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
Friday, December 22, 2006
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
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.
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.
Monday, December 18, 2006
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.
Thursday, December 07, 2006
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!
God Bless!
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
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.
Saturday, December 02, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Thanksgiving (II)
Frivolity—On Thursday morning, Bonita and Kadie took the kids to the Houston Day parade while Bartolo, Steve, Dad and I sat around and talked prepared for the Thanksgiving meal. The kids loved the parade, but then stood in shock as they got home and watched the exact same (tape delayed) parade on television. Bonita is especially good at finding fun things for her nieces to do. They colored Thanksgiving cards for everyone, assembled numerous ornaments, and decorated a Christmas tree under her direction. I am certain that Bonita violated several child labor laws, but she’s a lawyer and can deal with the feds. (Plus the kids all loved it.)
Shopping on Black Friday presented a dilemma. Sleep in or get up far too early for the purpose of great savings. After much high-level negotiation, we decided not to go out shopping early Friday morning. Although we were also sorely tempted by the filthy lucre of the $250.00 laptops that ensnared Dave and his son, we ultimately opted not to go out. Our conclusion was that arriving at a store at 4:00 am is never the “Best” Buy. Essentially: sloth trumped greed.
Fun—Sunday evening we attended opening night of the Behold the Lamb of God (scroll down to listen) tour by Andrew Peterson. He and some friends apparently get together and perform a musical concert that traces the promise of the coming King from the old testament into the new. I enjoyed the performance, but my favorite part of the evening was the first music set. Peterson and several members of the Square Peg Alliance musical team performed for us. Each person performed two songs and they rotated their performances so that (as Peterson said) “If you really dislike one of us, just wait a minute and someone else will be performing.” I enjoyed each of the performers, though my favorites were Peterson, Derek Webb (of Caedmon’s Call fame) and a new (to me) guy, Andy Gullahorn. Gullahorn in particular was interesting because he was funny (always a plus) and also was very honest in his music. I had the distinct impression that he was more a Christian who happens to make music than a Christian Musician with all the baggage that it implies (grist for a future blog entry). My favorite part of his website is the haiku reviews he has composed of his own concerts. Here's an example:
8-22-06 SPA Show Nashville, TN
Let us just pretend
All of that feedback we heard
Was angels singing
Scooter and Skeeter enjoyed the concert immensely, and it was only later that I realized that it was their first one. I was pleased to be there with them. If the tour comes by your neck of the woods, I encourage you to go by…(and by the way, if you would like to download a free Derek Webb CD (legally) then click here. Offer ends December 1). Sorry Bartolo, it is the same one you just purchased at the concert:(
Overall it was a fantastic weekend. I was reminded yet again of the importance of family. I regret that we live so far away from my brother and sister-in-law...
Shopping on Black Friday presented a dilemma. Sleep in or get up far too early for the purpose of great savings. After much high-level negotiation, we decided not to go out shopping early Friday morning. Although we were also sorely tempted by the filthy lucre of the $250.00 laptops that ensnared Dave and his son, we ultimately opted not to go out. Our conclusion was that arriving at a store at 4:00 am is never the “Best” Buy. Essentially: sloth trumped greed.
Fun—Sunday evening we attended opening night of the Behold the Lamb of God (scroll down to listen) tour by Andrew Peterson. He and some friends apparently get together and perform a musical concert that traces the promise of the coming King from the old testament into the new. I enjoyed the performance, but my favorite part of the evening was the first music set. Peterson and several members of the Square Peg Alliance musical team performed for us. Each person performed two songs and they rotated their performances so that (as Peterson said) “If you really dislike one of us, just wait a minute and someone else will be performing.” I enjoyed each of the performers, though my favorites were Peterson, Derek Webb (of Caedmon’s Call fame) and a new (to me) guy, Andy Gullahorn. Gullahorn in particular was interesting because he was funny (always a plus) and also was very honest in his music. I had the distinct impression that he was more a Christian who happens to make music than a Christian Musician with all the baggage that it implies (grist for a future blog entry). My favorite part of his website is the haiku reviews he has composed of his own concerts. Here's an example:
8-22-06 SPA Show Nashville, TN
Let us just pretend
All of that feedback we heard
Was angels singing
Scooter and Skeeter enjoyed the concert immensely, and it was only later that I realized that it was their first one. I was pleased to be there with them. If the tour comes by your neck of the woods, I encourage you to go by…(and by the way, if you would like to download a free Derek Webb CD (legally) then click here. Offer ends December 1). Sorry Bartolo, it is the same one you just purchased at the concert:(
Overall it was a fantastic weekend. I was reminded yet again of the importance of family. I regret that we live so far away from my brother and sister-in-law...
