Mamala took Robert and me to see Book of Mormon at the Kennedy Center last night. So good… so funny… so Not Safe For Church.
I have a soft spot for art that tweaks religion—even in an over-the-top way. When it comes from a place of affection, even grudging affection, it’s a pleasure to watch. As my friend Michael Kirby put it:
There will not be a more profound and profane commentary on the value of faith and the folly of doctrine on stage again in our lifetimes.
The LDS Church took out several ads in the Playbill (see above), which I think says a lot about the Church, as well as the skill of the show’s creators in executing this very sweet, incredibly offensive musical.
I call it reverent irreverence… or is it irreverent reverence?
We’re continuing our journey around the world through our running, walking, biking and swimming. We have been plotting our course to Democratic Republic of Congo, where we will hear from a woman in our church who works for USAID. She will talk about her work and a ministry she interfaces with in the DRC. The service will have a special focus on that region of the world.
You may know Flat Stanley, the guy from the children’s books who shows up all over the world as people take pictures of him in various locales.
Well, First Presbyterian—and Tiny Church—are adapting this practice as Flat Jesus:
This Sunday in the UpperRoom we will have the kids decorate this image, printed on a bunch of cardstock. Following the service we will hand him out and encourage people to photograph him on their vacations and business trips. These photos will go up on our map.
Why? Because it’s fun. Because it’s summer and people are traveling.
Yes… I’ve decided to take a break from Friday Link Love through the summer, at least. I will still link to stuff at Twitter and Facebook, and will probably drop a link here and there occasionally. But this summer is too squirrelly to commit to a regular posting schedule, so I’m hanging out my Gone Fishin’ sign on this feature.
But we’re going out with a bang! TON of stuff today. A couple of gleanings from social media and some other random stuff. Away we go:
But I am also compelled by this post, which questions the rise of edutainment:
Most importantly, is the central claim [by Jimmy Wales, founder of Wikipedia, in a recent interview] that the test of education is whether or not it’s entertaining. Wales asks, “why wouldn’t you have the most entertaining professor, the one with the proven track record of getting knowledge into people’s heads?” Is there evidence that the most entertaining lecture is the one that gets “knowledge into people’s heads”? Again, I’m not suggesting that a boring lecture is going to do the trick, but I’m arguing that entertaining students doesn’t necessarily equate with teaching them something.
When I lecture on Kant, I don’t think I’m really entertaining my students. In my opinion, Kant’s Grounding for the Metaphysics of Morals doesn’t lend itself to entertainment; it’s a dense text that needs some serious explication. Now, I don’t speak in a monotone and I try to find relevant examples to help them make sense of the material, but I’m not standing in front of the class hoping that they’ll all have a great time; I’m standing there with the express purpose of teaching them about Kant.
At the risk of a “get off my lawn” moment… Yes.
I read a New Yorker profile about TED not long ago and came away a bit soured. TED talks are very formulaic—not necessarily a bad thing, I’ll admit—but the organizers work with presenters to make their content fit their rigorous. This includes dumbing down some material. Do we really want to go down that road?
Recent research suggests that rituals may be more rational than they appear. Why? Because even simple rituals can be extremely effective. Rituals performed after experiencing losses – from loved ones to lotteries – do alleviate grief, and rituals performed before high-pressure tasks – like singing in public – do in fact reduce anxiety and increase people’s confidence. What’s more, rituals appear to benefit even people who claim not to believe that rituals work.
A nice argument for living “as if.” Which is what I see in a lot of church work.
…We found that people who wrote about engaging in a ritual reported feeling less grief than did those who only wrote about the loss.
This site is just getting going but looks very promising: “Explore stories about musicians, crafters, dancers, painters, and more, who demonstrate the many inspiring (and surprising) ways art can deepen your relationship with God.”
A little bit of Getting Things Done jiu jitsu—this is good advice even if you’re not a disciple of David Allen as I am:
In GTD, “visit Japan” is not a task, it’s a project. Fortunately, my old job helped me get good at breaking complex behaviors (or in this case, projects) down into very small, observable, concrete actions. Perhaps “discuss life in Japan with uncle who used to live there” is a doable first step. Maybe “research seasonal weather in Japan” or “find a well-written book on Japanese customs or food” could be other first steps. In breaking down the project, two things happen.
