All I can say is...

My new site, yet to be built--work is a little hectic right now, will be located at:

http://www.artisanalculture.com

Artisanal Culture. What a beautiful idea to me.

Time for a Change

Well, all good things must end. Plus some bad ones too. I'm hoping to do a complete site makeover, once I figure it all out. I'm realizing my need for a professional image, especially here at my flagship.

As inspiration, I look to Gideon's redone hub. It is a truly beautiful piece of work. Also, I'm glad that he has come back online, as it were.

The questions I'm asking as I consider redesign are not, "what image do I want", but instead "what are my deepest commitments and concerns" and "who am I". I'm learning that if you want to build a "brand", whether as a company or as a virtual persona, you cannot create authenticity--you just have to be authentic.

Here's to the future!

The War Has Begun

I usually don't write overly personal posts, but this is one. My family is at war. More specifically, my daughter and I are at war. The war is over the rights to the milk (wonderful, delicious whole milk) and the Cheerios. She takes them separately, I take them together.

This really should be an easy war. I'm bigger than her. However, as every parent knows, children always get their way...always (they are much like Wal-Mart in that regard). We only get one gallon of whole milk a week, so the supply is scare. However, I think we are coming to a truce: it seems that I can squeeze out two bowls of Cheerios and still leave enough milk for her. The problem now is that I finished the box of Cheerios while she was asleep this morning (lucky for me that I wake before her--victory is mine!). Thankfully, she has these star puffs of various unintelligible flavors.

War is hell.

Gesundheit

I've been reading a few marketing books by Seth Godin as of late. I highly recommend them for his "intuitive" marketing approach, I've found it helpful and fruitful, as I've written elsewhere. One of the concept that he has termed is the "ideavirus" or how something (whether an idea or a product) spreads from one person to another. Interesting way of putting it, memorable if nothing else (which, I believe, is the point). He calls the folks who spread this communicable idea "sneezers". I am a sneezer.

I love talking about things I like. I've recommended Seth's stuff at least twice today, not counting the above paragraph. I try and give friends leads on good blogging, good websites, good businesses, and good people within businesses. One of the best experiences business-wise I've had lately is with Everything Coffee & Tea, one of our wholesalers. I emailed them about a novel tea brewing concept I had heard about and their reply was prompt and detailed. The tried the concept in store because of my idea. That is fantastic service. The company will go far because of it.

At the same time, though, sneezers like me are easily put-off and hard (oh so hard) to win back. There are places I won't go, people I'll try and interact with as little as possible, and businesses I won't patronize because they have been off-putting. Of course, I'm willing to try again, but it takes a lot to convince people like me to actually take the step to try again.

Understanding this, to me, is very important. I want as many positive sneezes as I can get for Beaver Falls Coffee & Tea. The possibility of making a bad drink, then, becomes downright terrifying. However, drinks aren't the only thing that make sneezers here sneeze. If it is a bad drink, more likely than not, they will tell me. In that case, my employees and I have the opportunity to make a great sneezer: we can win them over with our customer service and our desire to listen. Since sneezers like me like to talk, we also love to be listened to. If we are listened to by an establishment, even if the product needs work, we will positively sneeze all over the place.

Gesundheit.

Is Gideon Gone?

I, along with others, have noticed that Gideon Strauss' blog has been password protected for a week or so. I haven't been able to figure out what was going on until I looked at another blog of his. Here's what he says:

Sadly, the server that hosts my blog seems to have crashed. With unexpected, quick, thorough help from John Barach I have salvaged the content. The plan is to relocate my blog on the Comment server. But it will take a month, since everyone is very busy on other projects. Thank you to Jeff S. for suggesting I mention the problem here - I was at a loss as to how I might notify people of this situation. Even this note will only reach some of my readers, I suppose ....

This is my attempt to further promulgate the news. Hope to see you back soon, Gideon.

