Today, I saw the last Harry Potter movie again. Three or four years ago, I took a course on "Kant's Moral Theory in Film and Literature." This is the kind of thing that results.
Snape is one of my favorite characters in the Harry Potter books. Of course at the beginning he was just that professor you love to hate for his irrational prejudice against your heroes, but by the end of book six, when he had seemingly revealed his true colors and betrayed Dumbledore, I knew that the story wasn't over. Little hints, clues suggested that Snape was more than he appeared, a hunch that was confirmed in the seventh book. Snape, as it turns out, was perhaps *the* ultimate example of sacrificial love from the books. Many people die for Harry's sake (including Harry himself), but Snape's sacrifice is perhaps the greatest as it is unknown, unrewarded and uncertain of result.
Snape's actions somehow connected to my memories of college classes in Kant's moral theory. If I remember correctly, one of Kant's ideas about moral behavior was that TRUE moral action was done solely for it's own sake. In other words, if you were doing the right thing because a) it made you feel good or b) you'd feel guilty if you didn't or c) you benefited in any way--that action was not *quite* as moral or good as the action of someone who was acting simply out of duty. (This may be a gross oversimplification or misstatement, but this is what I remember.)
Snape, then, is almost the perfect Kantian moral agent. He receives no benefit from his service to Dumbledore, his protection to Harry--he refuses to be recognized, he doesn't like Harry, and at the very end he is told that all his work has been for nothing, as it were. And yet he continues until the very end, obeying Dumbledore's orders even when he has nothing to gain by it, because he has promised to do so, based on his love for Lily Potter.
I wonder what Immanuel Kant would say to that?
Showing posts with label reflection. Show all posts
Showing posts with label reflection. Show all posts
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Sunday, June 5, 2011
revisiting Christian imagination
One of the classes I took this past term was "The Christian Imagination," which seeks to be an exploration of the arts, theology, and what the two have to say to each other. While reading through some old journal entries last night, I found the following insight, which struck me again as important for both artists and theologians.
"It's not about you, the artist, but the creation itself and the people whom it is serving."
This became a growing conviction of mine throughout the course--that art should not be the work of one autonomous individual but must exist in the context of a community's life.
"It's not about Marja, but the act of teaching and her students."
Marja, the founder of the school where I worked last year, is indeed a saint, for the very reason that she deflects all attention from herself to the more important work of teaching, and students.
"It's not about Father Dunstan but his art and its service to the abbey."
One of the artists we visited as part of the course was Father Dunstan--who "gave up" a career as a professional artist to become a monk--and has continued to be an artist in the service of his community.
"So my own project shouldn't be about me, the artist, but the work and who I'm trying to serve."
I didn't consciously remember this when I formulated my final project for the class, but as it turned out, the bulk of my project was teaching people to dance--serving the art and the class community.
"Pastor's sermons, then, first and foremost, should be an act of Christian imagination."
Serving the word, the congregation.
"It's not about you, the artist, but the creation itself and the people whom it is serving."
This became a growing conviction of mine throughout the course--that art should not be the work of one autonomous individual but must exist in the context of a community's life.
"It's not about Marja, but the act of teaching and her students."
Marja, the founder of the school where I worked last year, is indeed a saint, for the very reason that she deflects all attention from herself to the more important work of teaching, and students.
"It's not about Father Dunstan but his art and its service to the abbey."
One of the artists we visited as part of the course was Father Dunstan--who "gave up" a career as a professional artist to become a monk--and has continued to be an artist in the service of his community.
"So my own project shouldn't be about me, the artist, but the work and who I'm trying to serve."
I didn't consciously remember this when I formulated my final project for the class, but as it turned out, the bulk of my project was teaching people to dance--serving the art and the class community.
"Pastor's sermons, then, first and foremost, should be an act of Christian imagination."
Serving the word, the congregation.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
victorian novels and vancouver spring
So the theme of the week (being performed with varying amounts of gusto) is waiting.
- Variation one: Vancouver spring
Everyone, without exception, has been saying this is the coldest, wettest, latest, most miserable spring in ages. And we keep saying it, over and over, because summer keeps not arriving. The momentous occasion of a few weeks ago is sadly becoming a distant memory.
