Thursday, June 07, 2007
Cityscapes
I wanted to share a few stunning cityscapes that I've been using as wallpapers on my desktop and laptop, respectively. The top one is San Diego, the bottom one is Vancouver. Enjoy.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
On Working Heartily
"Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might, for in the grave, where you are going, there is neither working nor planning nor knowledge nor wisdom."
"Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men." - Colossians 3:23
I'm tempted to begin this post with some raw romanticism and declare passionately that I love working. On second thought, I think I will borrow a wiser and more subtle sentiment from the archetypical craftsman James Krenov: "I don't love working. It is working well that I love."
We live in a culture in which everything is just something on the way to something else. Few things are loved and enjoyed for their own sake. This is especially true of anything related to work, and particularly labor (seeing as they are no longer synonymous terms.)
Work is - or rather ought to be - sacramental. You may hold whatever theory you like regarding work as an evil result of the Fall - I do not intend to explore the matter here, preferring to deal with the innate human inspiration toward creativity and craftsmanship, which I hold to be plain empirical reality. (If you don't regard this internal fire as plain empirical reality, you may as well stop reading right now.)
In the early chapters of The Silmarillion, Tolkien describes the Valar; immortal, small-g gods, equivalent to high angels or spirits of heaven. They each have particular passions and powers, and it is with difficulty that I refrain from describing all of them to you in detail. Scarcely in time do I remember that is not what I am writing about. I am here concerned with only one.
Aule was nigh to the noblest of the Valar, and he it was who took thought for "the fabric of Earth":
"The delight and pride of Aule is in the deed of making and in the thing made, and neither in possession nor in his own mastery; wherefore he gives and hoards not, and is free from care, passing ever on to some new work."
That is the ultimate romantic ideal: the pure joy of making, unspoiled by materialism. That is what I'm talking about. And that is precisely the thing that is being lost, because, after all, it is impractical, and everyone knows that impracticality is the cardinal sin of our times.
I was encouraged a few days ago to read an excellent secular article on working soulfully, probably among the best writing ever published on the subject. In it, the author makes a vigorous case for competence and "connectedness" - spiritual dimensions of satisfying work that are now being ruthlessly sacrificed on the altar of social efficiency. It is quite worthwhile to read the whole thing - print it out if you prefer - and spend a quiet moment pondering how we think about the things we do.
In the late summer of 2005, something started to change in my work habits and bearing as a tradesman. My knowledge began to reach a critical mass, and the result was an entirely new feeling of confidence and security. I began to work with the material, rather than against it, and to enjoy the way it acquiesced to my will beneath knife and blade. I began to cherish the emotional delight hidden in the most minute and menial details of the job. It felt something like having your own small renaissance.
"The satisfactions of manifesting oneself concretely in the world through manual competence have been known to make a man quiet and easy. They seem to relieve him of the felt need to offer chattering interpretations of himself to vindicate his worth. He can simply point: the building stands, the car now runs, the lights are on. Boasting is what a boy does, who has no real effect in the world. But craftsmanship must reckon with the infallible judgment of reality, where one’s failures or shortcomings cannot be interpreted away."
I've fired millions of nails, laid miles of decking, shimmed a few hundred doors, and carried thousands of pounds of concrete. I've broken tools, fixed them again, made mistakes, gotten hurt, gotten scared, improvised, and even invented a time or two.
It gives you a sense of history; a sense of having "been there." Your eye is sharper, your hands are steadier, and your thought processes are cool and weighted with experience. There is much higher to go, to be sure, but there is a marked and welcome difference between the sultry air of the valley and the bracing breeze of the mountainside.
Of course, it's not just about sniffing sawdust with a dreamy look on your face. My family will tell you that I am fond of quoting David Brown's stoical maxim, "Work is difficult - that's why it's called work." Fatigue, the foreshadowing presence of death, is built into the universe. The Preacher of Ecclesiastes understood perhaps best of all the grim implications of mortality: "All things are full of labour; man cannot utter it." It cannot be expressed in words. It is a groan.
However, the imminent reality of death should not be used to negate the value of passionate work; indeed, this is the only sane response. Those who understand are easy to recognize: you can see it burning in their eyes. They are tired, yes, but smiling.
"There was so much work left to do / but so much you'd already done" - Rich Mullins, Sometimes By Step
Image courtesy of polandpoland.com
"Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men." - Colossians 3:23
I'm tempted to begin this post with some raw romanticism and declare passionately that I love working. On second thought, I think I will borrow a wiser and more subtle sentiment from the archetypical craftsman James Krenov: "I don't love working. It is working well that I love."
