"Have you finished your paper yet?"
"No, but I'm praying."
Maybe if you had done more writing and less praying you would have finished your paper by now. Just a thought.
22.4.08
21.4.08
Sermon of the Week
"Jesus is the Answer."
O.K....what's the question? I guess you have to go to find out. No thanks. I'll pass. I like it when some things remain a mystery.
O.K....what's the question? I guess you have to go to find out. No thanks. I'll pass. I like it when some things remain a mystery.
Pointed Rant
Second Class Citizens:
I registered for fall classes last week. I managed to get a couple of my first choices, but then had to settle for a couple of my second choices. It would be nice if the MTS students who only have two more semesters could have priority registration, but no. The earliest times are reserved for the MDiv students who's program is three years, not two as ours is. And judging by what I've witnessed so far, they could use the extra year...or four.
This is not just me. Apparently this is a perennial gripe of MTS students here. And lately there has been a rumor swirling about that they are considering discontinuing the MTS program altogether. Well, sometimes it seems like they are doing everything they can to inconvenience, irritate, and drive us away. We are the minority by a wide margin. But still...we pay the same tuition and we are here because we want to be here, which is more than I can say for many of the MDiv students who seem to resent having to be here and endure all the unorthodox hoopla in order to become Methodist ministers. Well, if it's just so damned awful, find another denomination. There are plenty of churches around where the pastor hasn't even graduated from high school.
I registered for fall classes last week. I managed to get a couple of my first choices, but then had to settle for a couple of my second choices. It would be nice if the MTS students who only have two more semesters could have priority registration, but no. The earliest times are reserved for the MDiv students who's program is three years, not two as ours is. And judging by what I've witnessed so far, they could use the extra year...or four.
This is not just me. Apparently this is a perennial gripe of MTS students here. And lately there has been a rumor swirling about that they are considering discontinuing the MTS program altogether. Well, sometimes it seems like they are doing everything they can to inconvenience, irritate, and drive us away. We are the minority by a wide margin. But still...we pay the same tuition and we are here because we want to be here, which is more than I can say for many of the MDiv students who seem to resent having to be here and endure all the unorthodox hoopla in order to become Methodist ministers. Well, if it's just so damned awful, find another denomination. There are plenty of churches around where the pastor hasn't even graduated from high school.
WOW...I've been gone a long time. It's not that nothing has happened; actually a lot has happened, and I haven't had the time (or energy) to come here and vent. Well, loyal and patient readers, the time has come to vent. Close your doors, sit down and clear your schedules. Quoting Bette Davis, "fasten your seat belts, it's gonna be a bumpy night"...
A couple of weeks ago we watched a film on Islam. Yes...this is yet another story about my favorite whipping girl and boy, Jane and John Godley. They sat behind me, as they usually do. So I was subjected to every sigh, grunt, and expression of disapproval. They resented having to watch the film, and made no effort to conceal that fact. Most of the griping came during the segment on the spread of Islam and its conquest. Yes, the sword point conversions that are an unfortunate part of Islam's past. They seemed to be particularly revolted by this. I have only one thing to say regarding such misplaced self-righteousness: Remember the bloody history of your own church. Before casting aspersions on others, look to your own house. And stop kicking my chair.
Footnote:
If I had a dime for every time I've said this, I'd be writing this blog from my Tuscan villa: "Muslim Terrorist" is an oxymoron. Terrorists are not Muslims and Muslims are not terrorists. It doesn't matter how many times they say they do this in the name of God. It doesn't make it true, and God would never own their actions. I simply cannot tolerate the continued use of the term "Muslim Terrorist" by the sensation-seeking media and the fear-mongering politicians. It is racist, bigoted, and patently false. Food for thought: when was the last time you heard an IRA bomber referred to as a Catholic terrorist?
A couple of weeks ago we watched a film on Islam. Yes...this is yet another story about my favorite whipping girl and boy, Jane and John Godley. They sat behind me, as they usually do. So I was subjected to every sigh, grunt, and expression of disapproval. They resented having to watch the film, and made no effort to conceal that fact. Most of the griping came during the segment on the spread of Islam and its conquest. Yes, the sword point conversions that are an unfortunate part of Islam's past. They seemed to be particularly revolted by this. I have only one thing to say regarding such misplaced self-righteousness: Remember the bloody history of your own church. Before casting aspersions on others, look to your own house. And stop kicking my chair.
Footnote:
If I had a dime for every time I've said this, I'd be writing this blog from my Tuscan villa: "Muslim Terrorist" is an oxymoron. Terrorists are not Muslims and Muslims are not terrorists. It doesn't matter how many times they say they do this in the name of God. It doesn't make it true, and God would never own their actions. I simply cannot tolerate the continued use of the term "Muslim Terrorist" by the sensation-seeking media and the fear-mongering politicians. It is racist, bigoted, and patently false. Food for thought: when was the last time you heard an IRA bomber referred to as a Catholic terrorist?