Monday, November 27, 2006
Thanksgiving Weekend
A tremendous weekend at the Casa de Bartolo y Bonita in Houston.
Five F's for all of my alliterative friends.
We had Family:
In addition to myself and our brood, my parents and youngest brother came down on Wednesday. My youngest brother Steve is fifteen and knows all. He’s currently working on his driver’s license and was driving the car when they were pulled over:
Officer: May I please see your license and registration?
Steve: Her it is, sir. (My parents are arguing in the background)
Officer: Did you know that your tail-light is out and your proof of insurance is out of date??
Steve: “Perhaps you’d like to talk to my parents…”
The officer let him off with a warning…
I really enjoyed Steve at this meeting. He, Bartolo and I played basketball with my Dad for about the first time ever. We played Horse (which Steve suggested we change to “Loser” because of our embarrassing play) and even some two-on-two in a local park. I don’t recall us ever doing this before. Steve is a good eighteen years younger than Bartolo and twenty-two years younger than myself. Since Steve was born the same year I got married, we’ve never lived in the same house together. I’m looking forward to other opportunities to hang out with him.Modesty prevents me from mentioning who utterly dominated on the court.
We had Food:
We had a great Thanksgiving meal with all the fixings. The centerpiece of the meal was a culinary dish Bartolo created called “Trash Can Turkey.” Results were…interesting. I should have some pics up tomorrow. Bonita and Bartolo graciously accommodated our new weird diet, and put us up for five days (not an inexpensive proposition with three kiddos)
We had Football:
Bartolo actually uttered the phrase “I think we’ve seen enough football” late Sunday evening. On Thanksgiving we watched the Cowboys crush the Bucs. All hail Tony Romo! (Geez, even Achilles had his heel, I haven't seen Romo's weakness yet). We skipped the Lion’s game. (Does anyone ever actually watch that game??) Then that evening we saw a bit of the BC/Miami game. On Friday we watched UT lose to A&M—Bartolo is an Aggie, so much rejoicing accompanied their win. On Saturday we went to the Rice-SMU game and joined a joyous throng as Rice completed an improbable season as they defeated the ponies from Dallas. Sunday we watched the Texans stink it up and caught a bit of the Patriots-Bears matchup.
Around and between all of these games Bartolo, Steve and myself played Madden 2006 football. None of us play it that much, so we were whipped pretty soundly.
(Tomorrow--Frivolitry and Fun!)
Five F's for all of my alliterative friends.
We had Family:
In addition to myself and our brood, my parents and youngest brother came down on Wednesday. My youngest brother Steve is fifteen and knows all. He’s currently working on his driver’s license and was driving the car when they were pulled over:
Officer: May I please see your license and registration?
Steve: Her it is, sir. (My parents are arguing in the background)
Officer: Did you know that your tail-light is out and your proof of insurance is out of date??
Steve: “Perhaps you’d like to talk to my parents…”
The officer let him off with a warning…
I really enjoyed Steve at this meeting. He, Bartolo and I played basketball with my Dad for about the first time ever. We played Horse (which Steve suggested we change to “Loser” because of our embarrassing play) and even some two-on-two in a local park. I don’t recall us ever doing this before. Steve is a good eighteen years younger than Bartolo and twenty-two years younger than myself. Since Steve was born the same year I got married, we’ve never lived in the same house together. I’m looking forward to other opportunities to hang out with him.
We had Food:
We had a great Thanksgiving meal with all the fixings. The centerpiece of the meal was a culinary dish Bartolo created called “Trash Can Turkey.” Results were…interesting. I should have some pics up tomorrow. Bonita and Bartolo graciously accommodated our new weird diet, and put us up for five days (not an inexpensive proposition with three kiddos)
We had Football:
Bartolo actually uttered the phrase “I think we’ve seen enough football” late Sunday evening. On Thanksgiving we watched the Cowboys crush the Bucs. All hail Tony Romo! (Geez, even Achilles had his heel, I haven't seen Romo's weakness yet). We skipped the Lion’s game. (Does anyone ever actually watch that game??) Then that evening we saw a bit of the BC/Miami game. On Friday we watched UT lose to A&M—Bartolo is an Aggie, so much rejoicing accompanied their win. On Saturday we went to the Rice-SMU game and joined a joyous throng as Rice completed an improbable season as they defeated the ponies from Dallas. Sunday we watched the Texans stink it up and caught a bit of the Patriots-Bears matchup.
