The Radar Report

The 21st-century Evangelical blogosphere is rife with bad writing and worse theology, and often resembles little more than an intellectual (or sometimes anti-intellectual) free-for-all. Still, in the midst of it all, there is some good, thoughtful material being written that deserves to be pondered and shared. In this post I'd like to bring to your attention a few quality bloggers that have recently crossed the radar screen, as well as fill you in on some other related developments.

Dan Edelen of Cerulean Sanctum - a blogger whose writings I've been linking to for some time on Trail of Crumbs - consistently churns out provocative, challenging posts. Kingdom People, hosted by Trevin Wax, is another worthwhile read; Wax is a steady reader and seems to have a real heart for the things of God. Owen Strachan's blog consumed, mentioned in my post below on The Balance of Brokenness, also tends to have good thoughts.

Apparently, I'm not the only Sojourner; there's a few of us. That's alright - I can share the distinction. For news and culture I enjoy tracking WORLD and MercatorNet. The Wardrobe Door wins the coolest-name award for the season.

When I recently visited the revamped website for Christus Victor Ministries, I was excited to discover that Greg Boyd maintains a blog of his own. I do not know of any better way to describe Boyd than to simply say that he "gets it." (Of course, he's also incredibly sharp and rather well-read, which only makes it better.) Anyway, Greg is posting some wonderful, stimulating stuff, so don't miss it. (A scroll through the archives will turn up some real treasures, too.)

Leaving aside the heavy spiritual stuff for a moment, I'd like to extend a hearty welcome to some of our new local friends who have recently joined the blogging community: the Werzinskis and McCrackens. We all enjoy the chance to see what you guys are up to. Keep up the good work!

I'll be away for the remainder of the week volunteering on a trail crew in the High Sierra, but I'll be back this weekend with more philosophical blather and maybe a picture post about my experience. Do the Kingdom!

Image courtesy of ccco.org

The Balance of Brokenness

Matthew Crawford is filling in for Owen Strachan at consumed, and doing a good job of it. In this post about James Schall's book The Life of the Mind, Crawford makes a brief but profound point about authentic Christian art:

I don’t think [...] that songs, films, poems, etc. produced by Christians must always present life in an ideal state. Francis Schaeffer wisely stated that the art produced by Christians should have a major theme and a minor theme. The minor theme is sin and the major theme is redemption. Both must be present in an artist’s corpus of work if he is to be faithful to his calling.

I think this analysis is both existentially and Biblically correct: Christianity is the one worldview that manages to suspend both of these themes (major and minor) in such beautiful balance. It makes sense that the real truth would be somewhere between nihilist jihad and rose-colored positive thinking.

We tend to think of balance in terms of middle-of-the-road mediocrity. This picture is all wrong. We ought to think of balance in terms of a perfectly honed knife-edge, or a well-trained gymnast, in the sense that true equilibrium requires exactitude. Anyone can fall over. It takes the grace of God to stand.

This is one of the main reasons why I so appreciate artists like Derek Webb or Todd Agnew who are not afraid to deal with the "minor side," even if it means talking about sin, doubt, and other politically incorrect stuff. Let's not kid ourselves: mainline Christianity has developed a status quo, and it's not the same one we read about in the New Testament. Our faith is less than real if it shrinks away from the uglier side of life, whether this is ugliness in ourselves, ugliness in others, or the raw and infected ugliness of the world. Believing in Jesus is not just fun-and-games - according to Paul, it's anything but.

We must embrace this two-edged character of life in our art, our liturgy, and our worldview. This is somewhat difficult for those of us in the conservative stream, as we tend to be rather suspicious of anything that threatens our sense of holiness. This suspicion is for the most part justified, but there is an important difference between celebrating sin and merely recognizing it, and we do not want to be found taking shortcuts and trying to prop up an illusory righteousness. As I John 1 says, "If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves; and the truth is not in us."

I do not want this post to be confusing because it is coming right on the heels of a post about evil. Let me clarify that I am not suggesting a life that mixes a little good with a little evil - but simply a life that takes sin and evil into account. (Of course, we could turn to Ecclesiastes 7 and talk about that, but I think I'll save that for another day.) This taking of sin into account is not to callous us to its presence or drive us to despair, but to cause us to come broken before God and allow Him to wash away the incriminating weight.

