel. Strike three. I'm out.
23.1.08
Kids in the Hall
I have decided to add this new featurette, along with the "Random Musings," the "Pointed Rants," and the "Quotables" because I often overhear snippets of conversation that are just too funny, or odd, or shocking not to share with you and inject my own sick humor.
"What classes are you taking?"
"This one, Greek, ConEd..."
"Real Greek? Or..."
No, darling. Fake Greek. Pig Greek. From which the Romans developed their Pig Latin.
"What classes are you taking?"
"This one, Greek, ConEd..."
"Real Greek? Or..."
No, darling. Fake Greek. Pig Greek. From which the Romans developed their Pig Latin.
"My Brothers, My Sisters":
Last night was the first session of the class on Rastafari Religion. I have been looking forward to this class for months, and have heard nothing but good things about the professor. I was not disappointed. He is Jamaican, and although he has been in the States for nearly thirty years, his accent is still thick. And wonderful. I could listen to that all day. He does return home several times a year, and is still a principle exam and dissertation reader for the University in Kingston, so it is no mystery why he has not lost a bit of his accent.
He is not a Rasta, but he brings to this class first-hand knowledge of the culture. He was an eye-witness to the rise of this movement, and has been personally affected by it. He is an ordained Baptist minister, and the son of a Baptist minister. His mother was the organist in their church. When he was a little boy, he watched a Rasta burn a copy of the Bible on the steps of his father's church. In spite of this, (or perhaps because of it) he remains fair and balanced, respecting their individual rights, their autonomy as fellow human beings; and instead of condemning them has delved deeper into their culture/religion.
This regard is not reserved for the Rastas. One has the impression that this man is endowed with an integrity, a personal ethic, and world view that simply will not allow him to lack respect, charity, or love for any person. Including his students. Every opinion is respected, every voice is encouraged and heard. We are, as he calls us, his brothers and sisters. I've never been asked in any class by any teacher or professor, "Sister, what is your name?" Everyone is "Brother Christopher" or "Sister Jennifer." His use of these terms is in no way forced or artificial. It is as natural to him as breathing; a result of his genteel, Baptist, British/Afro-Caribbean upbringing. And in those three hours I experienced moments of grace and a true sense of home, family, and community that has been all too rare in my Seminary experience thus far.
We started the class with a little Bob Marley and some Peter Tosh, and spent a great deal of time discussing marijuana. I would have been very surprised if neither of those things happened! My only regret is that I did not have the opportunity to tell him how I almost started a political uprising in Jamaica. Perhaps another time...Oh, I'm not going to tell you, either! You'll just have to keep checking in to see if I share that story!
Last night was the first session of the class on Rastafari Religion. I have been looking forward to this class for months, and have heard nothing but good things about the professor. I was not disappointed. He is Jamaican, and although he has been in the States for nearly thirty years, his accent is still thick. And wonderful. I could listen to that all day. He does return home several times a year, and is still a principle exam and dissertation reader for the University in Kingston, so it is no mystery why he has not lost a bit of his accent.
He is not a Rasta, but he brings to this class first-hand knowledge of the culture. He was an eye-witness to the rise of this movement, and has been personally affected by it. He is an ordained Baptist minister, and the son of a Baptist minister. His mother was the organist in their church. When he was a little boy, he watched a Rasta burn a copy of the Bible on the steps of his father's church. In spite of this, (or perhaps because of it) he remains fair and balanced, respecting their individual rights, their autonomy as fellow human beings; and instead of condemning them has delved deeper into their culture/religion.
This regard is not reserved for the Rastas. One has the impression that this man is endowed with an integrity, a personal ethic, and world view that simply will not allow him to lack respect, charity, or love for any person. Including his students. Every opinion is respected, every voice is encouraged and heard. We are, as he calls us, his brothers and sisters. I've never been asked in any class by any teacher or professor, "Sister, what is your name?" Everyone is "Brother Christopher" or "Sister Jennifer." His use of these terms is in no way forced or artificial. It is as natural to him as breathing; a result of his genteel, Baptist, British/Afro-Caribbean upbringing. And in those three hours I experienced moments of grace and a true sense of home, family, and community that has been all too rare in my Seminary experience thus far.
