My eldest son, Will, is a senior in high school this year. For all of the things that he does or doesn't do that drive his mother and I crazy, I have to admit that he has done a truly remarkable job in school. He has made good grades, challenged himself in terms of the workload and stayed out of trouble. Because of these things he is now in a position to entertain some exciting options for the next step in his life. Given this, you might expect our family to be celebrating and enjoying this final year that Will is living at home.
And there is some of this. But the joy seems to be increasingly competing with stress. The stress is coming through something that Will's high school counselors have termed the college-application process.
A full year ago, the school sponsored an informational meeting to make sure that the parents of the junior-class were sufficiently anxious about college preparation. One of the counselors began the meeting by saying, "Your children are getting ready to begin the college-application process. As parents, I am sure that all of you are already stressing." I remember thinking to myself, "actually no; but thanks for getting me started."
Last night, it dawned on me that I actually am sort of stress about all this. I suppose that this is fair and probably even expected. My son is getting ready for the next step in his life and his mother and I certainly want it to go well for him. So if I am stressed about this, I figure that is either my prerogative or my fault. And I can appreciate that. What I can't appreciate is seeing that my son is stressed as well.
I certainly want him to be awake. I want him to be responsible for getting the information. I want him to fill out the applications and attend to the logistical expectations and deadlines. But the thought of him being stressed out not only makes me sad, it actually angers me. Will has done the work. He has put in the time and effort demanded by the high school process. So it gripes me to imagine that the reward for this would be a new level of stress tied now to the next process.
I suspect that part of my anger here has to do with this whole language of process. [See me last blog entry] The suggestion that education can be reduced to some kind of process is equally appalling and familiar.
In addition to my work here in the parish, I have also had the opportunity to work as a part-time instructor at Appalachian State University. For a number of years, I taught in the School of Education at ASU. The course was entitled, "Foundations of Education," and was required of all education majors prior to their student teaching. In teaching those courses, I learned something disturbing about college students. I learned that many of them approached their classes, and their education generally, as a means-to-an-end. That is, most of my students were far more interested in their grade then they were in whatever it was that they might learn in the course. The revelation should not have surprised me because many students go to college to get the degree to get the job... It was just disappointing to learn that teachers do the same thing. How depressing to consider that the people who would be teaching my children were already cynical about education.
Acknowledging this, I would make it a point to explain to them that we teach who we are. That is, their own appreciation for learning, or lack thereof, will not be lost on their own students. Furthermore, I explained that their own students were likely to treat them and the classes that they would soon be teaching in the same way that they treated me and the course that they were currently taking. Some of them seemed to get it--the irony of representing something that you can't be bothered with. But the vast majority either didn't understand or didn't care.
This was hard for me to see. I imagined my own children someday sitting before these students as teachers themselves who had lost all sense of appreciation and passion for learning. Of course, it happens. Things get reduced--school, work, marriage, family, faith... Nothing is completely safe from the decaying effects of process and means-ends.... So we have to be vigilant. We need to be awake and grateful. We need to maintain that sense of fascination with life and the world and the people around us.
This is what we should be up-in-arms about--the fact that our children are growing up in a world of reduction. If we're going to stress about something, it should be this--the danger of having beautiful things degraded into nothing more than the next process.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
The Spoken Word
Yesterday I preached a sermon on the human capacity for speech. It was based on a passage from James in which the apostle suggests that the tongue is a grave and dangerous tool. "With it," He contends, "we bless the Lord and Father, and with it we curse those who are made in the likeness of God. From the same mouth come blessing and cursing..."
How true. Words can be used for good as well as for ill. So many of the great things that have come upon the earth have begun and ended in the spoken word. Remember that this is actually how God creates-- "...and God said..." Perhaps this is the likeness that we share with God that is mentioned in Genesis 1... our own capacity to create by way of words and language. To name, communicate and reason our way together... It really is a gift, a power that God has given to us...
I remember when I first started to understand this. It was during my sophomore year in college. I read a series of books about language, culture and religion; the most notable was entitled, The Human Condition. Hannah Arendt was female, German and Jewish--probably all mitigating factors in 1958 when The Human Condition was published. None of this mattered to me when I read the book some twenty-five years later. After all, I was a young, free, Christian living in America and enjoying the care-free world of higher education. I could sit back and listen to Arendt's speech without fear of jail or even censorship. Nevertheless, the argument that she was making set me free--it set me free from something I didn't even understand.