"And whosoever shall fall on this stone shall be broken: but on whomsoever it shall fall, it will grind him to powder."
- Matthew 21:44

Image courtesy of scotconsumer.org.uk

A House Divided

We live in a world of possibility, risk, and freedom. A world of freedom means a world of potential good and potential evil - light crashing into darkness, beauty marred by perversions.

The essential nature of evil is that of a black hole: merciless, malicious, destructive vacuity. Evil always has to do with nihilism and emptiness - the reversing of God's positive and procreative "Let there be..." to "Let there not be," or "Let there be nothing."

In The Silmarillion, J.R.R. Tolkien masterfully demonstrates these properties of evil as he describes the spider Ungoliant, an accomplice to Melkor:

She had disowned her Master, desiring to be mistress of her own lust, taking all things to herself to feed her emptiness; and she fled to the south, escaping the assaults of the Valar and the hunters of Oromë, for their vigilance had ever been to the north, and the south was long unheeded. Thence she had crept towards the light of the Blessed Realm; for she hungered for light and hated it.

In a ravine she lived, and took shape as a spider of monstrous form, weaving her black webs in a cleft in the mountains. There she sucked up all light that she could find, and spun it forth again in dark nets of strangling gloom, until no light more could come to her abode; and she was famished.

- J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion, Houghton Mifflin, 1977, p. 73

This a vivid picture of unsatiated hate and eternal emptiness. Perhaps it is symbolic that Satan in Revelation is associated with the "bottomless pit" - one could say he has dug the pit himself. His long, raving rampage of distortion and destruction can lead to only one end.

"If Satan rise up against himself, and be divided, he cannot stand, but hath an end." - Mark 3:26

Evil always carries within itself the seeds of its own destruction. It cannot love, it can only hate. It does not live, but exists in a perpetual state of wraith-like unreality and decay. As Tolkien said, evil both needs and hates the light, and so drifts ever deeper into torment.

An excellent lecture on this topic is Peter Kreeft's 10 Uncommon Insights Into Evil from The Lord Of The Rings. He develops these ideas with greater insight and precision than I ever could, and helps us as Christians to better understand the reality of the cosmic warfare we are in.

I would add as a warning that there is a very distinct danger in studying evil. As Paul writes in Romans, "I would have you wise unto that which is good, and simple concerning evil." Saruman's desire for wisdom led him too deep into the enemy's council; he was ensnared and subsequently destroyed. One dare not go too near the black hole.

Though it is true we are instructed to be alert to the enemy's movements - and Paul himself in another place said of Satan that "we are not ignorant of his devices" - still our knowledge of evil ought to be chiefly a negative knowledge; that is, we ought to define evil primarily as "non-good." For evil is the absence of goodness, just as darkness is the absence of light. It is a mistake to respect darkness as a reality unto itself. Its protagonists are real - frighteningly so - but the thing itself is only death and shadow.

In the end, the surest way to recognize the counterfeit is to be intimately familiar with the real.

Image courtesy of loc.gov

Thinking About Peculiarity

"Ye are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, an holy nation, a peculiar people; that ye should shew forth the praises of him who hath called you out of darkness into his marvellous light..." (1 Peter 2:9)

One of the most powerful forces in the world - a force that the Church has battled for centuries - is once again rearing its head. It is called the status quo.

We all more or less desire to fit in as decent members of society. We want to be respected, or, at the very least, accepted. We fear the whispered suspicions of lunacy which the world circulates so readily about anyone who actually seems to believe in something.

However, as Christians we tend to forget that being strange is an inevitable consequence of being holy - holiness being very much a minority pursuit as far as the general public is concerned. Jesus was constantly being accused of demon-possession or outright insanity. Everything about Him - His message, His bearing, His actions - was socially abrasive and culturally inexplicable.

