If you were a child of the 80s, or had a child in the 80s, you’ll remember the public service announcements they showed on daytime television, especially Saturday morning. I occasionally use the phrase “that’s one to grow on” when a show is particularly heavy handed in presenting a lesson.
These covered a lot of topics, with many of them about the dangers of drugs. Drugs were a big deal in the 80s, and the best way to keep kids away from drugs was to make short films that told kids in no uncertain terms that drugs were bad and that bad people do them. You don’t want a fried-egg brain, do you?
I’ve forgotten most of them, but a few have become part of pop folklore. For instance, the one about the dad who confronts his son after finding drugs in his room.
This came to mind as I was thinking about habitus the other day. What is habitus? It’s habits. But why not say habits? Because latin makes it sound more profound, of course. More than that, it’s not just habits as we usually think of them, things we happen to do. Like putting my keys on the desk by the door when I get home, or forgetting to close the cabinet doors when I get a plate.
More, it’s really formational habits that shape us in a particular way. Like practicing a sport builds muscle memory so that when we play we respond without going through an intellectual process. The brain is slow, after all, and by the time it sorts through the various options and issues, everyone is on the other side of the field.
It’s the same way with morality and spirituality. In the moment, we respond. And our response reflects who we have been up to that point, what feeds into our values and priorities. Our habitus is reflected in our habits, priorities, use of time.
Why was I thinking about habitus the other day? I was reading a great book by Alan Kreider called The Patient Ferment of the Early Church, one of the best books I’ve read all year. In it, he talks about the habitus of the early Christians, how their intentional practices and rhetoric oriented them to respond with patience in the midst of a lot of chaos. That patience defined every aspect of personal and church life, allowing Christians to grow and spread in unimaginable ways.
That changed when Constantine came into power, and Kreider argues impatience became cemented into Christian habitus through the writings of Augustine. Things needed doing, heretics needed resisting, the state needed converting, and there’s no time to wait.
Impatience defines so much of Christian ministry even to our era, where everything is measured in the short term and immediate success of limited tenure ministers, who will move onward and upward as they are able. Buildings get bigger, bulletins get flashier, budgets get bloatier, numbers of all sorts of things and people (and people are often basically things) are counted and massaged.
The challenge for churches becomes a budgetary bloom, where people are called to give and give and give. This then is the primary expression of spiritual service. When money becomes center, and money is used to expand property or improve facilities or hire staff–none of which are bad things–it becomes an expression of a core spiritual discipline.
Then people who want to contribute to the life of the church develop ideals about how this can happen and how to live out their own lifestyle of displayed plenty.
Money brings nice things. Those who have money get treated better and have more influence.
The odd thing is, as we build in this consumer mentality within church life, it coincides with a frustration about consumerism.
An impatient and consuming church contributes to an impatient and consuming society.
Which is me saying, it’s no use railing against consumerism in society until church growth models themselves stop being consumeristic themselves, consuming people, resources, time spent on frivolous activities.
Where did they learn it from? Not from Jesus. From impatience and societal displays of success that were intended to provoke awe and envy and competition. And the more competition there is, the more people will be willing to shop around for the best product and value. They look for that which is celebrated by those who lead the churches.
Not all churches are like this, but those who aren’t, those pastors who aren’t, feel a constant tug to just give in, because that way is the way to honor and success in the church world.
Recently, Pete Enns, a scholar of the Old Testament, wandered over to the annual gathering of the American Academy of Religion. This is the largest society of scholars whose work focuses on, you guessed it, religion. That term is defined expansively (as it should be) to include the study of many known and lesser known religions. Even I’m a member of the American Academy of Religion, though they probably don’t know it.
Folks, there are TOO MANY people out there with earned doctorates in Bible and Theology. There will never be enough jobs to accommodate the numbers. Schools are cutting or downsizing programs, but the PhD conveyor belt keeps moving along at a steady clip as if everything is just peachy.
One problem in all this that needs to be addressed with some urgency is the moral irresponsibility of academic institutions who blissfully offer degrees in fields for which there are no jobs.
I didn’t attend AAR this past year for various reasons, the biggest being I have too much work to and couldn’t get away to Boston for the week. If that sounds like a bit of a brag from this graduate of Fuller Seminary’s PhD program, it’s not. Just the state of my current professional life that has a lot more course prep than the average.