But we wait. Summer IS coming (and is apparently going to be a scorcher when it comes). Wait, wait wait.
- Variation two: Victorian novels
I just finished reading North and South, by Elizabeth Gaskell, for Mapping Gender, one of the courses I'm auditing this spring. I wonder sometimes if the reading energy of my youth has been permanently damaged by my now five years of post-secondary education--I now find it more difficult to really sink my teeth into a novel and become completely absorbed. Especially when said novel is Victorian, and thus contains a) at least a few descriptions that cause me to roll my eyes and b) a plot that moves at the speed of molasses.
Of course, that's what I would have said three days ago, when I was stuck around the halfway point of North and South. I was starting to see major themes developed and kicked around, the tension between the two main characters was building, and I just couldn't seem to plow forward. It took a moment of stepping back, realizing that I was perhaps more engaged with the characters than I would like to admit--and then charging forward with the leap of faith that if I read the book straight through to the end, it would somehow be good.
The amazing thing--it was. I had forgotten that the slow development of plot at the beginning of the book means that once you move past halfway, things began to happen with a kind of tragic inevitability--you KNOW what's going to happen (mostly) and yet you can't stop reading because you can't wait to see it happen before your very eyes. There's something very satisfying as the whole tale sweeps together loose ends in a way that is both painful (people die, hearts are broken) and joyful (redemption occurs! relationships are made!).
So note to self: Victorian novels require waiting. Sometimes even waiting past the midway point. But you read through the beginning, even savor it, waiting for the great conclusion that you know is coming. Perhaps this philosophy will finally get me past the first 300 pages of Middlemarch until the end.
- Variation one: Vancouver spring
Everyone, without exception, has been saying this is the coldest, wettest, latest, most miserable spring in ages. And we keep saying it, over and over, because summer keeps not arriving. The momentous occasion of a few weeks ago is sadly becoming a distant memory.
But we wait. Summer IS coming (and is apparently going to be a scorcher when it comes). Wait, wait wait.
- Variation two: Victorian novels
I just finished reading North and South, by Elizabeth Gaskell, for Mapping Gender, one of the courses I'm auditing this spring. I wonder sometimes if the reading energy of my youth has been permanently damaged by my now five years of post-secondary education--I now find it more difficult to really sink my teeth into a novel and become completely absorbed. Especially when said novel is Victorian, and thus contains a) at least a few descriptions that cause me to roll my eyes and b) a plot that moves at the speed of molasses.
Of course, that's what I would have said three days ago, when I was stuck around the halfway point of North and South. I was starting to see major themes developed and kicked around, the tension between the two main characters was building, and I just couldn't seem to plow forward. It took a moment of stepping back, realizing that I was perhaps more engaged with the characters than I would like to admit--and then charging forward with the leap of faith that if I read the book straight through to the end, it would somehow be good.
The amazing thing--it was. I had forgotten that the slow development of plot at the beginning of the book means that once you move past halfway, things began to happen with a kind of tragic inevitability--you KNOW what's going to happen (mostly) and yet you can't stop reading because you can't wait to see it happen before your very eyes. There's something very satisfying as the whole tale sweeps together loose ends in a way that is both painful (people die, hearts are broken) and joyful (redemption occurs! relationships are made!).
So note to self: Victorian novels require waiting. Sometimes even waiting past the midway point. But you read through the beginning, even savor it, waiting for the great conclusion that you know is coming. Perhaps this philosophy will finally get me past the first 300 pages of Middlemarch until the end.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
kind streets
One of the aftershocks of my time with LVC is a rather more serious consideration of how I treat the people I run into when I'm walking around a city.
Normally it's quite simple--you try not to run into anyone, and if by chance you make eye contact, you may smile or nod or say hello. However, it's a lot more challenging when someone is trying to get your attention--and here I'm thinking of those hoping for your literal change and those hoping for greater change--canvassers for various advocacy and relief organizations.
I confess that I don't always know what to do with street canvassers. The easiest tactic is to just walk by, keep my eyes down, and shake my head vaguely. But that doesn't feel quite right to me--no matter how passionate you are about something, it's got to be hard to have hundreds, thousands of people giving you the brush. So lately I've been making eye contact, smiling, and then saying I'm not interested, so that I don't waste their time.
