Hallelujah!
Congratulations, ladies and gentlemen. You have successfully survived [or at least I hope you have] another semester of chapel. Good work, everyone. Really, nice job.
And in a surprising turn of events, the last chapel, or at the least the first half of it, wasn't completely worthless.
Props to Whiteside and Co. for the music. I've always wondered what it might sound like if John Mayer covered "O Holy Night."
More props to Rizkalla for trying to pass off the plot of Home Alone as her own Christmas story. $5 says the enrollment in her classes doubles next semester. [Apparently not all business professors are boring as hell. . . .]
Instead of wasting my energy commenting on His Holiness' waste of our time [Pay attention. Got it. Thanks, Brad.], I thought I'd take a few moments to reflect on the semester.
September 2nd, 2008: the day that someone actually started trying to do something about the problems with chapel instead of just muttering about them under their breath.
December 10, 2008: the day that the same person realized that, no matter how hard they try, attempting to effect change in policy and practice at SNU may be futile.
And why? Why might trying to do something about the problems here at SNU be futile? Well, for one because the watershed majority of students at SNU don't give a shit about trying to do anything. About anything. [So why should we expect the administration to act when we refuse to?] Sure, you'll laugh at my jokes about His Holiness and the Maldonator, but after reading my posts, rather than doing anything about chapel, you turn around and start playing Gears 2.
Evidence: I just went to my Facebook group, Flying in Circles, to gather some information about the discussion board threads I have started throughout the semester. Unfortunately, information about the first three threads was unavailable, because of inactivity. However, if we take the six threads about which information is available as representative of all nine, here's what we find:
The average number of posts per thread is 6.33.
The lowest number of posts on a thread is 0.
The highest number of posts on a thread is 18. [And, go figure, it was on the thread entitled, "Sex Talk." Typical.]
The average number of people commenting on each thread is 2.83.
The lowest number of people commenting on a thread is 0.
The highest number of people commenting on a thread is 7.
The average number of comments per blog post is 6.67.
The lowest number of comments on a blog post is 1.
The highest number of comments on a blog post is 17.
[Keep in mind that these last three statistics include my comments and multiple comments by one person.]
Unfortunately, I cannot give accurate statistics regarding the number of Facebook messages I have received, as my original profile was deleted halfway through the semester, so you'll just have to believe me when I report that most of the messages I received said something like, "Hey, who are you?" or, "Stop being such a pussy and reveal your identity." Very substantive, indeed.
I received one e-mail from a student this semester.
SNU is a school of how many students? Roughly 2,000? How many students have to attend chapel? Roughly half of that? And the best you can do is 6.something posts/comments per thread or blog post?! Pathetic. Fucking pathetic. [Mario and Luigi Platter, you two are excused from being classified as "pathetic fuckheads" because, whether you agreed with me or not, at least you participated. Mayo, Shane, Josh, Nikki, Michelson: same goes for you.]
Come on people. We all complain about chapel. We all have problems with the way certain things are done here at SNU, but it's really rather embarrassing to discover that when someone actually tries to do some good by providing an open forum for discussion and plenty of material to discuss, you balk at the opportunity afforded you.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know life is sooooooo much easier when you don't have to think for yourself and someone else just tells you what to do, but is that the kind of life you want to lead? I really don't feel like investigating the finer points of this issue, because I know the majority of you don't fucking care. The result would probably cause me to need a perscription for Prozac anyway.
In summation: I hope you have enjoyed this semester. I hope you found my posts entertaining. I hope you enjoyed the movie clips and funny pictures. I hope you're all happy knowing that you attend a school full of apathetic anti-intellectuals who refuse to engage themselves and others regarding issues that could be of benefit to the entire campus when given the chance.
No tears, SNU, just because I'm disappointed doesn't mean I won't be back. Come January 13th I shall return, controversial, crude, and challenging as ever. Maybe by that time some of you will be in the mood for intelligent discussion.
On a lighter note: Happy Holidays, and everybody take some rubbers.
"Keep near me and you will be safe."
Daedalus
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Snot rocket
"Oh my God, it's so big!" [That's what she said.]
Back in the good old days, when I was a youngster, we had to walk to chapel through blinding snowstorms, uphill both ways, with no shoes! And chapel was three days a week, and four hours long, and the Gresh spoke every day!
Aren't you looking forward to torturing your grandchildren with stories like that?
Come one, come all to chapel. For it is the season of Advent. And I, your venerable leader, His Holiness the Strawn, do not know the proper procedure for lighting Advent candles, and I need you all to come watch me ignore this long-standing tradition.
Great work there, Brad. Really great. We all know how excited you are about celebrating the winter solstice festival wrapped up and tagged as "Christmas," but it's not like the babe is going to be born again. . . .
And what better way to herald the coming of the Christmas season than to hear the Maldonator and company sing several poorly rearranged Christmas carols? Oh, holy Maldonator, your voice melts the ice around my cold, withering heart. . . .
On the upside, Jairo's Johnmayerstagefacitosis seems to be in remission; though his guitar player appears to be suffering from an aggressive case of Overratedrockstarimpersonatitis. Maybe next time Mr. Allmon will play something that actually fits what the rest of the band doing.
I would now like to introduce our speaker for today. You should know that we passed up applicants with Ph.D's and Ed.D's to get her, so you know she's good. . . .
"Good morning, everyone. I have a very important message for you this morning."
Yeah, well, we've heard that before. How about you leave that judgment up to us, Candle Mistress.
"You see, this world is like a dorm room. We're here for a little while, but it's not our home."
Oh come on. . . . I really thought we had moved past all this "now-and-not-yet-kingdom" bullshit. Apparently not.