First, I feel like I’m making progress on this huge task, rather than letting it stagnate. Second, I’ll get a true measure of my willingness to go through with completing the project completely. If my interest wanes, I can safely remove it from the list as Merlin suggested. If I have an increase in interest that will suggest motivation, and I’ll continue to devise small steps that move me closer to completing the project.
If you’ve seen Dewitt Jones’s now-classic DVD, Everyday Creativity, you know he talks about putting yourself in the place of most potential. This photographer has clearly done that—as Christopher notes on Colossal, she must never be without a camera, because she’s able to capture things like this:
James Hollis, Jungian analyst and writer, suggests that literalism is actually a form of religious blasphemy because it seeks to concretize (nail down, define) and absolutize the core experience of the Holy, of God – a God, if God, who cannot be controlled or defined; a God, as theologian Karl Barth (1886-1968) insisted, who was Wholly Other, a God who remains ultimately a mystery. And a mystery is not the same thing as a puzzle (which can be solved); a mystery is always enigmatic and is therefore inherently unknowable. The German theologian Gerhard Tersteegen (1697-1769) reminded us, “A God comprehended is no God.”
How about closing with two links from my alma mater, Rice University?
HOW LUCKY IS THE CLASS OF 2013 TO GET NdGT AS COMMENCEMENT SPEAKER?!?
We got Elizabeth Dole, which… eh.
Tyson, whose wife, Alice Young, is a Rice alumna, challenged the new graduates to become part of the new drive to discover. “There is no solution to a problem that does not embrace all we have created as a species,” he said. “The original seeds of the space program were planted right here on this campus, and I can tell you that in the years since we have landed on the moon, America has lost its exploratory compass.
Also: some straight talk about what motivates humanity to explore:
War, money and the praise of royalty and deity. He noted Kennedy’s speech at Rice that laid out the plan to go to the moon followed one a year earlier to Congress that first proposed the adventure.
“We haven’t been honest with ourselves about that,” he said, reciting the part of JFK’s 1962 speech to Congress that appears in a monument at the Kennedy Space Center. What’s missing, he said, is a reference to the war driver: in this case, Yuri Gagarin’s orbital mission for the Soviet Union six weeks earlier.
“No one has ever spent big money just to explore,” he said. “No one has ever done that. I wish they did, but they don’t. We went to the moon on a war driver.”
It’s Thursday evening and I am just back from Birmingham, where I had a book event and also preached at the Presbytery of Sheppards and Lapsley. I’ll post that sermon to the NEXT Church website early next week and link to it here. It was a fun trip—got to hang out with Elizabeth, one of my favorite seminary peeps and a dear friend. So I’m happy, but tired.
To cook or not to cook thus becomes a consequential question. Though I realize that is putting the matter a bit too bluntly. Cooking means different things at different times to different people; seldom is it an all-or-nothing proposition. Yet even to cook a few more nights a week than you already do, or to devote a Sunday to make a few meals for the week, or perhaps to try every now and again to make something you only ever expected to buy — even these modest acts will constitute a kind of vote. A vote for what exactly? Well, in a world where so few of us are obliged to cook at all anymore, to choose to do so is to lodge a protest against specialization — against the total rationalization of life. Against the infiltration of commercial interests into every last cranny of our lives. To cook for the pleasure of it, devote a portion of our leisure to it, is to declare our independence from the corporations seeking to organize our every waking moment into yet another occasion for consumption. (Come to think of it, our non waking moments as well: Ambien anyone?) It is to reject the debilitation notion that, at least while we’re at home, production is work done by someone else, and the only legitimate form of leisure is consumption. This dependence marketers call “freedom.”
The funeral will be led by Rev. Curt Moore of Orlando, Florida, a questionable choice for any spiritual event, but one the family felt would be appropriate due to the fact that every time Toni heard Curt preach she prayed for Jesus to return at that very moment.
