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For moderation and diversity (Lewis)

Matthew — Mon, 06 Feb 2012 15:15:30 +0000

With the family growing from 5 to 6 total, I’ve barely touched the blog or books in the past 3 weeks. I picked up a copy of Lewis’s God in the Dock a while back and have been working through it really slowly. It’s a mix of short (usually 3-5 page) essays on all sorts of topics. Many of the pieces are early, early explorations into what later turned into entire books or at least several chapters worth of material. His thought process is interesting. Lewis is such a clear thinker; I’m always amazed at how little nonsense he speaks compared to other thinkers.

At the same time, It has been a little bit jarring to read a couple of ranting essays that are rather uncharacteristic of him. Some of these were written quickly for the opinion section of the local paper. It’s actually encouraging though to see something from Lewis that isn’t that good.

To keep the blog from growing completely arthritic, I though I would post a few good excerpts from Lewis during the next week or two.

I really like this next passage as an apology for moderation in all things. You can apply this to just about everything imaginable.

The woman who makes a dog the centre of her life loses, in the end, not only her human usefulness and dignity but even the proper pleasure of dog-keeping. The man who makes alcohol his chief good loses not only his job but his palate and all power of enjoying the earlier (and only pleasurable) levels of intoxication. It is a glorious thing to feel for a moment or two that the whole meaning of the universe is summed up in one woman—glorious so long as other duties and pleasures keep tearing you away from her. But clear the decks and so arrange your life (it is sometimes feasible) that you will have nothing to do but contemplate her, and what happens?

Of course this law has been discovered before, but it will stand re-discovery. It may be stated as follows: every preference of a small good to a great, or partial good to a total good, involves the loss of the small or partial good for which the sacrifice is made. Apparently the world is made that way…You can’t get second things by putting them first. You get second things only by putting first things first.

-C.S. Lewis, First and Second Things, God in the Dock, p.280

Language Exhaustion

Matthew — Thu, 02 Feb 2012 07:38:56 +0000

I can’t say I’ve often felt like the young man in this old Far Side comic. Learning can be hard work, but I always feel like my physical body breaks down into sleep or exhaustion before my mind is satiated. Neverthless, I HAVE felt my brain hurt tonight wrestling with the foreign language of my daughter.

My wife and I learned about 350 Amharic words using flashcards every day for the month preceding her arrival. About 100 of those have come in really handy in understanding her. We’ve been able to add about 20 more to the list now that she is home. Still, there are so many things she insists on saying and repeating again and again that I just can’t understand.

One problem with toddlers is that they aren’t exactly articulate – and I mean in the sense of raw phonetics. Being a bit loose on vowels and replacing an “eh” with an “ih” can suddenly make it nearly impossible to sort out in the dictionary, especially when working with the (still confusing) Ge’ez syllabic script. No, none of the dictionaries use IPA or Latin transliterations (including the online ones). In addition, verbs are conjugated with not just a suffix, but also a prefix. The result is that they sound so different than the infinitive, I often can’t pick out what’s in the middle.

Sometimes we can get her to tell us what something is by asking her “what is it?” and putting her hands on it. It’s nice to know that when she says, “Daddy, wetet chammer, dabo bakka” she mans “More milk please and I’m done with my bread”. Still, I think the word I use the most is just “eshi”, which means “OK”, or, in this case, “OK, Just keep talking little girl.”

No related posts.

Initial reflection on my new daughter arriving from Africa

Matthew — Tue, 31 Jan 2012 16:53:42 +0000

I know some of these more personal posts may only be of interest to a few close friends and family members, but they are also here to help me remember – later.