Problem #1: This world is our home, at least for eighty years or so. Last time I checked, that's slightly more than a "little while." Now, if you want to spend your eighty years desparately trying to remain "uncomfortable" in your body while you wait for Jesus to come cruising back in a low-rider with twenty-fours, by all means, go right ahead. Just don't try and tell me that I need to spend all my time not enjoying myself and staring at the sky.
Problem #2: If the Christian ambition is to try and corral as many people as possible into God's holy fishing net, then a certain amount of engagement with the world is necessary. Sure, you've heard it said that if you live out your "Christian walk" in front of non-believers, they will get curious and ask you what makes you so different, but that's bullshit. If you're a male what they're really thinking is, "Where the fuck is that guy's masculinity?" And if you're a female what they're really thinking is, "Wow, I'd really like to date her, but the only thing she'd ever thump is a Bible."
Problem #3: If you, as a Christian, were to start a conversation with someone by saying, "Hi. Do you have a minute? You do? Would you mind if I told you about my 'true home?'" you'd get laughed at, or searched for cyanide punch, probably repelling the individual further away from Christianity than they were before you opened your gaping void of a mouth. [That is, of course, assuming that the heathen God had "placed on your heart" had a brain.]
Problem #4: The notion that "this world is not our home" has dramatic consequences for the worldviews of those who buy into it. What about the Green movement and caring for the environment? Why should Christians care if the polar ice caps melt and carbon emissions destroy our atmosphere? They won't be around to see it happen, so why bother? And what about political struggles? I'm all for the separation of church and state, but individuals within the church are also members of a national community with very real, pertinent concerns that need to be addressed. Why should Christians care if Russia starts another Cold War or North Korea decides to lauch a tactical nuclear missle at the United States? According to them there's a better "life" ahead, so why bother? You get the point.
Problem #5: The "this is not our home" mindset leads to a certain amount of solipsism and an irreverence for the incredible accomplishments of our species. You like to be able to go to the doctor when you get sick, but you're not a part of this world. You'll probably go see The Dark Knight again when it re-releases in theatres in mid-January, but you're not a part of this world. You were really proud when we put a rover on Mars earlier this year, but you're not a part of this world. You're reading this post on a computer, while texting your BFF, with 808s and Heartbreak playing in the background, but you're not a part of this world.
Now, before all you upstart theology majors start sending me e-mails and quoting scripture about "bringing the Kingdom of God to earth," hear this. I do not have a problem with the Christian anticipation of going to heaven. What I do have a problem with is the other-worldly focus embedded in the idea that "this world is not our home."
If you believe that God put you here, then it is your home. And whatever good intentions you may have about bringing the "Kingdom of God" to Earth, the reality is that there are a great number of people within the Christian religion who couldn't care less about anything other than their living a comfortable life until the day that Jesus comes back to carry them away. Their concern is for themselves, and themselves only. The idea that "this world is not our home" brings with it an inherent disregard for the happenings of life on Earth, including the misfortune that may befall others.
I apologize. I'm ranting. But I hope I have made myself clear.
To end on a positive note, the Candle Mistress did close with a return to the idea that loving others is the primary Christian duty. The Good Reverend and Stephanie Higgins have already addressed this subject in the past few weeks, but it's always good to hear someone else offer their support and perspective on the issue.
If you survive the snowstorm, tomorrow is the last chapel of the semester. Huzzah!
But then again, if you survive this snowstorm, why would you want to venture out into another one just to go to chapel tomorrow?
"Keep near me and you will be safe."
Daedalus
Back in the good old days, when I was a youngster, we had to walk to chapel through blinding snowstorms, uphill both ways, with no shoes! And chapel was three days a week, and four hours long, and the Gresh spoke every day!
Aren't you looking forward to torturing your grandchildren with stories like that?
Come one, come all to chapel. For it is the season of Advent. And I, your venerable leader, His Holiness the Strawn, do not know the proper procedure for lighting Advent candles, and I need you all to come watch me ignore this long-standing tradition.
Great work there, Brad. Really great. We all know how excited you are about celebrating the winter solstice festival wrapped up and tagged as "Christmas," but it's not like the babe is going to be born again. . . .
And what better way to herald the coming of the Christmas season than to hear the Maldonator and company sing several poorly rearranged Christmas carols? Oh, holy Maldonator, your voice melts the ice around my cold, withering heart. . . .
On the upside, Jairo's Johnmayerstagefacitosis seems to be in remission; though his guitar player appears to be suffering from an aggressive case of Overratedrockstarimpersonatitis. Maybe next time Mr. Allmon will play something that actually fits what the rest of the band doing.
I would now like to introduce our speaker for today. You should know that we passed up applicants with Ph.D's and Ed.D's to get her, so you know she's good. . . .
"Good morning, everyone. I have a very important message for you this morning."
Yeah, well, we've heard that before. How about you leave that judgment up to us, Candle Mistress.
"You see, this world is like a dorm room. We're here for a little while, but it's not our home."
Oh come on. . . . I really thought we had moved past all this "now-and-not-yet-kingdom" bullshit. Apparently not.
Problem #1: This world is our home, at least for eighty years or so. Last time I checked, that's slightly more than a "little while." Now, if you want to spend your eighty years desparately trying to remain "uncomfortable" in your body while you wait for Jesus to come cruising back in a low-rider with twenty-fours, by all means, go right ahead. Just don't try and tell me that I need to spend all my time not enjoying myself and staring at the sky.
Problem #2: If the Christian ambition is to try and corral as many people as possible into God's holy fishing net, then a certain amount of engagement with the world is necessary. Sure, you've heard it said that if you live out your "Christian walk" in front of non-believers, they will get curious and ask you what makes you so different, but that's bullshit. If you're a male what they're really thinking is, "Where the fuck is that guy's masculinity?" And if you're a female what they're really thinking is, "Wow, I'd really like to date her, but the only thing she'd ever thump is a Bible."