Around and between all of these games Bartolo, Steve and myself played Madden 2006 football. None of us play it that much, so we were whipped pretty soundly.
(Tomorrow--Frivolitry and Fun!)
Friday, November 17, 2006
The Service (II)
“I am not absolutely certain that God called me to leave Susan Song” began Brother Jones. I was shocked to hear this, but no one else had much of a reaction. He continued “…but looking back on it, I am sure that it was the best for me and for the church.” The text of his sermon was Acts 21 when Paul is saying goodbye to his friends shortly before his arrest. His message was very conversational and Brother Jones mentioned several people by name. Many tears were shed.
He talked about the (much needed) new siding they had put on the church, and about the bright sign that the church placed in the front (a sign that generates much pride in the church and community). These events marked the physical evidences from his ministry. Brother Jones also spent time recounting the emotional and spiritual legacies he leaves behind. He talked a bit about walking through the valley of the shadow with several families who lost loved ones. In short, his message was perfect for the occasion.
He concluded by simply looking at me and saying “Brother Taran, what do I do now?”I had Brother Jones and his wife stand at the front of the sanctuary while the church gathered around them and prayed for them. I then offered a benediction and a blessing on the meal following the service. We then retired to the fellowship hall and feasted on a Susan Song potluck meal. During the meal we were surrounded by posters full of pictures of the weddings, baptisms and visits that he had performed while at Susan Song. In the corner there was a video of a musical the church had performed while he was pastor. So as we dined on potluck brisket and potatoes and mac and cheese, we were surrounded by eight years of ministry. At the end of the afternoon, Rev. Jones thanked me for convincing him to come back. Several church members remarked on how wonderful the day’s events had been.
It was a very, very gratifying day.
He talked about the (much needed) new siding they had put on the church, and about the bright sign that the church placed in the front (a sign that generates much pride in the church and community). These events marked the physical evidences from his ministry. Brother Jones also spent time recounting the emotional and spiritual legacies he leaves behind. He talked a bit about walking through the valley of the shadow with several families who lost loved ones. In short, his message was perfect for the occasion.
He concluded by simply looking at me and saying “Brother Taran, what do I do now?”I had Brother Jones and his wife stand at the front of the sanctuary while the church gathered around them and prayed for them. I then offered a benediction and a blessing on the meal following the service. We then retired to the fellowship hall and feasted on a Susan Song potluck meal. During the meal we were surrounded by posters full of pictures of the weddings, baptisms and visits that he had performed while at Susan Song. In the corner there was a video of a musical the church had performed while he was pastor. So as we dined on potluck brisket and potatoes and mac and cheese, we were surrounded by eight years of ministry. At the end of the afternoon, Rev. Jones thanked me for convincing him to come back. Several church members remarked on how wonderful the day’s events had been.
It was a very, very gratifying day.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
The Service (I)
The day of the service, there was an unusual edge of excitement. When I arrived, Brother Jones was already there. It is an odd feeling when there is a pastor and a former pastor present at the same service. We each have our own ritual of meeting folks and shaking hands at the beginning of the service. I remember once at Lone Oak Baptist that a former pastor came back to preach. It was an odd feeling right before the service as the two of us worked the room.
A lot of new faces came out for Brother Jones' return. Our normal congregation of a dozen swelled up to thirty or more as his large, extended family descended on the church. There were several members present whom I had never seen. Brother Jones' two sons were there with their wives and kids.
The service was designed to reflect on the work that God did through brother Jones during his time at Susan Song Baptist. I tried to design the service so that it would be a worship service and for us to keep our focus on what the Lord did over the last eight years, not on what Jones did. This was an important distinction that I think the church generally did a good job keeping.
I offered the welcome and thanked Jones and his family for coming. I also read from Ecclesiastes 3 “For every thing there is a season” to introduce the idea of seasons of life for congregations. I thanked Smith for his time of service and invoked the Lord to be present in the service. Then I got out of the way and sat on the back row.
We followed our traditional hymns, but interspersed two testimonies in the service. One was from Mrs. Carpenter whose husband passed away after a lengthy illness. She shared with the congregation how dedicated Bro. Jones was during this difficult time in her life. She talked about how much time he spent at the hospital and how he prayed often with her during this difficult time in her life.