We started the class with a little Bob Marley and some Peter Tosh, and spent a great deal of time discussing marijuana. I would have been very surprised if neither of those things happened! My only regret is that I did not have the opportunity to tell him how I almost started a political uprising in Jamaica. Perhaps another time...Oh, I'm not going to tell you, either! You'll just have to keep checking in to see if I share that story!
18.1.08
First Day, Part II:
Greetings devoted (and incredibly patient) readers, and Happy New Year! Another semester has started here at Seminary, and I am hopeful this one will be better than the last. Being in control of my own on-line enrollment ensured that nothing was "lost" and I actually managed to get into classes that were of interest to me, and not simply classes that were still open. I was concerned about getting back into the swing of things here on the blog, having been away for so long, but God (or whatever) sent me a sign. I was seated in my first class for no more than five minutes when I was able to flip to a fresh sheet of paper and start jotting down notes for my first blog entry!
John and Jane Godly, two of my favorite characters from last semester as you will remember, are, as was suspected, joined at the hip. They have invaded what I thought would be a sanctuary, World Religions: Hinduism, Buddhism, and Islam. But, no. No sanctuary for me. Even here the Evangelical nut-jobs find me. This time, however, they did not sit beside me - no room. The did not sit in front of me - already taken. They sat directly behind me. John said under his breath as they removed their coats, "here we are, the 'World Baptists.'" Greeeaaat. This is going to be a fun semester. I can tell already. I later discovered to my personal horror (there are only three MTS students in the class), and yet universal, perverted delight, that this is now a required class for all MDiv students. Yeeesss! There is no escaping exposure to non-Christian and non-Western religions!! Some of these people might actually get a REAL education!
Bad omens continue to follow me. A brief history of the weather as pertains to my seminary experience: I went to an information session/"campus day" for admitted students last February. It rained heavily that morning. I left home a half hour early and arrived twenty minutes late. It rained all day, and we went on a walking tour of the campus. Fun. In August, on the first day of Orientation, it rained all morning. I left forty minutes early, and barely arrived on time. The second day of Orientation, it stormed. I left forty minutes early and arrived fifteen minutes late. On the first day of classes, the weather was beautiful. The traffic sucked worse than usual. Go figure.
Yesterday, the first day of classes, it rained heavily and was quite cold. The rain melted the two inches of snow we had the night before, and the drivers were pretty squirrelly, slamming on the brakes whenever they crossed a bridge or overpass because they were afraid of ice. Uh....slamming on the brakes because the road is icy is about as intelligent as placing your hand to the fire because it will burn. The South is so very amusing in so many ways to us misplaced Yankees. It was a fun, fun ride.
Today, and on all Wednesdays and Fridays, I have only one class. At 9:30 in the morning. I have a 9:30 class every day, by the way. That means I have to leave my house around 7:30. That means I have to get up around 6:00. I am NOT a morning person. This class is being taught by my advisor, who is a pretty cool guy, and I'm really looking forward to this class because it is in my particular area of study, even down to the sub-discipline within which I place myself. I will refrain from elaborating on this as it is quite obscure, there are not many scholars involved in this research, and my work (and therefore name) is fairly well known among the other scholars in our small circle. To my knowledge, I am the only Masters student in the circle. The others are PhD candidates, post docs, or senior scholars. This isn't bragging. It's a VERY small circle, and a VERY obscure subject. I dread it whenever anyone asks, "so, what are you studying?" My usual response is, "how much time do you have, and how interested are you, really?" There is no short answer or easy explanation.