New Life the City Shall Attain

That is the title of the Sunday school class I hope to develop and lead within the next year or so: a class on the local church's role in the revivification of a down-and-out city. Specifically, though, it is meant to be an action plan of how my church (and other likeminded ones in my area) can work in/learn from Beaver Falls. This weekend has been very fruitful for my thought process, since I was blessed with a large amount of time to think and no real resposibilites (past baby care).

I remember being asked a number of years ago, by the then college chaplain, why I wanted to stay in Beaver Falls. Thinking of the psalm verse that became the title of this post, I said because God loves Beaver Falls (one of the few times I've used a phrase such as "God loves..." in any context, I have a problem of not knowing who or what God loves on any consistent basis). The chaplain, being the good Reformed man that he is, responded, "How do you know God loves Beaver Falls, He could very well hate it and hold it under a curse." My response to that remark has been forgotten in the foggy mists of history, but my further reflections on it I can tell here.

(By way of necessary introduction...)

I do not believe that God saves us to go to heaven when we die. At best, that is a naive way of reading Scripture, at worst, it is pagan inspired heresy. Instead, as I told a Bible class recently, we are saved to a purpose: salvation is always accompanied by calling. Romans 8 vividly lays this out, we are saved to respond to the groaning of creation-under-bondage and bring it liberty, if only in part now. Sin has affected the whole of creation, including sociological aspects such as dwelling together in cities, and redemption is just as total. Redemption has as much to do with us loving God as with us loving our neighbors (who are in the image of God and, potentially at least, possibly remade in that same image). The place of heaven in all of this is slightly different than we've been traditionally led to believe: "your will be done on earth as it is in heaven."

If our prayer (and therefore our vow) is to have heaven break forth onto the earth (see Revelation 20-22), then our place matters very significantly. In fact, part of the Christian failure is that our articulation of the "good life" (or, in Matthew's terms "heaven on earth") lays precisely on our insistence of the abstract as the proper realm of theology. The abstract is applicable anywhere, which is to say it is homeless. Abstractions, for all their necessity (and they are both necessary and unavoidable and created with equal ultimacy to specificity), tend to make everywhere the same. Wendell Berry, one of my favorite writers, speaks about this with his onus: industrial agriculture has made an abstraction out of the specific places of agriculture and instead of leading to helpful agricultural norms, has destroyed every place it touched. Theology is the same way. There are norms, good and pleasing and helpful norms, but if they stay abstract the tendency will be towards violence: others must always and everywhere believe what I (or we) believe, otherwise they are worse enemies of the faith than pagans. Homeless theology has produced homeless Christians. No vision of the "good life", though, can be separated from a specific place of a small enough scale to allow proper human care to flourish.

Each part of this is important and cries out for explication.

Firstly, Christianity is so much more than theology, taken in the abstract (some think that a Reformed person saying this is an oxymoron, I assure you, it is not). Christianity is itself a halaka, a way-of-being-in-the-world. It is a vision and an action plan to see the "good life" or "heaven on earth" take shape in the here-and-now, always looking to the future when God will vindicate and perfect our actions and always looking to the past to see where others have succeeded and others have failed. Being a Christian, above all else, is an allegiance to continue the work of Jesus in bringing God's light to the world. It takes the specificity of Jesus' work in Israel and expands it to the whole world by making it specific to each culture and area that it influences.

So, secondly, Christianity must have a specific place. Each place is different, having different needs at different times. The halaka must be adaptable to that place. A revival of the parish system, where the local church is concerned most of all with local (that is, the neighborhood in which it is situated) needs makes the most sense, instead of the cookie-cutter churches we have rising up today that trying to help everyone everywhere and end up helping no one nowhere.