Here’s what Enns concluded:
Schools should be honest about how many of their PhD graduates have full time teaching positions.
Schools should be honest about the job market for incoming students.
Evangelical schools should not have PhD programs. That should be left to places like Harvard, or Cambridge, or even, the heavens defend us, Yale.
Students who are fine with 3 should realize they’ll be competing for jobs with graduates from elite institutions, and those elite institutions look better in school catalogs.
Schools should tell students to have a plan B and make that their plan A, and really to go ahead and forget plan A altogether because you won’t be hired in respectable academia. He suggests some plan B ideas: teach overseas (because apparently foreign places will take anyone); go into the pastorate (but don’t think you’ll be living the philosopher-king ideal–too much busyness for that–and the people don’t want your fancy book-learning).
I can offer a hearty yes to all of these, except #3 and maybe #4. Though I was dismayed to find more than a few on twitter saying yes to all of these, especially #3. Mostly, I suspect, because they have degrees from places like Harvard or Cambridge, so want the jobs they have been told they deserve, even at Evangelical institutions. That is how the world is supposed to work.
And I also have to say that talking to job hunters at AAR is a bit like going to a singles bar and hearing people complain there’s no good relationships out there.
Even still, I’m inclined to agree him based on my own experiences in PhD studies and postdoctoral employment insecurities. The last time I was at AAR, I was one of those battered job hunters, eager for a job or even just to be recognized as a human. “See, I have a name badge, and the nice attendant who checked me in gave me a tote bag.” I was very used to being looked through that week, present but not a real person. It was a very discarnating experience.
I sent out a lot of applications, I got one interview, for the job I was temporarily filling, and was doing quite well at. I didn’t get to the final rounds of interviews, even though I couldn’t be doing anything better. My teaching was well-reviewed, I had good publications, and so on. Why didn’t I get the job? I wasn’t told outright, but my strong impressions match what Enns talks about.
It worked out fine, actually, as I got a call about six months later asking me if I wanted to teach for Fuller. Which makes me, currently, one of those rare recent PhD graduates with a full time position. It’s not a tenure track job, though, and that puts me in a nebulous category of success and an even more nebulous category of job security. My contract ends in June, and as of now I don’t have a job as of July 2018.
Hopefully that will change, and I have hope, but it makes it so I’m not looking at this discussion from the perspective of the mountaintop. I’m on the ropes, and I’m not sure how well my rope is secured to the rock face. But at 200 feet up, either direction is a challenge for my emotional serenity.
Every so often, like yesterday and last week Wednesday, I wake up at 3:43 in the morning with a slight panic about how irresponsible I’ve been. I have a PhD in Theology from an Evangelical seminary, with a minor in Church History, and a lack of other documented talents otherwise.
That I sometimes walk by those application carrels at Target and think about sitting down at one says how much I agree with Enns’s arguments.
But I’m a contrarian by nature and spent a life indulging in irresponsible behavior (at least in a professional sense), so there’s this certain amount of defensiveness that rises up in response. After waking up at 3:47 this morning again with that slight panic and concurrent resistant hope, I realized why I can agree with Enns about the state of PhD employment while still fundamentally disagreeing with his points, especially point #3.
That last part shows why I am sticking with academia for now. Who else would put up with such a sentence?
Anyway, while I don’t encourage anyone to go into academia, and heartily encourage those in academia to leave it, thus opening up cushy tenure-track positions for those of us who don’t listen to that first bit of advice, here’s why I disagree with Enns. It comes down to two significant crises, which while shockingly entrenched aren’t actually insurmountable. Note, these are really only relevant for those of us who are somehow committed to #3. Anyone else is welcomed to keeping reading, if only for anthropological insights about that weird species called Evangelicals.
Here are the crises:
Crisis of academia
Crisis of imagination
1. The crisis of academia has two issues with it. Well, really there’s all sorts of issues if you are keeping up with academia outside the realms of multibillion dollar endowments, but two that are particularly important for PhD students and programs at Evangelical schools.
The first aspect is there’s a conflating of the “academic” with “intellectual.” Working in contemporary expressions of academia is not the only expression of intellectual life, and, more importantly, such contemporary expressions of academia do not define what it means to be intellectual.
Note, that academia does not want people to realize this.
The reality is that academia is a system, a self-sustaining system that is primarily about self-sustaining. It is only, I’d argue, secondarily interested in actually promoting objective knowledge for its own sake. Academia seeks power and influence and security in itself, so offers people power and influence and security within itself in order to perpetuate.
