ROREM: So do you also twitter during sermons at church?
ME: Yes, and sometimes during interesting class lectures, too.
ROREM: But don’t you find that to be a distraction from what you’re trying to focus on?
ME: Possibly some times, but I also think of it as an enhancement. It’s broadcasting the sermon/lecture/speech to a wider audience, and bringing more voices back into the discussion.
ROREM: So when you’re in the middle of a really interesting novel, do you stop to twitter that? Doesn’t it break the flow of the story?
ME: I do sometimes twitter when reading a novel. And I also use my cell phone to look up words or concepts I’m unfamiliar with. In that case, my focus has already been broken by my own ignorance, and looking something up instantaneously actually restores my focus.

I didn’t have a good response to the part about twittering while reading a novel, but in the days since that conversation, and especially today, I think I have one now — ironically drawing from a medieval tradition I’ve studied in at least two of Dr. Rorem’s classes over the course of the past semester: Scholia.

Scholia are basically marginal notes in an ancient manuscript. They were often corrections made by a copyist based on comparison with other manuscripts, but sometimes they also served as commentary on the content of the manuscript itself — expounding, elaborating, or even disputing a section of the manuscript. The scholia themselves were then copied along with the text by successive copyists, and sometimes played an important role in the acceptance or understanding of the original. For historical purposes, they also provide insight into how a text was received in a particular era or by a particular person.

Now, I write notes all the time in the margins of the books that I read for seminary AND for enjoyment — including novels. Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath is perhaps the most marked up book I own. But those notes are primarily intended for me. Even if they were intended for others, I’d have to pass the book around to one person at a time. And if I want to know what someone else thinks about that particular book, the best I can hope for is an essay or a book review — not a play-by-play commentary on every page. Granted, my Bible does this, but sometimes I get frustrated that the footnotes (aka commentary) seem to represent one perspective, usually scholarly, and almost always Christian. I think that in many ways, the enriching, broadening, yet detail-oriented aspects of the practice of Scholia have been undervalued in the modern age.

Enter Twitter. If you don’t already know about twitter, watch this. If you’re already on Twitter – follow me! While twitter was intended as a way for people to answer the basic question “what are you doing” it has (in my opinion) evolved considerably. The first time I realized this was during last summer’s Presbyterian General Assembly. I couldn’t be there in person, but I watched the live video feed of the event, excited about Bruce Reyes-Chow standing for moderator of the PCUSA. I was also logged into twitter, as were most of my Presbyterian twitter-friends — some who were at the event, and others like me from afar. Not only were we witnessing denominational history, we were commenting on it. Not long, blog posts on the big picture, but little comments in response to certain specific sections of speeches and events. What’s more, we were sharing those comments with one another, and even commenting on comments. We were writing in the margins of an historical event!

Later, we all did the same with the U.S. Presidential debates, and just recently, with the inauguration. And of course, it wasn’t just Presbyterians commenting in the margins of Barack Obama’s historic inauguration — it was millions of twitterers across the world — kings, scholars, and peasants alike. Assuming that these “tweets” are somehow preserved in the ether (which I think is about as likely as the preservation of velum and papyrus over centuries) consider what an immense wealth of historical information and perspective they provide. Among the marginal comments can be found explanation, reaction, criticism, defense, and elaboration of just about every line of text, as well as comments pertaining to the visual, audio, and other perceptible aspects of the event — from those who witnessed it in person, to those who witnessed it a world away.

Today in my Systematic Theology class, my professor said something interesting, and I immediately pulled out my cell phone to twitter about it. I remembered Dr. Rorem’s question about being distracted from what would be said next. But I also saw several of my classmates taking notes on the lecture, and wondered if their note-taking distracted them from what would be said next. Perhaps. But unlike their paper notes (or even laptop-word processor notes) that will most likely be shelved after the final exam, or serve to benefit at most one person — I am filled with the hope that like the scholia of old, my comments in the margins of today’s lecture/novel/text/event will be shared in both community and in perpetuity. That seems worth a slight distraction.

No classes this week — it’s a tradition called “Reading Week” here at Princeton Theological Seminary.  I think at my undergraduate college, we called it “fall break,” but the implication here seems to be, “No break for you! [insert whip crack here] Time to catch up on all the reading!” Hmmm…guess I could also look at it as mercy and grace, on the flip side.