Being light means we will shatter the world's darkness. Being salt means we will sting the world's wounds. This assignment to catalyze change and healing demands courage, vision, and a healthy detachment from our social reputation. This is a perspective that must be adopted by the Church as a whole - not a select few who are "called to evangelism." The Great Commission is universal, and pretty well precludes any possibility of retaining our coveted sense of normality.

The temptation - once you realize that you are incapable of "fitting in" - is to hide. We are forever introducing barriers between ourselves and the culture to diffuse the embarrassing glare of Godliness. It's time to stop operating our Christianity on a dimmer switch. Let the culture say what it will about us, but let it not say that we are trite and timid.

Assimilation always leads to neutralization, neutralization always leads to impotence, and impotence always leads to irrelevance. It is all well and good to talk about learning to be "all things to all men," but it must be remembered that the whole point of this strategy is to rescue and restore. It does little good to jump down into a hole just to "identify" with a desperate man who is trying to get out. "All things to all men" does not mean you share every detail of his experience - it means that you throw him a rope.

We must be willing to renounce and repent of our conformity, as God convicts us, and to cherish our unique calling to shine like stars in a crooked and perverse generation. The just shall live by faith, not fashion.

"If we can reach / beyond the wisdom of this age / into the foolishness of God / that foolishness will save / those who believe / although their foolish hearts may break / they will find peace / and I'll meet you in that place / where mercy leads" (- Rich Mullins)

Embrace the weirdness.

Image courtesy of hdsa.org

There Is A Reason

Late at night I wonder why - sometimes I wonder why
Sometimes I'm so tired I don't even try
Seems everything around me fails
But I hold on to the promise
That there is a reason

Late at night the darkness makes it hard to see
The history of the saints who've gone in front of me
Through famine, plague, and disbelief
His hand was still upon them
'Cause there is a reason
There is a reason

He makes all things good
He makes all things good
There's a time to live and a time to die
A time for wonder and to wonder why
'Cause there is a reason
'Cause there is a reason
There is a reason

I believe in the God who sent His only Son
To walk upon this world and give His life for us
With blood and tears on a long, dark night
I know that He believed
That there is a reason
There is a reason

He makes all things good
He makes all things good
There's a time to live and a time to die
A time for wonder and to wonder why
'Cause there is a reason
'Cause there is a reason
There is a reason

For the lonely nights and broken hearts
The widow's mite in the rich man's hand
And the continent whose blood becomes a traitor
For the child afraid to close their eyes
The prayers that seem unanswered -
There is a reason
There is a reason

(-Caedmon's Call)

Image courtesy of fostercity.org

Culture Crunch: National Geographic

Several years ago, I began subscribing to National Geographic, and I have maintained the subscription since. In this post I'm going to explain a little bit about why I find the magazine worthwhile.

I should note that as more of my periodical-type reading moves online, my hard-copy subscriptions are dropping off one by one. However, it seems that National Geographic has not made much of an effort to engage with the emerging Web 2.0 community, so this subscription may continue coming as a shrink-wrapped bulk of waxed carbon, which, incidentally, is somewhat incongruous with the magazine's concern for the environment, but we'll get to that in a moment.

National Geographic always had an intimidating aura for me, most likely because my primary mental picture was several meters worth of dense yellow on my Grandparents' bookshelves. It wasn't until the late spring of 2004 - already out of High School - that I properly "discovered" the magazine, working for some friends and staying in their home, where there were several random back issues lying about. One contained an utterly absorbing article on a WWII naval battle. That's all it took: I was hooked.

Almost immediately I recognized that this publication was something of great international and cultural significance. Here were articles on - literally - everything under the sun, superbly crafted and accompanied by stunning, extravagant photography.

I was surprised at the cost of subscription, which at the time was a reasonable $19. I just checked, and you can now subscribe for $15.00, about what it costs to buy a T-shirt. It seems the magazine's long history, vast readership, and substantial advertising revenue catapult it into it's own tier above the competition. This economic advantage may eventually cause the editors to become complacent, but in the main, (as far as I can tell,) the journalistic standards remain relatively high.

It is common knowledge that the magazine is heavily weighted with liberal bias, and this can be frustrating at times. Of course, all sides claim to be "committed to facts," so that argument quickly dead-ends. It seems it is our respective interpretations of the facts - as well as the presuppositions that we bring to these interpretations - that are disparate. It seems we all could use to take a deep breath and look at the issues - environmentalism in particular - with fresh eyes.