Thirdly, this leads to the idea of scale. Our society, our culture, has lost the idea of proper human scale. Admittedly, it is a nebulous, sort of amorphous concept. What is proper scale for one may be hubristic to another. Granted. However, there are limits that can be discernable (isn't this what the work of the arts and sciences is supposed to help us figure out?): no one human can care for an infinity of anything--that's why there is the division of labor. To do so is the supreme act of arrogance, akin to the rebellion of Adam. The strange thing is, as we have lost any sense of scale, we also have lost the ability to take care of those things within our scale. We may be able to track, understand, and internalize news international, national, and celebrity, but we lack the ability to cook our own food, make our own clothes, or repair anything we own. It is nothing but a form of slavery; we trade the mess of pottage in the present for future rewards that currently are intangible.

Lastly, flourishing. This is another word for the "good life". In Hebrew it would be shalom, brought on by our tseddaqah, our faithfulness to God's way of seeing "[His] will be done on earth as it is in heaven".

It may well be that the place I am called to be, that is to work, play, learn, love, and probably die, is under a curse. In fact, I know it is (Genesis 3). However, I am an agent of the conquering king who has set me to work. His people are here to do their predestined work, to bring shalom through tseddaqah. Now it is all about brainstorming how to accomplish that out of the realm of the abstract.

It certainly will involve a lot of risk and a lot of failure, but our God is the God of Resurrection. In that confidence, we can sing, "New life the city shall attain..."

The Name of the Rose

Way back when (meaning a couple of posts ago), I asked you, the faithful reader, to suggest what fiction book I should read. Since I have wanted to read The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco for a long time, it was the easy winner. What a beautiful and frustrating book. Beautiful in that, even though it is a translation from the Italian original, its prose is crisp and every word is full of meaning and import for the story. No surprise considering the author is a professor of semiotics, the study of symbols and signs. The plot of the book revolves around a series of strange, almost apocalyptic, murders at a 14th century Northern Italian Benedictine monastery. The story takes seven days (reminiscent of the seven trumpets, bowls, etc. of Revelation), all broken down according to Benedictine time (matins, compline, etc.). The narrator, Adso of Melk, is a novice monk assigned to William of Baskerville (a Franciscan monk). They travel to the unnamed monastery on the Emperor's business: to facilitate a meeting between the Franciscans (who claim that Christ was, of necessity, poor and the church should follow him in this) and the Papal legations (all about the Benjamins), which is really a cover reason to debate how much temporal power the church should have. In the midst of this is the murders, the inquisitions, the Song of Songs peasant girl love, and debates as to whether the world has any order. While the book can be slow at points, it keeps the reader riveted with its discourses about the meaning of the arts (especially comedy and laughter), love (carnal and spiritual), and meaning in a breaking-down world.

The frustrating part about the book is the postmodern bent at the end, when William denies any meaning to the universe except what man gives it. There is, in the end (as Adso so insightfully points out), no God to give meaning since to say there is an order in the universe limits God's absolute sovereignty (at this point, Dooyeweerdians and VanTillians should cringe, but the book is written in the middle ages when the Philosopher reigned supreme). Even the book, such a wonderful chronicle, ends with a depressing "I don't know why I'm even writing this." It does, however, bring up the question that every humanistic philosophy must deal with: if man is not transcendent, how can he apply lasting meaning to any part of reality? Eco, himself not a Christian (as far as I can tell), answers it by correctly saying, "He can't." All man has is signs, but they don't point to any true order, intepretations change and signs can point in many different directions at once. In other words, without some human standard, mankind is lost in translation.

Another interesting thing is how this movie is juxtaposed with its cinema rendition. While the ultimate meaning of the book is meaningless, the movie tends to say that love--even sinful love--conquers all the narrow-mindedness of the world, especially the religious world. This is shown in the love story between Adso and the peasant girl and the story of William and his love of rationality. Concerning Adso and the girl, the juxtaposition is most extreme. In the book, their carnal encounter is beautifully and tastefully narrated with direct quotations and allusions to the Song of Songs, whereas in the movie it borders on the pornographic. In the book, the peasant girl says to Adso that he is "young and handsome", in her vernacular, whereas in the movie all she can do is grunt like an ape. In the special features section of the DVD, Eco is interviewed and grants interpretive license to the movie makers (how delightfully postmodern), which in essence changes the book's content and message. The develops a sense of irony that Eco elaborates in the appendix to the book's revised version: there is no innocence, what we can say has already been said and we now know it.