There’s a lot of good effects from this, but the core issue is that “academic” and “intellectual” are not equivalent terms with equivalent goals. Sometimes, (read this next phrase in a conspiratorial whisper) it is even the case they have contrary goals.
This connects with the second aspect of the academic crisis: there’s a strong interest in ceding control of academic theology to secular institutions, which do not have intellectual theology’s best interests in mind. If schools want to rise in academic stature in accordance with the academic perception perpetuated by academic powers, then it makes sense to go only with those who have degrees from reputation enhancing schools.
This, of course, will keep the rankings always the same, as Harvard and Cambridge, or even, the heavens defend us, Yale, will always dominate. This is why, of course, they like the system as it is!
But, being by nature more revolutionary, I’m not sure the divine right of ivy is itself a bearer of intellectual priority. So schools have to ask themselves whether their goal is to participate in perpetuating such a system or if their goals lie elsewhere. Should secular institutions define what it means to study Christian theology?
For many in academia, the trouble with Evangelical institutions is a bit like King Edward’s trouble with Scotland, they’re full of Evangelicals. Academia does not want Evangelical schools to succeed and so it’s odd that schools still seek validation from those who want to encourage their dissolution.
Is Christian theology best served, intellectually, by having a narrow range of perspectives contributing to its development? Is there a benefit to having Christian theology developed and taught by those with a driving commitment to its thriving rather than its diminishment? A degree from a reputation enhancing school may not in fact provide the best actual education for the intellectual contribution to Christianity.
This certainly isn’t to say that there are no Evangelicals graduating from academically premier schools, more to say that such schools are not themselves in the business of helping Evangelicalism become stronger or more intellectual. Most institutions, and the people in them, would be entirely happy to have Evangelical schools close for all sorts of reasons that aren’t related to intellectual rigor.
To let these schools, and their assumption of academic priority, define what theology is and how it should be taught seems a fundamental betrayal of our own calling as Christians and as a church.
Theology isn’t just a set of topics to consider, a field isolated to its own discussions, and following a pattern in which little read articles based on little attended presentations define intellectual achievement. It is a living experience that resonates throughout our lives and our cultures, coming to terms with all that is in ways that give shape to our hopes and guidance in our concerns.
At least that is what theology meant for most of the last two thousand years, before it was co-opted by an academy that sought to defang its radical social impulses and protect itself from its critiques. Christian theology historically developed in the context of rigorous Christian devotion and passionate Christian practice, which gave added impulse to intellectual depth and study.
This is not dismissing the importance of intellectual rigor to say we need training institutions committed to the living faith of Christ, it’s encouraging it.
For instance, my research interests were in the intersection of systematic theology and missional ecclesiology, focusing on Moltmann’s theology with a strong pneumatological priority. I think this provides a significant amount of guidance for the future of church life, which has been affirmed by both students and publications. Fuller Seminary made this research possible in a way that I’m not sure could have happened elsewhere.
Studying with Moltmann himself may have been better, but he was long retired by the time I started and as he did contribute a recommendation for my PhD application, he encouraged my irresponsibility. He never suggested instead applying to either Harvard or Cambridge, oddly enough.
“Have courage,” he wrote in a letter confirming his recommendation. I didn’t realize how much courage it would take to keep pressing on.
I may not be able to get a job at Harvard or Duke because of my institutional pedigree, but I’m still confident I have an intellectual contribution to make that is important for both the church and the academy, one that’s unique precisely because of my particular training.
We need variety of PhD graduates to keep intellectual perspectives lively! We can’t trust, nor should we, a few institutions to say they’ll be fair in carrying the weight of free intellectual inquiry. People from similar places all sound a lot alike, after all, and that leads to intellectual inbreeding.
2.The crisis of imagination.
By assuming that academic is equivalent with intellectual and ceding academic control of theology to the secular academy, the church has let itself be fundamentally co-opted in its expression of its own beliefs. This goes two directions.
One, the anti-intellectual direction that led conservative institutions and conservative churches to reject academic standards, to embrace a kind of sanctified ignorance.
The other is the anti-spiritual direction that led other institutions away from living faith toward an idealized anthropology, a bizarro-gnosticism that glorifies the physical and denies the Spiritual a space of existence.