Laying aside these distortions, real or imagined, it is hard to deny that these folks are engaging with the world intelligently, creatively and artistically. The sheer variety of subject matter covered is mind-blowing- everything from intriguing interviews with unique persons, to fascinating cultural journalism, to raw science. Every issue serves up a square meal.

To further elucidate my argument for the magazine's value, I offer this quote from John Stuart Mill's Inaugural Address at St. Andrews:

We are born into a world which we have not made; a world whose phenomena take place according to fixed laws, of which we do not bring any knowledge into the world with us. In such a world we are appointed to live, and in it all our work is to be done. Our whole working power depends on knowing the laws of the world - in other words, the properties of the things which we have to work with, and to work among, and to work upon. We may and do rely, for the greater part of this knowledge, on the few who in each department make its acquisition their main business in life. But unless an elementary knowledge of scientific truths is diffused among the public, they never know what is certain and what is not, or who are entitled to speak with authority and who are not: and they either have no faith at all in the testimony of science, or are the ready dupes of charlatans and imposters. They alternate between ignorant distrust, and blind, often misplaced, confidence. Besides, who is there who would not wish to understand the meaning of the common physical facts that take place under his eye? Who would not wish to know why a pump raises water, why a lever moves heavy weights, why it is hot at the tropics and cold at the poles, why the moon is sometimes dark and sometimes bright, what is the cause of the tides? Do we not feel that he who is totally ignorant of these things, let him be ever so skilled in a special profession, is not an educated man, but an ignoramus? It is surely no small part of education to put us in intelligent possession of the most important and universally interesting facts of the universe, so that the world which surrounds us may not be a sealed book to us, uninteresting because unintelligible.

All around us we see the deterioration of sound thinking and the devastating results of letting impulsive emotional responses carry the day. It is evident that the lifeblood of any culture is a cool and rational public. To the extent that National Geographic continues to promote this state of affairs - with information, not with hype - I say it is useful.

A Year Later

Most other places in the world, today is just July 15th. At Sojourner's Song, it's New Years.

One year ago, I composed and uploaded my first post, hardly knowing where this little adventure would lead. I didn't have any firm expectations about the project's longevity, being only reservedly optimistic about my own stamina. However, I soon discovered that, for better or worse, I was basically along for the ride. I simply had no idea that writing about nothing in particular for no particular audience would become such an engrossing hobby.

Writing is a very good discipline for honing both one's thought and communication abilities. Thought that has been hammered out into sentences attains a precision, clarity, and orderliness that it did not have before. Blogging simply happens to be a convenient medium for exercising this discipline. The rewards and benefits are not to be found in blogging per se, but rather in writing, whether in a blog or elsewhere.

At times, I still think of dropping the whole thing, usually during those weeks where my thought is going nowhere and I can't seem to squeeze even a single paragraph out of my dried up cerebral arteries. In those times, I will simply walk away and focus on something else, and before long the geyser will have built up enough pressure to resume eruptions.

I am quite used to doing work that no one sees, but I have very much appreciated the public and interactive nature of blogging. Feedback and encouragement are very gratifying and validating for anyone, writers especially. I have made it my policy never to solicit comments, and I intend to stick to it. At the same time, I do appreciate the support and encouragement many of you have sent my way, and I thank you.

I do not know what the next year holds, and feel a bit silly saying as much - as if anyone did know. I suppose it is healthy, however, to periodically acknowledge our limits and once again make a conscious decision to trust. There's a reason people quote Proverbs 3:5-6 so frequently.

Whatever happens, I hope I've made you think, stimulated you to read, encouraged you to write, and above all, helped you to focus on Christ - the bread from Heaven and the transcendent, incarnate Logos.

Image courtesy of usaaloft.com

Fyodor Dostoevsky: The Brothers Karamazov

First, some preliminary business. (If you dislike boring disclaimers, you may skip this next paragraph.)

