So…in one year, have things changed?  That’s hard to say.  I still run into assholes on a fairly regular basis — many are still PhD students, sometimes they’re M.Div students, and as I noted in my follow up piece a year ago, sometimes I’m the asshole.  However, I do think, after a year of reflection and interaction, that quantity words like “most” or “almost all” wore a little hyperbolic.

Of course, it’s hard to accurately analyze the change, since now the post itself has influenced the situation.  While a blogger always hopes that his posts will be read, I genuinely didn’t expect that post to spread as far and wide as it did, among the seminary population.  For awhile there, I was told there was a nasty letter about my lack of sexual prowess hanging on the wall in the PhD lounge (classy, huh?).  So now whenever PhD students are really nice to me, I always wonder “Are they doing that just so I won’t blog about them?”  Of course, when I’m nice to PhD students, they probably ask themselves “Does he really think I’m an asshole, and is just being polite?”   And, of course, I’ll probably always wonder (and fret over) how much temptation the blog post causes the PhD students who routinely grade my papers (yes, that’s the way we roll here).

Every now and then, someone will still give me a knowing wink and say–”I just read your blog post about PhD students, man…right on!”  This bothers me a little.  The post was born out of genuine frustration and feelings of powerlessness and isolation that probably most first-year graduate students feel.  I don’t like being reduced to a sort of stick-it-to-the-man kind of mascot (believe it or not).  The post was nuanced, especially in the comments.  And I’ve since learned that most PhD students often feel as frustrated and powerless as I did (which is, of course, still no excuse to take it out on M.Div students).  Probably a good dose of Paulo Friere is what we all really need.

What bothers me even more than this, are the few people who were deeply offended by my post, and who have abandoned relationship with me over the course of the year.  Perhaps that’s just the sad consequence of my actions, or perhaps its my unwillingness to completely “repent” of the post and retract it (I still stand by my right as a blogger to vent my frustration and be human, aka “not nice,” from time to time).  Whichever, it bothers me that there are people who live right across the street from me who haven’t spoken to me since the incident.

I still believe passionately that many people at Princeton Seminary (from M.Div students, to PhDs to faculty and staff) take themselves WAY too seriously, and that the cut-throat spirit of competitiveness is antithetical to the mission of the institution.  A year and a half has solidified that view.  If the seminary adopted a pass/fail system for all classes, that problem would be easily solved.

But that’s not too likely, and here I am slipping into back-seat driver mode again (see how easy it is?).

In studying the Bible, one question that gets raised often is whether or not God changes over the course of the narrative (to which all the orthodox readers all too quickly shout “NO!).  Personally, I don’t have a problem with a God who changes (or evolves), but usually the answer people gravitate to runs something like this:  It’s not God who changed, but rather our perception of God.

So I don’t know whether PhD Students at Princeton Seminary have really changed, or maybe just my perception of them, but all in all it’s been a better year for all of us.  In that spirit, I raise a toast to the PhD students at Princeton Seminary:  May the year to come be prosperous and productive for you, full of the choicest books, the deepest conversations, and the highest praise from your professors.  May you get to know a few MDiv students too, as friends and equals, and not hold the transgressions of the past against them.  And finally, may your humanity to others shine forth in all you do, in the classroom, in the dining hall, and on the quad.

Of course…since I didn’t call them assholes, none of them will probably read this, damn it.

Flooding
After a nice, month-long, circular trip down to Texas this summer, we arrived back in Princeton to a flooded apartment and a bunch of ruined clothes, carpet, etc. I’m not a huge fan of insurance companies or insurance in general, but among these USAA (renter’s insurance this time) is definitely the best. Glad we have it.

Hebrew
I’m in the middle of an intensive summer language course, Hebrew this time. As with Greek last summer, I’ve had my share of eye-opening moments, triumphs, and frustrations — and the latter of those are largely the same sorts of issues as last summer, but (hoping I’ve learned and grown some) I’ll leave it there and not stick my foot in my blog-mouth with another long rant. Suffice it to say that I am challenged, but doing well, and looking forward to being able to translate my favorite book of the Old Testament: Jonah.