17.3.08
Random Musing
"The Weighting is the Hardest Part":
To all the women out there who constantly gripe that it is so much easier for men to lose weight than it is for women, and I'm one of them, I have a sweet little bit of news to share with you. On our vacation to the Florida Keys this past week my husband gained ten pounds. I lost six. There is still hope, and justice still exists in this world.
To all the women out there who constantly gripe that it is so much easier for men to lose weight than it is for women, and I'm one of them, I have a sweet little bit of news to share with you. On our vacation to the Florida Keys this past week my husband gained ten pounds. I lost six. There is still hope, and justice still exists in this world.
16.3.08
Sermon of the Week
Yet another new feature I have decided to add. I'm sure you have all at one time or another received a joke e-mail with photos taken of various (usually Southern) church signboards with the title of the upcoming sermon, a quote from Scripture, or some other church community announcement that was funny (either intentionally or unintentionally), scary, intended to be clever, or just plain odd. I have decided to share with you the joy and the pain I experience as I pass by the numerous (and then some...) churches on my daily commute to Seminary. I know...I'm such a giving person, aren't I?
"Forbidden Fruit Makes Many Jams"
I like it. It's clever. Judging from the rather large people I see entering and exiting this church on any given Sunday, they firmly believe that all fruit is forbidden, and that jam goes best on fried chicken and cheese fries; not to mention those moist, soft, buttery biscuits....damn, I'm getting hungry...
"Forbidden Fruit Makes Many Jams"
I like it. It's clever. Judging from the rather large people I see entering and exiting this church on any given Sunday, they firmly believe that all fruit is forbidden, and that jam goes best on fried chicken and cheese fries; not to mention those moist, soft, buttery biscuits....damn, I'm getting hungry...
6.3.08
Random Musing
In my World Religions class we are trying to coordinate a time (on a Saturday) to go visit a local Buddhist monastery. Next week is Spring Break, and half the class is going out of town, and will be leaving Friday. The following Saturday doesn't work because most of us will still be out of town, returning the next day. "O.K., so how about the following Saturday?" the professor inquires. Oh, heavens no! We can't do that! It's the Saturday before Easter!...uh...so what? Is God going to strike you down if he sees you entering a Buddhist Monastery during his Holy Week?
28.2.08
What the Buddha Taught:
First, I must indulge in a pointed rant regarding the pronunciation of Buddha, Buddhist, Buddhism. It is one of my pet peeves, and I liken it to fingernails on a chalkboard. It is not pronounced BOO-duh. Or BOO-dizem, or BOO-dist; like they are meditating on the impermanence of booty or something. (I wish I had an impermanent booty...) It is Bu as in good, not Bu as in food. And while we're on the subject, he is not the "Dolly" Lama. He is the "Deh-lie" Lama. Thank you. I just had to get that off my chest. Or booty. Or, whatever...
You know that expression, "leave your problems at the door?" I wish we had a similar one for my World Religions class. Or all of Seminary, actually: leave your Christianity at the door. Today was the third day of our discussion of Buddhism. We started out gently with the biography of Prince Siddhartha/Gautama Buddha and then some introductory material; sort of the broad strokes of Buddhism. For today, we jumped into Theravadin Buddhism feet first, with one of the most difficult and profound writings on Buddhist thought; the Buddhadhamma: Natural Laws and Values for Life (Buddhadhamma refers to the corpus of the Buddha's teachings) by Thailand's pre-eminent Buddhist monk and scholar Phra Prayudh Payutto.
I love this professor, by the way. She is gentle and sincere and very enthusiastic about the material; especially Hinduism. She wrote her dissertation on a comparison between Ramanuja (a Classical Hindu philosopher) and St. John of the Cross. But she is also very confident in her teaching abilities (she lectures without notes, and writes Sanskrit without cheat sheets) and she knows her stuff. No question. Good thing, too. She was taking fire from many sides today. These sweet, little, American, not-terribly-worldly MDiv students are having a very difficult time wrapping their heads around these very foreign concepts. I think that if they ever managed to retain and understand some of this their heads might actually explode.
I had fun today. Real fun; like I haven't in a long time. I felt alive; every nerve was tingling. You couldn't shut me up. And the professor was thoroughly enjoying this, too. Not that I was coming to her defense; she certainly didn't need it. I prefer to think of it as more of a tag-team operation.
Let's set the scene: Jane Godley is behind me, sighing and huffing and mumbling, "o.k...what?! I'm so confused. I don't understand" etc. It was all I could do not to turn around and slap her. A few kept banging their heads against the brick wall that separates their American enculturation, Christian indoctrination, and Western education (such as it is) from the whole of Eastern thought, and kept asking terribly inept and ill-formed questions. Most were just staring straight ahead and trying not to move or even breathe for fear of drawing unwanted attention, and God forbid they be asked a question like, "what do you think?" (Um...they don't.)