I am not a novel critic. I am not even much of a novel reader. The great bulk of my reading has always been non-fiction. Indeed, I used to believe that life was too short for fiction. Now, having grown a bit older and somewhat more sentimental, I have granted a place for it, grudgingly at first, but with gradually expanding enthusiasm. (Among the few fiction writers I have read, Tolkien has perhaps done the most, so far, to convince me of the genre's value.)

Fyodor Dostoevsky was a compulsive gambler and the son of an alcoholic - a perfect résumé for a writer. He wrote from 19th-century Russia, often on the precipice of destitution. The Brothers Karamazov was one of his last works, still bursting at the seams with the wild questions of a man desperately trying to understand the world. His own description of his character Dimitri Fyodorovich - "He's one of those that don't need millions, but need to resolve their thought" - seems to apply equally well to the author himself.

The Brothers Karamazov is certainly something of a classic, although perhaps not altogether exempt from Mark Twain's witticism: "Something everyone wants to have read and nobody wants to read." Still, it is the kind of book that is constantly being referred to by learned lecturers, so it seems one's duty to read it if you want to keep up.

Reading Dostoevsky is a drastic and dramatic undertaking, and not entirely devoid of danger. (Of course, this perspective may simply be due to my inexperience, but I have already made my disclaimer, so I will refrain from further qualifying my review.) The book is intense, almost to the point of being claustrophobic; one has the continual sense that the characters are breathing in each other's faces. I have read precious little Russian literature beyond this, (I am very much looking forward to reading Tolstoy) but I suspect this dense atmosphere is somewhat cultural. Whether this is the case or no, it seems that the almost schizophrenic intensity of the characters and the dialogue can really begin to wreak havoc with your mind if you are not careful. I like to compare this type of literature with the Palantir - the seeing-stones of Tolkien's fantasy. They could be incredibly useful, provided you had the strength of will, as Aragorn did, to contend with and master what you saw. If you did not, and were merely, rashly curious, they could be incredibly destructive, as Pippin quickly discovered.

Dostoevsky's writing style also takes some getting used to. He assumes the perspective of a third-person narrator - a clearly visible one, which is not usually the case. This gives him the liberty to interject qualifications and background into the story, directly to the reader. At first I thought this was blatant author intrusion, but eventually I realized it was simply the model he had chosen to use to tell the story.

The work is quite obviously philosophical - it seemed to me that most of the characters were "set up" to have deep conversations that allow Dostoevsky to grapple with the questions of existence. This makes for stimulating reading, to be sure, but I think it also damages the believability of the characters to some extent. Granted, many of the dialogues take place under rather extraordinary circumstances, but I am still skeptical that people would realistically interact with such consistent passion and verbosity. As Wikipedia observes: "In comparison with Tolstoy, whose characters are realistic, the characters of Dostoevsky are usually more symbolic of the ideas they represent." That is why I say the work is primarily philosophical.

Humor is sparse, but it is there, hidden in the corners. Take for instance this sheepish admission from the narrator: - "Today's item in the newspaper Rumors was entitled 'From Skotoprigonyevsk' (alas, that is the name of our town; I have been concealing it all this time)." And this on page 573! But do not expect the book to be funny. That is not its purpose.

Similarly, do not expect the book to have a satisfying ending. It has an ending, yes, but it seems almost arbitrary. The story is not left hanging in midair in a suspenseful sense, but there is little real closure. The whole throbbing mass of emotion and drama is simply left lying in the middle of the room, as if waiting for a sequel. But sequel there is not.

Overall, I think I expected more from the book than I received, but it does command respect, and certain passages are indeed quite brilliant. It leaves one with the unmistakable impression that, whatever else it is, it is not a tame book. Read at your own risk.

Seventeen Mules

I do not know if there is such a thing as blogging for posterity - that will depend on how resilient this Internet experiment proves to be over the long term. I will admit that it seems a nice prospect to be able to count on things you write being available anywhere and forever.

The ethnic makeup of our family is literally all over the map. On Dad's side there is Swedish, Scottish, Welsh, and Armenian - mostly hardy and serious blood from Northern Europe. Mom comes from the fun-loving, dynamic, and impulsive Latin strain: Spanish, Italian, Irish, and Portuguese, along with some American Indian thrown in for good measure.