The way that I explained it in the final paper for the class was that she had set me free from the process train. Reading her words, listening to her voice, it struck me that many people are taught and come to believe that life is merely process--that we simply find ourselves on the train and we have no choice but to ride this thing out. [Of course, most of us never even notice.] But Arendt suggests that human beings are capable of action--authentic action in the world. It is this action that creates the world and ultimately tells the story of life and history. And speech is the primary form of human action. It is our capacity to name, discuss and reason together that enables self-disclosure and allows us to enter into and take action in the world.
I still don't fully understand everything that I read in that book. But reading it offered to me one of those moments in which we are offered a chance to be reborn, into a world much more interesting than the one we've known.
Twenty-five years have now passed since I read The Human Condition. Sadly, I feel that much of that time has been spent riding the process train. Of course, that's what most people say when they reach their mid-forties. But still, I feel like I should know better. I understand, at least conceptually, the meaning and import of speech and action. I can only hope that even in the midst of my disappointment, I am still speaking toward a world that is more interesting than the one to which we seem to be settling.
How true. Words can be used for good as well as for ill. So many of the great things that have come upon the earth have begun and ended in the spoken word. Remember that this is actually how God creates-- "...and God said..." Perhaps this is the likeness that we share with God that is mentioned in Genesis 1... our own capacity to create by way of words and language. To name, communicate and reason our way together... It really is a gift, a power that God has given to us...
I remember when I first started to understand this. It was during my sophomore year in college. I read a series of books about language, culture and religion; the most notable was entitled, The Human Condition. Hannah Arendt was female, German and Jewish--probably all mitigating factors in 1958 when The Human Condition was published. None of this mattered to me when I read the book some twenty-five years later. After all, I was a young, free, Christian living in America and enjoying the care-free world of higher education. I could sit back and listen to Arendt's speech without fear of jail or even censorship. Nevertheless, the argument that she was making set me free--it set me free from something I didn't even understand.
The way that I explained it in the final paper for the class was that she had set me free from the process train. Reading her words, listening to her voice, it struck me that many people are taught and come to believe that life is merely process--that we simply find ourselves on the train and we have no choice but to ride this thing out. [Of course, most of us never even notice.] But Arendt suggests that human beings are capable of action--authentic action in the world. It is this action that creates the world and ultimately tells the story of life and history. And speech is the primary form of human action. It is our capacity to name, discuss and reason together that enables self-disclosure and allows us to enter into and take action in the world.
I still don't fully understand everything that I read in that book. But reading it offered to me one of those moments in which we are offered a chance to be reborn, into a world much more interesting than the one we've known.
Twenty-five years have now passed since I read The Human Condition. Sadly, I feel that much of that time has been spent riding the process train. Of course, that's what most people say when they reach their mid-forties. But still, I feel like I should know better. I understand, at least conceptually, the meaning and import of speech and action. I can only hope that even in the midst of my disappointment, I am still speaking toward a world that is more interesting than the one to which we seem to be settling.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Present Company
I have an eight-year-old daughter. This means that we have pets--more than one and always the chance for more. You see this in movies or read it in books about children. Little girls love animals, especially young ones, and will freely inquire about taking them in.
I should have seen this coming. Even before my daughter was born, my wife, Diane--a grown woman who readily complained about dog hair and cleaning the litter box--could not resist taking in a stray kitten who found its way to our porch in Watauga County. We already had a cat at the time and my wife insisted she was allergic. But it didn't matter. It was a long-haired calico, it belonged with us!
Not long after, a group of raccoon triplets were making their way across our front lawn. Diane was enthralled. I tried to explain to her that things were not as they appeared. "But they're so cute!" She insisted, reaching down to pick up the nearest. The ensuing scene was telling. Raccoon babies don't look quite the same when their backs are raised up and they are hissing and bouncing around like Taz. I am not sure who was the more angry, though. Diane seemed to imagine that the thing should be ashamed of itself for not letting her cuddle with it. The experience left her momentarily disgusted and she steered clear of nature for about a week. And then she discovered that den of bunnies in the shrubbery...