We live in a culture in which everything is just something on the way to something else. Few things are loved and enjoyed for their own sake. This is especially true of anything related to work, and particularly labor (seeing as they are no longer synonymous terms.)
Work is - or rather ought to be - sacramental. You may hold whatever theory you like regarding work as an evil result of the Fall - I do not intend to explore the matter here, preferring to deal with the innate human inspiration toward creativity and craftsmanship, which I hold to be plain empirical reality. (If you don't regard this internal fire as plain empirical reality, you may as well stop reading right now.)In the early chapters of The Silmarillion, Tolkien describes the Valar; immortal, small-g gods, equivalent to high angels or spirits of heaven. They each have particular passions and powers, and it is with difficulty that I refrain from describing all of them to you in detail. Scarcely in time do I remember that is not what I am writing about. I am here concerned with only one.
Aule was nigh to the noblest of the Valar, and he it was who took thought for "the fabric of Earth":
"The delight and pride of Aule is in the deed of making and in the thing made, and neither in possession nor in his own mastery; wherefore he gives and hoards not, and is free from care, passing ever on to some new work."
-J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion, Houghton Mifflin (1977), p. 19
That is the ultimate romantic ideal: the pure joy of making, unspoiled by materialism. That is what I'm talking about. And that is precisely the thing that is being lost, because, after all, it is impractical, and everyone knows that impracticality is the cardinal sin of our times.
I was encouraged a few days ago to read an excellent secular article on working soulfully, probably among the best writing ever published on the subject. In it, the author makes a vigorous case for competence and "connectedness" - spiritual dimensions of satisfying work that are now being ruthlessly sacrificed on the altar of social efficiency. It is quite worthwhile to read the whole thing - print it out if you prefer - and spend a quiet moment pondering how we think about the things we do.
In the late summer of 2005, something started to change in my work habits and bearing as a tradesman. My knowledge began to reach a critical mass, and the result was an entirely new feeling of confidence and security. I began to work with the material, rather than against it, and to enjoy the way it acquiesced to my will beneath knife and blade. I began to cherish the emotional delight hidden in the most minute and menial details of the job. It felt something like having your own small renaissance.
"The satisfactions of manifesting oneself concretely in the world through manual competence have been known to make a man quiet and easy. They seem to relieve him of the felt need to offer chattering interpretations of himself to vindicate his worth. He can simply point: the building stands, the car now runs, the lights are on. Boasting is what a boy does, who has no real effect in the world. But craftsmanship must reckon with the infallible judgment of reality, where one’s failures or shortcomings cannot be interpreted away."
- Matthew Crawford, Shop Class as Soulcraft
I've fired millions of nails, laid miles of decking, shimmed a few hundred doors, and carried thousands of pounds of concrete. I've broken tools, fixed them again, made mistakes, gotten hurt, gotten scared, improvised, and even invented a time or two.
It gives you a sense of history; a sense of having "been there." Your eye is sharper, your hands are steadier, and your thought processes are cool and weighted with experience. There is much higher to go, to be sure, but there is a marked and welcome difference between the sultry air of the valley and the bracing breeze of the mountainside.
Of course, it's not just about sniffing sawdust with a dreamy look on your face. My family will tell you that I am fond of quoting David Brown's stoical maxim, "Work is difficult - that's why it's called work." Fatigue, the foreshadowing presence of death, is built into the universe. The Preacher of Ecclesiastes understood perhaps best of all the grim implications of mortality: "All things are full of labour; man cannot utter it." It cannot be expressed in words. It is a groan.
However, the imminent reality of death should not be used to negate the value of passionate work; indeed, this is the only sane response. Those who understand are easy to recognize: you can see it burning in their eyes. They are tired, yes, but smiling.
"There was so much work left to do / but so much you'd already done" - Rich Mullins, Sometimes By Step
Image courtesy of polandpoland.com
Monday, June 04, 2007
Behind The Scenes
Here's a little update on what's brewing behind the scenes at Sojourner's Song. The journey continues...
1. I realize that my posts are growing stealthily longer, and I'm not altogether sure what to do about it. I don't necessarily want to burden my readers with such ponderous and unwieldy content ("In the multitude of words there wanteth not sin"), but one must balance the virtue of brevity against the sophistry of reductionism. It may be inevitable, as this blog gradually becomes braver, that the words will fall thicker and faster; like the sparks that flew from the forge as the sword that was broken was remade.
2. Contrary to my usual laments about "coming up with content," I currently have a backlog of waiting posts threatening to outgrow a post-it note. (I realize that's not a lot, but it's a lot for me.) There are many things brewing and stirring within, and I look forward to sharing some of them that admit sharing during the coming months.