Still, in the midst of this melee, our Armenian heritage stands out clearly as our dominant family identity. It is traceable up through the patriarchal line straight back to the hills and steppes of Eastern Europe. My Great-Grandfather was full-blooded, but married a Scotswoman, and so began the process of dilution. (I have no grounds for regretting this process, as without it I would not be here.) Still, the name Telian remains distinctively Armenian, bearing the characteristic i-a-n ending.

The following is a classic Armenian story that Dad once told me. I think he first heard it from my Great-Grandfather. It goes like this:

There was once on old landowner who had three sons. Being sick and near death, he called his sons to instruct them regarding their inheritance, which consisted of his seventeen mules.

The eldest came in first, and his father embraced him, feebly but fervently. "Son, you've been very good to me. You've worked hard and you were always there when I needed you. I want you to have one half of my mules." The eldest son bowed, kissed his fathers hand, thanked him, and left.

The second son came in. His father smiled. "Son, you've served me well, and you're a good man. There have been times, however, when you let me down. I want you to take one third of my mules." The second son bowed, thanked his father, and left.

The youngest son entered. His father looked him up and down, a bit sternly. "Son, you've caused me much trouble and difficulty. I hope after I am gone you will yet mend your ways and learn to be a responsible, dependable man. I am half-inclined to give you nothing, but I want you to know that I love you and wish to give you one more chance. I am leaving you one ninth of my mules." The third son bowed, mumbled his thanks, and left.

By and by the father died, and his sons set about the business of dividing the inheritance. The eldest began:

"I am supposed to take one-half. From seventeen, that is eight and a half, but I think it absurd to take half a mule: should it be the front half, or the back? The upper half, or the lower?"

The second answered:

"I am supposed to have one third. This comes to five and two thirds, but it ought to be rounded up to something that can be herded."

The youngest spoke last:

"For my own part, I was instructed to take one ninth, which is one and eight ninths. I am agreed regarding the impracticality of dividing livestock fractionally, but I do not see how the two of you can insist on taking more than your allotted share. Surely there will not be enough!"

The second son shot back hotly:

"Then you may have to do without. This is how it must be."

"That I won't!"

"You will!"

"I won't!"

And so they quarreled for a whole day without reaching an agreement and parted ways exhausted. In short order the three brothers' predicament became known around the village. When word reached a neighbor of theirs who had been a good friend of their father's, he smiled quietly to himself, and resolved to visit the brothers the next day.

The next morning the neighbor came, leading one of his own mules. He could already hear the shouting and cursing inside the house. Without wasting time, he stepped up to the threshold and called the brothers outside.

"Sirs - I know this is an important matter to all of you, and I know you are vexed being unable to resolve it. See here - I have brought one of my own mules, which I will add to your late father's herd, bringing the count to eighteen and possibly making things simpler for you."

The brothers wearily agreed to this plan, too tired to offer thanks. The neighbor led his mule into the pen with the others, and stood himself in the center, holding the halter. "Now," he said, addressing the eldest son, "what portion is yours?"

"One half."

"Very well. What is one half of eighteen?"

"Nine," said all the brothers in unison, and the eldest brother proudly led nine mules out of the pen.

"And what portion were you left?" the neighbor asked the second brother.

"One third."

"Six!" shouted the youngest.

"Very well - take six," said the neighbor. The second son, grinning, removed six mules. The neighbor turned to the youngest brother. "What portion were you promised?"

"One ninth."

"Very well - and how many is that?"

"Two," said the third brother, and hurriedly took two mules.

Everyone was overjoyed to have the matter so painlessly laid to rest. The brothers embraced one another and thanked their neighbor profusely. The neighbor smiled, told them it was nothing, and returned home, leading his mule behind him.

Image courtesy of desertratdemocrat.com

Musings and Memories

It seems I am unable to travel even relatively short distances without thinking philosophically about humanity and looking for poetry in everything. Socrates in The Republic directly equates a "love of learning" with a "philosophical disposition," so I might as well get resigned to it. "Resistance is futile: you will be assimilated."