—

From last Saturday night the day my new daughter arrived:

Absolutely everyone is asleep now. All FOUR children upstairs, and my wife, recovering from severe jetlag. I am here on the couch reading a theological essay. It’s only 9:30 PM, but I feel like collapsing on the couch. I really have no idea what tomorrow holds. I assume that Abi will get up sometime in the middle of the night and will likely not go back to sleep. Not sure what I’m going to do with her – I barely know her! No time like the present to start though. It is certainly strange to have a fully-formed walking talking child “born” into your family. Some people have said that for a while it feels like babysitting. I don’t get that impression at all. All the preparation and meeting her at the orphanage last fall laid the groundwork for me totally and immediately accepting her as my daughter and seeing her as instantly integrated into our family. What that actually looks like day-to-day though is still a big mystery. The hour or so that the children all played together tonight makes things seem very promising though. Remarkably so, especially after a steady diet of terrible stories in books and training material authored by social workers. My expectations had been loosed to be very low indeed. Perhaps needlessly though? The challenges will come, I have no doubt. They come continuously with all three of the other children. Still, so far my only real impression is that she is just like them: fantastic, and very much in need of a father, mother, sisters, and brothers.

A walk downtown after a blizzard

Matthew — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 00:34:01 +0000

For nine days I was “single-daddin’” it (to turn a noun into a verb) while my wife was picking up our new daughter in Africa. One evening, while my mother-in-law was here to help, I took a break for a couple hours in the evening to walk downtown with my book. A terrible snow-storm had just struck the day before, but then it had briefly thawed and rained for a few hours before freezing again, making for a very unusual shell of sorts on top of the snow. The following is nothing more really than an exercise to write about my walk. I liked a few parts of it though, so I figured I should post it.

—

The crusted snow covering everything reflects in an impossible fashion, like a bad bump map seen by an early raytracer in the mid nineties. (Would you know what either of those things are if you don’t work in 3D graphics software?) That must be like an artist talking about faded paint and how the colors just don’t look the same since everyone started using those damn curly lightbulbs.

The ice is hard and shimmering, but breaks easily under foot, glove, and especially tire. I’ve helped push two cars out of the snow while on the short walk downtown. We are far enough north that chains offer freedom rather than slavery.

I went looking for a quiet place to read and think and perhaps have a drink. The quiet bar just lost it’s liquor license, so apparently I’ll be drinking water – in a Tom Collins glass, on ice, with a twist of lemon. It just goes to show that presentation is half the story – in more than just cocktails. The snow is treacherous, but beautiful. It also has two stories.

The man at the next table tells a story, revealing himself to be a logger, and the son of a logger no less. He looks the part. He says “God Damn” every other sentence. His friend is a trucker. His choice filler is “fuckin’”. they’ve spent the whole time discussing heavy equipment and engine maintenance. So like men! The ones with Ph.Ds discuss rocket engines, but the conversation is identical.

The crawfish soup is dressed up with tails this time. The cook asks how it is since he usually pulls apart just the meat. I tell him it certainly LOOKS more interesting, but should perhaps come with a crunchy cautionary from the waiter. Agreement ensues.

A couple of girls walk by, on their way to the club. They wear heavy coats but shorts so small they could double as undergarments. If you got to know that girl, what sort of wife and mother would she make? Could it be any more obvious that she expects no one to ask that question? Where she is going, the men aren’t going to ask either. Instead, they could go to certain churches where everyone is asking – but the shorts are a turn-off there, but so is the coat.

Thursday is often a slow night, but not with thousands of college students who have just been informed that class is cancelled tomorrow due to the bad weather. Still, there is one guy studying Latin at the next table. He looks up as the two clubbing girls walk past, then back down.

Another couple is talking about the wild and strange surface of the snow again. Both wish they had their cameras with them. Who knows when it will ever look like this again?

It’s getting to be late January and the Christmas lights are waning here. Some are still up, but off. In Ethiopia today, it’s Epiphany. Flags line the street as their Christmas goes out with a bang. We front-load ours with so much noise and gift-giving that when Christ is finally born it’s too loud to hear him crying in the cradle.