This Eschatological Tension

Sometimes the tension is too much. Sometimes it doesn't make sense. Sometimes justice is injustice and mercy is cruelty. The wicked prosper and the righteous lack. The evil are exalted and the pure are humiliated.

How long, O Lord?

Reflections on Twenty and Five Years

Yesterday was my 25th birthday. There has been one thing going through my mind almost constantly since I acknowledged its existence, something my father said to me awhile ago. He told me that 25 was his most depressing birthday, since it marked the official end of our culture's prolonged adolescence and the finality of adulthood. He said that 40 or 50 didn't bother him, but 25 did. Needless to say, this has caused me to be doubly reflective about this day.

A lot has happened in 25 years. The question that I'm faced with is: what is the truly important stuff? What is it that I would like to tell my children, both as tales of virtue and tales of tragedy? The difficulty of self-reflection, of course, is that I concentrate too much on myself, as if to say, "Mine own hand has gotten these things for me." Really though, 25 years is as much, and arguably more, the celebration of the communities that have nurtured and rightly-directed me than the celebration of my self (space intentional).

For example, after I shaved today I noticed in the mirror that one of my primary descriptors has changed. My whole life I have been described as the spittin' image of my mother. Looking in the glass, however, I noticed that my visage look surprisingly more like my dad's. The whole history of the Warrens and the Schaefers has a part in who I am, from looks to the way I act. Whole communities of people I will never know had a part of producing me the way I am today.

Which, really, is a very important part of human life that I couldn't have understood until yesterday. One of the sobering realities of birthdays is not just that I have survived another year, but I am another year closer to my physical death. This could lead to much hand-wringing and despair, but instead it has made me thankful. The things that I am doing, the teaching and business owning and the child-rearing and whatnot, are not, ultimately, for myself. They are for a generation newly born (my daughter's first birthday being a week and a half ago) and generations yet unborn. Having a selfish attitude about what I am doing would only undercut what people will say of the Warrens 1000 years from now (if even Warren is how it will be spelled or pronounced). My daughter's inheritance, which I pray she will preserve and pass on to her descendants (isn't that a thought!), is being made in the everyday nitty-gritty in which I live. No matter how one tries to live for the here-and-now, one is always living for the future.

In this light, the question of what will my family think of me 50, 100 or 250 years from now becomes important. Not as a question of pride, since I won't be living to hear them say it, but as a question of shalom. Will I have left a mark on this world that confirms my belief that everything is created by YHWH, redeemed by Jesus the Messiah, and being implemented by the church? Will my place, where God has set me to work and live, be better and more life-affirming because of my life or work? I pray so.

Being a tried-and-true Protestant, it is with some irony that I realize that I am engaged in the work of cultural tradition building. I have received gifts from those who have gone before me with their hands to the plow and hearts to the task and I will, in turn, be required to pass those gifts, hopefully with useful and beautiful additions, to the next generation of plowsmen and women. Undoubtedly, some chaff will be in the midst of the wheat, but maybe less chaff will be present.

So, really, this day has no need to be depressing or despairing to me. Instead, it is filled with hope: the hope that all of life, even mine, matters to God and His plan. I am a small part of the drama, but sometimes the smallest characters have a large impact. Whatever the case, God be praised for His mercy on me these wonderful 25 years.

On Being Graceful

Jesus said: "For if you love those who love you, what reward have you? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? And if you greet your brothers only, what do you do more that others? Do not even the tax collectors do so?"

Usually, I have no problem being nice or gracious to those I don't know. It was something instilled into me from a young age and further reinforced by my faith. I've always thought that I had this passage down pat.