Ukulele
While in Texas this summer, I acquired a very nice ukulele, and am starting to realize what an under-appreciated instrument it is. The uke is LOADS of fun, easy to pick up quickly (although I’m sure difficult to master), sounds beautiful, and I can toss it in my backpack for transportation, too! I even got to lead worship with the uke at one of the seminary’s summer chapel services (and yes, I wore a Hawaiian shirt for the occasion).

Family
Amy and the kids enjoyed seeing family and friends on our road trip in July (I did, too), but things have been fairly chaotic since we’ve gotten home. First the kids got sick, then I got Lyme’s disease for awhile, and all this amidst the flood repairs and insurance cataloging. One saving grace has been the weekly summer cookouts we have on various days with various friends. It’s hard to believe that Grady starts kindergarten in just another month, but he’s definitely excited about it.  Abby will start pre-school two half-days a week, so after a summer of craziness, Amy will finally get some much needed break time.

Work
This fall I’ll be back in the teaching field again:  I accepted a part-time teaching English as a Second Language with the English School at Lawrence Road Presbyterian Church.  It’s only one night a week, but I’m pretty excited about being able to do two things I love again:  1) teach English, and 2) work with immigrant communities.  Also, my website business has been taking off like crazy — to the point where I now have clients backed up all the way into the month of October.  One client I’m excited about in particular is the Office of Evangelism for the PC(USA) — I’ll be working with them this fall to develop an evangelism website that promises to be very cool, and very, very different — and that’s all I can say right now

Beer
I’ve been brewing (with my brewing buddies, Josh and T.S.) and storing away a whole stream of beers this summer, in preparation for an Oktoberfest we’re planning to host at our apartment community (CRW).  We’ve brewed some Belgian Ales (one called JezebAle in honor of summer Hebrew) and some interesting German styles too, including a schwarzbier and an alt bier.  All good practice for the future Locke Brothers Microbrewery Monastery/SettlementHouse/Conference&RetreatCenter/School  someday.

Second Life
My “pet project” over the summer has been to immerse myself in the technology and culture of the virtual-reality world of Second Life.  I strongly believe that widespread use of virtual reality will be the next “phase” in the development of internet and communication technology.  So, I’ve created a Second Life avatar (in SL, I’m “Neill Loxingly”) and have been exploring, building and meeting all sorts of real people in this virtual world.  I have to say that outside of Second Life, I’ve encountered a lot of fear, misconception, and even condescension about virtual reality and Second Life in particular (Isn’t that just a “game?” Doesn’t it take away from “real” interactions?).  While these questions are somewhat legitimate, they also show a misunderstanding of the nature of social interaction and the technology.  But, I guess if it were something people generally understood and realized the importance of, I wouldn’t be doing it now, would I?

In Summation of Summer
In the summer between my first and second years at seminary, I finally “feel” like a real seminary student (Look, Gepetto! I’m a real boy!), and like the rhythms, the community, and the patterns of grad-school life are starting to become more natural for me and for my family.  Not to say that it’s easy — in many ways it’s been the hardest thing we’ve yet done, and probably the hardest parts are still to come.  But one year and one summer down has at least bred a sort of familiarity to this season of our lives, and we’re happy to be where we are, doing what we’re doing among great people and greater friends.

From the start, I was interested most in the character of Caliban because he is one of Shakespeare’s most complex characters.  While he is often described as a “monster” he evokes (if played well) a full range of emotions from the audience/reader:  laughter, disgust, sympathy, and even wonder.  He has been treated by various productions as villain, clown, and even tragic hero — the noble savage who is the victim of colonialism and slavery.  And like the timeless characters of Mordred and Judas, he betrays his master and teacher.

Personally, I think of him along the same lines of J.R.R. Tolkien’s character of Gollum.  In fact, I can’t help but wonder if Tolkien drew upon Caliban for inspiration.  The Tempest is one of only two Shakespearean plays (the other being A Midsummernight’s Dream) that are considered “fantasy,” and as such might have been a great interest to Tolkien, the “father” of modern fantasy literature.   When one reads (or watches the film versions of) Lord of the Rings, one doesn’t quite know whether to love, hate, fear, pity, or laugh at Gollum (who also betrays his master in the end).

In any case, it’s certainly a fascinating role, and a challenging one to play well.  Rehearsals start next week, and performances will be April 2-4 @8:00 in Scheide Hall here on Campus, and then a matinee performance Sunday, April 5th at 3:00.  Hope to see you there, my precioussssesss…

Admittedly, calling people assholes is not the best way to start a conversation, but for better or worse, I did have a lot of conversations last week: With PhD students, with fellow MDiv students, with former students, faculty members, staff members, bloggers, anonymous emailers and letter writers, and also with the Dean of Students.