Leaving the boat to walk

Teaching a fundamental skill versus straight information impartation

Matthew — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 08:09:35 +0000

(Warning: Unedited education theory rambling henceforth.)

One reason why Aural Skills (Ear training and sight singing) was the very best class in college was that it was the most like the establishment of the Kingdom of God. (I know, I know, this analogy is a stretch, here, but work with me.) The Law was heavy indeed, but redemption (albeit self-redemption) held even greater sway than all the law. You could fail and fail and fail throughout the year, but if you passed the final exam, you passed the class. End of story. All your previous failures were erased. The teacher knew that the journey might take you through some very low and dark places. If he wanted people that could perform on par from day 1 – what would there be to learn? Instead, we all got our asses kicked really hard. The question was not, “Can you do this?” but rather, “Here is how to do this. Now let’s do it over and over and over together. After a year, we’ll see if you did it enough to be comfortable with it now or if we should keep doing it together some more.” (Fail and repeat the course.)

This the opposite of, say, a history course where you read and listen to lectures, memorize the narrative, and the prove that you were able to pack it in your brain by answering some test questions every few weeks. If you drop the ball on one test, an A is no longer possible. Now, this may be an adequate way to learn some material, but how much more powerful is the immersion experience of the first method?

This is what I wonder: If the first method is the only really effective way to learn certain fundamental skills, while the second method is decent at non-fundamentals – what if the first method were used to learn everything else as well? It’s just called first-hand experience. Yeah, some deep pedagogical theory there, right? Blow you mind.

It’s simple. What was the most valuable thing about music school at the university? The private lessons? The theory? The history? No. Those were OK, but what was really fantastic was playing in hours and hours of ensembles every single day: Wind ensemble three times a week, choir three times a week, jazz band twice a week, marching band 5 times a week, chamber ensemble, studio, and at least once concert – every single week. That’s about twenty hours a week of real, completely tangible, dialed-in music making. Who cares if you could audition for the highest group? Just show up and play (or sing). How can you help but learn? You’re drowning in it! (In a good way.)

Now I love lectures too, but only if I can engage what is being discussed with the same level of intensity as watching the conductor. Possible – if the teacher is an especially good speaker or the material particularly and obviously fascinating. But most of the time? Not so much. I can tell you with full confidence: no amount of listening or study will make you like Brahms. The first symphony is a snore fest. But go actually PLAY some Brahms, every day for 2 months, and then try to tell me with a straight face that it doesn’t totally rock. (I was very fortunate to rehearse and perform his third symphony, double bass, when I was 16. Changed my life.) Reaching this sort of level of engagement is possible with any topic, but I feel that our most common pedagogy often gets in the way. School could be getting in the way of you learning something really amazing.

New daughter

Matthew — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 07:25:16 +0000

I hear she’s talking up a storm – excited to show her new mommy everything. All I have are a few email reports from my wife and a couple of quick snapshots sent over African dial-up fast internet, but after 18 months of paper pregnancy and a brief few hours last fall, I finally get to meet her this coming Saturday.

Tolkien on work and non-hobbies

Matthew — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 06:56:34 +0000

I absolutely love this quote from Tolkien. (I stole it from the Oxford Inklings blog, but it’s worth throwing in the scrapbook.)

When asked by a journalist what made him “tick” he answered:

“I don’t tick. I am not a machine. (If I did tick, I should have no views on it, and you had better ask the winder.) My work did not ‘evolve’ into a serious work. It started like that. The so-called ‘children’s story’ [The Hobbit] was a fragment, torn out of an already existing mythology. In so far as it was dressed up as ‘for children’, in style or manner, I regret it. So do the children. I am a philologist, and all my work is philological. I avoid hobbies because I am a very serious person and cannot distinguish between private amusement and duty. I am affable, but unsociable. I only work for private amusement, since I find my duties privately amusing.” ‘

In contrast, a terrible Sabbath teaching with zero grace

Matthew — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 22:43:58 +0000

While researching the history and theology behind the Sabbath, I came across a LOT of posts and articles like this one. I’m not going to link to it – just give a few excerpts. This sort of thing is very common. I’ve heard it before many times.