Today I did that, and then, since I was waiting for the bus anyway, ended up talking to one of them. And in the course of this conversation, I had two new insights for dealing with street canvassers in a way that is respectful and potentially beneficial to both sides.
1) I feel like this should have been obvious to me ages ago, but ask about alternative ways to help the cause that doesn't involve making a donation. The gentleman I talked to today was speaking on the behalf of an animal rights organization. Aha, I said. I don't have money to join your organization (plus, I'm not sure I agree with it). But what can I do in my daily life that will make a difference? He suggested free-range chicken products. I could easily have followed up with more questions along that line, which could have been a very helpful conversation informing my practices as a consumer.
2) Provide yourself with an easy out, aka, these particular canvassers were fortunately located in front of a bus stop. At the beginning of the conversation, I said that I would have to scoot when my bus came and sure enough, just as I was being presented with a form to fill out, my bus arrived and I scampered away. As someone who dislikes saying no, it made it much easier to engage, knowing that I would have a viable excuse to leave the conversation.
Normally it's quite simple--you try not to run into anyone, and if by chance you make eye contact, you may smile or nod or say hello. However, it's a lot more challenging when someone is trying to get your attention--and here I'm thinking of those hoping for your literal change and those hoping for greater change--canvassers for various advocacy and relief organizations.
I confess that I don't always know what to do with street canvassers. The easiest tactic is to just walk by, keep my eyes down, and shake my head vaguely. But that doesn't feel quite right to me--no matter how passionate you are about something, it's got to be hard to have hundreds, thousands of people giving you the brush. So lately I've been making eye contact, smiling, and then saying I'm not interested, so that I don't waste their time.
Today I did that, and then, since I was waiting for the bus anyway, ended up talking to one of them. And in the course of this conversation, I had two new insights for dealing with street canvassers in a way that is respectful and potentially beneficial to both sides.
1) I feel like this should have been obvious to me ages ago, but ask about alternative ways to help the cause that doesn't involve making a donation. The gentleman I talked to today was speaking on the behalf of an animal rights organization. Aha, I said. I don't have money to join your organization (plus, I'm not sure I agree with it). But what can I do in my daily life that will make a difference? He suggested free-range chicken products. I could easily have followed up with more questions along that line, which could have been a very helpful conversation informing my practices as a consumer.
2) Provide yourself with an easy out, aka, these particular canvassers were fortunately located in front of a bus stop. At the beginning of the conversation, I said that I would have to scoot when my bus came and sure enough, just as I was being presented with a form to fill out, my bus arrived and I scampered away. As someone who dislikes saying no, it made it much easier to engage, knowing that I would have a viable excuse to leave the conversation.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
exploits in the garden
Before today, my only experience of plant pruning was watching my parents wrestle with both our productive peach tree and overly-enthusiastic bougainvillea. Today, it was my turn. I suited up in a Vancouver drizzle to do battle with a wannabe-stately forsythia bush that was due for a severe haircut. At first, nearly every cut I made seemed counter-intuitive: I was lopping off all the big, high-growing green stuff--that couldn't possibly be right! To keep on track, I kept reminding myself of the goal: a more contained bush, with green shoots on lower branches.
It was impossible to do this task without calling to mind Jesus' parables about pruning, vines and branches. As I nervously hacked away, I wondered how much of my life is like the branches I was pruning--beautiful, green, but ultimately not heading in the right direction.
However, I think my forsythia bush had something else to say to me. I was comforted in my work that this particular forsythia bush, as established as it is, was pretty much indestructible. As long as I left it in the ground, with some green branches, it was going to survive. And in fact, my final result looks surprisingly robust, considering that I eliminated at least 60% of its foliage.
And that's hopeful. In the midst of painful pruning, it's good to remember that we're rooted and are ultimately going to survive, and not only survive but maybe even look better than we thought.
It was impossible to do this task without calling to mind Jesus' parables about pruning, vines and branches. As I nervously hacked away, I wondered how much of my life is like the branches I was pruning--beautiful, green, but ultimately not heading in the right direction.
However, I think my forsythia bush had something else to say to me. I was comforted in my work that this particular forsythia bush, as established as it is, was pretty much indestructible. As long as I left it in the ground, with some green branches, it was going to survive. And in fact, my final result looks surprisingly robust, considering that I eliminated at least 60% of its foliage.