This all resulted in a narrow imagination for advanced learning: that the only reason for a PhD in Bible and Theology is to teach in academic institutions that are defined by the academic system.
This is the fundamental crisis Enns is getting at, as there are not enough jobs in the diminishing religion departments of these institutions, and thus it is morally irresponsible for many institutions to give these degrees and professionally irresponsible for anyone to get one of these degrees.
Yes, but I’m not willing to say that this is how things should be or must be. In ceding control of academic theology to a particular system and then letting this system define who is able to succeed in such a system, we are perpetuating the continuing decline of Western spirituality.
Maybe we should stop doing this.
Maybe the trouble is that we’ve been indulging in moral irresponsibility for far too long already.
Maybe, rather than seeing advanced theological education as a problem, and encouraging less people to take it up, we should see it as a cause worth celebrating.
Women and men all over the world want to be trained to the utmost in understanding the Bible and theology. Women and men all over the world see their calling as teaching others, as providing counsel and insight in particular contexts. Women and men all over the world are called in service to the church–which may include participation in the academy as part of their vocation. They are called to the Body of Christ, not as extroverted social networkers or cheerleaders, but as educated tutors of the faith who work in undergraduate institutions, seminaries, graduate schools, and someday (I suggest) even training centers for advanced teaching oriented to maturing Christians.
Maybe rather than seeing them as a problem to be solved, making them feel depressed about the contrary nature of their calling and their prospects, and this a calling to be repressed, we should imagine possibilities beyond the realm of academic limitations. Maybe we should find ways to embrace intellectual flourishing that aren’t dependent on secular institutional bureaucracies or academic professional societies for validation.
Maybe the failure of having too many PhDs in Bible and theology is a problem that creates an opportunity for a new age in Christian intellectual life. Rather than say, “No more!” to people interested in advanced learning, we develop structures that deepen of our faith, coordinate with our practices, that give all Christians access to advanced training.
Maybe, just maybe, we should encourage women and men to pursue their calling and to be a better kind of church that makes space for such learning to find a wonderful productivity. Maybe rather than fighting over scraps and emphasizing restrictions, we could see there’s a wider world of potential.
Which isn’t really even about abandoning academia even, it’s about making sure that if we embrace intellectual rigor we don’t let ourselves be limited by negating gatekeepers who want to control the intellectual boundaries. A Christian theology that develops within its own goals of deepening and thriving will provide a lasting testimony of intellectual contribution to the world.
I think this is the way of hope and gives me a lot of excitement about my own role and calling in and around academia.
Of course, I might be wrong about all this, about the crises and possibilities, and about my own academic future. At which point there really is only one question I’m left with: Do you want fries with that?
In John 14–16, Jesus sets the stage for his departure. His leaving is not loss but gain. It is good because it will inaugurate a transformative experience of the Spirit. It is good because it will initiate a transformative experience of life and hope. This life is one of love; the hope is that there will be peace.
As Jesus puts it in 14:25, the promised Spirit will “teach you everything, and remind you of all that I have said to you.” In the next verse, he emphasizes the element of peace: “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.”
We cannot just stop at these verses and then pursue these themes with our own tactics and strategies, as if Jesus left us with a set of vague goals, as if the gospel were just a set of statements with which to agree. The gospel is not just a set of doctrines; it is a way of being, an orientation in life. These verses on the Spirit and peace are intentionally connected and part of the promise of Jesus to the people of God, the new promise of the arriving kingdom.
The peacemaking Spirit passes the peace to us and we pass this peace to those around us. The gospel is an invitation to peace. We are to be peacemakers.
This peace has three movements, each interconnected and mutually informing. First, we experience peace from God, next, we experience peace with our own self, and then we can pass this peace to others.
Read more about each of these movements and the overall work of the Spirit in orienting us toward peace in my article “Passing the Peace: A Pneumatology of Shalom” in the Fall issue of Fuller Magazine, and recently posted online.
I’ve observed a number of these, though haven’t heard human speech (that I know of!) or seen anting. I’ve definitely seen playing and teasing, “teenage” gangs, and others. Watching ravens is always a fascinating way to spend time, whether they’re flying (they love it) or walking around poking at things. I first started watching them while camping on San Miguel Island, then again in Lake Arrowhead, where I got to know them a lot better. We don’t seem to have ravens up here in Sacramento, though I saw them in Tahoe a few weeks ago. Fuller’s campus in Pasadena has a mating pair, or at least did when I was there a while. They’d talk to each other across campus.
