Mr. Locke’s Classroom

Last month, during Jan Term, I had an interesting conversation at a lunch-gathering with my Pseudo-Dionysius professor, Dr. Paul Rorem and a few other students. We started off talking about the inauguration, and I mentioned that I would be watching and “twittering” it along with 50 or so of my closest twitter friends. This comment shifted the conversation instantly to the subject of twitter, and my twittering “habit.” What follows is more of an approximation of our conversation than a transcription:

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.

I couldn’t resist the opportunity to blog about today’s historic inauguration of Barack Obama. If I didn’t, I might regret it later. Of course, with that said, all inaugurations are historic, just for different reasons. Anyhow, here are some of my “historic” observations…

Twittering the Inauguration: Last week I was having lunch with my church history professor, Dr. Paul Rorem, and some students from my Pseud0-Dionysius class. We were talking about our different plans for watching the inauguration, and so I mentioned that I would most likely be both watching and “tweeting” it with 30 or 40 of my closest twitter friends (which I did). It was an interesting conversation, and I’ll blog more about it later this week, but for today, suffice it to say that the inauguration confirmed a theory I’ve been working on about Twitter as Scholia — basically a running commentary on important events in our culture and society, not unlike the notes that medieval monks and theologians wrote in the margins of scriptures and other important texts.

Grady and Presidential “Powers”:  Walking my four-year-old son to school this morning, I brought up the subject of the inauguration, since during the election he had announced his  support for ‘Arack Obama (despite my own preferences).   He still likes Barack Obama, but I’m not sure he has that much of a grasp on what exactly a president is.  So I thought I would help clarify with a little analogy:

DADDY:  Do you remember the character Ajihad, in the book we’re reading (Christopher Paolini’s Eragon)?
GRADY: Yes, Daddy.  He’s the leader of the Varden.
DADDY:  Ok, that’s kind of like a President.  Barack Obama is our country’s new leader, like Ajihad was for the Varden.
GRADY: Oh.   [thinks about it some]  So what does Barack Obama fight with, then?

And that’s how you can tell you’ve been reading too many fantasy novels to your son (if that’s possible).  Still, I should have told him the President fights with a magic spell book called “The Constitution,” and with a sword called “The Executive Order.” I hear it can slice a Congressman in half with a single stroke. Oh, and let’s not forget the shield of “Presidential Privilege” and the helmet of “Plausible Deniability.”  Didn’t work so well for Nixon, but Reagan and Bush seemed to have wielded them often enough…

Obama’s Speech:  There was much to like in Obama’s inauguration speech, but I didn’t think he “hit it out of the park.”  Perhaps because everyone was comparing him to JFK and MLK, I was expecting more.  Kennedy’s inauguration speech and MLK’s “I Have a Dream” speech still send shivers up my spine.  Obama’s speech was good, and he delivered it well, but it won’t go down in history as one of the great speeches of all time.  His speech during the campaign about race, on the other hand, actually might.

Here’s the part of today’s speech I liked best:

To the people of poor nations, we pledge to work alongside you to make your farms flourish and let clean waters flow; to nourish starved bodies and feed hungry minds. And to those nations like ours that enjoy relative plenty, we say we can no longer afford indifference to suffering outside our borders; nor can we consume the world’s resources without regard to effect. For the world has changed, and we must change with it.

I hope he can keep that pledge, and that congress will help him do it.  I also like that he called on all those who “enjoy relative plenty” to join in the effort.  I think we could do no better than to start with our neighbor to the immediate south, Mexico.  I noticed that he didn’t say anything about immigration reform, but that’s not too surprising — Bush saw the border as a “homeland security” issue, but Obama’s speech overall gives me hope he’ll see it through the more compassionate lens of “love for neighbor.”

Here’s my least favorite part of the speech:

We will not apologize for our way of life, nor will we waver in its defense, and for those who seek to advance their aims by inducing terror and slaughtering innocents, we say to you now that our spirit is stronger and cannot be broken; you cannot outlast us, and we will defeat you.