However...

I'm finding my problem is that it is easier to be kind to stranger than to those close to you. I'm not sure if it is because I know them better (and so know their faults) or if it is that I'm known better by them (and they know my faults). Whatever the reason, I find myself much more harsh towards those closest to me, whether it is my wife, my friends, or my employees. There is so much less to lose by being gracious and loving towards strangers, but so much vulnerability to be humble and caring towards your closest companions.

I should, at the very least, be treating those closest to me as tax collectors.

Reflections on the End of Movements

Being labeled can be a dangerous thing. However, distinctions (which are always accompanied by labels) can be a helpful, even beneficial, thing. The older I get, the more I realize that the labels (or badges, one might say in good Wrightian style) need to be held loosely, never as a true identity marker--apart from faith in Jesus as Messiah. This faith is the only badge worth retaining, since it makes the only distinction worth making. Often times, though, the further distinctions we make within that distinction ("I'm of Paul" or "I'm of Cephas" or "I'm of the Scottish Reformation" or "I'm of the Dutch Reformation") can be dangerous and unnecessarily divisive. Especially when the labels are held on tightly to.

I used to be a part of two different, only tangentially related labeled movements: theonomy and preterism. While I consider myself to still be at least a "moderate" theonomist (whatever, exactly, that means), I have broken off most ties to the preterist world. I would, I guess, consider myself a cautious partial preterist, but no where near the "full" preterism I held in my (earlier) youth.

I think that this is a good thing.

When RJ Rushdoony, the grandpapa of theonomy, died, the movement ended. One of his students, Andrew Sandlin, declared the end of it (although I don't have the article in my archives). It was a good thing to declare. Fewer movements have been so striken with dissession, in-fighting, and arrogant out-fighting as theonomy. What could have led to fruitful exegesis and thoughtful engagement with the wider world devolved into bickering internally and rudeness to the outsiders. It is no wonder that when I tell people I'm a theonomist that they look at me askew, especially if they know anything about me before I say that (largely) four-letter word. Maybe, just maybe, with the end of a movement devoted to much leader worship (the big three, especially: Rushdoony, North, and Bahnsen), exegetical theonomy can make some contributions to the Church. I'm hoping so.

Preterism, however, is a different story. I remember some of the things that initially made me wary, while I was in the midst of being groomed as a future leader of the movement: sloppy exegesis and dependence on pagan thought for proof (one writer proved that the resurrection body was non-material by referencing, of all people, Plato...shudder). The fruits of that, I am finding out, are now becoming ever apparent. Universalism, the doctrine that all people are saved--whether just by existing or through the remedial means of post-mortem purgatory--is becoming popular and widespread amongst preterists. The equation seems to be "no final judgement = no judgement at all historically :. no judgement at all". This, and the fact that some non-universalist preterists claim that a "secret Rapture" occurred in AD 70, seals the coffin lid for me. Most preterists either end up here, or so "spiritualizing" (that is, exegetically destroying and fuzzying) scripture as to be almost laughable. I don't laugh, though, since I have many friends and even some relatives that are a part of this movement. The end, one might say, is near.

Wanted: An Authentic Spirituality

The word "spiritual" chafes me. In my lectures at Geneva, I try my best to avoid the word, or if I must use it, add the proviso that it doesn't mean some nebulous, ecstatic experience of unknown quality, origin, or duration. The word is overused to mean anything mystical or mysterious or supernatural. It shouldn't be so. The word "spiritual," in the Christian tradition (however those who aren't Christians want to use the word is fine by me, I'm speaking of how the followers of Christ need to be careful about their language, as I've written before), means "of the Spirit", that is, from the holy Spirit of God.