I’ve learned over the years, there’s an art in choosing just the right texts for a class.
I wonder if this is one of those problems that are new to our era, like having a dynamic classroom experience. It used to be, a professor could have multiple pages of notes, or even a book they’ve written, read those notes in front of a gathered collection of variously engaged students, and that was called teaching a class. To add a dynamic element, they’d reserve some time at the end of the class for questions. Anything else could be saved for office hours, every other Tuesday from 3-4:30.
For books, there were standard tomes, that covered all the assumed ground.
For a theology class, the assumed ground was, to be sure, rather limited in scope and perspective, generally reflecting a narrow theological tradition and almost certainly a narrow gender and geographic distribution.
That’s not a critique, that’s just how it was done, for generations upon generations.
Times have changed and they’ve changed within short amount of time.
I have to teach in ways I was only rarely taught, and choose books in light of a diversity I was very rarely exposed to during my undergraduate and much of my masters degree.
This is a good. By all means, it’s a good. Better pedagogical possibilities. Just more work.
The challenge isn’t finding good books. There’s a lot of good books out. Too many. I can assign about 1200 pages of reading for a class, and that reading needs to maximize both content and perspective. Really, it’s an impossible task. Something has to give.
The goal then is to find the balance of representational books that help orient students in continued study. Basically, to make them aware of what exists.
One solution is to get a lot of reserve reading, to basically find 20 pages here and 20 pages there, from chapters, articles, etc. and so on. That’s a good but complicated solution, both in the compiling and in the processing (every chapter/article has to be requested with a separate form). It has the upside of wide-ranging, often historically important, sources. The downside is that it doesn’t provide students with a lasting resource. I go in assuming students won’t sell books back after the end of the quarter. Intentionally naive. But, I do like to think about books that provide them continuing resources for their growing theological library.
I’m teaching two classes this quarter. One is HT501, which is formally titled “The Church’s Understanding of God and Christ in its Theological Reflection,” but I informally call it “Theological Reflections on the Trinity” because the themes of the class are Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, focusing on the theology relevant to the particular Persons and as Trinity. I wrote a long description of my books and approach to the class as part of the proposal process. Here’s what I had to say.
The other one is IS502, Practices of Community, which is part of the Integrated Studies set of classes offered at Fuller. These are a blend of spiritual disciplines and pastoral/spiritual theology.
We go through 8 disciplines that help contribute to a thriving and growing community experience: Hospitality, Truth-telling, Promise-keeping, Forgiveness, Christian Formation, Gratitude, Testimony, and Group Spiritual Direction. In teaching, there are those that begin with specifics and hope to translate that into broad principles and there are those that begin with broad principles/examples and hope that translates into specific expressions.
I’m definitely more of the latter. I want to awaken student’s imaginations about their own spirituality and context, not give a bullet-point list of tasks to carry out. This reflects, I know, my own approach to learning. I hate lists of rules, but thrive on being provided depth of discussion and can easily see how this applies to me. Not everyone learns like this, so I’ve learned to add texts that provide a diversity of learning styles, with the goal that everyone will find at least one text that really matches their own approach, while being challenged and stretched by other texts.
This class was especially interesting for me as it reflects discovery of books from throughout my own theological journey.
So, for this class I picked:
a book that discussed community from a Biblical perspective, Paul’s Idea of Community by Robert Banks which radically affected me in my junior year at Wheaton.
A book that discusses community in a rich historical Christian tradition, The Conferences by John Cassian, which radically affected me during my first year of MDiv studies, and may have changed much of my trajectory and outlook on Christian life and ministyr more than any other single book besides the Bible.
A book that discusses an active missional community, Thin Places by Jon Huckins. My good friend who introduced me to the Channel Islands during my first quarter of seminary, and continued to be a vitally important friend, spiritual compatriot, and camping buddy, during my 20s, moved to be part of this community. I also used this book as a key resource for my dissertation.
A book that discusses a deep theology of community in light of a very practical expression of it, Community and Growth by Jean Vanier. Vanier’s work is one of the more enlightening and inspiring theologies I’ve read in recent years. I’m using this one and others of his for my current book project.