Problem #3: If you, as a Christian, were to start a conversation with someone by saying, "Hi. Do you have a minute? You do? Would you mind if I told you about my 'true home?'" you'd get laughed at, or searched for cyanide punch, probably repelling the individual further away from Christianity than they were before you opened your gaping void of a mouth. [That is, of course, assuming that the heathen God had "placed on your heart" had a brain.]
Problem #4: The notion that "this world is not our home" has dramatic consequences for the worldviews of those who buy into it. What about the Green movement and caring for the environment? Why should Christians care if the polar ice caps melt and carbon emissions destroy our atmosphere? They won't be around to see it happen, so why bother? And what about political struggles? I'm all for the separation of church and state, but individuals within the church are also members of a national community with very real, pertinent concerns that need to be addressed. Why should Christians care if Russia starts another Cold War or North Korea decides to lauch a tactical nuclear missle at the United States? According to them there's a better "life" ahead, so why bother? You get the point.
Problem #5: The "this is not our home" mindset leads to a certain amount of solipsism and an irreverence for the incredible accomplishments of our species. You like to be able to go to the doctor when you get sick, but you're not a part of this world. You'll probably go see The Dark Knight again when it re-releases in theatres in mid-January, but you're not a part of this world. You were really proud when we put a rover on Mars earlier this year, but you're not a part of this world. You're reading this post on a computer, while texting your BFF, with 808s and Heartbreak playing in the background, but you're not a part of this world.
Now, before all you upstart theology majors start sending me e-mails and quoting scripture about "bringing the Kingdom of God to earth," hear this. I do not have a problem with the Christian anticipation of going to heaven. What I do have a problem with is the other-worldly focus embedded in the idea that "this world is not our home."
If you believe that God put you here, then it is your home. And whatever good intentions you may have about bringing the "Kingdom of God" to Earth, the reality is that there are a great number of people within the Christian religion who couldn't care less about anything other than their living a comfortable life until the day that Jesus comes back to carry them away. Their concern is for themselves, and themselves only. The idea that "this world is not our home" brings with it an inherent disregard for the happenings of life on Earth, including the misfortune that may befall others.
I apologize. I'm ranting. But I hope I have made myself clear.
To end on a positive note, the Candle Mistress did close with a return to the idea that loving others is the primary Christian duty. The Good Reverend and Stephanie Higgins have already addressed this subject in the past few weeks, but it's always good to hear someone else offer their support and perspective on the issue.
If you survive the snowstorm, tomorrow is the last chapel of the semester. Huzzah!
But then again, if you survive this snowstorm, why would you want to venture out into another one just to go to chapel tomorrow?
"Keep near me and you will be safe."
Daedalus
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Class act
Good afternoon, chapelers.
I hope you're bundled up today, because it's colder than Frosty's nipples outside.
Class chapels. Did you enjoy yourselves?
Again, one guess as to what I thought of my class chapel. . . .
I think one of the worst things about class chapels is that they are a wasted opportunity. We are broken up into small groups, a perfect time to start a healthy discussion, hear different viewpoints, challenge others and be challenged in our beliefs, and what do we do? We watch campaign videos. We have a small worship session with the Maldonator. We spend a little quality time with everyone's BFF, Rob Bell. We sit around for fifteen minutes playing on our cell phones and laptops while someone gets up and makes a few announcements that no one will remember fifteen minutes later. Blah.
It's pathetic that the best I can hope for from my class chapel is that one of my class officers will bring doughnuts.
Discussion post: How can class chapels be constructed to be beneficial to our lives, rather than a complete waste of time?
Only two more chapels left! Ms. Green, who I will come up with a nickname for, on Tuesday and His Holiness sending us off on Wednesday. I suppose it's possible that these services will be worth getting out of bed for, but I won't hold my breath.
"Keep near me and you will be safe."
Daedalus
I hope you're bundled up today, because it's colder than Frosty's nipples outside.
Class chapels. Did you enjoy yourselves?
Again, one guess as to what I thought of my class chapel. . . .
I think one of the worst things about class chapels is that they are a wasted opportunity. We are broken up into small groups, a perfect time to start a healthy discussion, hear different viewpoints, challenge others and be challenged in our beliefs, and what do we do? We watch campaign videos. We have a small worship session with the Maldonator. We spend a little quality time with everyone's BFF, Rob Bell. We sit around for fifteen minutes playing on our cell phones and laptops while someone gets up and makes a few announcements that no one will remember fifteen minutes later. Blah.
It's pathetic that the best I can hope for from my class chapel is that one of my class officers will bring doughnuts.
Discussion post: How can class chapels be constructed to be beneficial to our lives, rather than a complete waste of time?
Only two more chapels left! Ms. Green, who I will come up with a nickname for, on Tuesday and His Holiness sending us off on Wednesday. I suppose it's possible that these services will be worth getting out of bed for, but I won't hold my breath.
"Keep near me and you will be safe."
Daedalus
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Jubilee!
Hey all you classy people!
Welcome back from the break and from your tryptophan coma! Here's a tip: avoid mirrors and buffets for the next week or two, or at least long enough to lose the five pounds you've gained. Thank you, Jesus, for elastic waistbands. . . .
Just in case you went deaf and blind over the break, or simply weren't paying attention at the end of chapel, today is His Holiness' birthday. So, happy birthday Mr. Strawn! Here's hoping the next 365.25 days of your life are everything but mediocre.
So, it's officially December. Time to get out all those tacky icicle lights, popcorn garlands, and blow-up Santas [. . . .] and participate in the cultural disaster that Christmas has become. Call me Scrooge if you must, but there's something a little ironic about the insistence of the Christian religion to celebrate the birth of its Savior on a pagan holiday.