And that's hopeful. In the midst of painful pruning, it's good to remember that we're rooted and are ultimately going to survive, and not only survive but maybe even look better than we thought.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
not-so-brief thoughts on social justice
Last week and this week I've been taking Vocation, Work and Ministry at Regent as part of spring school. It's been a valuable class for many reasons, but one insight from class today was particularly helpful for me in my ongoing consideration of the elusive "social justice."
Our topic of the day was social transformation or social justice--how does responsibility for our neighbors factor into our own vocations and life work. As part of that discussion, our professor invited a guest speaker who has spent more than the past twenty years following a road of so-called "downward mobility," seeking to follow Jesus and stand in solidarity with the poor.
One of my classmates asked the following question: if we're supposed to pursue this "downward" path, what do we say to those at the bottom? If the poor are seeking upward mobility, at what point do they become the rich who need to give up their wealth to be re-connected with the poor?
There are a lot of assumptions and values playing into that question and the answer could be complex and varied. However, our guest gave an answer that I think is a helpful way to re-frame the whole issue of service/social justice/solidarity with the "poor."
His main idea was that it's not so much a question of "upward" or "downward" mobility but a movement from individual self-sufficiency towards a communal economy. What does that mean? Here's how I interpreted it.
In my living situation last year through LVC, I had $100/month for groceries. You could come sailing in with a lot of questions here--is $100/month enough to eat on? would I be eating well enough?--and if the answer was that it wasn't enough, the logical solution would seem to be that I needed more money.
OR, (as it happened), I could pool my money with my housemates and suddenly $500/month for five people WAS enough because of economies of scale. It's not a perfect example (I know some of my housemates swallowed the cost of buying some of their own food), but the fact remains that while I might have possibly survived on my grocery stipend on my own, I ate WELL (to include the occasional luxury of ice cream!) by throwing my lot in with my housemates, not to mention being connected to church and work communities that provided our house community with free meals and gifts of groceries.
From this angle, solidarity with the poor takes on a new dimension. Suddenly it's not about me "coming down" to be with the poor, but rather giving up my right to be self-sufficient and instead integrating myself into a communal web, where I depend on others and others depend on me in order to live. And the goal for the poor is not necessarily more (although clearly, there are certain minimum needs that need to be defined and met), but being brought into relationships that are mutually beneficial and sustaining.
This seems a much more expansive idea of solidarity and social justice. It includes more classic ideals of living on less, mutual service and advocating for change, but also the simple practice of being neighborly: establishing the communal ethic that chips in for a neighbor's house repair, cooks meals for a family with a child in the hospital, and babysits for free.
It also has something to say to the "wealthy." One side effect of thinking this way is that "poverty" is shifted away from pure socio-economic need to those who are isolated from resources, especially the resources of community. By this understanding, those with money who live lives isolated from a community of dependence are almost more poor than their neighbors who can't pay rent. Is there a need for "social justice" for these people as well? I think there is. Obviously the main thrust of social justice needs to be on behalf of those who are marginalized socially and economically. But unless this ethic of mutual dependence takes root in ALL social classes, from top to bottom, I don't think society will ever be fully just.
Of course, this is easier said than done. I left class with the conviction that I need to work a lot harder at establishing an interdependent life, especially in my current house community. It's a reflection of my privilege that I get to make that choice and have to make the effort--for many in my city and the world, it's the only option they have.
Our topic of the day was social transformation or social justice--how does responsibility for our neighbors factor into our own vocations and life work. As part of that discussion, our professor invited a guest speaker who has spent more than the past twenty years following a road of so-called "downward mobility," seeking to follow Jesus and stand in solidarity with the poor.
One of my classmates asked the following question: if we're supposed to pursue this "downward" path, what do we say to those at the bottom? If the poor are seeking upward mobility, at what point do they become the rich who need to give up their wealth to be re-connected with the poor?
There are a lot of assumptions and values playing into that question and the answer could be complex and varied. However, our guest gave an answer that I think is a helpful way to re-frame the whole issue of service/social justice/solidarity with the "poor."
His main idea was that it's not so much a question of "upward" or "downward" mobility but a movement from individual self-sufficiency towards a communal economy. What does that mean? Here's how I interpreted it.