3. My secondary blog, formerly known as Green Coffee, remains active and has recently undergone a "re-vision" and received a new name, in order to more accurately reflect the character I wish it to have. The changes may seem small, but I am much happier with the new direction and hope you will find it all the more stimulating and provocative. In a sense, Green Coffee was my attempt to break some of my own molds - I thought I needed a place to be shallow and silly. It seems that for good or ill I remain committed, in the main, to the serious and cerebral, and I have resolved to embrace this restraint, which is not wholly without virtue. For it is still desired that young men be sober, however culturally peculiar that may be.
As always, thanks for reading. God bless all of you.
"It's something unpredictable / but in the end it's right / I hope you had the time of your life"
1. I realize that my posts are growing stealthily longer, and I'm not altogether sure what to do about it. I don't necessarily want to burden my readers with such ponderous and unwieldy content ("In the multitude of words there wanteth not sin"), but one must balance the virtue of brevity against the sophistry of reductionism. It may be inevitable, as this blog gradually becomes braver, that the words will fall thicker and faster; like the sparks that flew from the forge as the sword that was broken was remade.2. Contrary to my usual laments about "coming up with content," I currently have a backlog of waiting posts threatening to outgrow a post-it note. (I realize that's not a lot, but it's a lot for me.) There are many things brewing and stirring within, and I look forward to sharing some of them that admit sharing during the coming months.
3. My secondary blog, formerly known as Green Coffee, remains active and has recently undergone a "re-vision" and received a new name, in order to more accurately reflect the character I wish it to have. The changes may seem small, but I am much happier with the new direction and hope you will find it all the more stimulating and provocative. In a sense, Green Coffee was my attempt to break some of my own molds - I thought I needed a place to be shallow and silly. It seems that for good or ill I remain committed, in the main, to the serious and cerebral, and I have resolved to embrace this restraint, which is not wholly without virtue. For it is still desired that young men be sober, however culturally peculiar that may be.
As always, thanks for reading. God bless all of you.
"It's something unpredictable / but in the end it's right / I hope you had the time of your life"
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Sin And Choice
"I am thankful / that I'm incapable / of doing any good on my own..." - Caedmon's Call, Thankful (40 Acres)
I thought about these words for a long time. I kept thinking about them. Then I thought about them some more.
These words made me uncomfortable. I didn't really like the sentiment - it seemed fabricated and fatalistic. Then one day it dawned on me that will and action are - in this context - two quite separate ideas.
I thought immediately of Romans 7:
For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh. For I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out. For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I keep on doing. Now if I do what I do not want, it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells within me. So I find it to be a law that when I want to do right, evil lies close at hand. For I delight in the law of God, in my inner being, but I see in my members another law waging war against the law of my mind and making me captive to the law of sin that dwells in my members. Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?
We have the capacity to will good. We do not have the capacity to do good. And it is precisely this great moral disconnect that Jesus died to set right: to absolve us from our past sins and bless us with the indwelling Holy Spirit to incrementally (or sometimes immediately) overcome our present ones.
We must will ourselves into the position where God can knead His holiness into our lives; where His Spirit invades us like yeast invades cold dough and awakens it with life and purpose. It is a painful and far from passive process.
I'm responsible for the grunt work. God's responsible for the glory.
We have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellency of the power may be of God, and not of us.
I thought about these words for a long time. I kept thinking about them. Then I thought about them some more.
These words made me uncomfortable. I didn't really like the sentiment - it seemed fabricated and fatalistic. Then one day it dawned on me that will and action are - in this context - two quite separate ideas.I thought immediately of Romans 7:
For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh. For I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out. For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I keep on doing. Now if I do what I do not want, it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells within me. So I find it to be a law that when I want to do right, evil lies close at hand. For I delight in the law of God, in my inner being, but I see in my members another law waging war against the law of my mind and making me captive to the law of sin that dwells in my members. Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?
We have the capacity to will good. We do not have the capacity to do good. And it is precisely this great moral disconnect that Jesus died to set right: to absolve us from our past sins and bless us with the indwelling Holy Spirit to incrementally (or sometimes immediately) overcome our present ones.
We must will ourselves into the position where God can knead His holiness into our lives; where His Spirit invades us like yeast invades cold dough and awakens it with life and purpose. It is a painful and far from passive process.
I'm responsible for the grunt work. God's responsible for the glory.
We have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellency of the power may be of God, and not of us.
- 2 Corinthians 4:7
Image courtesy of forward-moving.com
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
The EduCore Project (3)
"For each succeeding generation, the problem of Education is new."