Sometimes I do think we should apologize for our American way of life — especially when it involves invading innocent countries because we “suspect” them of terrorism, or polluting the environment to assuage our rampant consumerism.  And let’s not forget that we, too, are guilty of slaughtering millions of innocents. I would have been more comfortable if he had said “we will defeat you with our ideals, our integrity, and commitment to justice.”  But he didn’t.  He just ended that paragraph there, letting Conservative hawks assume he meant, “If you mess with America, we’ll still kick your ass.”  And who knows? Maybe that’s exactly what he meant.  Considering what I read my son, I’m probably not one to judge.

The overall tone of the speech, continuing themes from his campaign, was one of reconciliation and hope.  And I certainly think he’s an improvement over our last president.  Obama’s election and inauguration are long deserved triumphs for African-Americans and indeed all Americans on the frontier of race.  But at the end of the day, I must remind myself (and everyone else) that he’s not a savior, not a messiah.  Just a man, confined within the limits of a two-party system, an enormous bureaucracy, and a plethora of special interest groups.  I hope he can navigate all of these things well, and I don’t mind being pleasantly surprised. So congratulations to the USA, and to you, President Obama.  I will earnestly place my hope in you, but (I hope you’ll understand) not my faith.  In fact, I think we’d be a little better off if all of us placed a little more hope in our country, and a little less faith.

God Bless America? I found it fascinating that Rick Warren led the nation in the inaugural prayer, and that Bishop TD Jakes preached the private inaugural sermon this morning.  Sadly, the ministerial voice most absent was the one I find myself most often in agreement with:  Jeremiah Wright.   I hope Obama’s rejection of Wright, and turn to these two more conservative pastors is not a preview of changing beliefs or politics.  I understand the political expediency that required Obama to distance himself from Wright, but I hope the reconciliation in the air extends to Obama’s long-time pastor, too.  Jeremiah Wright got fried over a brief clip from a sermon that was taken entirely out of context.  But I think my closing sentiments echo his true message a bit better:   May God Bless America:   South America…Central America… Mexico…Canada… And may the United Sates of America stop worrying so much about getting blessed, and start worrying about how we can bless those around us. Despite Wright’s absence, I sensed his influence in parts of Obama’s speech.  And so, I too, have hope today.

At 2:14 minutes in, watch her start conducting… (and dancing, and singing)

So my break from the blog was a little longer than my break from classes. But I’m still here, and several blog-able ideas have been percolating in my mind, with no other constructive outlet. Rather than jump in right away, however, here are a few shorter “updates.”

Weather:  As I write this, it’s snowing outside, and has been for most of the day.  We were lucky to spend a nice, warm Christmas season in sunny El Paso, Tx and a few days in Phoenix, AZ.  But that’s over now, and it’s back to freezing, freezing, cold.  Grady is having the time of his life, though, and has already built a miniature snowman, and covered the sidewalk with snow angels.  The other day when I was walking to class, bundled in multiple layers, gloves, hat, even thermal underwear — and still feeling like I might die of hypothermia at any minute — a girl jogged casually past me wearing shorts and a t-shirt.  Sigh.  Guess I’m just a weather-wimp.  Oh well, three more months to go. Then four more years…

Classes:  I’m about halfway through the January term, which, although occuring in the spring of calendar year 2009 is academically considered part of the fall 2008 semester (hey, I don’t make the rules, thank God).  I’m taking one class, which meets three days a week in the mornings: The Theological Legacy of the Dionysian Forgery, with Professor Paul Rorem (who was also my church history professor last semester).  The reading is pretty dense — the kind where you have to read every sentence three or four times before it begins to make sense, and then when you think you’ve grasped it, you suddenly realize you haven’t.  Still, the subject matter is interesting, and both influences/touches on everything from medieval scholasticism and angelology to neo-platonism,  gothic architecture, intellectual property, and even post-modern deconstructionism.  More on Pseudo-Dionysius later.