We then sang a few more hymns and Mrs. Landry stood up and shared how encouraging Brother Jones’ family had been over the previous eight years. Plus Brother Jones had married her daughter and her son-in-law. (Which led to the typical SBC humor “Thank you brother Jones for marrying my daughter. Tee hee hee!”)
After Mrs. Carpenter, I prepared to sing the next hymn. But from my perch on the back row, I suddenly saw Mrs. Nelson stand up and say “I know that I wasn’t supposed to say anything, but I really need to share what is on my heart.” She then shared how Brother Jones stopped her after a church service and asked if he could pray with her. “If you would not have stopped me, I never would’ve come back to this church.”
Another seven or eight people stood and shared how much Brother Jones meant to them as the Spirit moved. Many wept as they shared with him how much he meant to them. The time of testimony was holy and cathartic at the same time. Following this tremendously encouraging time was the sermon. All of the love and emotion expressed during the testimonies led to a tremendous sense of expectation when brother Jones reached the pulpit.
So I almost fell out of my pew when the first words out of his mouth were “I am not completely sure that God called me to leave Susan Song as Pastor…”
A lot of new faces came out for Brother Jones' return. Our normal congregation of a dozen swelled up to thirty or more as his large, extended family descended on the church. There were several members present whom I had never seen. Brother Jones' two sons were there with their wives and kids.
The service was designed to reflect on the work that God did through brother Jones during his time at Susan Song Baptist. I tried to design the service so that it would be a worship service and for us to keep our focus on what the Lord did over the last eight years, not on what Jones did. This was an important distinction that I think the church generally did a good job keeping.
I offered the welcome and thanked Jones and his family for coming. I also read from Ecclesiastes 3 “For every thing there is a season” to introduce the idea of seasons of life for congregations. I thanked Smith for his time of service and invoked the Lord to be present in the service. Then I got out of the way and sat on the back row.
We followed our traditional hymns, but interspersed two testimonies in the service. One was from Mrs. Carpenter whose husband passed away after a lengthy illness. She shared with the congregation how dedicated Bro. Jones was during this difficult time in her life. She talked about how much time he spent at the hospital and how he prayed often with her during this difficult time in her life.
We then sang a few more hymns and Mrs. Landry stood up and shared how encouraging Brother Jones’ family had been over the previous eight years. Plus Brother Jones had married her daughter and her son-in-law. (Which led to the typical SBC humor “Thank you brother Jones for marrying my daughter. Tee hee hee!”)
After Mrs. Carpenter, I prepared to sing the next hymn. But from my perch on the back row, I suddenly saw Mrs. Nelson stand up and say “I know that I wasn’t supposed to say anything, but I really need to share what is on my heart.” She then shared how Brother Jones stopped her after a church service and asked if he could pray with her. “If you would not have stopped me, I never would’ve come back to this church.”
Another seven or eight people stood and shared how much Brother Jones meant to them as the Spirit moved. Many wept as they shared with him how much he meant to them. The time of testimony was holy and cathartic at the same time. Following this tremendously encouraging time was the sermon. All of the love and emotion expressed during the testimonies led to a tremendous sense of expectation when brother Jones reached the pulpit.
So I almost fell out of my pew when the first words out of his mouth were “I am not completely sure that God called me to leave Susan Song as Pastor…”
Monday, November 13, 2006
Eating Pizza (II)
After discussing his ministry history, Brother Jones abruptly brought up the reason for our lunch. “What do you want from me?” he said.
I didn’t expect that question, but tried to recover quickly. “I would like you and your family to come back to the church and let us have a time together to celebrate the ministry that God has done through you over the last eight years at Susan Song.”
“Well, the truth is I don’t really need that.” he responded. “I mean, that church is a good church and although I was there for eight years I don’t need any kind of special ceremony.”
I thought for a moment.
“Brother Jones,” I said carefully “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way. But I do want you to understand that my interest is not primarily in what you do or do not need. I am a lot more concerned about the church. And they need closure. Whether you need this or not is irrelevent.”
I wondered how he would take this.
“The problem was. I didn’t know how to leave. So when I reached my decision, I just left.” he said quietly. “I mean, what point is there in staying at a church any longer after you decide to go? ” I wasn’t sure if this question was rhetorical or not, so I nodded and took another bite of pepperoni pizza.
“So what exactly do I need to do?” he asked, with some resignation.
I replied “All I want you to do is to come back for a service. Preach the message, and let us have a meal with you and your family afterwards. It will be a time of celebration as you let the church love on you and your family a little bit.”