On a last but serious note, the woman who loved life and taught her children to ‘laugh at the days to come’ is now safely in the arms of Jesus and dancing at the wedding feast of the Lamb. She will be missed as a mother, friend and grandmother. Anyone wearing black will not be admitted to the memorial. She is not dead. She is alive.
H/t The Dish, which highlighted this piece that I found astounding:
How a group of 12-year-olds in a Calcutta slum improved their community:
Like so many slum neighborhoods, the notorious Nehru Colony doesn’t officially exist, meaning it has no access to government services such as sanitation and electricity. The youngsters set out to literally put themselves on the map. They went door to door, taking photos with their mobile phones, registering residents and detailing each child born in the colony. Information is then sent by SMS text to a database that links the data to a map hand-drawn by the kids, which is overlaid to GPS coordinates. By registering their existence on Google Maps the group has doubled the rate of polio vaccination from 40% to 80%, decreased diarrhea and malaria rates in the slum, and is lobbying for electricity.
This made the rounds, and rightly so. The billboard displays a different message depending on how tall you are:
The secret behind the ad’s wizardry is a lenticular top layer, which shows different images at varying angles. So when an adult—or anyone taller than four feet, five inches—looks at it they only see the image of a sad child and the message: “sometimes, child abuse is only visible to the child suffering it.” But when a child looks at the ad, they see bruises on the boy’s face and a different message: “if somebody hurts you, phone us and we’ll help you” alongside the foundation’s phone number.
The ad is designed to empower kids, particularly if their abuser happens to be standing right next to them.
Eve Mirriam, a native of Philadelphia, captures something of the beauty of not just poetry but also, I think, creativity itself.
She invites us to consider making two moves: the first is attentiveness. Trace it’s shape, pay attention to its movement, follow its life, chew and smell and see and feel all you can about that thing that fascinates you.
That was just one of the signs I saw while running the DC Rock and Roll Half Marathon, my first race of this length. There were also variations on that theme: “Run like the Kenyans, then drink like the Irish.” (Hey, it was St. Patrick’s Day weekend.)
Along those lines, saw several signs that said, “Worst Parade Ever.”
The signs really do help pass the time. I noticed they got more PG-13 when we got to Adams Morgan. Lots of “That’s What She Said.”
Then there were signs riffing on a meme:
And then the two signs together: “You can do this!” right next to:
Biggest wow, yikes moment: running across the Memorial Bridge and seeing the metal teeth between the segments bouncing up and down. Power to the people!
Biggest OMG: the guy who was juggling beanbags while he ran. Even bigger OMG: passing him and seeing that he was wearing the blue bib, not the red. Yep, 26.2 miles of juggling.
Let me be an encouragement for anyone who would like to try this crazy sport. I am thankful for Facebook timeline because I can report that exactly two years ago, I started Couch to 5K, having never run before. Never. I was the nerdy kid in school, remember? So if I can do it, you can (assuming you don’t have a condition that rules it out, of course). It’s a cheap, convenient mode of exercise.
I get emotional sometimes during races. I don’t sob when I cross the finish line or anything, but certain scenes or images will choke me up. It doesn’t take much: the guy handing out Jolly Ranchers, or the other one giving out “free high fives.” But the one that got me was the sign that said:
Trust Your Training.
I had a short moment of doubt before the race started, then remembered that I’d already done the hard part: all those weekday and weekend runs to build up strength, endurance and awareness.
That said, I also like that there was some mystery to it. I’d never run more than 10 miles before Saturday. There was a surge of excitement when I got to that mile marker and still had a 5K to go. Beyond this place there be dragons.
If you struggle with the demons of competitiveness, as I do, races are a great way to exorcise them. There really is no way to measure oneself against anyone else. And no point. To whom would I compare myself? The woman with the T-shirt that said, “I just finished chemo 5 days ago”? Or the guy running with the knee brace? Or the person who’s run since she was in high school? Or the person twice my age? Such calculations don’t even make sense.
I did my best, and I had fun. Next stop: who knows?