Saturday we passed by a fleeting scene which immediately struck me as deeply tragic. There was a lone gentleman on the side of the highway, pushing some kind of cart with a homemade sign written in permanent marker: "Disabled Veterans of Foreign Wars." On his face was an expression of sadness and bewilderment, as if he desperately desired to ask someone why the world was so full of pride and pain but was lacking the energy to formulate the question, especially in the face of the cars whizzing by at 60 miles an hour.

Perhaps he makes this walk regularly, with his cart, to some VFW function or meeting, where similarly scarred and disoriented men meet to try to find some meaning, some understanding, some encouragement. There are plenty of economic privileges granted to veterans, but they do precious little against repairing the real damage, and for all practical purposes these people are tossed aside like so much rusted machinery. Those who preach war must answer to people like this.

It is always interesting to revisit a portion of your life and remember the old places and feelings. For me, it is this land of strawberries, seagulls, and "Mystery Spot" bumper stickers, where we lived for 3-1/2 years. It is a peculiar feeling indeed to be driving along some road and suddenly have a flashback to when instead of sitting in the now-familiar driver's seat you were a kid with a stomach ache peering out the back window. Spooky. This curve in the road, that smell, this dilapidated old building - noticing the things that change and the things that stay the same.

One thing I noticed this time which seems to have changed is the quality of the farm worker's vehicles. Granted, there are still the sedans sans hubcaps and the ever-present Astro - the classic farm-worker shuttle - but it seems that strawberry picking can now help you hit the big time. It's not a bad existence, all things considered. Working with soil and nature, handling delicious fruit, enjoying the temperate ocean climate, and driving home in your shined up pre-owned SUV that you're just barely making the payments on. That's living.

Before going to Mt. Hermon to hear Buddy Greene last night - which in itself is like going back in time - we were able to swing by our old house, which is now vacant, and also drive through the town, which despite some petty changes is still the same Felton. Today we had dinner at the little Taqueria-that-used-to-be-a-burger-joint. It was a good weekend.

Images courtesy of vfwpost9876.org and kreidersmarket.com

Blogging With Humility

My life looks good - I do confess
You can ask anyone
Just don't ask my real good friends
'Cause they will lie to you
Or worse - they'll tell the truth...

-Derek Webb

Many things in life are difficult to do in a true attitude of humility, and blogging is no exception. In fact, blogging is a particularly tricky case, as it so easily becomes a "look-at-me" activity. I prefer to think of it as "look-at-God," or "look-at-this-book," or "look-at-this-idea," but I fear that the self-centeredness is showing through more than I realize.

Writing by its nature can be a very egotistic discipline. In order to write well you have to be somewhat sure of yourself. As with singing, or playing chess, "timidity pays no dividends." E. B. White puts it pretty straight, describing the essayist in the Foreward to Essays of E. B. White:

The essayist is a self-liberated man, sustained by the childish belief that everything he thinks about, everything that happens to him, is of general interest. He is a fellow who thoroughly enjoys his work, just as people who take bird walks enjoy theirs. Each new excursion of the essayist, each new "attempt," differs from the last and takes him into new country. This delights him. Only a person who is congenitally self-centered has the effrontery and the stamina to write essays.

(I realize it may be a bit of a stretch to compare blogger with essayist, but I have nothing to lose by it - except perhaps a bit of credibility - and the latter term seems so much heartier.)

Of course, humility does not have to mean timidity, and neither must surefootedness mean arrogance. But the vices that look the most like virtues are the hardest to detect and the easiest to justify.

In talking about humble blogging, I am not talking about some stream-of-consciousness exercise in which you outline the inner reaches of your heart in detail for all the world to see. This idea that humility means wearing your heart on your sleeve is a misconception. Plenty of people can wear their heart on their sleeve and remain as prideful as ever. Judicious transparency is a wonderful virtue, but it ought not to be confused with humility. The point of humility is simply to not entertain an inflated opinion of yourself. Of course, having a low opinion of yourself and always feeling inferior is not healthy either - in reality, the safest bet may be to have no opinion of yourself at all.