- Alfred North Whitehead
I completed the School & Society textbook in early May, far ahead of schedule. (I tend to get through things quicker than planned not because I'm an especially high acheiver, but simply because I have trouble multitasking.) I closed out the Educore blog for now with Rich Mullins' Higher Education And The Book Of Love - (hat tip to Max for the inspiration.)
I've also finished (with the exception of the "Appendices",) Gordon Clark's A Christian Philosophy Of Education, which as you remember is the subject of the essay. It's quite a strict book: he's not joking about the "philosophy" bit.
Aside from his erratic flares of idiosyncratic dogmatism and his ever-present Calvinism, Clark seems to be a man of sense and conviction. However, you get the sense that as an author he was more prolific than poignant, and unfortunately these types of books tend to fill more shelves than they do minds.
Now, I've started into The Future Of Christian Higher Education, a collection of essays and addresses on the subject from around the turn of the millennium. The book has its full share of the kind of vague, circular stuff that characterizes scholarly writing, but there are also some strong meaty sections that may earn this title a dedicated post.
I haven't been keeping score as far as the page count is concerned, but I'm feeling generally optimistic. There may be one title that gets cut from the initial list, due to lack of time or lack of patience or both, but overall the study is progressing nicely.
Of course, integrating all the information is a challenge, and I have yet to see some clear themes emerge that I can begin to work with and address. I expect they won't crystallize fully until these keys start clattering out the essay.
"We must leave behind the notion that Christian scholarship is the same as any scholarship, except that it adds a little something of Christian history or values on top. No, Christian scholarship - authentic, honest, truth-seeking scholarship - is fundamentally different and cannot be faked." - Robert C. Andringa, The Future Of Christian Higher Education, Foreword, pg. xvii
"Even in the teaching of arithmetic a pessimistic education will be distinguishable from a theistic and optimistic education, at least on rainy days." - Gordon H. Clark, A Christian Philosophy Of Education, Chapter 3: The Alternative To Christian Theism, pg. 45
- Alfred North Whitehead
I completed the School & Society textbook in early May, far ahead of schedule. (I tend to get through things quicker than planned not because I'm an especially high acheiver, but simply because I have trouble multitasking.) I closed out the Educore blog for now with Rich Mullins' Higher Education And The Book Of Love - (hat tip to Max for the inspiration.)I've also finished (with the exception of the "Appendices",) Gordon Clark's A Christian Philosophy Of Education, which as you remember is the subject of the essay. It's quite a strict book: he's not joking about the "philosophy" bit.
Aside from his erratic flares of idiosyncratic dogmatism and his ever-present Calvinism, Clark seems to be a man of sense and conviction. However, you get the sense that as an author he was more prolific than poignant, and unfortunately these types of books tend to fill more shelves than they do minds.
Now, I've started into The Future Of Christian Higher Education, a collection of essays and addresses on the subject from around the turn of the millennium. The book has its full share of the kind of vague, circular stuff that characterizes scholarly writing, but there are also some strong meaty sections that may earn this title a dedicated post.
I haven't been keeping score as far as the page count is concerned, but I'm feeling generally optimistic. There may be one title that gets cut from the initial list, due to lack of time or lack of patience or both, but overall the study is progressing nicely.
Of course, integrating all the information is a challenge, and I have yet to see some clear themes emerge that I can begin to work with and address. I expect they won't crystallize fully until these keys start clattering out the essay.
"We must leave behind the notion that Christian scholarship is the same as any scholarship, except that it adds a little something of Christian history or values on top. No, Christian scholarship - authentic, honest, truth-seeking scholarship - is fundamentally different and cannot be faked." - Robert C. Andringa, The Future Of Christian Higher Education, Foreword, pg. xvii
"Even in the teaching of arithmetic a pessimistic education will be distinguishable from a theistic and optimistic education, at least on rainy days." - Gordon H. Clark, A Christian Philosophy Of Education, Chapter 3: The Alternative To Christian Theism, pg. 45
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Miracles
I'd apologize for talking so much about C. S. Lewis, except that I'm not sorry. His work and the work of his contemporaries is some of the most real and penetrating I have ever read, and his masterpiece Miracles is no exception.
These days, when it is fashionable even in Christian circles to deny or at least diminish the supernatural nature of the Gospel, the issue of miracles deserves all the more attention.