It was nice to return to a band that didn't suck. Nothing revolutionary, but at least my ears weren't bleeding.
All rise for the REVEREND Stepanie Higgins. [I don't know how to put this, but I'm kind of a big deal.]
We get it, you're happy to be here.
Oh, and I need to take a moment to give a shout out to Chris Holcomb. Holla! Where are you? What?! You're on the back row?! You mean you don't like chapel either and sit on the back row so that you can talk to your friends and not pay attention? Just like most of the other people at SNU? And you'd prefer that I not call you out in front of the whole school and make an ass of myself at your expense? Damn, that's a surprise.
Also, I'm gonna spend about five minutes talking nonsense while I try in vain to connect the Hebrew celebration of Jubilee with a library fine that I really don't want to pay. [Here's an idea: how about a year of Jubilee with regards to chapel? A year of no chapels! You know, as long as we're in the business of setting people free from bondage. . . .]
Here's five more minutes worth of random shit spewing from my mouth.
Ha! You thought I was actually going to start my sermon now, didn't you? But you're wrong! Now I'm going to tell you about how I might, at any moment, begin panting. [Stephanie, I know you're preaching and being filled by the Holy Spirit and everything, but I don't think God is in the market for another holy mother.]
Once she finally did get started, Stephanie had some good things to say. If you were in chapel last Tuesday, when we sat down with the Good Reverend for storytime, you'll know that Stephanie's points were very similar to the ones he made.
Last week Jason asked the question, "How well do you ever really know anybody?" His point was that, often, our default relational setting is one of seclusion and secrecy, and while the practice of really digging into people to find out who they are and what stories they have to tell is difficult to establish, it is well worth the effort.
Stephanie continued in this vein by encouraging us to simply love people. Regardless of appearance, or movie preference, or the fact that they are roughly three times your age and can still kick your ass in marathons, to simply love them.
Now, obviously this "love" for others will not take the form of romantic or familial love. So what does this "love" look like? Well, [brace yourselves, I'm about to quote scripture again] for all of his shortcomings, I think Paul actually did a decent job of summarizing Jesus' attitude of love in his letter to the Corinthians. [13: 4-7]
"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres."
In most cases this passage is referenced when a pastor is talking about how spouses ought to relate to one another, but its application seems much broader to me.
I think it goes without saying that such a practice is bound to be difficult. As Americans we're taught to look out for ourselves and to take what we can get, regardless of the cost to others. And I don't think Jesus, or Paul [St., apparently], meant for us to run our love up flagpoles for everyone to see. There's a line from a Jars of Clay song that reads, "Peace is not the heroin that shouts above the cost." [The song is called, "Surprise."] And I think this love may be a little bit like that, subtle, but you'd notice its absence.
Class chapels tomorrow. Fuck.
You stay classy San Diego.
"Keep near me and you will be safe."
I'm Daedalus?
Welcome back from the break and from your tryptophan coma! Here's a tip: avoid mirrors and buffets for the next week or two, or at least long enough to lose the five pounds you've gained. Thank you, Jesus, for elastic waistbands. . . .
Just in case you went deaf and blind over the break, or simply weren't paying attention at the end of chapel, today is His Holiness' birthday. So, happy birthday Mr. Strawn! Here's hoping the next 365.25 days of your life are everything but mediocre.
So, it's officially December. Time to get out all those tacky icicle lights, popcorn garlands, and blow-up Santas [. . . .] and participate in the cultural disaster that Christmas has become. Call me Scrooge if you must, but there's something a little ironic about the insistence of the Christian religion to celebrate the birth of its Savior on a pagan holiday.
It was nice to return to a band that didn't suck. Nothing revolutionary, but at least my ears weren't bleeding.
All rise for the REVEREND Stepanie Higgins. [I don't know how to put this, but I'm kind of a big deal.]
We get it, you're happy to be here.
Oh, and I need to take a moment to give a shout out to Chris Holcomb. Holla! Where are you? What?! You're on the back row?! You mean you don't like chapel either and sit on the back row so that you can talk to your friends and not pay attention? Just like most of the other people at SNU? And you'd prefer that I not call you out in front of the whole school and make an ass of myself at your expense? Damn, that's a surprise.
Also, I'm gonna spend about five minutes talking nonsense while I try in vain to connect the Hebrew celebration of Jubilee with a library fine that I really don't want to pay. [Here's an idea: how about a year of Jubilee with regards to chapel? A year of no chapels! You know, as long as we're in the business of setting people free from bondage. . . .]
Here's five more minutes worth of random shit spewing from my mouth.
Ha! You thought I was actually going to start my sermon now, didn't you? But you're wrong! Now I'm going to tell you about how I might, at any moment, begin panting. [Stephanie, I know you're preaching and being filled by the Holy Spirit and everything, but I don't think God is in the market for another holy mother.]
Once she finally did get started, Stephanie had some good things to say. If you were in chapel last Tuesday, when we sat down with the Good Reverend for storytime, you'll know that Stephanie's points were very similar to the ones he made.
Last week Jason asked the question, "How well do you ever really know anybody?" His point was that, often, our default relational setting is one of seclusion and secrecy, and while the practice of really digging into people to find out who they are and what stories they have to tell is difficult to establish, it is well worth the effort.
Stephanie continued in this vein by encouraging us to simply love people. Regardless of appearance, or movie preference, or the fact that they are roughly three times your age and can still kick your ass in marathons, to simply love them.
Now, obviously this "love" for others will not take the form of romantic or familial love. So what does this "love" look like? Well, [brace yourselves, I'm about to quote scripture again] for all of his shortcomings, I think Paul actually did a decent job of summarizing Jesus' attitude of love in his letter to the Corinthians. [13: 4-7]
"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres."