Their biggest problem was dealing with the concept of no-self. A basic tenet of Buddhism is the belief in the impermanence of things. Every thing in this world, including humans, is in constant flux. When we fail to recognize this and live in ignorance we cling to things and/or people, and then suffer needlessly when those things/people are gone from us. All life is suffering. To end suffering one must be free from attachment. This includes an attachment to self, what we today would call ego. Or, what the "Kids in the Hall" (not the Canadian variety show; scroll down. You'll know what I mean.) would call soul. They simply cannot set aside their belief in a creator God, an eternal soul or their modern concept of self for one second in order to attempt to grasp what the Buddha is teaching.
Now, I have no way of knowing what most of these people studied (or didn't study) in their undergrad work. I get the impression most of them majored in Marriage and Family, or Feelings, or Fluffy Little Animals. I have a strong background in philosophy. It was a large component of my major. Which, I concede, probably gives me a better than average advantage. And in order to participate in today's discussion you really needed at least some experience with philosophical thought, method, and process.
My favorite moment came when John Godley threw this bomb: "Now, I have a friend who was taking a philosophy class, and at the end of the class he stood up and challenged the professor by saying, 'prove that I exist.' to which the professor replied, 'if you didn't exist, I would ask who or what just asked that question?' Would the Buddha (BOO-duh) answer differently, since according to him we don't exist?" Without missing a beat, the professor responded, "well, the Buddha would probably say that would depend on what you mean by 'I'. In every language we have a utilitarian way of talking about self, but that is just so we can communicate with each other and function on a very superficial, perfunctory level. It doesn't speak to the higher truth." He had nothing in return, demoralized and silenced for the moment.
Jane Godley pipes up: I don't understand how there can be no concept of self. I mean, I recognize that we are all different, have different talents, different memories. So, how can they say there is no self, when obviously we are different. And the professor returns the serve: Buddhism does not deny that we are all different. We are; and they recognize that we are unique. But there is no essence, no eternal soul in Buddhism. When you die, your existence is transported to another life and another reality. But in this life, your form, the one we all recognize as Emily, is conditional. It depends on all these other things and people being here and recognizing and mentally reassembling your aggregate parts. But you are always in flux.
John Godley, having recovered (sort of...) said: I guess I'm just asking a Western question for which their is no Eastern answer. By far, the most insightful thing I have ever heard him utter. I could stand it no longer. I knew I had already monopolized much of the time, but NOTHING the professor and I, and a couple of other MTS students who were clearly understanding this but were probably a little battle-weary, were saying was sinking in. I addressed John's issues first: I think that you are right in saying it is a Western question for which there is no Eastern answer. But more than that, it is anachronistic. Our concept of self is a very recent development. It has come to us from Enlightenment thinking and Modern Psychology. They would have had no concept of self that would be in any way recognizable to us, and vice versa.
And now to Jane: And I think you can grasp the concept of the impermanence of self on a very practical and concrete level. You are not, in fact, the same person you were yesterday or even five minutes ago. Your hair is longer, your nails are longer, you have lost brain cells and dead skin cells, you have lost and gained knowledge and memories. To which the professor said, "yes, I think that's exactly right. And that is the kind of example the Buddha would have used; something from nature that was visible and demonstrable to his students. He just took it much further, to the entire universe and beyond." I scored major points with her. And John and Jane probably think I'm an even bigger freak than previously imagined. All in all, a very successful day.
First, I must indulge in a pointed rant regarding the pronunciation of Buddha, Buddhist, Buddhism. It is one of my pet peeves, and I liken it to fingernails on a chalkboard. It is not pronounced BOO-duh. Or BOO-dizem, or BOO-dist; like they are meditating on the impermanence of booty or something. (I wish I had an impermanent booty...) It is Bu as in good, not Bu as in food. And while we're on the subject, he is not the "Dolly" Lama. He is the "Deh-lie" Lama. Thank you. I just had to get that off my chest. Or booty. Or, whatever...
You know that expression, "leave your problems at the door?" I wish we had a similar one for my World Religions class. Or all of Seminary, actually: leave your Christianity at the door. Today was the third day of our discussion of Buddhism. We started out gently with the biography of Prince Siddhartha/Gautama Buddha and then some introductory material; sort of the broad strokes of Buddhism. For today, we jumped into Theravadin Buddhism feet first, with one of the most difficult and profound writings on Buddhist thought; the Buddhadhamma: Natural Laws and Values for Life (Buddhadhamma refers to the corpus of the Buddha's teachings) by Thailand's pre-eminent Buddhist monk and scholar Phra Prayudh Payutto.