Apart from a few butterflies and a brief stretch with a clam, our house has lately been reserved for more domesticated creatures. Here is an update on some of the other members of the Evans' household:
Atticus is a Sheltie. Sheltie is an abbreviation for Shetland Sheepdog. But to most people it means miniature collie. There is actually no such thing as a miniature collie but if there were, this is exactly what they would look like. Atticus has been the subject of a few of my sermons. This is probably a compliment because it means that he is capable of things like attitude, behavior and personality. I used to get angry at him because he would always bark and make a scene around other dogs but act perfectly normal around any human. But I've figured out in the last few months that this is not a personality problem. Atticus just does not know he is a dog. It sounds weird and that's probably why it took me so long to get it but I am pretty sure that it is true. And it makes sense if you think about it. The pack that he runs with are all people and the only times he sees other dogs is when he is out for a walk or a hike or maybe at the vet. He even barks at his own reflection... Do you suppose there are people who think they're dogs?
We don't have any cats right now. Diane swore them off when we left Watauga County seven years ago. If you're a cat person, that's a long time to go without a cat. But since 3/5 of our family are not, it will probably a lot longer before I see another cat.
My daughter is responsible for the rest of our animals. These are what I call quick-decisions pets. Right now, we have a fish (Beta) that now lives in the office here at the church and two dwarf hamsters that live in a plastic mansion in my daughter's bedroom.
The Beta is named Ruby, mostly because our last fish was Turquoise and Mallory wanted to stay with the precious-gem theme. Ruby has really grown on me, mostly because he (I know, but it's not like you can see anything) is so resilient. Not only has he lasted for nearly two-years, Ruby has suffered the experience of fading affection. Right? Because that's what happens. A little girl gets a pet, a kitten or a mouse or whatever... But soon enough the newness wears off. Or, worse yet, her affections fall in the next adorable direction... And we're talking about a fish in this world. I mean, imagine competing with things like kittens and bunnies. Heck, stuffed animals can probably draw more affection than a Beta... And yet, Ruby soldiered on. He was even expelled from the house. But God is good. He landed in the church office, right next to Michele, our administrative assistant. She's probably the nicest little girl in the world so Ruby is just fine.
Obviously I am partial to Ruby. And for all kinds of reasons--not the least of which being low-maintenance. So you can imagine my disappointment [Sheltese for disgust!] to learn that our Beta had been replaced by a rodent. Hamsters, even dwarf hamsters, are pretty much everything fish are not. Unless, of course, you fail to clean their bowl.
Enter Peanut and, just a few days later, Chestnut. This is why parents need to avoid commercial pet stores. We need to just stay away because this is what happens. Of course, they have dogs and cats and birds at places like this. But who buys a cat or dog from Pet-mart? If you take a child into one of those places, parents have got to know that they are going to be confronted with guilt and pleading. You're almost certain to leave the place with something that poops. So unless you can discipline yourself and get a fish, it's like choosing to live in Calcutta.
Diane must have sensed this would have been one of those rare times when I would have tried to play my man-of-the house card. [Like it would have mattered...] So the girls went on their own--twice! And now we've got a room full of plastic and two hamsters. [I keep trying to put a "p" in there because it would then rhyme so easily with dumpsters. But the spellchecker won't have it...]
Now to be fair, the rodents have worked out pretty well. We bought an air freshener and Diane actually takes the time to get the critters out. It sort of works as a mother-daughter bonding time. I let Atticus in there when they have them running around in those little balls. But I'm really hoping my daughter starts noticing kittens!
All in all, it is a bit of a microcosm--a little of this and a little of that. Not unlike the world in general. And, of course, it's not over. I wonder sometimes what other creatures will share my time on this planet. It's a good thing--even the rodents. Diane likes to go on and on about how cute they are when they "clean themselves." Is that what they're doing?
I should have seen this coming. Even before my daughter was born, my wife, Diane--a grown woman who readily complained about dog hair and cleaning the litter box--could not resist taking in a stray kitten who found its way to our porch in Watauga County. We already had a cat at the time and my wife insisted she was allergic. But it didn't matter. It was a long-haired calico, it belonged with us!