He chewed this over in his mind as he chewed the cheese pizza in his hand.
I tried another tactic. “Do you realize that Mrs. Bernice and David and Sharon weren’t even there the Wednesday night you resigned? The feel that they really didn’t get to say good-bye because they missed that one Wednesday night.”
Pause.
“Plus you just told me that as a young man you swore to God that if anyone ever asked you to preach that you would do so.”
After I said this last line, great gusts of laughter same rumbling out of his throat. “Brother Taran, right after I told you that, I thought I’d regret it. And I sure do!” he laughed.
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll come and preach to the church. We can stay around and eat afterwards. That’s something we really love to do anyways” he said as he patted his belly.
But then he turned serious. His eyes moistened as he carefully said “But the truth is, this church walked with us during some difficult days when my mother died. They held me up while my wife was sick for those seven months. They encouraged me and loved on me more than you can imagine. Brother Taran, the truth is they ministered to me, far more than I ever ministered to them. The have loved me and my family for years and have kept me going through some very, very difficult times.”
I paused for a moment, realizing that we were on holy ground as we sat in the non-smoking section.
I said simply “They really need to hear you say that.”
And he nodded.
I didn’t expect that question, but tried to recover quickly. “I would like you and your family to come back to the church and let us have a time together to celebrate the ministry that God has done through you over the last eight years at Susan Song.”
“Well, the truth is I don’t really need that.” he responded. “I mean, that church is a good church and although I was there for eight years I don’t need any kind of special ceremony.”
I thought for a moment.
“Brother Jones,” I said carefully “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way. But I do want you to understand that my interest is not primarily in what you do or do not need. I am a lot more concerned about the church. And they need closure. Whether you need this or not is irrelevent.”
I wondered how he would take this.
“The problem was. I didn’t know how to leave. So when I reached my decision, I just left.” he said quietly. “I mean, what point is there in staying at a church any longer after you decide to go? ” I wasn’t sure if this question was rhetorical or not, so I nodded and took another bite of pepperoni pizza.
“So what exactly do I need to do?” he asked, with some resignation.
I replied “All I want you to do is to come back for a service. Preach the message, and let us have a meal with you and your family afterwards. It will be a time of celebration as you let the church love on you and your family a little bit.”
He chewed this over in his mind as he chewed the cheese pizza in his hand.
I tried another tactic. “Do you realize that Mrs. Bernice and David and Sharon weren’t even there the Wednesday night you resigned? The feel that they really didn’t get to say good-bye because they missed that one Wednesday night.”
Pause.
“Plus you just told me that as a young man you swore to God that if anyone ever asked you to preach that you would do so.”
After I said this last line, great gusts of laughter same rumbling out of his throat. “Brother Taran, right after I told you that, I thought I’d regret it. And I sure do!” he laughed.
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll come and preach to the church. We can stay around and eat afterwards. That’s something we really love to do anyways” he said as he patted his belly.
But then he turned serious. His eyes moistened as he carefully said “But the truth is, this church walked with us during some difficult days when my mother died. They held me up while my wife was sick for those seven months. They encouraged me and loved on me more than you can imagine. Brother Taran, the truth is they ministered to me, far more than I ever ministered to them. The have loved me and my family for years and have kept me going through some very, very difficult times.”
I paused for a moment, realizing that we were on holy ground as we sat in the non-smoking section.
I said simply “They really need to hear you say that.”
And he nodded.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Eating Pizza (I)
As I entered the hole-in-the-wall pizzeria, I immediately spotted Brother Jones, even though we’d never met. He was big, a Mack truck of a man. I had been told that he was huge—not fat, but big. But I was immediately glad that I was only paying for his buffet. His head was shaved and we locked eyes immediately as I walked in the room, pushing past the smoking section and over to him.
“Brother Taran” he said. I nodded and he continued “I wondered how I would recognize you.” He laughed nervously. We shook hands and immediately headed for the buffet, I had a diet coke with my pizza, while he had a regular. We sat down, prayed, and then began to talk.
"I'm as nervous as a cat" he said absently.
Without my prompting, he shared with me the more recent struggles that he and his wife have had. They have taken in numerous foster kids, especially teenagers and his voice wavered as he mentioned how much pain some of these kids have been through. He told me about one pair of sisters who were with them whose house had been in such a state of filth that even I had read about it in the local paper. His heart was even bigger than his body.