Anyway, some of you will remember I had a very jarring moment on my first day of classes last semester that was the single event which led to the creation of this blog. We bowed our heads and prayed. That first day was the only time we did so in that class. Fine with me. Today, in this class that resides firmly within my comfort zone, I was not so lucky. We were informed that we would begin EVERY class with a prayer, short devotional reading, and two minutes of silent contemplation. Yeah. Welcome to Seminary.
Greetings devoted (and incredibly patient) readers, and Happy New Year! Another semester has started here at Seminary, and I am hopeful this one will be better than the last. Being in control of my own on-line enrollment ensured that nothing was "lost" and I actually managed to get into classes that were of interest to me, and not simply classes that were still open. I was concerned about getting back into the swing of things here on the blog, having been away for so long, but God (or whatever) sent me a sign. I was seated in my first class for no more than five minutes when I was able to flip to a fresh sheet of paper and start jotting down notes for my first blog entry!
John and Jane Godly, two of my favorite characters from last semester as you will remember, are, as was suspected, joined at the hip. They have invaded what I thought would be a sanctuary, World Religions: Hinduism, Buddhism, and Islam. But, no. No sanctuary for me. Even here the Evangelical nut-jobs find me. This time, however, they did not sit beside me - no room. The did not sit in front of me - already taken. They sat directly behind me. John said under his breath as they removed their coats, "here we are, the 'World Baptists.'" Greeeaaat. This is going to be a fun semester. I can tell already. I later discovered to my personal horror (there are only three MTS students in the class), and yet universal, perverted delight, that this is now a required class for all MDiv students. Yeeesss! There is no escaping exposure to non-Christian and non-Western religions!! Some of these people might actually get a REAL education!
Bad omens continue to follow me. A brief history of the weather as pertains to my seminary experience: I went to an information session/"campus day" for admitted students last February. It rained heavily that morning. I left home a half hour early and arrived twenty minutes late. It rained all day, and we went on a walking tour of the campus. Fun. In August, on the first day of Orientation, it rained all morning. I left forty minutes early, and barely arrived on time. The second day of Orientation, it stormed. I left forty minutes early and arrived fifteen minutes late. On the first day of classes, the weather was beautiful. The traffic sucked worse than usual. Go figure.
Yesterday, the first day of classes, it rained heavily and was quite cold. The rain melted the two inches of snow we had the night before, and the drivers were pretty squirrelly, slamming on the brakes whenever they crossed a bridge or overpass because they were afraid of ice. Uh....slamming on the brakes because the road is icy is about as intelligent as placing your hand to the fire because it will burn. The South is so very amusing in so many ways to us misplaced Yankees. It was a fun, fun ride.
Today, and on all Wednesdays and Fridays, I have only one class. At 9:30 in the morning. I have a 9:30 class every day, by the way. That means I have to leave my house around 7:30. That means I have to get up around 6:00. I am NOT a morning person. This class is being taught by my advisor, who is a pretty cool guy, and I'm really looking forward to this class because it is in my particular area of study, even down to the sub-discipline within which I place myself. I will refrain from elaborating on this as it is quite obscure, there are not many scholars involved in this research, and my work (and therefore name) is fairly well known among the other scholars in our small circle. To my knowledge, I am the only Masters student in the circle. The others are PhD candidates, post docs, or senior scholars. This isn't bragging. It's a VERY small circle, and a VERY obscure subject. I dread it whenever anyone asks, "so, what are you studying?" My usual response is, "how much time do you have, and how interested are you, really?" There is no short answer or easy explanation.
Anyway, some of you will remember I had a very jarring moment on my first day of classes last semester that was the single event which led to the creation of this blog. We bowed our heads and prayed. That first day was the only time we did so in that class. Fine with me. Today, in this class that resides firmly within my comfort zone, I was not so lucky. We were informed that we would begin EVERY class with a prayer, short devotional reading, and two minutes of silent contemplation. Yeah. Welcome to Seminary.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