Many brought up the fact that, while there was some truth to what I said, it was the manner in which it was said that generated most of the controversy. This sentiment is not lost or wasted on me. Blogging is a balancing act. It is confessional: striving to capture the authentic emotions of the moment (even frustrated angry ones). It is marketing: striving to say something interesting enough for people to actually read it. But unlike a diary or a newspaper, it is also conversational: striving to draw people into the conversation in a way that shows respect for all. Obviously, I’m still working on that last part.

I can also acknowledge that the post in question was a rather truncated viewpoint on what is certainly a complicated issue–communities and relationships are always about more than gimmicky labels, limited experiences, and painting with broad strokes. Certainly, moving beyond those things is a step in the right direction. So I wanted to offer this additional insight in light of my experiences resulting from last week’s blog post.

I wrote a blog post about PhD Students at Princeton Theological Seminary. I said some pretty disparaging things about PhD Students at Princeton Theological Seminary. I got a lot of different responses, but here are the ones that stand out most in my mind:

1. A PhD student who sat next to me on the shuttle this week, and listened patiently.
2. Another PhD student who calmly offered affirmation and thoughtful insight from the other side.
3. Another PhD student, who made it a point to let me know he had been praying for me.
4. Another PhD student, who picked me up and took me on an errand run while coaching and preparing me for all possible angles & outcomes in my meeting with the dean.
5. And finally a PhD student who sent an email to the dean saying “If he goes down, I want to go down with him.”

If those are the kind of things PhD students at Princeton Theological Seminary will do to go out of their way for a first-year MDiv student, then the only word that comes to my mind is “Grace.”

For what it’s worth, that word applies to my meeting with the dean as well. I spent all Friday morning reading the student handbook, noting (to my dismay) all the ways in which I might legitimately be chastised, penalized, or censored. My undergraduate years, and my all-too-frequent conversations with another dean of students accustomed me to one-way conversations that ended in penance for me. Instead, the dean explained the tense emotions of the community in light of another recent incident (that I had known about, but not considered when writing my post), explained that the Seminary had no interest in micro-managing or censoring student blogs, but asked me very nicely if I might consider toning things down as they work toward reconciliation among the community.  I am entirely willing to get on board and work toward that goal.

Are there still assholes at Princeton Theological Seminary? To be sure, and some days I’m one of them. But perhaps where assholes abound, grace abounds even more. This asshole, for one, is grateful for that.

I’ve been an M.Div student at Princeton Seminary for five months now, and while that’s hardly enough time to make a definitive study of the people and culture here, some impressions are certainly forming in my mind.  First among them is a rather stark, mostly unspoken, dichotomy between master’s level students and PhD students.  I’ll make the early disclaimer that by no means have I met all the PhD students at the seminary.  But I think by now I’ve met enough of them to see a pattern: They all seem to fall into one of three broad categories:

1. Assholes – You don’t even have to ask them if they’re PhD students.  You know.  And even if you did ask, it’s doubtful they would deign to respond.  When they do speak to you, it’s either because they are correcting you, or because they’re being paid to speak to you as Preceptors (Teaching Assistants).  They know just about everything there is to know, unless in the presence of an actual professor, in which case they suddenly become the most delightful, congenial people in the room.  The idea that an MDiv student might know anything worthwhile is preposterous — nevermind that as a “second career” student, I’m actually older than many of them, and have often had several more years of experience in both church and academic settings.  They are condescending both in and out of class. Fortunately, the genuine assholes are not nearly as numerous as the next category…
2. Wannabe Assholes – These are PhD students who, perhaps through insecurity, indecision, or apathy (I’m not sure which, possibly all of the above) don’t fit into categories 1 or 3.  Maybe they’re trying to be more humane assholes. They are the ones who wil strike up a friendly conversation with you as long as no one else is around, but then ignore you when in the presence of others. They may not correct you in person, but from a distance, you can overhear their opinions of MDiv students easily enough. They don’t *tell* you that your opinion/knowledge/experience is insignificant, but they still think it (and usually do a poor job of disguising their thoughts).  In my limited experience, this is the largest category of PhD students at Princeton Seminary.
3. Human Beings – Although I can count this variety on the fingers both of my hands, they are the few PhD students who make my experience here interesting and worthwhile.  They treat other students as peers, genuinely listen to and consider their thoughts, and go out of their way to make new MDiv students feel welcome and part of community life.  One in particular actually reached out to me and my family several months before we arrived on campus, and has continued to offer thoughtful and kind guidance in both academic and community matters.  They do not flaunt their intelligence at the expense of others, and are just as accessible in and out of the classroom.  They are a credit to their institution, and I only wish they were the rule, not the exception.