I asked him to tell me about his call to the ministry. He said he felt called at the age of thirty-five. He grew up in a rural town outside the city and attended country churches his whole life. While taking on greater responsibilities in the various churches he was a member of, he struggled with learning the “accepted way” of Baptist life. For example, he attended one ordination service and the minister conducting the service asked the candidate about the King James Version of the Bible. The candidate responded that the KJV was the only acceptable translation and that all the other versions were “of the devil.” Brother Jones then quietly hid his own New International Version from sight.
“God told me” he said “that if ever a man came and asked me to preach, I’d say ‘Yes!’ Several years later I was asked to preach at a small, country church. I pastored there for two hard years.”
He then shared with me his eight years of ministry at Susan Song. It was his second church, but by far his longest pastorate. It had been an exciting, and a difficult time. It started off well. They fixed up the church grounds and began to work on the outside of the church. They added a new sign that he bought in an auction for $100.00. They fixed it up for $300.00 and a church member ran the electrical line to the sign. It is the biggest sign in town and lights up the country night every evening. Pride was evident in his voice when he described the early years there.
“Brother Taran” he said. I nodded and he continued “I wondered how I would recognize you.” He laughed nervously. We shook hands and immediately headed for the buffet, I had a diet coke with my pizza, while he had a regular. We sat down, prayed, and then began to talk.
"I'm as nervous as a cat" he said absently.
Without my prompting, he shared with me the more recent struggles that he and his wife have had. They have taken in numerous foster kids, especially teenagers and his voice wavered as he mentioned how much pain some of these kids have been through. He told me about one pair of sisters who were with them whose house had been in such a state of filth that even I had read about it in the local paper. His heart was even bigger than his body.
I asked him to tell me about his call to the ministry. He said he felt called at the age of thirty-five. He grew up in a rural town outside the city and attended country churches his whole life. While taking on greater responsibilities in the various churches he was a member of, he struggled with learning the “accepted way” of Baptist life. For example, he attended one ordination service and the minister conducting the service asked the candidate about the King James Version of the Bible. The candidate responded that the KJV was the only acceptable translation and that all the other versions were “of the devil.” Brother Jones then quietly hid his own New International Version from sight.
“God told me” he said “that if ever a man came and asked me to preach, I’d say ‘Yes!’ Several years later I was asked to preach at a small, country church. I pastored there for two hard years.”
He then shared with me his eight years of ministry at Susan Song. It was his second church, but by far his longest pastorate. It had been an exciting, and a difficult time. It started off well. They fixed up the church grounds and began to work on the outside of the church. They added a new sign that he bought in an auction for $100.00. They fixed it up for $300.00 and a church member ran the electrical line to the sign. It is the biggest sign in town and lights up the country night every evening. Pride was evident in his voice when he described the early years there.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Finishing History
We've been wrapping up the church history at Susan Song lately.
I’ve had a hard time tracking down the previous pastor of Susan Song. As I’ve mentioned before, Brother Jones left rather suddenly. He showed up on a Wednesday evening for prayer meeting and said “Tonight is my last night as your pastor.” And walked out the door.
The impact on the church was substantial. They wondered the real reason why he left. People in the community stopped them in the grocery store and asked “What did ya’ll do to run him off?” The hardest part for the church members was to say “I don’t know what we did” and to wonder the answer to that question as well.
So after arriving I decided to track Brother Jones down and find out his thoughts on the church. I also wanted to invite him back for a celebration of his ministry that would provide closure for his time with the church. But I was warned by some of the church members that “He won’t talk to you and certainly won’t come back here!”
So I got his phone number and began to call him and leave messages with his wife. I tried unsuccessfully for a period of several months (August through October) to get in touch with him. I was unsuccessful. But then my secretary entered into the picture.
About ten years ago she was in his Sunday School class at another church. So she knew him and knew about my intentional interim ministry at his church. She also had not seen him for eight years. Around a month ago, she and her family went to breakfast at McDonald’s and ran into him.
After initial greetings, he mentioned that he had recently resigned as pastor at Susan Song after an eight year ministry. She said “I know, and do you want to know how I knew that? It’s because my boss is the intentional interim pastor there. And he’s been trying to talk to you for weeks.”
Brother Jones said “Oh…”
He then said something along the lines of “I guess if I ran into you after ten years, maybe God wants me to do something.
And the next time I called Brother Jones he answered the phone and we set up a meeting.
We would, as he said, “Break pizza together.”
I’ve had a hard time tracking down the previous pastor of Susan Song. As I’ve mentioned before, Brother Jones left rather suddenly. He showed up on a Wednesday evening for prayer meeting and said “Tonight is my last night as your pastor.” And walked out the door.