I love this professor, by the way. She is gentle and sincere and very enthusiastic about the material; especially Hinduism. She wrote her dissertation on a comparison between Ramanuja (a Classical Hindu philosopher) and St. John of the Cross. But she is also very confident in her teaching abilities (she lectures without notes, and writes Sanskrit without cheat sheets) and she knows her stuff. No question. Good thing, too. She was taking fire from many sides today. These sweet, little, American, not-terribly-worldly MDiv students are having a very difficult time wrapping their heads around these very foreign concepts. I think that if they ever managed to retain and understand some of this their heads might actually explode.
I had fun today. Real fun; like I haven't in a long time. I felt alive; every nerve was tingling. You couldn't shut me up. And the professor was thoroughly enjoying this, too. Not that I was coming to her defense; she certainly didn't need it. I prefer to think of it as more of a tag-team operation.
Let's set the scene: Jane Godley is behind me, sighing and huffing and mumbling, "o.k...what?! I'm so confused. I don't understand" etc. It was all I could do not to turn around and slap her. A few kept banging their heads against the brick wall that separates their American enculturation, Christian indoctrination, and Western education (such as it is) from the whole of Eastern thought, and kept asking terribly inept and ill-formed questions. Most were just staring straight ahead and trying not to move or even breathe for fear of drawing unwanted attention, and God forbid they be asked a question like, "what do you think?" (Um...they don't.)
Their biggest problem was dealing with the concept of no-self. A basic tenet of Buddhism is the belief in the impermanence of things. Every thing in this world, including humans, is in constant flux. When we fail to recognize this and live in ignorance we cling to things and/or people, and then suffer needlessly when those things/people are gone from us. All life is suffering. To end suffering one must be free from attachment. This includes an attachment to self, what we today would call ego. Or, what the "Kids in the Hall" (not the Canadian variety show; scroll down. You'll know what I mean.) would call soul. They simply cannot set aside their belief in a creator God, an eternal soul or their modern concept of self for one second in order to attempt to grasp what the Buddha is teaching.
Now, I have no way of knowing what most of these people studied (or didn't study) in their undergrad work. I get the impression most of them majored in Marriage and Family, or Feelings, or Fluffy Little Animals. I have a strong background in philosophy. It was a large component of my major. Which, I concede, probably gives me a better than average advantage. And in order to participate in today's discussion you really needed at least some experience with philosophical thought, method, and process.
My favorite moment came when John Godley threw this bomb: "Now, I have a friend who was taking a philosophy class, and at the end of the class he stood up and challenged the professor by saying, 'prove that I exist.' to which the professor replied, 'if you didn't exist, I would ask who or what just asked that question?' Would the Buddha (BOO-duh) answer differently, since according to him we don't exist?" Without missing a beat, the professor responded, "well, the Buddha would probably say that would depend on what you mean by 'I'. In every language we have a utilitarian way of talking about self, but that is just so we can communicate with each other and function on a very superficial, perfunctory level. It doesn't speak to the higher truth." He had nothing in return, demoralized and silenced for the moment.
Jane Godley pipes up: I don't understand how there can be no concept of self. I mean, I recognize that we are all different, have different talents, different memories. So, how can they say there is no self, when obviously we are different. And the professor returns the serve: Buddhism does not deny that we are all different. We are; and they recognize that we are unique. But there is no essence, no eternal soul in Buddhism. When you die, your existence is transported to another life and another reality. But in this life, your form, the one we all recognize as Emily, is conditional. It depends on all these other things and people being here and recognizing and mentally reassembling your aggregate parts. But you are always in flux.
John Godley, having recovered (sort of...) said: I guess I'm just asking a Western question for which their is no Eastern answer. By far, the most insightful thing I have ever heard him utter. I could stand it no longer. I knew I had already monopolized much of the time, but NOTHING the professor and I, and a couple of other MTS students who were clearly understanding this but were probably a little battle-weary, were saying was sinking in. I addressed John's issues first: I think that you are right in saying it is a Western question for which there is no Eastern answer. But more than that, it is anachronistic. Our concept of self is a very recent development. It has come to us from Enlightenment thinking and Modern Psychology. They would have had no concept of self that would be in any way recognizable to us, and vice versa.
And now to Jane: And I think you can grasp the concept of the impermanence of self on a very practical and concrete level. You are not, in fact, the same person you were yesterday or even five minutes ago. Your hair is longer, your nails are longer, you have lost brain cells and dead skin cells, you have lost and gained knowledge and memories. To which the professor said, "yes, I think that's exactly right. And that is the kind of example the Buddha would have used; something from nature that was visible and demonstrable to his students. He just took it much further, to the entire universe and beyond." I scored major points with her. And John and Jane probably think I'm an even bigger freak than previously imagined. All in all, a very successful day.