To add to these more general overviews of theology and expression I have a couple books that provide specific discussion of our chosen disciplines,Spiritual Disciplines Handbook by Adele Ahlberg Calhoun, which I discovered when I worked for Field Education during my PhD studies.
Living into Community by Christine Pohl is the book required for all sections of IS502 taught at Fuller. This was a new text for me, I read it because I was teaching on it, and I’m happy to say it’s a wonderful book I can highly recommend.
A quarter length class isn’t enough to provide all the content on any topic, so my goal is more to provide substantive introductions and help orient a trajectory of continued learning. That’s why I say every class students take at Fuller is a beginning to continued study. My goal, is they take these tools and discussions with them as they continue learning and leading after they graduate. That makes my task much more achievable.
Being achievable makes teaching more gratifying, taking a lot of the weight off trying to cover far too much material in far too short amount of time.
One of my realizations over the years is that it’s not always the big problems that can get a person down. Sure, major disasters and frustrations can certainly get in the way, but there’s often an accompanying sense of purpose to get moving past them. When my car is broken down on the side of the road, I have to put off doing whatever else I had planned, get it towed, get it fixed, pray for financial resources. When there’s a fire across the street, hose down the roof, pack up the car, pray for safety.
The little problems are those minor irritations that just keep irritating. If there’s a big spider in my kitchen, I’ll kill it. But if it’s a little fly? I’ll just mostly let it be, even if it occasionally buzzes by my ear while I’m trying to watch tv. Irritant, but not emergency. Enough of that irritant, though, and it disturbs the peace, upsets the serenity of a given moment, takes away from my reserves of patience.
Those are important reserves when I have young kids!
Enough irritations and life itself takes a negative turn. I start seeing frustration in every direction, try to pin it on people who are frustrating me, or plans that get out of sorts, or news that intends to rile me up about frustrations in places I’ve never even been to. Even as, on the surface, life is objectively good, the irritants rob the peace and invoke the chaos.
I call those little nagging frustrations “gnats”. They buzz around simply to be irritating.
I’ve sometimes let the gnats take over my moods, causing shadows and leading me away from what I should be doing. That doesn’t help. The gnats keep buzzing, they certainly don’t care about me or my moods.
That’s why I’m increasingly convinced there’s a theology of smallness: the small problems that distort our hopes, the small sins that lead us down wrong roads, the small discouragements that disorient our sense of purpose. I see that theology of smallness in the Gospels. There’s a big narrative, that’s for sure, but there’s also these particular stories and commands. Jesus didn’t really talk big politics, after all, he doesn’t address Rome, for instance, except to avoid the pointed questions.
He tends to turn the questions around to the asker, saying what they should do, or how they should prepare. Help your neighbor in the ways they need help right now.
Don’t murder, sure. But also don’t even get angry.
That’s a theology of smallness, because how can that fix all the problems in our world? But it’s the smallness that is important.
If every Christian in history actually did that, actually followed that command? Wow.
If every Christian was attentive to those small temptations and initial distortions? Wow.
If I did either of these things over the entire course of my life? Wow.
The quick response is to fall back into a discussion of grace, that I’m forgiven. Yada-yada-yada. But the gnats keep buzzing and the frustrations and self-judgments keep building.
A theology of smallness sees grace as an impetus to change, not a way of excusing the past. The past is past, but what can I do now?
I did two small things this week. One for my own sense of purpose and one for helping others. Neither are particularly important, and I likely won’t send announcements about them in my alumni newsletter.
I replaced the headliner in my 97 Honda Civic. It’s an old car, and I honestly don’t like it very much. It’s not fun to drive. I got it quite used in 2008, and it’s been well-used much more since. I see all the nice cars around, compare myself with people who are much younger who have much better. It gets me down. But, we have no car payments, and I don’t have a long commute. It makes sense. There’s that, but then there’s the gnats of how the interior fabric is falling apart and starting to rub against my head when I drive and drop dust whenever I swipe it away. Irritating!
I’ve gotten more and more negative about my car, tempting me to feel bad about finances, about job security, about decisions I’ve made, about… well that goes down a long road of gnattiness. Bzzz. Bzzzz. I got bored with that irritation, so I bought some fabric, watched a youtube video, and now the roof in my car looks fairly new.
Small, but it is a little bit of delight both in the aesthetic and in the feeling of accomplishing something that had a start, moments of things not going quite right, then finishing. That put me on a better trajectory. I’m not a headliner for a major academic conference or church event, but I got the old headliner out, and a new one in. Now I’m not as irritated with the car that God has given me and I know is right for us now and is a wiser use of our resources.