The impact on the church was substantial. They wondered the real reason why he left. People in the community stopped them in the grocery store and asked “What did ya’ll do to run him off?” The hardest part for the church members was to say “I don’t know what we did” and to wonder the answer to that question as well.
So after arriving I decided to track Brother Jones down and find out his thoughts on the church. I also wanted to invite him back for a celebration of his ministry that would provide closure for his time with the church. But I was warned by some of the church members that “He won’t talk to you and certainly won’t come back here!”
So I got his phone number and began to call him and leave messages with his wife. I tried unsuccessfully for a period of several months (August through October) to get in touch with him. I was unsuccessful. But then my secretary entered into the picture.
About ten years ago she was in his Sunday School class at another church. So she knew him and knew about my intentional interim ministry at his church. She also had not seen him for eight years. Around a month ago, she and her family went to breakfast at McDonald’s and ran into him.
After initial greetings, he mentioned that he had recently resigned as pastor at Susan Song after an eight year ministry. She said “I know, and do you want to know how I knew that? It’s because my boss is the intentional interim pastor there. And he’s been trying to talk to you for weeks.”
Brother Jones said “Oh…”
He then said something along the lines of “I guess if I ran into you after ten years, maybe God wants me to do something.
And the next time I called Brother Jones he answered the phone and we set up a meeting.
We would, as he said, “Break pizza together.”
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Confirmation that I was right to destroy my BOA Card
Reason #4,867 to eliminate your credit cards:
So that Bank of American employees with no longer have time to put things like this together.
http://adweek.blogs.com/adfreak/2006/11/how_bank_of_ame.html
(There is far more of a praise and worhip feel to this video than to some churches I know...)
So that Bank of American employees with no longer have time to put things like this together.
http://adweek.blogs.com/adfreak/2006/11/how_bank_of_ame.html
(There is far more of a praise and worhip feel to this video than to some churches I know...)
Monday, November 06, 2006
Tenure Thoughts (Service)
Service is simply the non-teaching, non-research work that the faculty member performs in support of the mission of the university or your field. It usually takes the form of committee work. It can include working on any aspect of university life. For example:
--Hiring committees (composes job advertisements, gets their approval form Human Resources, and searches for new faculty.
--Courses and Curriculum (approves modifications to current courses or new ones. It also works on new program offerings).
--SACS (our accrediting agency) compliance committee
Etc.
Service records those activities that no one really wants to do but need to get done in order for the university to run (semi)efficiently. The strange thing is, (actually, and this is mind boggling) I have encountered some people who LOVE committee meetings. They sit and linger, they hope that it continues on and on. There is rarely an agenda and when there is, people add to it willy-nilly and suck up the available amount of time.
I don’t get it.
The only thing more boring than these meetings would be a post about the meetings!!
--Hiring committees (composes job advertisements, gets their approval form Human Resources, and searches for new faculty.
--Courses and Curriculum (approves modifications to current courses or new ones. It also works on new program offerings).
--SACS (our accrediting agency) compliance committee
Etc.
Service records those activities that no one really wants to do but need to get done in order for the university to run (semi)efficiently. The strange thing is, (actually, and this is mind boggling) I have encountered some people who LOVE committee meetings. They sit and linger, they hope that it continues on and on. There is rarely an agenda and when there is, people add to it willy-nilly and suck up the available amount of time.
I don’t get it.
The only thing more boring than these meetings would be a post about the meetings!!
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Tenure Thoughts (II)
I think that research is critical to the academic enterprise. It is also the most quantifiable of the three divisions. Research includes articles, book reviews, books, presentations, and other scholarly activity. But the specific requirements for research is perhaps the most specific to the university. For example, many SBC institutions would (quite naturally) include contributions to the Biblical Illustrator (the journal that assists Sunday School teachers) as scholarly, but not many other schools. There is also a clear division between the Evangelical Theological Society and the American Academy of Religion or Society of Biblical Literature. ETS would not be considered an appropriate level of scholarship at many state institutions and even some denominational schools. (I haven’t attended a meeting there, but I do know some fine academics engaged in that society).
But essentially the tenure committee looks for the fact that the professor continues to be engaged in critical scholarship. This would be the equivalent of continuing education credits offered in many professional organizations. The average school requires two or three articles (over six years), four or five professional presentations and numerous book reviews. Some upper level schools require two books (assuming one is the dissertation, and at least a contract on a second). Obviously these are gross overgeneralizations.