25.2.08
Random Musing
I have found out what Jane Godley's real name is. Emily. But of course it is...just precious. Still don't know John Godley's real name. It's probably Eric. Or Kevin. Or...John.
23.2.08
Let's Play "Spot the Atheist":
Whenever I can't sleep I imagine I'm standing in the middle of the courtyard, between the classroom building and the chapel, and count the closet atheists. Sometimes it works, and I nod right off. Sometimes, well...there are just too many of them to count. Seminary just beats the God right out of you. Well, the Church anyway.
I am not a closet atheist. I came out. In a spectacular way, in front of my Sociology of Religion class. I have no idea what possessed me to say this. It certainly wasn't the Holy Spirit. Our first assignment is to research the doctrine/beliefs/whatever and observe the activities of a faith tradition not our own, with a demographic different from ours. For instance, if you're a WASP-y Presby from Connecticut, you might want to visit an African Methodist Episcopal Church, or a Holyness Tabernacle. Those are the Snake Handlers, by the way. I can't imagine anything scaring the shit out of a sheltered Ivy League town girl more...can you? If so, I'd love to hear it. I'm always looking for new ideas.
Anyway, I'm interested in doing my paper on the Baha'i Faith. My stylist is Baha'i, and so is my former Honors Mentor/Academic Advisor at my undergrad institution. Neither was raised in the Baha'i faith; not many are. They come to it in their adulthood. My stylist is Persian, my professor is Dutch. Calvinist. (Talk about beating the God right out of you.) My stylist's husband is also a college professor. And not knowing who else is a part of their devotional group, I am a bit concerned that most of them are also educated professionals and academics, which would put me smack-dab in the middle of that demographic. So, I raised this concern with the professor. "Are you Baha'i?" he asked. "No," I said. "I'm a non-practicing nothing, which pretty much leaves my options wide open." The walls of the classroom seemed to expand and then contract sharply as everyone took this in, registered shock, and then gasped.
The professor didn't seem the least bit surprised, or shocked, or offended, or concerned. (I love this guy.) He then asked, "well, were you raised in a particular tradition?" I responded, "yes. Methodist. I have absolutely no interest in revisiting that." Another gasp. O.K. huge clue time: this is a UMC Seminary. Most of the MDiv students who are on the ordination track will become United Methodist ministers. I just offended and alienated more than half the class. In less than a minute. Damn, I'm good.
Footnote:
Yes, I know Holiness is spelled incorrectly. In the outside world. But that is how most of them in this state spell it. The Pentecostals of this particular sect, usually called "Holiness Church," in Canada and other Northern states spell it with an i. For those who are unfamiliar with the practice of snake handling, and drinking water laced with arsenic or strychnine, and engaging in glossolalia (speaking in tongues), The Holiness believers base their entire church around apocryphal verses in Mark: "And these signs will accompany those who believe: by using my name they will cast out demons; they will speak in new tongues; they will pick up snakes in their hands, and if they drink any deadly thing, it will not hurt them; they will lay their hands on the sick and they will recover." Mark 16: 17-18, NRSV
That should tell you something right there...an entire dogma built around two verses of Scripture taken entirely out of context. Maybe they're on to something here. I should proof-text a tiny, obscure verse and start my own church. No doubt it will be something from Revelation. Because nothing gets a cult going better than the End of Days. As they say...there are no atheists in the foxholes.
Whenever I can't sleep I imagine I'm standing in the middle of the courtyard, between the classroom building and the chapel, and count the closet atheists. Sometimes it works, and I nod right off. Sometimes, well...there are just too many of them to count. Seminary just beats the God right out of you. Well, the Church anyway.
I am not a closet atheist. I came out. In a spectacular way, in front of my Sociology of Religion class. I have no idea what possessed me to say this. It certainly wasn't the Holy Spirit. Our first assignment is to research the doctrine/beliefs/whatever and observe the activities of a faith tradition not our own, with a demographic different from ours. For instance, if you're a WASP-y Presby from Connecticut, you might want to visit an African Methodist Episcopal Church, or a Holyness Tabernacle. Those are the Snake Handlers, by the way. I can't imagine anything scaring the shit out of a sheltered Ivy League town girl more...can you? If so, I'd love to hear it. I'm always looking for new ideas.
Anyway, I'm interested in doing my paper on the Baha'i Faith. My stylist is Baha'i, and so is my former Honors Mentor/Academic Advisor at my undergrad institution. Neither was raised in the Baha'i faith; not many are. They come to it in their adulthood. My stylist is Persian, my professor is Dutch. Calvinist. (Talk about beating the God right out of you.) My stylist's husband is also a college professor. And not knowing who else is a part of their devotional group, I am a bit concerned that most of them are also educated professionals and academics, which would put me smack-dab in the middle of that demographic. So, I raised this concern with the professor. "Are you Baha'i?" he asked. "No," I said. "I'm a non-practicing nothing, which pretty much leaves my options wide open." The walls of the classroom seemed to expand and then contract sharply as everyone took this in, registered shock, and then gasped.