The naturalists desire to recast Jesus as merely a "good teacher" who went around doing "charitable things." When you read the Gospels, it is very clear that Jesus was a highly controversial, subversive figure who went around doing miraculous things. His whole life was one unbroken miracle - from immaculate conception to transfiguration to resurrection - which miracle we collectively call the incarnation. Lewis appropriately devotes an entire chapter to this incredible truth (Chapter 14: The Grand Miracle).
As might be expected, most of the opposition to miracles comes from the naturalist camp, where modern science - the greedy bastard child of true Science - has repudiated any compunctions about reverent inquiry and attempted to claim the supreme throne of the universe. (1 Tim. 6:20)
Faith does not aim to obstruct Science. However, just as a mother ought not to be forever pandering to every petty whim of her enthusiastic but often errant child, Faith must not be going out of her way to accommodate Science. Doing so always proves ruinous to Her sovereign and serene position in the world.
(Of course, this serenity, when maintained even and unruffled, annoys modern science to no end, seeing how it desires to corrupt us from anything that is absolute, and especially anything that remotely resembles morality.)
The Christian response must be the same as it has always been: namely, to believe God, and to act on that belief. God does not have the last word because He is incompatible with Science, but rather because He invented it. The builder knows much more about the building than we tenants could ever know - for all we can do is observe it and take hesitating notes. The best way to understand the building is to ask the builder, just as the best way to understand a story is to ask the author. Granted, we may get "inside" the building or "inside" the story, but this is precisely the reason our understanding is so inadequate, for we cannot properly get "outside" or "before" either of them. (Of course, all of this presupposes Divine Creation, which is in itself a miracle of no mean proportion. But I will leave this question to more able apologists than I.)
I'm almost through the 6-volume Signature Classics series - just The Problem of Pain left. After that, it's on to Narnia, or perhaps God in the Dock. I'll still be a long ways from completing the entire bibliography, but I'll be doing quite well as far as what's on my shelf, and for now that's my main concern.
These days, when it is fashionable even in Christian circles to deny or at least diminish the supernatural nature of the Gospel, the issue of miracles deserves all the more attention.The naturalists desire to recast Jesus as merely a "good teacher" who went around doing "charitable things." When you read the Gospels, it is very clear that Jesus was a highly controversial, subversive figure who went around doing miraculous things. His whole life was one unbroken miracle - from immaculate conception to transfiguration to resurrection - which miracle we collectively call the incarnation. Lewis appropriately devotes an entire chapter to this incredible truth (Chapter 14: The Grand Miracle).
As might be expected, most of the opposition to miracles comes from the naturalist camp, where modern science - the greedy bastard child of true Science - has repudiated any compunctions about reverent inquiry and attempted to claim the supreme throne of the universe. (1 Tim. 6:20)
Faith does not aim to obstruct Science. However, just as a mother ought not to be forever pandering to every petty whim of her enthusiastic but often errant child, Faith must not be going out of her way to accommodate Science. Doing so always proves ruinous to Her sovereign and serene position in the world.
(Of course, this serenity, when maintained even and unruffled, annoys modern science to no end, seeing how it desires to corrupt us from anything that is absolute, and especially anything that remotely resembles morality.)
The Christian response must be the same as it has always been: namely, to believe God, and to act on that belief. God does not have the last word because He is incompatible with Science, but rather because He invented it. The builder knows much more about the building than we tenants could ever know - for all we can do is observe it and take hesitating notes. The best way to understand the building is to ask the builder, just as the best way to understand a story is to ask the author. Granted, we may get "inside" the building or "inside" the story, but this is precisely the reason our understanding is so inadequate, for we cannot properly get "outside" or "before" either of them. (Of course, all of this presupposes Divine Creation, which is in itself a miracle of no mean proportion. But I will leave this question to more able apologists than I.)
I'm almost through the 6-volume Signature Classics series - just The Problem of Pain left. After that, it's on to Narnia, or perhaps God in the Dock. I'll still be a long ways from completing the entire bibliography, but I'll be doing quite well as far as what's on my shelf, and for now that's my main concern.
"Speak about beauty, truth and goodness, or about a God who is simply the indwelling principle of these three, speak about a great spiritual force pervading all thigns, a common mind of which we are all parts, a pool of generalised spirituality to which we can all flow, and you will command friendly interest. But the temperature drops as soon as you mention a God who has purposes and performs particular actions, who does on thing and not another, a concrete, choosing, commanding, prohibiting God with a determinate character. People become embarrassed or angry. Such a conception seems to them primitive and crude and even irreverent. The popular 'religion' excludes miracles because it excludes the 'living God' of Christianity and believes instead in a kind of God who obviously would not do miracles, or indeed anything else." - Ch. 11, Christianity And 'Religion'
Image courtesy of booksamillion.com
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