In most cases this passage is referenced when a pastor is talking about how spouses ought to relate to one another, but its application seems much broader to me.
I think it goes without saying that such a practice is bound to be difficult. As Americans we're taught to look out for ourselves and to take what we can get, regardless of the cost to others. And I don't think Jesus, or Paul [St., apparently], meant for us to run our love up flagpoles for everyone to see. There's a line from a Jars of Clay song that reads, "Peace is not the heroin that shouts above the cost." [The song is called, "Surprise."] And I think this love may be a little bit like that, subtle, but you'd notice its absence.
Class chapels tomorrow. Fuck.
You stay classy San Diego.
"Keep near me and you will be safe."
I'm Daedalus?
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
The business of living
Happy two days until national Loosen-Your-Belt-And-Be-Proud-Of-It Day! [Which is followed, naturally, by national Oh-Shit-Did-I-Really-Eat-That-Much-Oh-Well-At-Least-I-Won’t-Have-To-Cook-For-A-Week Day.]
I thought I’d give you a preview of what my Turkey Day dinner will look like. First course: stuffing, vegetable tray, and cranberry sauce.
I thought about trying to spend as much time introducing today’s post as the Good Reverend did introducing chapel this morning, but I quickly realized that such feat requires talent beyond my gifting. So, good job Jason: I wish I had it in me to be as awkwardly verbose as you.
Hopefully the tech crew took this morning’s opportunity to revel in the limelight of chapel fame for a few fleeting moments. Heaven knows they won’t get another shout-out anytime soon.
Second course: fruity Jello, green bean casserole, and corn on the cob.
Today’s band put on their snowshoes, scaled the mountain of embarrassment that has been chapel music this semester, and proudly planted their flag at the top: a solitary declaration of a break from the blissful mediocrity we have become accustomed to. [I know I could have just said, “Props to the band.” But that’s soooooo boring.]
Oh, and the chorus to the band’s second song reads thus:
“Here I am, Lord, tonight,
With my arms open wide.
Won’t you come inside?”
I’ll give you one guess as to what my comment about this chorus is going to be.
Ready?
Got it?
If you guessed, “That’s what she said,” then you are correct! Huzzah!
Third course: turducken, mashed potatoes with white gravy, and dinner rolls. Scrumptious.
I never know how to prepare myself when the Good Reverend speaks. Which I suppose is a good thing, because he mixes things up enough to keep life interesting. This morning I half expected him to launch us into the break on a high note with an energetic presentation involving video clips, special effects, trapeze artists, and maybe even a guest appearance by Kevin Bacon. [Hey, you have to be ready for anything in chapel.]
Instead we were treated, and I mean that seriously, to a somber bit of existential storytelling. The first thing to note here is that the Good Reverend is, surprise surprise, a very good storyteller. [If he ever finds a woman with enough sense in her head to marry him, his kids will be in for a treat at bedtime.]
The stories we don’t tell. . . .
. . . .are heartbreaking.
. . . .are threatening.
. . . are revealing.
. . . .are normal.
. . . .are real.
. . . .are ours.
One of my favorite things Jason pointed out this morning is that the stories that we are often a part of are not always the ones we would have chosen. Life is a bitch, you know? And sometimes the best we can do when life gives us lemons, at the risk of sounding like your eighty-six-year-old grandmother who will probably fall asleep at the dinner table on Thursday, is to make lemonade. Sometimes the changes that need to be made have to start with us.
It’s also interesting to note that, most of the time, the stories that don’t get told are the typical ones. Think about the television shows you watch. I mean, no one in real life has a car as badass as Kit or can travel through time. We want life to be glamorous. We want life to be sugar-coated and easy on the eyes. We want to hear the good stories, the encouraging stories, the stories about interesting and improbable coincidences that sound almost too good to be true. We want to think that those stories can happen to us. We want the big wedding. We want to be the one to catch the hail-mary and win the game. We want someone to show us what we need to do to get there. We want the lines to be drawn in electric, indelible ink so that if we fuck up we immediately know to retrace and rethink our steps. . . .
But that’s not life, is it? I think one of the greatest tragedies of our time is that most of us sit around staring at a screen/pulpit/stage/person waiting for an overly-romanticized and completely unbelievable life to drop into our laps, never realizing that such a life is so highly improbable that the only thing we gain by waiting is weight.
“Life doesn’t happen to you, you happen to life.”
“Love is a verb.”
“And in the end the love you take is equal to the love you make.”
Life is proactive, people. Your life will be what you make of it: no more, no less.
And as we’re all now properly motivated to go out and conquer the world, I think a good question to start with is one that was posed by the Good Reverend himself.
“How well do you ever really know anybody?”
That oughta get some people moving.
And for dessert: homemade fudge, pumpkin pie, and chocolate covered pretzels. Yum.
“Keep near me and you will be safe.”
Daedalus
I thought I’d give you a preview of what my Turkey Day dinner will look like. First course: stuffing, vegetable tray, and cranberry sauce.
I thought about trying to spend as much time introducing today’s post as the Good Reverend did introducing chapel this morning, but I quickly realized that such feat requires talent beyond my gifting. So, good job Jason: I wish I had it in me to be as awkwardly verbose as you.
Hopefully the tech crew took this morning’s opportunity to revel in the limelight of chapel fame for a few fleeting moments. Heaven knows they won’t get another shout-out anytime soon.
Second course: fruity Jello, green bean casserole, and corn on the cob.
Today’s band put on their snowshoes, scaled the mountain of embarrassment that has been chapel music this semester, and proudly planted their flag at the top: a solitary declaration of a break from the blissful mediocrity we have become accustomed to. [I know I could have just said, “Props to the band.” But that’s soooooo boring.]