The professor didn't seem the least bit surprised, or shocked, or offended, or concerned. (I love this guy.) He then asked, "well, were you raised in a particular tradition?" I responded, "yes. Methodist. I have absolutely no interest in revisiting that." Another gasp. O.K. huge clue time: this is a UMC Seminary. Most of the MDiv students who are on the ordination track will become United Methodist ministers. I just offended and alienated more than half the class. In less than a minute. Damn, I'm good.
Footnote:
Yes, I know Holiness is spelled incorrectly. In the outside world. But that is how most of them in this state spell it. The Pentecostals of this particular sect, usually called "Holiness Church," in Canada and other Northern states spell it with an i. For those who are unfamiliar with the practice of snake handling, and drinking water laced with arsenic or strychnine, and engaging in glossolalia (speaking in tongues), The Holiness believers base their entire church around apocryphal verses in Mark: "And these signs will accompany those who believe: by using my name they will cast out demons; they will speak in new tongues; they will pick up snakes in their hands, and if they drink any deadly thing, it will not hurt them; they will lay their hands on the sick and they will recover." Mark 16: 17-18, NRSV
That should tell you something right there...an entire dogma built around two verses of Scripture taken entirely out of context. Maybe they're on to something here. I should proof-text a tiny, obscure verse and start my own church. No doubt it will be something from Revelation. Because nothing gets a cult going better than the End of Days. As they say...there are no atheists in the foxholes.
7.2.08
Pointed Rant
(Or, maybe it's a Random Rant. It certainly isn't a Random Musing.)
So here I am, sicker than a dog, stuck in my bed with nothing else to do except read, read, read. I haven't been this on top of my reading since I returned to academia. Anyway, I'm popping Tylenol Cold Head Congestion, Severe like it's candy. The caplets have this "Cool Burst" coating, which is sort of a sweet minty flavor. I hate it. Cool burst? All it does is give me heartburn. I'd hardly call that "cool."
That's all. I just had to share that with you. Perhaps I should go back to bed.
So here I am, sicker than a dog, stuck in my bed with nothing else to do except read, read, read. I haven't been this on top of my reading since I returned to academia. Anyway, I'm popping Tylenol Cold Head Congestion, Severe like it's candy. The caplets have this "Cool Burst" coating, which is sort of a sweet minty flavor. I hate it. Cool burst? All it does is give me heartburn. I'd hardly call that "cool."
That's all. I just had to share that with you. Perhaps I should go back to bed.
6.2.08
It has been two weeks since my last blog entry, so I thought I would write to tell you all that there isn't much to tell. I live an action-packed life, don't I? Actually, I've been spending more time at home than I have on campus lately. I have been struck down by a nasty little flu bug, and haven't felt comfortable being too far away from my bed. I have been keeping up with the hundreds of pages of reading; I have nothing else to do.
Yesterday, I got out among 'em to stand in line for one hour to then stand in front of a voting terminal for fifteen seconds. While I was in line, I spiked another fever and almost passed out. All this for a guy who thoroughly destroyed his competion in the state. But my vote counts, dammit!! I shouldn't be sarcastic. It was quite a momentous occasion, and I rather relished being a part of history. I have never voted for a candidate who's campaign slogan ended in a preposition. But then, I suppose "Change in which we can believe" just isn't as snappy, is it...
Hopefully I'll be back in action soon and have something a little more interesting to report. For now, I'm going back to bed.
Yesterday, I got out among 'em to stand in line for one hour to then stand in front of a voting terminal for fifteen seconds. While I was in line, I spiked another fever and almost passed out. All this for a guy who thoroughly destroyed his competion in the state. But my vote counts, dammit!! I shouldn't be sarcastic. It was quite a momentous occasion, and I rather relished being a part of history. I have never voted for a candidate who's campaign slogan ended in a preposition. But then, I suppose "Change in which we can believe" just isn't as snappy, is it...
Hopefully I'll be back in action soon and have something a little more interesting to report. For now, I'm going back to bed.
23.1.08
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.
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.
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.
28.11.07
Return from Sabbatical:
To those who have not given up on me in my long absence, I send greetings. It has been a few days now since I returned to the East Coast from my sojourn to the Annual Meetings of the American Academy of Religion and the Society of Biblical Literature in San Diego and Thanksgiving with friends in Pasadena. I have almost fully recovered from the jet lag and food coma; just in time for the end of the term! I have two papers, a project, and a final coming up. Next week is the last week of classes and then we have Reading Week. A reading week! When I was working on my B.A. we never had a reading day, let alone a week! But I suppose that since grad school involves more reading there is a need for a greater allowance for make-up/catch up reading time. Fine with me. I could use it. I'm a week behind thanks to the requisite networking, "professional development", book buying orgy, and geek schmooze fest that is the Annual Meeting. Perhaps I should explain further:
The AAR/SBL meeting is the annual professional conference for theologians, biblical scholars, archaeologists, Classicists, and Ancient Near East scholars. It is the largest gathering of academics in those fields (over 10,000) on the planet. We meet to present new research, attend seminars, buy books at huge discounts while the publishers try to convince us to use their books for our classes, and (most importantly) partake of free booze and food at all the various receptions. There are at least three a night.