Small, but it affects how I think about a lot of things. The brain is weird, but it’s the only brain I have.
Second, I finally got to learning some video editing. That’s entirely unimpressive. But for a long time, I’ve recorded audio/video for my online courses, and they’ve sometimes turned out less than good. Add to this the need to make changes with older videos, to fix sound problems, etc. and so on. I’ve neglected posting videos of myself because I didn’t want to deal with the software, etc. and so on. Posted videos I knew had issues, because I didn’t have time to do anything different and neglected posting regular update videos because I didn’t have time.
Then felt irritated at them, got frustrated at myself when students rightfully complained, got to feeling like I could do more, then that I never can do enough, and why did God call me to this, and I don’t know what I’m even doing. Bzzzz. Bzzz.
So, fix some audio, edit some videos, easy tasks that I’m finally learning how to do, all so my students can have as quality an experiences as possible. Add to this helping my dad with his resurging literacy teaching in a group home, and my feeling of contributions grows, and then I see good things that God is doing, and how I’m somehow helping others in their work and ministry.
Being proactive with the small things, things I can do right now, things that are within my scope, invites a new song in my life for this day.
Swat the gnats, and it’s interesting how possibilities start awakening again.
Like writing a blog post again after far too long.
One thing we learn from the Bible, maybe a key lesson throughout the text, is that we shouldn’t expect God’s story to take shape the way or the timing we want, but it is ultimately leading in a better direction.
Not just in an eternal (heavenly) sense. The more we walk in God’s story the more we experience the fruit of the Spirit (Galatians 5)
There are two elements of this patience:
Be patient for God’s justice against the wicked: judgment
Be patient in waiting for God’s provision: intercession
Being patient like a farmer is patient, doing the work, waiting for the work to take shape in light of God’s grace and sustenance.
Hugin and Munin fly each day over the spacious earth. I fear for Hugin, that he come not back, yet more anxious am I for Munin.
“Thus says the LORD: Stand at the crossroads, and look, and ask for the ancient paths, where the good way lies; and walk in it, and find rest for your souls.”
Who Am I?
I’m Patrick Oden, a Visiting Assistant Professor at Fuller Theological Seminary and an assistant pastor of Christian formation at The River Church, a Wesleyan Church in Sacramento, California.
I have a PhD in Systematic Theology from Fuller Seminary with a minor in Church History.
I’ve been married to Amy Oden since 2009, and since Easter, 2012 have a girl, Vianne, and as of July 31, 2014 a boy, Oliver.
“Hence I ought unceasingly to give thanks to God who often pardoned my folly and my carelessness, and on more than one occasion spared His great wrath on me, who was chosen to be His helper and who was slow to do as was shown me and as the Spirit suggested.
And the Lord had mercy on me thousands and thousands of times because He saw that I was ready, but that I did not know what to do in the circumstances.”
~Patrick of Ireland
“Hunting truth is no easy task; we must look everywhere for its tracks.” ~Basil the Great
“My desire for knowledge is intermittent; but my desire to commune with the spirit of the universe, to be intoxicated even with the fumes, call it, of that divine nectar, to bear my head through atmospheres and over heights unknown to my feet, is perennial and constant.”
~Henry David Thoreau
“We must come down from our heights, and leave our straight paths, for the byways and low places of life, if we would learn truths by strong contrasts; and in hovels, in forecastles, and among our own outcasts in foreign lands, see what has been wrought upon our fellow-creatures by accident, hardship, or vice.”
~Richard Henry Dana, Jr.
“The path I’m following is, for me, the way to a fuller life.” ~Miyamoto Musashi
That in the end
I may find
Something not sold for a penny
In the slums of Mind
That I may break
With these hands
The bread of Wisdom that grows
In the other lands.
For this, for this
Do I wear
The rags of hunger and climb
The unending stair.
How long, LORD? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
and day after day have sorrow in my heart?
How long will my enemy triumph over me?
Look on me and answer, LORD my God.
Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death,
and my enemy will say, “I have overcome him,”
and my foes will rejoice when I fall.
But I trust in your unfailing love;
my heart rejoices in your salvation.
I will sing the LORD’s praise,
for he has been good to me.
spes quaerens intellectum — spero, ut intelligam