I have had all of the above as both acquaintances and Preceptors.  If you’re reading this as a PhD student at Princeton Seminary, and you happen to ask me which category you fall in, I’ll probably tell you “category 3.”  But there’s a 33% chance I’m lying to save face for both of us.  Actually, if you bother to ask me at all, you couldn’t really be in category 1, because you wouldn’t waste time reading the blog of a mere MDiv student (unless for the purpose of admonishing me about this blog post, or correcting my flawed and ingorant perspective). Instead of asking me, I’d suggest asking yourself how you *really* percieve the students you teach and interact with in community, and if your actions reflect your perceptions.

I’m resisting the temptation to draw conclusions about Doctoral work as a whole, but it does seem to me that perhaps the “PhD” as the pinnacle of academic achievement in our culture is likely to reflect its shortcomings — the cutthroat competition, the jockeying for position and influence, the arrogance (I know a few things about arrogance) and narrow-minded suspicion required to stake out a small patch of intellectual territory and rabidly defend it against all intruders (read “my precioussss…”) — these are all characteristics conducive to climbing the ivory tower, but they are not conducive to genuine education, learning, or sharing of knowledge for the benefit of others.  Even more so at a seminary.

Anyhow, I’ve got three years to change my mind on all of this, and I suspect that the PhD students in closest proximity will be the most influential in whatever final conclusions I come to.  Prove me wrong, Princeton.  Prove me wrong.

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…

This is tricky on a couple of levels.  First, I don’t like to distinguish between “Christian” education and education of any other sort.  If I consider myself to be a Christian, then all my educational experiences are part of my education as a Christian, and hence “Christian Education” (for me, at least).  Second, and even more problematic, I consider *all* experiences to be part of my education, whether intentionally so or not.  Life is an educational process.  I’d go so far as to say that in most lives, the vast majority of education happens outside the classroom, unscripted.  Even for scholars.  I’m heavily influenced by Rousseau on this one.

Back to the paper:  It’s my first grad-school paper, so I’m probably stressing over it unduly.  Unlike most papers I’ll do in the next few years, this one doesn’t seem to require any research, citations, comparative analysis (at least none outside my own brain).  It’s “reflective” in nature — as a blogger, I should be pretty good at that, right?

Still, it’s my first grad-school paper.  I have to perform.  When I finished summer Greek with a 98% average, other seminary students told me not to get used to it, that my grades would surely drop in the school year.  That annoyed me, and made me want to prove them wrong.  Here’s my first chance.  Of course, I’m also supposed to “not care about my grades” because I’m here for the education, not the grades.  Welcome to my hypocrisy.  

Really, since it’s due in less than 48 hours, what I *really* should be doing is writing the paper now, not “writing about writing” the paper.  But such is the meta-cognition of the self-obsessed blogger… Oh, and in that vein, I’m a “wikifier,” too — so I’m writing it on my wiki for the world to see (and potentially contribute, although that raises some interesting and dangerous academic questions).  Anyhow, here’s the first paragraph.  I did the English Major thing and decided to start with a metaphor.  Let me know what you think.  Suggestions for direction are welcome, too…

There was never any question if, whether, or which of the evening leftovers would go into the stew pot. In my six-person family of origin, everything that wasn’t eaten for dinner got absorbed into the big stewpot in the freezer, waiting to be thawed, reheated, and reclaimed at the end of the week. The only real question was how this particular addition would affect the taste and character of the stew when the pot was full. Thinking of this dubious family tradition provides an apt enough metaphor for my education as a Christian through the years — mixed up and messy, formed in community, experimental, more concerned with input than outcome, while still intensely practical and sustainable at the end of the day (or week, rather).