This year's meeting was a little weird. It was the last year AAR and SBL met together before "the split." We call it The Great Divorce. For reasons not entirely understood by members of either society, the AAR made the decision several years ago to begin meeting separately in 2008. I will refrain from stating my position on this decision or making any other comments on the split as this may compromise my anonymity. My opinions are well known by several prominent members of both societies, and I'm not quite ready to get my ass kicked out of Seminary or commit career suicide just yet.
The AAR will be in Chicago the last week of October and SBL will meet at the usual time (the long weekend before Thanksgiving) in Boston. Some of us are a bit puzzled over AAR's timing, but perhaps they figured it would be a better time than close to the holiday. It's not as if there will be anything significant happening around the end of October/beginning of November next year. No major election, or anything. Although, it is Chicago. Perhaps they are hoping their members will "vote early and vote often"!
This may be my last post for another week or so while I try to get myself caught up and prepared for the end of the semester. Not to mention, get the house ready for the holidays, finish my shopping, and prepare for invading relatives. Until I write again, peace and blessings to you and yours during this glorious season of Advent.
To those who have not given up on me in my long absence, I send greetings. It has been a few days now since I returned to the East Coast from my sojourn to the Annual Meetings of the American Academy of Religion and the Society of Biblical Literature in San Diego and Thanksgiving with friends in Pasadena. I have almost fully recovered from the jet lag and food coma; just in time for the end of the term! I have two papers, a project, and a final coming up. Next week is the last week of classes and then we have Reading Week. A reading week! When I was working on my B.A. we never had a reading day, let alone a week! But I suppose that since grad school involves more reading there is a need for a greater allowance for make-up/catch up reading time. Fine with me. I could use it. I'm a week behind thanks to the requisite networking, "professional development", book buying orgy, and geek schmooze fest that is the Annual Meeting. Perhaps I should explain further:
The AAR/SBL meeting is the annual professional conference for theologians, biblical scholars, archaeologists, Classicists, and Ancient Near East scholars. It is the largest gathering of academics in those fields (over 10,000) on the planet. We meet to present new research, attend seminars, buy books at huge discounts while the publishers try to convince us to use their books for our classes, and (most importantly) partake of free booze and food at all the various receptions. There are at least three a night.
This year's meeting was a little weird. It was the last year AAR and SBL met together before "the split." We call it The Great Divorce. For reasons not entirely understood by members of either society, the AAR made the decision several years ago to begin meeting separately in 2008. I will refrain from stating my position on this decision or making any other comments on the split as this may compromise my anonymity. My opinions are well known by several prominent members of both societies, and I'm not quite ready to get my ass kicked out of Seminary or commit career suicide just yet.
The AAR will be in Chicago the last week of October and SBL will meet at the usual time (the long weekend before Thanksgiving) in Boston. Some of us are a bit puzzled over AAR's timing, but perhaps they figured it would be a better time than close to the holiday. It's not as if there will be anything significant happening around the end of October/beginning of November next year. No major election, or anything. Although, it is Chicago. Perhaps they are hoping their members will "vote early and vote often"!
This may be my last post for another week or so while I try to get myself caught up and prepared for the end of the semester. Not to mention, get the house ready for the holidays, finish my shopping, and prepare for invading relatives. Until I write again, peace and blessings to you and yours during this glorious season of Advent.
6.11.07
Groovy, Man:
Today in my NT class we discussed the Epistles of James and Jude. Unlike some other letters and the Gospels whose authors are unknown, the letter of James is signed by a James. Which James that is precisely remains in doubt. It may have been written sometime around 80-90 CE, but one of the James possibilities is Jesus' brother, who was (and now I'm quoting our T.A. who was lecturing) "stoned to death in the 60's." Just let that marinate for a moment. Uh huh...got it? Yeah...it took us about 5 minutes to settle down, too. Trying to rephrase it really didn't help, poor guy. We all had images of some hippie Jesus look-alike in Haight-Ashbury sparkin' the doobie to end all doobies. But, hey...what a way to go!
The second half of the class was spent discussing Jude. (I know...it just doesn't get any better than this.) Have you ever actually read Jude? Dark imagery, allusions to esoteric figures from the Hebrew Bible, apocalyptic language, fallen angels and "ungodly intruders". It's fuckin' trippy, dude. All together now: "Hey, Jude...don't make it bad...take a sad sooooong and make it be-eh-eh-ter..."