I feel guilty admitting this, but even while I’m only taking ten credit hours this semester (eight in the “long term” and two in the “Jan term”) I’m still way behind in my reading.  I could blame the whole “having a family thing” or having been “out of college for ten years,” or even “blogging when I should be reading” but none of that changes the fact that I’m behind.  So, time to lay excuses aside and buckle down with some books this week.  Here’s what I’m reading:

• St. Augustine‘s Confessions – The week after Reading Week, I have a paper due in my Early & Medieval Christian History class analyzing his contribution to medieval thought.  Personally, I’m more interested in his contribution (with this particular book) to the Confessional Autobiographical genre of literature, of which this is apparently the “first” (at least in the western canon).  Oh, and that’s him up there in the picture, “reading” too.
• On Christian Teaching — This one’s also by Augustine, but for my Christian Education & Formation Class.  Apparently the good Saint dabbled in a little bit of everything, including my favorite field.  So far, I’ve appreciated some of what he’s said (he’s an early proponent of age-appropriate pedagogy), but he often frustrates me with his highly dualistic Neo-Platonism (an overrated philosophy, IMHO).
• The Creative Word: Canon as a Model for Biblical Education, Walter Brueggemann — Also for my Ed & Formation class.  The jury’s still out on this one, but so far (I’m on chapter one) he has an interesting premise:  That in teaching Old Testament, we should study not just the scriptures themselves, but also the methods by which they were taught as they evolved over centuries in ancient Israel.
• Reclaiming Our Roots:  An Inclusive Introduction to Church History, Mark Ellingsen.  Another for my church history class, this one is exactly what the title indicates — a reconsideration of the contributions of women, Africans, Asians, and other “non-Western” voices to the development of the early and medieval church.
• Documents of the Christian Church, selected and edited by Henry Bettenson.  If you think the presidential debates were contentious, try reading some of the early “church fathers” and “heretics” in their own words, debating through council after council.  I tend to side more with the heretics, but no big surprise there.  It is interesting figuring out “which” heresies I identify with more.  I’m definitely not Gnostic, but I could get right on board with the Ebionites and the Sabellianists.
• On the Incarnation of the Word, St. Athanasius of Alexandria.  This one is for my Patristic Greek Readings class.  We’re reading it in the original Greek, and translating as we go.  I’d comment on the theology, but right now I’m doing pretty good just to eek out a basic meaning, sentence by painstaking sentence.
• Constructing Local Theologies, Robert J. Schreiter.  Another for my Ed & Formation class — this guy reminds me a lot of Paulo Freire, and incorporates a lot of sociology, cultural anthropology, progressive education, and liberation theology into his writing.  It’s perhaps the first approach to theology and education that I’ve been able to get really excited about.
• Brew Like a Monk, Stan Hieronymus.  Ok, ok, so this one’s not “officially” for a class, but I do find significant overlap with my church history class.  Anyhow, it focuses on the Belgian Trappist Monasteries — their history, evolution, philosophy, and brewing practices.  It may not be for a grade, but it also might be one of the most relevant ones to my future pursuits, so I’m keeping it on the list this week.

Anyhow, think that’s enough to keep me busy?  I’ve also got a field trip on Wednesday to The Cloisters art museum in NYC, and a choir concert Friday evening.  Ok — enough blog-crastination.  I’m off to read…

• A Primer of Biblical Greek by N. Clayton Croy
• The Nestle-Aland Novum Testamentum Graece
• A plethora of other Greek books, dictionaries, and flash cards graciously passed down and piled on my by two of my favorite PCUSA pastors, Philip Lotspeich and Glen Hunihan.

So far, I’ve met two other students in my class: One of them has taken Greek before at a different school, and the other has been studying furiously all summer long. No pressure.

Actually, pressure is something I’m starting to feel here, and not just about Greek. On one hand, the people we’ve met have been astonishingly welcoming and friendly, going out of their way to make us feel loved and at home. I get the sense that at least here in CRW (the seminary apartment complex) everyone kind of functions as one big extended family. But as soon as the conversations turn to academics, the tone changes, the eyes shift, and suddenly I feel like I’m back in undergrad running for student body president again. Only this time, *everyone* is running. And already ten miles down the road (sorry for the mixed metaphor).

A lot of the pressure seems to be about getting into a PhD program — and apparently there are many students who come here with no intention of going that route, but then get swept up in it anyhow. I’ve been told that to get into a decent PhD program, I’ll need to maintain a 3.8 or higher GPA, which means that A minuses are a bad, bad thing. I’ve also gathered that in addition to an M.Div, I’ll probably need another more specialized master’s degree to be considered by any top-tier school, and that my planned MA in Christian Education might not be “serious” enough for PhD work. Oh, and since I’m in my thirties already, if I wait too much longer to get a PhD, I might have a hard time getting accepted, since a younger candidate would be a better investment and have more years of productive reasearch/teaching in the field.

How much of this is true, and how much is exaggeration and/or hype? I don’t know yet. I was mostly just happy to be back in school again. I remember when I was in high school, there was a lot of peer pressure and competition to get into a good college (yes, I went to one of *those* high schools). And then in undergraduate, everyone seemed to be motivated to achieve so they could get into a good graduate program. Now that I’m finally here (ten years later) this is familiar — everyone is still focused on “what comes next.” To borrow a programming metaphor, I wonder if that’s a feature, or a bug, in our culture? Perhaps both, to some extent.