Not long after, a group of raccoon triplets were making their way across our front lawn. Diane was enthralled. I tried to explain to her that things were not as they appeared. "But they're so cute!" She insisted, reaching down to pick up the nearest. The ensuing scene was telling. Raccoon babies don't look quite the same when their backs are raised up and they are hissing and bouncing around like Taz. I am not sure who was the more angry, though. Diane seemed to imagine that the thing should be ashamed of itself for not letting her cuddle with it. The experience left her momentarily disgusted and she steered clear of nature for about a week. And then she discovered that den of bunnies in the shrubbery...
Apart from a few butterflies and a brief stretch with a clam, our house has lately been reserved for more domesticated creatures. Here is an update on some of the other members of the Evans' household:
Atticus is a Sheltie. Sheltie is an abbreviation for Shetland Sheepdog. But to most people it means miniature collie. There is actually no such thing as a miniature collie but if there were, this is exactly what they would look like. Atticus has been the subject of a few of my sermons. This is probably a compliment because it means that he is capable of things like attitude, behavior and personality. I used to get angry at him because he would always bark and make a scene around other dogs but act perfectly normal around any human. But I've figured out in the last few months that this is not a personality problem. Atticus just does not know he is a dog. It sounds weird and that's probably why it took me so long to get it but I am pretty sure that it is true. And it makes sense if you think about it. The pack that he runs with are all people and the only times he sees other dogs is when he is out for a walk or a hike or maybe at the vet. He even barks at his own reflection... Do you suppose there are people who think they're dogs?
We don't have any cats right now. Diane swore them off when we left Watauga County seven years ago. If you're a cat person, that's a long time to go without a cat. But since 3/5 of our family are not, it will probably a lot longer before I see another cat.
My daughter is responsible for the rest of our animals. These are what I call quick-decisions pets. Right now, we have a fish (Beta) that now lives in the office here at the church and two dwarf hamsters that live in a plastic mansion in my daughter's bedroom.
The Beta is named Ruby, mostly because our last fish was Turquoise and Mallory wanted to stay with the precious-gem theme. Ruby has really grown on me, mostly because he (I know, but it's not like you can see anything) is so resilient. Not only has he lasted for nearly two-years, Ruby has suffered the experience of fading affection. Right? Because that's what happens. A little girl gets a pet, a kitten or a mouse or whatever... But soon enough the newness wears off. Or, worse yet, her affections fall in the next adorable direction... And we're talking about a fish in this world. I mean, imagine competing with things like kittens and bunnies. Heck, stuffed animals can probably draw more affection than a Beta... And yet, Ruby soldiered on. He was even expelled from the house. But God is good. He landed in the church office, right next to Michele, our administrative assistant. She's probably the nicest little girl in the world so Ruby is just fine.
Obviously I am partial to Ruby. And for all kinds of reasons--not the least of which being low-maintenance. So you can imagine my disappointment [Sheltese for disgust!] to learn that our Beta had been replaced by a rodent. Hamsters, even dwarf hamsters, are pretty much everything fish are not. Unless, of course, you fail to clean their bowl.
Enter Peanut and, just a few days later, Chestnut. This is why parents need to avoid commercial pet stores. We need to just stay away because this is what happens. Of course, they have dogs and cats and birds at places like this. But who buys a cat or dog from Pet-mart? If you take a child into one of those places, parents have got to know that they are going to be confronted with guilt and pleading. You're almost certain to leave the place with something that poops. So unless you can discipline yourself and get a fish, it's like choosing to live in Calcutta.
Diane must have sensed this would have been one of those rare times when I would have tried to play my man-of-the house card. [Like it would have mattered...] So the girls went on their own--twice! And now we've got a room full of plastic and two hamsters. [I keep trying to put a "p" in there because it would then rhyme so easily with dumpsters. But the spellchecker won't have it...]
Now to be fair, the rodents have worked out pretty well. We bought an air freshener and Diane actually takes the time to get the critters out. It sort of works as a mother-daughter bonding time. I let Atticus in there when they have them running around in those little balls. But I'm really hoping my daughter starts noticing kittens!
All in all, it is a bit of a microcosm--a little of this and a little of that. Not unlike the world in general. And, of course, it's not over. I wonder sometimes what other creatures will share my time on this planet. It's a good thing--even the rodents. Diane likes to go on and on about how cute they are when they "clean themselves." Is that what they're doing?
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