Merry Christmas

I'll be going dark for the next few days, as we are hosting Christmas at our place this year. And Kadie casts withering glances in my general direction whenever I'm online while there's work to be done. I'll leave you with the following quote from the Rev. Robert A Sirico, to which I can only say Amen! May God bless each of you this weekend!

"The message of Christmas has implications that go well beyond any one geographic region of the world, or even any one religion. The specific Christian contention that, at a particular point in history, the God by Whom and for Whom all things were made, elected to insinuate Himself into the human condition, has ramifications for all cultures and their peoples. This belief teaches us to take seriously human history, its institutions, economies and social relationships, for all of this, and more, is the stuff from which human destiny is discovered and directed. It is my prayer, at this sobering and holy time of the year, that you, in the midst of your families and your work, will discover the eternal significance of the contingency of time so as to experience the bliss that eternity affords. "

HT: Phi Beta Cons

Morning Debates

I’ve learned more about debate and carefully honed arguments at home than I ever did in debate or logic classes. This morning provides an example.

Since I am out of school at the moment, Kadie is picking up some day shifts so that she can be home a couple of evenings this week. In typical morning habit, after Scooter’s daily encounter with the monster, I took Skeeter up to her school. (We live .9 miles from the school and you must live at least 1 mile to ride the bus.)

Squealer, roused from his bed at the last second, is blinking stupidly from the back seat when the following discussion takes place.

Skeeter: “Squealer, are you tall or little?”

I don’t point out to her that, strictly speaking, these categories are not binary opposites.

Squealer continues to sit and blink.

Skeeter: (Louder this time) “Squealer, are you tall or little?”

Squealer slowly looks at her. After a second he says “I’m little.”

“No, you’re tall.” Skeeter replies.

Squealer, now roused from his somnambulance, begins to shout “I’M NOT TALL. I’M LITTLE!”

Skeeter waits quietly and thinks for a minute. Then she says:

Skeeter: “You're taller than a stump.”

Squealer sits in stunned silence, evidently trying to figure out what a stump is.

Skeeter “And you’re taller than concrete, and taller than a person who has tripped.”

Squealer responds to this barrage of logic by leaning back in his seat and sitting motionlessly. Skeeter stares at him waiting for his next argumentative rejoinder. When no verbal riposte comes, she sits back in her seat with a smile.

Mercifully we arrive at her school and she gets out of the minivan and skips triumphantly to class.

Huh?

Every weekend I get around 100 emails from various liberal arts disciplines issuing calls for conference papers (CFP). These cover most every literary and cultural topic available and range from tiny regional meetings in the academic hinterlands through the largest conferences in the nation (many of which draw thousands of academics).

Since scholarship is required for continued excellence in teaching (ummm, as well as for tenure) I subscribe to a listserv that sends out these CFPs by the truckload. And many of them are rather interesting.

This one caught my eye. It is a CFP for a graduate student seminar at New York University. After giving a basic outline of the conference, it offers the following suggestions for paper topics:

Proposals may address, but are not restricted to, the following topics:
Influence, tradition, and intellectual debt
Debt and civic participation
Translation and debt
Debt and the gift
Responsibility, restitution, reconciliation, revenge
Debt as a category of relation to an other
Debt and the national imaginary
Remembering, memorializing, and monumentalizing debt
Debt and inheritance
Exchange, interest, and accumulation
Debt and class
The ethics of the loan
Debt and historiography
Queering debt
Licensing, permission, and intellectual property
Debt and the State/the State of the Debt
Monitoring debt: justice and forgiveness
Debt and the (academic) institution

I am utterly bumfuzzled by the suggested proposal “Queering Debt”. Queer studies has become established over the last several years as an area of literary studies, but I have absolutely no idea what gender theory has to do with running up your credit card. (In fact, Googling “Queering Debt” reveals only publications of this call for papers.) So while Queer Studies is more established than say Fat Studies, this particular call for papers leaves me confused.

Grades are Due

This morning is the most stressful time of the semester for department chairs. Grades must be entered onto the computer mainframe by 10:00 am. What this means is that I have to verify that all of the department’s faculty get their grades entered for each section they teach. In our department that is about 70 sections.