Oh, and the chorus to the band’s second song reads thus:
“Here I am, Lord, tonight,
With my arms open wide.
Won’t you come inside?”
I’ll give you one guess as to what my comment about this chorus is going to be.
Ready?
Got it?
If you guessed, “That’s what she said,” then you are correct! Huzzah!
Third course: turducken, mashed potatoes with white gravy, and dinner rolls. Scrumptious.
I never know how to prepare myself when the Good Reverend speaks. Which I suppose is a good thing, because he mixes things up enough to keep life interesting. This morning I half expected him to launch us into the break on a high note with an energetic presentation involving video clips, special effects, trapeze artists, and maybe even a guest appearance by Kevin Bacon. [Hey, you have to be ready for anything in chapel.]
Instead we were treated, and I mean that seriously, to a somber bit of existential storytelling. The first thing to note here is that the Good Reverend is, surprise surprise, a very good storyteller. [If he ever finds a woman with enough sense in her head to marry him, his kids will be in for a treat at bedtime.]
The stories we don’t tell. . . .
. . . .are heartbreaking.
. . . .are threatening.
. . . are revealing.
. . . .are normal.
. . . .are real.
. . . .are ours.
One of my favorite things Jason pointed out this morning is that the stories that we are often a part of are not always the ones we would have chosen. Life is a bitch, you know? And sometimes the best we can do when life gives us lemons, at the risk of sounding like your eighty-six-year-old grandmother who will probably fall asleep at the dinner table on Thursday, is to make lemonade. Sometimes the changes that need to be made have to start with us.
It’s also interesting to note that, most of the time, the stories that don’t get told are the typical ones. Think about the television shows you watch. I mean, no one in real life has a car as badass as Kit or can travel through time. We want life to be glamorous. We want life to be sugar-coated and easy on the eyes. We want to hear the good stories, the encouraging stories, the stories about interesting and improbable coincidences that sound almost too good to be true. We want to think that those stories can happen to us. We want the big wedding. We want to be the one to catch the hail-mary and win the game. We want someone to show us what we need to do to get there. We want the lines to be drawn in electric, indelible ink so that if we fuck up we immediately know to retrace and rethink our steps. . . .
But that’s not life, is it? I think one of the greatest tragedies of our time is that most of us sit around staring at a screen/pulpit/stage/person waiting for an overly-romanticized and completely unbelievable life to drop into our laps, never realizing that such a life is so highly improbable that the only thing we gain by waiting is weight.
“Life doesn’t happen to you, you happen to life.”
“Love is a verb.”
“And in the end the love you take is equal to the love you make.”
Life is proactive, people. Your life will be what you make of it: no more, no less.
And as we’re all now properly motivated to go out and conquer the world, I think a good question to start with is one that was posed by the Good Reverend himself.
“How well do you ever really know anybody?”
That oughta get some people moving.
And for dessert: homemade fudge, pumpkin pie, and chocolate covered pretzels. Yum.
“Keep near me and you will be safe.”
Daedalus
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Hades ascending
Please enter quietly as we prepare to indoctrinate you. . . . I love silent chapels.
It's especially discouraging to me that, after such a thoughtful chapel on Tuesday, on Wednesday we're right back into the old routine. Sorry to tell you, Dr. Jacobs, but there is a good chance that your words fell on deaf ears.
This morning's service contained far too much shit to comment on in one post, so I have decided, in lieu of writing a novel, to select my topics by raffle. I have written possible topics on slips of paper, placed those slips into a hat, and I will draw five of them to comment on. Drum roll please. . . .
One. "You are FORGIVEN. Love, God."
Are you kidding me? Just in case you've forgotten, this brilliant snippet of revelation kicked off the twenty minute slideshow we had the priviledge of sitting through this morning. In the slides immediately preceding this one we were encouraged to repent of our sins, making silent supplication to God to forgive us for the horrible, wretched, sinful lives we lead.
By this point I hope I have made my thoughts on corporate confession very clear. [Here's a refresher.] But this? This is worse than those fucking billboards. This is a whole new level of bullshit. Did God put that Powerpoint together? Did God walk into Brad's office and tell him to add that slide? Or maybe His Holiness isn't to blame. Maybe God added that slide to the presentation himself while it was being projected onto the screens: revelation in real-time! [Congrats, SNU, you are the first people in history to witness a miracle.]
Oh, and apparently God wanted us to know that we are FORGIVEN for those sins, because regular old forgiven wouldn't be enough.
Two. Videology.
The modernist perspective is dead, and I'm not sure if the makers of the first video we were treated to this morning were ever made aware of this fact. Good or evil, right or wrong, loved or abandoned, light or dark, black or white, paper or plastic: these are all false dilemmas that died with the rest of modernism. If post-modernity has taught us anything it is that the complexities of life simply do not lend themselves to such binary classification. Grey is the new black.
Another problem I had with this video was its asking, "Who will rescue us?"
My primary concern with questions like this one is that it invites complacency by implying that humanity is not smart/strong/reasonable/moral enough to get itself out of the mess it's in. But more than that, this question appears to suggest that humanity is somehow inherently in need of rescue, whether in a crisis or not. [Think "original sin."] Gnostic, much? If my reading of the gospels is correct, Jesus came to empower humanity, not strip away its dignity and leave us crying at the sky in hope of the "second coming."
Three. Storybook Apostle's Creed.
Someone was having a little too much fun with Powerpoint this week: pictures, animated text, the whole shebang. Are we so dense that we need pictures of flames to animate the concept of Hell? [Which is not Biblical, by the way. We have Dante to thank for the flames and tridents.] Text dropping from on high to show Jesus descending? Crying Jesus? Clouds of holiness?
Why not just go all the way [that's what she said] and give us a Seussian chapel sometime?