In other words, to be truly "spiritual" means that we follow the Spirit. The Christian tradition, however, has not necessary agreed with my definition of the word, instead often opting for a more mystical and (frankly) dualistic meaning of ontological/metaphysical oneness with the "divine". So the great masters of spirituality become the Desert Fathers, folks like Julian of Norwich and Meister Eckhart, and modern day teachers such as Richard Foster. Not all go to the lengths of outright Neoplatonism that mystics are famous for, but the language they use often leads down that road. The dualism between body and mind or body and soul that Neoplatonism often produces is firmly rejected (albeit indirectly) in the Bible. Elevating contemplation of God above earthly work is the hallmark of the monastic tradition and has, in my opinion, caused much harm to the work of the Church throughout the centuries. Not that the faith and hard thinking of these folks is without warrant or inauthentic; I consider it on the right road, but going in the wrong direction.

This isn't to say that I don't find much good in these writers either. The extreme devotion to God found in monasticism and contemporary practioners of the spiritual disciplines is something worthy to be emulated, even if the end result needs to be different. If the end result isn't to be some mystical/metaphysical union with God, what should it be?

The ancient debate was always whether man was more god-like or animal-like. Different philosophies held different views and all had vast social consequences. The debate has never, to my understanding, been resolved. The question that I have, however, is why the testimony of Genesis 1 has consistently been ignored: man was not created metaphysically like God, nor was he created as an animal; he was created as a human being--a totally separate category. He is under God metaphysically and ethically and over the animals royally. Authentic spirituality, it would seem, would be to make man not more like God ontologically, as this is impossible, but to make him more truly human, more in the image of God ethically than he was before. Since Jesus is the true human, the point of spirituality is to become more like him (such as is found classically in Romans 8).

Jesus' whole life was guided by the Spirit. He was conceived by the Spirit in his mother's womb (Luke 1:35), baptized and filled by the Spirit at his baptism (John 1:14), cast out demons (an ancient word, I'm finding out, for pagan deities) by the Spirit (Matt. 12), and was raised in a Spirit-animated body (I Cor. 15). An authentic spirituality, one with teeth for the (post)modern world would follow this Spirit-filled man's teaching concerning how we can be truly human, starting (most likely) with the Sermon on the Mount, which is an elaboration and realigning of the ignored and maligned (by the people of God no less!) Torah given through Moses.

The question, though, really isn't "what" of spirituality, since the answer has always been there. The question is "how". Here is where I've found the most help from the "classics" of spiritual devotion. They often developed elaborate and complicated "rules" of spirituality, such as the famous Rule of Saint Benedict. He divided the day up into seven sections, based on Psalm 119:164, "Seven times a day have I praised you," in which the monks would stop their work and join for prayer and the chanting of the Psalter (if only those of us who are Reformed Presbyterians had such a devotion to the Psalms!). The idea of "rule" for life is powerful and seem like a suitable idea to building an authentic spirituality: one that connects the devotee to God, not in transcending humanness, but by using our humanity--which is time-bound--to honor Him. Another reference, found in Deuteronomy 6, seems to lay out a rule for life:

"You shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, when you walk by the way, when you lie down, and when you rise up."

The day, here, is broken up into 5 sections, each with a community involvement (whether familial or in the larger, reconstituted family of the Church) and each involving, significantly enough for us silent moderns, speaking. Silent prayer, while having a Scriptural place, is not the main way used. This does not, however, complete the "how" of spirituality, but it is a step in the right direction, I think.

Mmm Tasty

I miss Chi-Chis.

Sigh.

My Own Contribution

I really don't consider myself an expert in anything. As I've said before, I dabble. There have been periods in my life when I have concentrated more on one thing than another, but that hardly makes me an expert. Over the past year or so, one of the subjects that I have had the pleasure of reading up further on (syntactical nightmare, that was) is sociology. The way that we humans interact with each other, whether at the skating rink or with more techie means, fascinates me. Sometimes none of it seems rational, until I realize that "rationality" is a slippery word. As Alasdair McIntyre asks, "Whose Rationality?"