What makes the time table so precise is that we have graduation two days after grades are due. Apparently, it takes a period of time to get the final grades into the system so that we can see who has not met their final course requirements (i.e. those who have failed). (It falls to the Deans of each college to make the phone calls to seniors who have failed to pass their final classes of the year. They must tell the students that they have failed and should call back all their friends and family and request that they not come to graduation---because the student will not be walking the stage. This onerous task has earned for that day the sobriquet "Black Wednesday". )

But I digress.

This morning, I arrived in the office and our secretary went through our classes in order to determine who had not yet turned in their grades. At 10:00 am, the computer locks out anyone else from entering in the grades. The provost of the university calls the individual college deans and lets them know what faculty have not yet turned in their grades.

The deans then call the faculty chairs who must chase after the faculty and get them to turn in their grades online. (The provost kicks the deans, who then kick the chairs, who then look vainly for someone else to kick.) What makes this challenging is the fact that last week was finals week and after the last class period, faculty are even more elusive than they are during the regular semester.

Someone in the department always screws up and gets too close to the deadline. This morning was no different. We had seven classes (and three faculty members) who had not turned in their grades as we neared the deadline.

I then had to deal with the following situations:

Teacher #1 is an adjunct who stated that he thought the 10:00 deadline meant 10:00 PM.

Hmmm.

I chose to believe him and confessed to him that I might not have specified the pm. Maybe I’ll convert the department to military time to avoid future conflicts. To make amends, he emailed me his students’ grades. In the process, he shattered numerous state and federal privacy laws. “Please don’t do that again.” I gently requested through clenched teeth.

The other two ne’er do wells were full time faculty members who have been teaching for years. In each case they waited until the last minute, encountered difficulties that kept them from getting the grades entered into the computer. Then the 10:00 (am) deadline hit and they were locked out of the campus computer system.

Teacher #2 mentioned that she thought that 10:00 am wasn’t the real deadline, but that I had set the deadline artificially early in order to get all the grades in on time. I told her no, that 10:00 was the real deadline but I liked her idea. “In May,” I told her, “your grades will be due by Friday at 5:00 pm.”

Teacher #3 deducts points due to absences unless they are substantiated by a doctor. But he didn’t set a deadline on the time that the students needed to get their excuses to him. So this morning he was on the phone with students and with their doctors trying to substantiate excuses. He was also repeatedly calling our department secretary from his home asking her to check the fax machine.

While validating the fact that he went the extra mile for his students, I “encouraged” him to plan a bit better in advance so that this won’t happen again. Finally, I asked the IT guys if they could open up the grades for another hour. They generously complied.

By far, the most stressful day of the semester, and what made it stressful was dealing with faculty, not students.

A Passing, A Prayer Request

DD, a dear friend of mine from seminary and a frequent commenter on this blog visited with his mom in the hospital a Tuesday afternoon and she passed on to heaven a few hours after their visit. Her funeral is Saturday and DD and his brother are conducting it. Please say a prayer for him and his family.

God Bless!

A Trip to Wal-Mart

Life changes when I go to the store in Kadie’s absence. When she pulls an evening shift, and there is shopping to be done, the children and I descend upon a local, unsuspecting retail outlet. Last night we went to Wal-Mart, in order to fetch some groceries. Scooter and Skeeter are at a delightful age where their requests are few and easily ignored.

Skeeter, on the other hand is pure recklessness. Before we entered the store, I asked him to state again the 2 rules for stores:

1) Don’t run away

and

2) Don’t touch stuff

After he repeats them, I have him state the consequences of his actions (like Moses in Deut 28). The consequence of a transgression of either law is:

3) Or else I will ride in the cart.


These two rules have been carefully crafted over the last several years, ever since Squealer was old enough to walk on his own. In my experience, these rules should provide a meaningful balance between freedom and responsibility (the twin poles that serve as boundaries for us all).

In order to reinforce these ideas, I have him carefully repeat each one, as a creed, before we enter the store.

I think that the banishment to the cart seat is an appropriate response. For Squealer, immobility is severe, as I’ve noted before. Squealer exists to move. And if he is not moving, he is not fulfilling his telos. In order to keep him manageable, we go through these commands ritualistically anytime we enter into a store. We’ve spent untold minutes over the last few years before entering into commercial locations.

And it never works.

As soon as we enter the store, his restlessness grows. When the girls are with me, I often use them to keep him corralled. Since he also grabs for things on the aisle (whether he’s in the cart or not) I rarely take him down into the grocery aisle itself. Instead, I will stop the cart near the beginning of the aisle, tell the girls to watch him, and then I’ll head down through the busy aisle while they remain on the outside. In that way, I follow the paths of my ancestors who would often establish a basecamp and then engage on foraging forays into the wilderness in search of food.