Would you sin within a house?
Would you sin with a mouse?
I would not sin within a house.
I would not sin with a mouse.
I would not sin here or there.
I would not sin anywhere.
I do not like sin or vice.
I do not like them, Jesus Christ!
You can give me that Pulitzer now.
Four. Guided prayer.
Whoever had the brilliant idea that Christians would benefit from someone holding their hand and walking them through a "proper" relationship with God needs to be dragged out into the street and shot. Here's a new idea: how about you leave me and my reationship with God alone and worry about your own divine dealings?
I anticipate that someone might counter this position by arguing that, through guided prayer, Christians are united in their concern for a specific issue/person. Okay, but for what? If the argument is that being united as a church/body/campus is subjectively beneficial for those involved, then I have no problem. [Though at SNU such unity rarely extends beyond the moments of guided prayer, if a feeling of unity is created in such moments at all.] However, if someone were crazy enough to try and argue that by praying collectively for some need that God would be more likely to respond, I would be forced to look them square in the eyes and alert them to the fact that they are a dumbass.
Five. This one is, surprisingly, positive. Mr. Whiteside's presentation of the music this morning was refreshingly honest. It was nice to see a musician on stage who had actually taken the time to practice and memorize his/her music before performing.
Let's end on a high note.
We only have to go to one chapel next week! Huzzah!
"Fill us up and send us out." That's what she said.
"Keep near me and you will be safe."
Daedalus
It's especially discouraging to me that, after such a thoughtful chapel on Tuesday, on Wednesday we're right back into the old routine. Sorry to tell you, Dr. Jacobs, but there is a good chance that your words fell on deaf ears.
This morning's service contained far too much shit to comment on in one post, so I have decided, in lieu of writing a novel, to select my topics by raffle. I have written possible topics on slips of paper, placed those slips into a hat, and I will draw five of them to comment on. Drum roll please. . . .
One. "You are FORGIVEN. Love, God."
Are you kidding me? Just in case you've forgotten, this brilliant snippet of revelation kicked off the twenty minute slideshow we had the priviledge of sitting through this morning. In the slides immediately preceding this one we were encouraged to repent of our sins, making silent supplication to God to forgive us for the horrible, wretched, sinful lives we lead.
By this point I hope I have made my thoughts on corporate confession very clear. [Here's a refresher.] But this? This is worse than those fucking billboards. This is a whole new level of bullshit. Did God put that Powerpoint together? Did God walk into Brad's office and tell him to add that slide? Or maybe His Holiness isn't to blame. Maybe God added that slide to the presentation himself while it was being projected onto the screens: revelation in real-time! [Congrats, SNU, you are the first people in history to witness a miracle.]
Oh, and apparently God wanted us to know that we are FORGIVEN for those sins, because regular old forgiven wouldn't be enough.
Two. Videology.
The modernist perspective is dead, and I'm not sure if the makers of the first video we were treated to this morning were ever made aware of this fact. Good or evil, right or wrong, loved or abandoned, light or dark, black or white, paper or plastic: these are all false dilemmas that died with the rest of modernism. If post-modernity has taught us anything it is that the complexities of life simply do not lend themselves to such binary classification. Grey is the new black.
Another problem I had with this video was its asking, "Who will rescue us?"
My primary concern with questions like this one is that it invites complacency by implying that humanity is not smart/strong/reasonable/moral enough to get itself out of the mess it's in. But more than that, this question appears to suggest that humanity is somehow inherently in need of rescue, whether in a crisis or not. [Think "original sin."] Gnostic, much? If my reading of the gospels is correct, Jesus came to empower humanity, not strip away its dignity and leave us crying at the sky in hope of the "second coming."
Three. Storybook Apostle's Creed.
Someone was having a little too much fun with Powerpoint this week: pictures, animated text, the whole shebang. Are we so dense that we need pictures of flames to animate the concept of Hell? [Which is not Biblical, by the way. We have Dante to thank for the flames and tridents.] Text dropping from on high to show Jesus descending? Crying Jesus? Clouds of holiness?
Why not just go all the way [that's what she said] and give us a Seussian chapel sometime?
Would you sin within a house?
Would you sin with a mouse?
I would not sin within a house.
I would not sin with a mouse.
I would not sin here or there.
I would not sin anywhere.
I do not like sin or vice.
I do not like them, Jesus Christ!
You can give me that Pulitzer now.
Four. Guided prayer.
Whoever had the brilliant idea that Christians would benefit from someone holding their hand and walking them through a "proper" relationship with God needs to be dragged out into the street and shot. Here's a new idea: how about you leave me and my reationship with God alone and worry about your own divine dealings?
I anticipate that someone might counter this position by arguing that, through guided prayer, Christians are united in their concern for a specific issue/person. Okay, but for what? If the argument is that being united as a church/body/campus is subjectively beneficial for those involved, then I have no problem. [Though at SNU such unity rarely extends beyond the moments of guided prayer, if a feeling of unity is created in such moments at all.] However, if someone were crazy enough to try and argue that by praying collectively for some need that God would be more likely to respond, I would be forced to look them square in the eyes and alert them to the fact that they are a dumbass.
Five. This one is, surprisingly, positive. Mr. Whiteside's presentation of the music this morning was refreshingly honest. It was nice to see a musician on stage who had actually taken the time to practice and memorize his/her music before performing.
Let's end on a high note.
We only have to go to one chapel next week! Huzzah!
"Fill us up and send us out." That's what she said.
"Keep near me and you will be safe."
Daedalus
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
And many of them are fluffy. . . .
Welcome to the big top. The banner is back and today's speaker actually had something to say - it'll take a lot to bring us down now.