Anyway, my own little contribution to sociology, which I'm sure is one of the first things you learn in SOC 101 (which I've not taken), is this: to create lasting local prosperity, you must have a vibrant artisan class. Too many thinkers and nothing gets done. Too many merchants and junk is the end product. However, a healthy, creative class that must both think and sell to their neighbors on the small scale can help bring beauty to a place. What if the local carpenters had the expertise for beautiful, long-lasting (meaning more than 150 years at the least) buildings? Or the local baker was able to introduce exotic and nutritious staples for the health of the community?

Teaching a unit on cultural criticism really has gotten me to think about this. What are the foundations of culture? Henry Van Til argues, rightly I believe, that culture is the externalization of religion. Religion in this context, however, doesn't mean what you do on Sundays, but what guides your thought, actions, and words at the deepest level (it is unfortunate that "religion" equals "external, institutional worship"). On top of that religious underpinning, though, are a few basic things: shelter, food, clothing (a form of shelter), and companionship. Just as shelter and clothing are similar, so is food and companionship. The obvious examples in the past of friends/equals eating at table together comes to mind. Also, what holy communion should be, but don't get me started. At a more metaphorical level (and all our thinking is in metaphors), companionship literally means "to eat bread with". The artisan class makes these basic things: farmers, builders, designers, clothiers, restaurantiers, baristas, bartenders, bakers, butchers, etc.

Having been a part of the now largely defunct theonomy movement, I believe(d) in the Christian reconstruction of culture. One of the large downfalls of that movement, however, was that the jump from exegesis to policy was too quick. The long term, start-at-the-bottom attitude of many of the leaders (and yes, if you can get past the bravado, it is there) was quickly jettisoned in favor of the Religious Right. However, if Christians want to make a long term impact on society, maybe we should stop trying to legislate our religion and train our children to bake or build or pull fine shots of espresso. Maybe we have forgotten the weighter matters of the faith and law: justice, mercy, peace. Hospitality has fallen on hard times, so has our idea of communion (don't get me started). Cultural change from the top-down is the way of violent empire and the violence in unavoidable. The recalcitrant always look different from oneself, who is seen as the epitome of the imago Dei. Bottom-up, however, can be peaceful and lasting. It is not always, especially when it is co-opted by empire, but it at least has the possibility. Change your world, learn a trade.

Attention Undergraduates!

Whole M.I.T. curriculum online for free.

You don't get credit for their courses, but instead you get the ability to get ahead at your own pace and possibly test out of many undergraduate courses, especially in the hard sciences. The best thing that can be done with an undergraduate education is to get ahead through these means--skip the technical stuff that requires massive memorization but doesn't affect character. Get the skills through these sorts of ways (for free, no less) and concentrate on application, career, and developing yourself in other educational facets!

A word from your friendly professor.

On the joys of amateurism

Amateur: A person attached to a particular pursuit, study, or science as to music or painting; esp. one who cultivates any study or art, from taste or attachment, without pursuing it professionally.

I've spent the last decade of my life figuring out what to do professionally. Early on, I had a set idea of what was going to happen. I planned my education and dreams on that. Unfortunately, my life-aspirations were shattered very quickly. I have, though, held on to similar dreams and worked hard to make them happen. In some respects, those early aspirations have come true. I currently (for at least this semester, anyway) teach Bible at the collegiate level. And I love doing it. However, I'm beginning to realize that I will always be an amateur at it. My love of God and how I have pursued that have led me to certain conclusions that will always keep me happy as an amateur and uncomfortable as a theological professional.

My model for this is the Jewish teaching style found in some circles: every man a teacher, every man a learner. My desire to teach does not need to be tied down to any particular institution, although sometimes it takes that form. I am always at the feet of the theological masters and someday I will teach a young man or woman to follow the Scriptures by imparting my (admittedly small) learning. I enjoy this thought.