At my institution, we probably require a little less than average in this area. A few articles and a few presentations would qualify for tenure, although recently we have had several candidates for tenure who had a book contract in hand.
As for me and my house, I am a bit light in the article department (1 plus a few encyclopedia entries) but I do have a dozen or so presentations at regional and national meetings as well as several book reviews. What cinches it for me (I hope)is that I do have a book coming out next spring by a university press. It is a book on the Psalms (of course). That should complete my research case for tenure.
But essentially the tenure committee looks for the fact that the professor continues to be engaged in critical scholarship. This would be the equivalent of continuing education credits offered in many professional organizations. The average school requires two or three articles (over six years), four or five professional presentations and numerous book reviews. Some upper level schools require two books (assuming one is the dissertation, and at least a contract on a second). Obviously these are gross overgeneralizations.
At my institution, we probably require a little less than average in this area. A few articles and a few presentations would qualify for tenure, although recently we have had several candidates for tenure who had a book contract in hand.
As for me and my house, I am a bit light in the article department (1 plus a few encyclopedia entries) but I do have a dozen or so presentations at regional and national meetings as well as several book reviews. What cinches it for me (I hope)is that I do have a book coming out next spring by a university press. It is a book on the Psalms (of course). That should complete my research case for tenure.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Real Beauty
I work alongside many artists. Because some in our department teach computer aided graphic design, I knew a bit about how pictures of models are "touched up" for magazine covers and advertisements. But there is something remarkable about watching it happen.
I viewed this video with Scooter and Skeeter and we talked about beauty in contemporary Western culture. It was very helpful in illustrating how artificial popular conceptions of beauty are.
I viewed this video with Scooter and Skeeter and we talked about beauty in contemporary Western culture. It was very helpful in illustrating how artificial popular conceptions of beauty are.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Tenure Thoughts
There are some technical requirements for tenure. Generally the faculty member must possess a terminal degree. In addition, the faculty member must have served a particular length of time (usually six years) at the rank of assistant professor, although this can be negotiated. There are also some specific requirements that will vary from institution to institution.
But at most universities, including my own, the requirements for tenure fall into three broad areas: teaching, research, and service. There is also an unwritten category generally called collegiality.
In my school, teaching is an absolute prerequisite for tenure. You can be weak in one or more of the other areas and still get tenure. But if you are weak in the classroom, it is very, very difficult. At research institutions, other areas are paramount, but at many smaller Liberal Arts institutions, teaching is the main mission of the university.
Teaching is, however, notoriously difficult to measure. Basically we attempt to measure teaching by student surveys and by peer evaluations. Student surveys are very flawed mechanisms (for example they presuppose that students know good teaching when they see it!). But they do show at least the student perception of the teacher. Peer evaluations occur when a senior level faculty member observes a junior faculty member actually teach a class. These evaluations are less helpful as they are very artificial. The whole classroom dynamic changes when there is an observer present.
Oh and there is also http://www.ratemyprofessors.com/. The teaching profession really hates that website.
Monday, October 23, 2006
On Jobs and Fulfillment
I’m drawn to some of the darker texts in the bible. Ecclesiastes, some of the Psalms and Job are the film noir of the Old Testament. But I was struck by the comfort and wisdom found in Ecclesiastes 5:18-20
“For this is what I have seen to be good: it is fitting to eat and drink and find enjoyment in all the toil with which one toils under the sun the few days of the life God gives us; for this is our lot. Likewise all to whom God gives wealth and possessions and whom he enables to enjoy them and to accept their lot and find enjoyment in their toil—this is the gift of God. For they will scarcely brood over the days of their lives, because God keeps them occupied with the joy of their hearts.”
Almost every person I know, in and out of the ministry, is dissatisfied with their current job or looking forward to their next job more than they are to their current position.
One whom God grants fulfillment in their occupation is richly blessed indeed.
“For this is what I have seen to be good: it is fitting to eat and drink and find enjoyment in all the toil with which one toils under the sun the few days of the life God gives us; for this is our lot. Likewise all to whom God gives wealth and possessions and whom he enables to enjoy them and to accept their lot and find enjoyment in their toil—this is the gift of God. For they will scarcely brood over the days of their lives, because God keeps them occupied with the joy of their hearts.”
Almost every person I know, in and out of the ministry, is dissatisfied with their current job or looking forward to their next job more than they are to their current position.
One whom God grants fulfillment in their occupation is richly blessed indeed.
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