Today in my NT class we discussed the Epistles of James and Jude. Unlike some other letters and the Gospels whose authors are unknown, the letter of James is signed by a James. Which James that is precisely remains in doubt. It may have been written sometime around 80-90 CE, but one of the James possibilities is Jesus' brother, who was (and now I'm quoting our T.A. who was lecturing) "stoned to death in the 60's." Just let that marinate for a moment. Uh huh...got it? Yeah...it took us about 5 minutes to settle down, too. Trying to rephrase it really didn't help, poor guy. We all had images of some hippie Jesus look-alike in Haight-Ashbury sparkin' the doobie to end all doobies. But, hey...what a way to go!
The second half of the class was spent discussing Jude. (I know...it just doesn't get any better than this.) Have you ever actually read Jude? Dark imagery, allusions to esoteric figures from the Hebrew Bible, apocalyptic language, fallen angels and "ungodly intruders". It's fuckin' trippy, dude. All together now: "Hey, Jude...don't make it bad...take a sad sooooong and make it be-eh-eh-ter..."
2.11.07
Just another day in the Interpretation of the New Testament:
Apparently the Epistles of John are not very popular here. Several students left the class shortly after signing the roll. We started class by comparing passages from the Gospel of John to passages in the First Letter of John to determine same or different authorship. (They were written by different authors, by the way.) My MTS cohorts and I sit and chat amongst ourselves. Bad little MTS students, we did not (nor do we ever, really...) bring our Bibles to class.
Many other students appear to be immersed in other work as well. One of my friends regularly does his Greek homework in the class, and several others have long since abandoned note taking and are now fully engaged in daydreaming. "I'm just here to sign the roll," is a common sentiment. Attendance in this class is absolutely required. One suspects the professor has learned over the years that in order to guarantee regular attendance grades must depend upon it.
On any given day in this class students sit in front of their laptops engaged in earnest typing and stare with profound concentration at their screens. At least, I assume that's what it looks like from the front of the class. From my vantage point, however, a very different story reveals itself. The screens most regularly display Solitaire, Spider Solitaire, Hearts, Minesweeper, or Free Cell. Many write letters, check e-mail, or surf the web.
And today, when we were asked to open our Bibles to the First Letter of John, the guy in front of me pulled out his Biblia Hebraica. Yeah...something tells me he's not participating in this little comparative exercise, either. Welcome to Seminary.
Apparently the Epistles of John are not very popular here. Several students left the class shortly after signing the roll. We started class by comparing passages from the Gospel of John to passages in the First Letter of John to determine same or different authorship. (They were written by different authors, by the way.) My MTS cohorts and I sit and chat amongst ourselves. Bad little MTS students, we did not (nor do we ever, really...) bring our Bibles to class.
Many other students appear to be immersed in other work as well. One of my friends regularly does his Greek homework in the class, and several others have long since abandoned note taking and are now fully engaged in daydreaming. "I'm just here to sign the roll," is a common sentiment. Attendance in this class is absolutely required. One suspects the professor has learned over the years that in order to guarantee regular attendance grades must depend upon it.
On any given day in this class students sit in front of their laptops engaged in earnest typing and stare with profound concentration at their screens. At least, I assume that's what it looks like from the front of the class. From my vantage point, however, a very different story reveals itself. The screens most regularly display Solitaire, Spider Solitaire, Hearts, Minesweeper, or Free Cell. Many write letters, check e-mail, or surf the web.
And today, when we were asked to open our Bibles to the First Letter of John, the guy in front of me pulled out his Biblia Hebraica. Yeah...something tells me he's not participating in this little comparative exercise, either. Welcome to Seminary.
24.10.07
Random Musing
Graffiti for God:
On one of the flip-up desktops in the main lecture hall the black Formica has peeled away to reveal about a six inch triangle of the MDF beneath. Many students have taken this opportunity to doodle. Desktop graffiti was not something I expected to encounter at seminary. Detention Hall, perhaps. But not seminary! Still...the graffiti is distinctly seminarian. There are five crosses of varying shapes and sizes, including the three crosses at Calvary, and the phrase: "J of Naz wuz hur." Yeeeeaaaah...welcome to seminary.
On one of the flip-up desktops in the main lecture hall the black Formica has peeled away to reveal about a six inch triangle of the MDF beneath. Many students have taken this opportunity to doodle. Desktop graffiti was not something I expected to encounter at seminary. Detention Hall, perhaps. But not seminary! Still...the graffiti is distinctly seminarian. There are five crosses of varying shapes and sizes, including the three crosses at Calvary, and the phrase: "J of Naz wuz hur." Yeeeeaaaah...welcome to seminary.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