Abby:  She’s not only walking, but almost running everywhere now, and has developed quite a vocabulary over the Christmas holidays.  She yells “Da-Da!” when I walk through the door at the end of the day, and then raises her arms in the air, saying “Wee-wee!” which means she wants me to pick her up and fly her through the air like an airplane (her favorite).  She also *finally* has been letting me read to her, and will even bring me a book to read, her favorites being Go Dogs, Go!; Goodnight Gorilla; and Sandra Boynton’s Moo, Baa, La, La, La.  She dances when you play music, and loves to play peekaboo (which she says “pickabee”). In case there was ever any doubt, she’s definitlely aspiring to be a girly-girl, and will walk around the house with a purse on her arm, trying to steal her mom’s makeup.  She has a particular fondness for jewelery, watches, and cell-phones.  She also says hello, bye-bye, baby, mamma,  bubba, book, no, hat, nose, clock, tick-tock, Grandad, and meow (which she pronounces miamee).

Facebook:  A few weeks ago, I found one of my old friends from elementary school in Belgium on facebook — that led to another and another, until we’ve almost got enough for a 5th grade class reunion.  I’ve reconnected with some great childhood friends, and had to brush up on my long dormant French in the process.  Thank God for Google translator and Babel Fish to pick up the slack.

Brewing:  While my brothers were in town last week, we brewed our first batch of “Locke Bros Beer” all together — they’ve been brewing for almost a year, and  started earlier this fall.  This was my fourth batch total, and it looks to be a Strong Belgian-style Golden Ale.  We haven’t named it yet, though.   I’m almost out of the Christmas Beer I brewed in December, called IncarnationAle.  It got plenty of good reviews, though, except for a few people who were surprised when the cranberry came out of the bottle along with the beer!  Thanks to Philip Lotspeich, Drew Ludwig, and Loren Crow, who each (independently) suggested the same name.

Search for a Church:  As an inquirer on the “ordination track” I’m under care of my home church and presbytery, which means that we’ll remain members of Faithbridge Presbyterian Church in Frisco, Tx during my entire time at seminary.  Still, we’ve been looking for a place to worship on Sunday mornings, and it hasn’t been easy.  Most of the Presbyterian churches we’ve visited in this part of the country are very “high church” traditional, and almost identical in architecture, aesthetics, liturgy and demographics.  Plus, they all seemed to have everything all worked out.  Coming from a new church development, we weren’t used to that.  Some didn’t seem too welcoming, and some didn’t have much in the way of nursery/Sunday school for Abby and Grady.  But I think we finally found a place we really like:  Middlesex Presbyterian Church, in Middlesex, NJ.  It’s about a 45 minute drive north of us, and the one service starts at 9:30am, but the church is very warm, friendly, multicultural, and there are a LOT of four year-old boys for Grady to play with.  The pastor’s name also happens to be Neal — Neal Presa, and I’ve had a chance to get to know him a little via facebook, lunch, and a few other conversations — that’s important to me.  More importantly, we felt like MPC is a place we can help and contribute, and a place that isn’t afraid to be creative and even a little “wheels off” as my pastor/mentor/friend, Philip Lotspeich, likes to say.

New Year’s Resolution:  In short, I don’t have one yet.  Last year’s was the first I ever kept throughout the whole year, and it was an enjoyable experience I think I’ll keep observing last year’s resolution (to only buy clothes at second-hand stores like Goodwill or Salvation Army), just not as dogmatically.  But still, I was hoping to come up with something new.  Something that, while making a difference in my life, also helps to make a small difference in the larger world.  I’m giving myself until the end of January to come up with something, so any realistic (taking me into account) suggestions are welcome.

Blog Posts Coming Up Next: (I have to say this publically to hold myself accountable):

• Twittering and mobile-internet:  Disruptive or Enhancing?
• Princeton Theological Seminary:  A School for Wizards
• Mission Trail:  A New (and old) Kind of Border Fence

Needless to say, last week was an interesting week.

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.

This has all the makings of one of those posts that I’ll regret later on, but nevertheless…

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.