Out of all the blogs I read, mine is still my favorite, and that bothers me. There just seems to be a lot more chaff than wheat out there. To find blogs that combine consistency, humility, courage, clear thinking, and good writing has proven rather difficult. People who blog to make a splash often tend to be quite abrasive and sometimes even a wee bit arrogant. Any platform - especially one as powerful and accessible as blogging - has the potential to have a corrupting effect on the person using it.

As Trevin Wax observes:

The missing ingredient in the blogosphere today is humility. We need a good dose of reality. Just because see ourselves as hip and technologically savvy does not mean we automatically deserve a platform for whatever ideas we have or pronouncements we make. Godly influence cannot be manufactured. It comes with maturity and wisdom. And usually, the people who most deserve to be heard are the ones who refuse to participate in biting criticism and attacks on other believers.

Amen to that. The whole post is worth reading if you have the time.

I also resonated with these thoughts from a blogger named Owen Strachan:

It is easy to blog in an imperious manner. I have seen this in myself as I have continued blogging. I blog to hopefully improve my writing, to think quickly, logically, and rigorously, and to introduce ideas which may be worth thinking about. In the process of doing this, however, as one gains a readership, one can easily title oneself an expert. To put it less clunkily, blogging can easily go to your head.

I sense the danger for me is not so much outright vanity, but rather a haughty "style" that minces along with a bit too much care towards it's own feet and not enough towards where it's going. Reflecting on the tenor of my posts over the last year, I thought to myself, somewhat tongue-in-cheek: "I'm not prideful - I'm just good at concealing my humility." So you see the nature of the problem.

It is my genuine conviction that "He must increase, I must decrease." This does not happen all at once. It's a long, gradual process, not without it's share of pain. Thank God sanctification is so inexorable.

Image courtesy of kimblemckay.netfirms.com

Learning All The Time

Out of all the titles in the original Educore list, I was particularly looking forward to one: Learning All The Time, by John Holt. This book simply exuded accessibility, which I correctly anticipated would be in short supply. I wasn't disappointed. Short, colorful, and to the point - Learning All The Time was engaging, informative, and a welcome reprieve amidst the heavier reading.

Holt analyzes education primarily from the learner's perspective rather than the teacher's, which seems sensible. He takes for his premise children's natural curiosity about things and seeks to find ways to encourage this interest and give it places to go. This approach tends to shy away from memorization and other such didactic forms of teaching, favoring instead more organic methods, in the Socratic style. "In short, all the [...] facts that children are now given, and then asked to memorize, they could discover and write down for themselves. The advantage of the latter is that our minds are much more powerful when discovering than memorizing, not least of all because discovering is more fun." (-Chapter 2, At Home With Numbers, emphasis in original)

Sometimes we fall under the impression that we are teaching the wrong way, when in actuality we are simply teaching too much. Holt observes: "We have a tendency, when a child asks us a question, to answer far too much. 'Aha,' we think, 'now I have an opportunity to do some teaching,' and so we deliver a fifteen-minute thesis for an answer." He follows with an anecdote: "I heard a [...] story about a child who asked her mother some question and the mother was busy or distracted, or perhaps didn't feel she knew enough, and said, 'Why don't you ask your father?' The child replied, 'Well, I don't want to know that much about it.'" (-Chapter 5, What Parents Can Do)

This is certainly not a book about "classical education," and one could argue that Holt gives kids too much credit. Either way, the ideas presented are worthy of thought. There is much to be said for discipline, but sometimes in our zeal for discipline we forget that the real goal is self-discipline, which is a jolly sight harder.

I found myself agreeing with Holt more often than not, and was pleased to find some corroboration regarding my views on spelling: "The best way to spell better is to read a lot and write a lot. This will fill your eye with the look of words and your fingers with the feel of them... In all my work as a teacher, nothing I ever did to help bad spellers was as effective as not doing anything, except telling them to stop worrying about it, and to get on with their reading and writing." (-Chapter 1, Reading and Writing, emphasis in original)

This book was published posthumously, but still contains the contagious enthusiasm of a man who loved kids and loved helping them learn stuff. For anyone interested in training children, homeschoolers in particular, this is 3/8" of shelf space well spent.