“In my own life, I try to take at least two walks each day – these short 45 minute Sabbaths refresh, renew, and revitalize; they inspire me with new ideas and enable me to respond compassionately to the people around me. Time spent in Sabbath comes back to me in greater creativity, inspiration, and compassion. I try to take more extended Sabbaths – an afternoon or a day apart, without internet or working, on a regular basis. On Sundays, I try to study and spend time with my family rather than do business tasks.

Martin Luther is reputed to have noted, “I have so much to do today that I need to spend extra time in prayer.”

Today, make a commitment to a few minutes of Sabbath – a time of prayer and meditation, a walk, a conversation with a friend, devotional reading. Time is relative and Sabbath opens us to spacious living, and rest that rejuvenates.”

Can you feel the weight of the law crushing down on you? Nice suggestion – take a 45 minute walk each day to revitalize? What if you’re a single mom? (Heck, what if you’re a married mom?). That Martin Luther quote gets pulled out ALL THE TIME to try to exhort people to pray more. What it really does is just make you feel like a loser. (Unnecessarily so.) Finally, there is a plea to “make a commitment” to get your act together by observing the Sabbath more. Automatic fail. Bleh.

No grace to be found in one word of this ridiculous prescriptive preaching. The author probably thinks he’s being really helpful and biblical too. It’s all good advice, but no good news. This sort of thing doesn’t help anyone.

So far, some of the best return on money spent, ever

Matthew — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 22:19:03 +0000

Play by play of a church service, 150 AD

Matthew — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 19:20:32 +0000

I hear a lot of people criticize the “institutional church” in various ways. Talk about an easy target! Nonetheless, one of the things that is often implied is that the contemporary church service is a silly later invention with little or no relation to what the apostles actually did. While we have little evidence of what the first century church looked like exactly (home gatherings with meals are most likely), I was surprised to find this pretty detailed account that isn’t much older.

On the day called Sunday, all who live in cities or in the country gather together to one place, and the memoirs of the apostles or the writings of the prophets are read, as long as time permits; then, when the reader has ceased, the president verbally instructs, and exhorts to the imitation of these good things. Then we all rise together and pray, and, as we before said, when our prayer is ended, bread and wine and water are brought, and the president in like manner offers prayers and thanksgivings, according to his ability, and the people assent, saying Amen; and there is a distribution to each, and a participation of that over which thanks have been given, and to those who are absent a portion is sent by the deacons. And they who are well to do, and willing, give what each thinks fit; and what is collected is deposited with the president, who succours the orphans and widows and those who, through sickness or any other cause, are in want, and those who are in bonds and the strangers sojourning among us, and in a word takes care of all who are in need.

-Justin Martyr, First Apology 67

So, let’s see:

They meet on Sunday as long or as short as time permits
They read some from the Old Testament (prophets)
They read some from the New Testament (apostles)
The leader gives a teaching and exhortation (sermon)
They all stand up and pray
They distribute bread and wine, then pray and eat
They take up an offering and those “well to do” give some.
Then they are done.
(They probably sing somewhere in there, but it’s not mentioned in this account)
Later that day, the deacons distribute food and money to the poor or absent in the congregation.

So there we go. From AD 150, that looks shockingly like a pretty vanilla church service. There would have been people in the congregation whose parents knew the apostles personally – only one generation removed. Did they stand up and say, “This liturgy and order of service is a bunch of trash! Let’s get back to what Jesus taught us!” No, they didn’t say that. Instead, this is what they actually established. Maybe it’s not such a bad idea.

I’m appealing to history here to argue for the legitimacy of traditional Christian worship gatherings, though I don’t really have any problem with most “alt worship” ideas either.

We don’t know jack about the early church