Normally, this arrangement works adequately. They will keep him busy (by doing things like swinging him as they hold a pair of his feet and hands, or playing “I Spy” etc.).

But yesterday was not a normal day.

As I was picking up a few bottles of Caffeine Free Diet Coke (“After the caffeine and sugar go, what’s left?” Kadie always asks), I heard Scooter yelling. “Dad! Squealer won’t come back.” I made my way through the press of people and encountered a scene I would never have imagined.

He was amongst the cheese. (again, he clearly has a lactose addiction).

Between the wall of the Wal-Mart and the food aisles, are large, refrigerated, display bins. In these bins are located a wide assortment of cold, sliced, packages of cheese. Squealer had climbed into one of these bins and was walking on large packages of Kraft sliced American cheese. He also had a substantial grin on his face.

As I maneuvered around him, circling him like prey, he took up the challenge and proceeded to mirror my movements so that I could not get near him. Finally, using the girls like sheep-dogs, I was able to manipulate him until he was within my grasp.

I grabbed him and caught him by the hood of his sweatshirt. As I grabbed him and brought him up to eye level I said “SQUEALER! WHAT ARE YOU DOING???!!!!!!” He paused for just a second, and in his eyes I saw a blazing euphoria, unbefore seen in his 3 ½ year old life.

He shouted triumphantly “DADDY! I STAND ON CHEESE!!!!” as though he had just fulfilled one of his major life goals…as though he had conquered a lactose fortified Mount Everest...as though he could now pass from this earth into the sweet hereafter in perfect contentment.

There were too many people staring at us for me to beat him (and alas, I always leave Mr. Buster at home). And technically, I had never before forbidden him from traipsing amongst the Munster. So I slowly gathered our things and headed for the checkout line.

And he rode in the cart for the rest of the evening.

But somehow, with his slight grin and the song of triumph on his lips, I could tell that he thought it was worth it.

A Holy Space

For myself, there is a geographical center for ministry. I know of a holy of holies where the presence of God is made manifest to me in a way like nowhere else. Other ministers might locate the center of God’s presence elsewhere, but I am confident that my gifts are in one particular area of ministry.

It is in the hospital.

I have always felt comfortable in hospitals. After my Dad got out of the Air Force, one of his first jobs was working as an assistant hospital administrator. (I recall as a six or seven year old asking Dad what he did for a living and he replied “I do things like making sure that all the bed sheets get washed.” So for years I thought my Dad was a launderer.) After school I would go up to his hospital office, finish my homework and then simply wander around through the hospital halls or go play in the enormous warehouse where they stored extra beds and medical equipment. And yes, I would often jump on the beds.

Mom was (and is) a registered dietician and has served as the food coordinator for several hospitals and nursing homes over the years. She also worked with a local hospital to establish one of the first hospices in our state. Conversation around the house often centered around the various politics of hospital administration or the rising costs of health care.

I suppose that it was inevitable I would marry a nurse, and so these conversations continue in our own home.

So perhaps I come by my affinity for hospital ministry honestly. I like preaching and I enjoy visiting members in their homes. I love to baptize of course, and to officiate at funerals. (Like others though, I am not so fond of weddings).

But I love to visit the sick in hospitals. Physically, you see them at their worst. But I am amazed, time and time again about their remarkable faith. It is an old line, but nonetheless true that I always receive more than I give in these situations. I have been blessed not to have experienced hospitalization since I was seven or eight, but I do not think I would respond too well. (A sentiment Kadie would certainly endorse. A good intestinal virus has me on my knees singing Swing Low, Sweet Chariot in a matter of hours).

But there is something sacrosanct that occurs amidst the beeps of IV machines and the hum of ventilators. As we care for the least of these, we care for Him. As I take their hands to pray, I become the one through whom Christ ministers. As I share words of comfort, a psalm, and a prayer, I most feel like I am sharing the words of Christ.

I have a lot of second guesses how I share (or don’t share) the gospel with people I meet. I kick myself on a weekly basis about misstatements, clumsy errors, or poorly organized thoughts during a sermon. I spend time going over and over in my mind how cluelessly I conducted my last committee meeting.

But I never have doubts when I walk out of the hospital room. It is in the moment of a hospital visit that I feel most Christlike.