I talked to my brother, Jeff, on the phone the other night, and he helped me put a lot of things into perspective. Because seriously, who really needs a PhD to start a micro-brewery monastery? I’ve always thought I would go on to get one someday, but if I do, I think it will be on my own terms, and for the sake of the knowledge, not the image. By striving hard to “achieve” and outdo those around me in this competitive academic environment, I would essentially be “conforming” to the process and doing “what everyone else is doing.” And I’ve never been about conformity, now have I?

Time to go study some Greek. Everyone else here may be looking for a grade, a spotlight, or even the ability to read the New Testament a more original form. Not me — I just want to be able to read Homer’s Odyssey in it’s original language…

Confession: I can’t read just one book at a time. Maybe it’s an ADHD thing, but I generally have three or four books on my “currently reading” shelf at any given moment. However, it’s pretty rare for all of them to be this radical, this life-changing, at once.

The book I’m just finishing (and consequently have been reading longest) is Free Culture by Lawrence Lessig (he’s the guy who started “Creative Commons“). If you’ve ever illegally downloaded music from the internet, if you think Walt Disney was “original,” if you wonder whether or not it’s legal to Tivo your favorite show, or want to know why ASCAP sucks, you should read this book. Come to think of it, if you’ve ever produced anything creative in your life (a song, a painting, a poem, etc.) you should read this book. And you should be afraid of where our culture is headed. Lessig paints it like this:

Free culture is increasingly the casualty in this war on piracy … IN response to a real, if not yet quantified, threat that the technologies of the Internet present to twentieth-century business models for producing and distributing culture, the law and technology are being transformed in a way that will undermine our tradition of free culture … The opportunity to create and transform becomes weakened in a world in which creation requires permission and creativity must check with a lawyer.

The book I’m in the middle of reading is Shane Claiborne’s Irresistable Revolution: Living as an Ordinary Radical. I bought this book because someone at a conference told me I had to read it — apparently it would change my life. I’ve heard that line before, but I bought it anyhow. Then a few weeks later, David Bailey calls me from an airport and says, “Neal — drop everything you’re doing right now and go read this book. It will change your life.” This time I listened. They were both right. Last week I texted David and said, “You were right about the book. So when I go off the deep end, it will be partially your fault.” Claiborne calls for “Christians” to go beyond mere charity and distant, detached interactions with the social problems of our era:

Charity wins awards and applause, but joining the poor gets you killed. People do not get crucified for charity. People are crucified for living out a love that disrupts the social order, that calls forth a new world. People are not crucified for helping poor people. People are crucified for joining them.

It’s one thing to just think or say what he’s saying. I’ve done that plenty. But Shane Claiborne actually lives the way he talks, at an urban intentional community called The Simple Way. To me, this book and the ideas it contains could be the death and resurrection of the church, and possibly the world. And that would be a good thing.

The book I’m just starting is Pedagogy of the Oppressed, by Paulo Freire, a Brazilian Educator who lived through the Great Depression, and taught illiterate peasants in his country how to read — not just so they could “prosper,” but more importantly so they could fight against the wealthy and powerful forces that sought to control and marginalize them in the first place. I haven’t gotten too far into the book, but just enough to get really excited (and cram the margins with notes):

This then, is the great humanistic and historical task of the oppressed: to liberate themselves and their oppressors as well. The oppressors, who oppress, exploit, and rape by virtue of their power cannot find in this power the strength to liberate either the oppressed or themselves … In order to have the continued opportunity to express their “generosity,” the oppressors must perpetuate injustice as well. An unjust social order is the permanent fount of this “generosity,” which is nourished by death, despair, and poverty. That is why the dispensers of false generosity become desperate at the slightest threat to its source.

All three books challenge systems designed to keep the powerful powerful, and the rich rich — at the expense of freedom and opportunity: One from a technological/legal viewpoint, one from a sociological/theological viewpoint, and one from an educational/political viewpoint.

We love to *believe* that the words Thomas Jefferson wrote in the Declaration of Independence — that “all men are created equal” — but but what we actually put into practice is more from George Orwell’s Animal Farm: “All are created equal, but some are more equal than others.” And those “others” will generally stop at nothing to keep it that way. I think this is why Jesus preached that the last shall be first and the first shall be last. He wasn’t talking about people’s souls, or people’s hearts. He was talking about their houses, and their jobs, and their titles, and their bank accounts. Shane Claiborne puts it this way: “True generosity is measured not by how much we give away, but by how much we have left.”

Vive la Revolution!