It is strange when your calling appears in a place that you never expected. No test could have told me that I would find such a love in the business world. However, here I've found a place where all my varied interests find some fulfillment and expression, including my theological withdrawals. None, of course, finds exhaustive expression, but that is for the better. The strong inclination in me to find wholeness and harmony has always been somewhat uncomfortable in the highly specialized world of academia. I need to be able to dabble in sociology, psychology, theology, economics, business, art, physics, chemistry, biology, and the like. Otherwise, I feel restless. This isn't to say I'm promiscuous academically, though. I'm a through and through generalist, committed to seeing that no one aspect of creation is more important or fundamental than another. Working as I do know allows me to see some expression of every part of creation in my work and also allows me the freedom to study widely and broadly.

I do not know what the future holds. Callings mature as people do and I'm sure my role in my company will be different five or ten years from now, not to mention 30 or 40. Maybe I'll be called to something different. But, for now, I'm perfectly content where I'm at.

Reading: You Decide

I read a lot of non-fiction. My wife thinks too much*. Theology, sociology, ethics, and many more topics might cross my eyes throughout the week. Every once in awhile, though, I feel the need to connect with my humanity again--I'll pick up a good story, a fictional story. I've always found it funny that I get my feet on the ground by entering imaginary worlds.

Anyway.

What fiction book should I read? I'm so out of touch that I thought I'd ask you, the faithful reader. Thanks in advance for your help.

What shall it be?

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*Update:

The first two sentences of the post sound like a dig against my wife. Such is not so. Please read them as "I read a lot of non-fiction. My wife believes that I should broaden my horizons with books of various sorts." Thank you.

New Blog!

We have a new blog, dedicated exclusively to the coffeeshop. Check it out!

Dilemma

There's nothing worse than knowing what you need to do, but not having the resources to do it.

Sigh.

On Failure

One of the constants in the two vocational worlds that I inhabit is the possibility of failure. My business could fail or I could fail to sufficiently inspire my students towards asking (and finding provisional answers) to big questions. In the past, the specter of failure has led to paralysis. The massive psychological damage that I carry around with myself from high school (and, to a certain extent, college) is largely due to my fear of failure.

Having the business going, however, has led me to rethink failure. Our motto is "Failure is not an option". Many business folks have this motto--it keeps you going during the tough times. But even though it is not an option for us, it is still a possibility. In times past, I would have thought this to be an aspect of man's original rebellion against God: futility. Sometimes this is so--our work against the sin and evil of the world do sometimes meet in futility, especially if large structurally boundaries are in our way. I used to think of the human body in a similar (Platonic) way: man's pure essence was his soul and his body held it down in sin, to be released to heavenly bliss only upon death. I think this way no longer. Man is created as a whole being and the whole being must be redeemed. The problem isn't the limitation of finitude, of being 'in-the-flesh', but of sin. The same applies to failure: the problem isn't that failure is possible, but that sin distorts possibilities.

In other words, if Adam had never rebelled I think that experimentation would still continue. Cultural learning, striving, succeeding all would have gone on. He would have failed at some things: in fact, Adam failed at the first thing he did. He classified the animals looking for a "power comparable to him" (the literal Hebrew behind "a helper meet for him"), but failed in doing so. God had to put Adam down and form his helper from his own flesh.

Failure, then, can be seen as a step to success. I should probably clarify and say "trying failure" can be seen as a step to success. The failure that comes with apathetic non-caring will never be a path anywhere but more failure. But failure that comes after trying something wholeheartedly, but not working, can be a teaching experience for future action. That was the important thing that I missed back in high school: I wasn't trying to plan for the future, I wanted what I wanted now (then).

My business would not be going as well as it is, and I would not have found my calling in it, without the prospect of failure. Failure would have been devasting, but recoverable. The strange thing that I'm learning about entrepenuers is that they will usually try something again after they fail. They will start another business, or they will get into another ministry, or whatever. Our tried failures never are the final word.