How many of you went to Pow Wow - show of hands? How many of you were paying attention during the only skit that was even partially entertaining [props to The Good Reverend and the recently acquired third member of the trinity, Ms. Green {to be dubbed at a later date} for that one] and saw the video that His Holiness made about me? How many of you thought it was funny? Good. So did I.
Besides being funny, His Holiness' video cast a ray of light on a point that many of you seem to have missed. "My beef is really a philosophical one." Yes it is. And it's good to know that even Brad, whom I rail on quite a bit, is able to appreciate the more meaningful portions of my ramblings. Perhaps some of you should follow his example, for once. :)
Speaking of Brad, the Lord must have gotten up on the right side of his transcendental four-poster, California king sized bed this morning, because Brad is gone and won't be back for two weeks! Who ever said God doesn't answer prayers?
Hammered dulcimer? Was there really a hammered dulcimer on stage this morning? Wow. I've been misunderestimating the cultural IQ of people from this fine region for some time. Props for the change.
In other news, the band failed to meet my preliminary expectation of their sucking completely this morning. They did, however, manage to inspire several brave souls to "get up offa that thang" and stand in solitary defiance of the ever-present, all-pervasive apathy that has become a hallmark of our beloved institution.
All rise for the honorable Dr. Jacobs.
There are some chapel speakers that one naturally expects more from than others. Dr. Jacobs, for example, is someone from whom I expect much. The Gresh, on the other hand. . . .
I found it supremely satisfying that Jacobs opened with a quote from Kant. The quote he read is actually a part of a larger essay [which you owe it to yourself to read], but here's a highlight:
"If I have a book to serve as my understanding, a pastor to serve as my conscience, a physician to determine my diet for me, and so on, I need not exert myself at all. I need not think, if only I can pay."
Hell, even I will raise my hand and say "Amen!" to that.
Isn't it interesting how Dr. Jacobs was able to produce more worthwhile content by talking about questions he can't answer than many others have been able to with questions they [think they] can? [There's an entire book waiting to be written about this subject.]
"If I try my hardest to love people, I won't be judged by God for that."
That's fucking gospel, ladies and gentlemen. Gospel. [I seem to remember someone else trying to push a message of "love" this semester. . . .]
The reason love is so important as an axiom of morality is that love takes all the fancy talk, theology, over-sized Sunday hats, and metaphysics of Christianity, ties their shoestrings to cinder blocks and throws them into the East River. It re-emphasizes a point that we all probably know but do not like to answer to: love is a verb.
Jacobs closed by reading a poem authored by a fourteenth century Muslim named Hafiz. I would like to offer a portion of this poem as my closing.
"God wants to manhandle us."
That's what she said.
Everybody take some rubbers.
"Keep near me and you will be safe."
Daedalus
How many of you went to Pow Wow - show of hands? How many of you were paying attention during the only skit that was even partially entertaining [props to The Good Reverend and the recently acquired third member of the trinity, Ms. Green {to be dubbed at a later date} for that one] and saw the video that His Holiness made about me? How many of you thought it was funny? Good. So did I.
Besides being funny, His Holiness' video cast a ray of light on a point that many of you seem to have missed. "My beef is really a philosophical one." Yes it is. And it's good to know that even Brad, whom I rail on quite a bit, is able to appreciate the more meaningful portions of my ramblings. Perhaps some of you should follow his example, for once. :)
Speaking of Brad, the Lord must have gotten up on the right side of his transcendental four-poster, California king sized bed this morning, because Brad is gone and won't be back for two weeks! Who ever said God doesn't answer prayers?
Hammered dulcimer? Was there really a hammered dulcimer on stage this morning? Wow. I've been misunderestimating the cultural IQ of people from this fine region for some time. Props for the change.
In other news, the band failed to meet my preliminary expectation of their sucking completely this morning. They did, however, manage to inspire several brave souls to "get up offa that thang" and stand in solitary defiance of the ever-present, all-pervasive apathy that has become a hallmark of our beloved institution.
All rise for the honorable Dr. Jacobs.
There are some chapel speakers that one naturally expects more from than others. Dr. Jacobs, for example, is someone from whom I expect much. The Gresh, on the other hand. . . .
I found it supremely satisfying that Jacobs opened with a quote from Kant. The quote he read is actually a part of a larger essay [which you owe it to yourself to read], but here's a highlight:
"If I have a book to serve as my understanding, a pastor to serve as my conscience, a physician to determine my diet for me, and so on, I need not exert myself at all. I need not think, if only I can pay."
Hell, even I will raise my hand and say "Amen!" to that.
Isn't it interesting how Dr. Jacobs was able to produce more worthwhile content by talking about questions he can't answer than many others have been able to with questions they [think they] can? [There's an entire book waiting to be written about this subject.]
- I don't know why people still kill each other.
- I don't know why people use hate to instruct children.
- I don't know why people of faith fight each other.
- I don't know why anyone still has to be hungry. . . .when we have all this food.
- I don't know why we are mostly strangers.
- I don't fully know what "Character, Culture, Christ" means. [Don't worry, Noel, neither does anyone else.]
"If I try my hardest to love people, I won't be judged by God for that."
That's fucking gospel, ladies and gentlemen. Gospel. [I seem to remember someone else trying to push a message of "love" this semester. . . .]
The reason love is so important as an axiom of morality is that love takes all the fancy talk, theology, over-sized Sunday hats, and metaphysics of Christianity, ties their shoestrings to cinder blocks and throws them into the East River. It re-emphasizes a point that we all probably know but do not like to answer to: love is a verb.
Jacobs closed by reading a poem authored by a fourteenth century Muslim named Hafiz. I would like to offer a portion of this poem as my closing.
"God wants to manhandle us."
That's what she said.
Everybody take some rubbers.
"Keep near me and you will be safe."
Daedalus
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