In my living situation last year through LVC, I had $100/month for groceries. You could come sailing in with a lot of questions here--is $100/month enough to eat on? would I be eating well enough?--and if the answer was that it wasn't enough, the logical solution would seem to be that I needed more money.
OR, (as it happened), I could pool my money with my housemates and suddenly $500/month for five people WAS enough because of economies of scale. It's not a perfect example (I know some of my housemates swallowed the cost of buying some of their own food), but the fact remains that while I might have possibly survived on my grocery stipend on my own, I ate WELL (to include the occasional luxury of ice cream!) by throwing my lot in with my housemates, not to mention being connected to church and work communities that provided our house community with free meals and gifts of groceries.
From this angle, solidarity with the poor takes on a new dimension. Suddenly it's not about me "coming down" to be with the poor, but rather giving up my right to be self-sufficient and instead integrating myself into a communal web, where I depend on others and others depend on me in order to live. And the goal for the poor is not necessarily more (although clearly, there are certain minimum needs that need to be defined and met), but being brought into relationships that are mutually beneficial and sustaining.
This seems a much more expansive idea of solidarity and social justice. It includes more classic ideals of living on less, mutual service and advocating for change, but also the simple practice of being neighborly: establishing the communal ethic that chips in for a neighbor's house repair, cooks meals for a family with a child in the hospital, and babysits for free.
It also has something to say to the "wealthy." One side effect of thinking this way is that "poverty" is shifted away from pure socio-economic need to those who are isolated from resources, especially the resources of community. By this understanding, those with money who live lives isolated from a community of dependence are almost more poor than their neighbors who can't pay rent. Is there a need for "social justice" for these people as well? I think there is. Obviously the main thrust of social justice needs to be on behalf of those who are marginalized socially and economically. But unless this ethic of mutual dependence takes root in ALL social classes, from top to bottom, I don't think society will ever be fully just.
Of course, this is easier said than done. I left class with the conviction that I need to work a lot harder at establishing an interdependent life, especially in my current house community. It's a reflection of my privilege that I get to make that choice and have to make the effort--for many in my city and the world, it's the only option they have.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
On paper writing
In celebration of finishing my CTC paper, I present some musings on the process of paper writing.
Writing papers is the delight and bane of my academic existence. I love reading books and summarizing content, organizing ideas and making a logical argument, saying things with just the right word and producing an elegant, well-crafted paper that is interesting, accessible and edifying.
This, perhaps is my problem. When I'm in the midst of researching or writing and really excited, this all just flows and it's exhilarating to do. But reaching that threshold and pushing through seems to take me a long time, partially because objectively, it's a pretty daunting task to reach the standard I set for myself. So many things need to happen and there are so many ways to go wrong. Hardly a relaxing process.
That said I have observed several things about my own process of writing papers:
- I always go for primary sources if possible. They're really helpful.
- One of the benefits of computers is being able to "write" fast. So I take down every single quote that I think might be relevant to my topic. Then they're all gathered into one document, already typed up, and if I need direction, easy to refer to.
- This one is thanks to Regent: start with a good research question. Especially for this last paper, it's done wonders for keeping me on track. Every time I got lost in my ideas and asked "what am DOING," my question pointed me back in the right direction.
- I very rarely worry about the length of papers because I've developed a knack for picking topics that are the "right size."
- I have not yet mastered using outlines effectively--I need to just start writing and that process clarifies my ideas (or at least shows where they're muddled).
- Finally, and this has been the hardest thing to accept about paper-writing and the major reason I have such trouble with procrastination: my method of paper-writing is inherently inefficient and I haven't found any way around that. I will read books with information I don't use. I will redefine my thesis twelve times. I will write nearly three full drafts worth of stuff before I have my ideas under control and can bash out the final version. Not only that, but I have to write out the final version by hand--typing just doesn't work.
Well, that was fun. Now I need to clean up the wreckage that always follows paper writing--gather up all the loose papers and put them away, put library books in a bag to be returned, wash dishes...
Writing papers is the delight and bane of my academic existence. I love reading books and summarizing content, organizing ideas and making a logical argument, saying things with just the right word and producing an elegant, well-crafted paper that is interesting, accessible and edifying.
This, perhaps is my problem. When I'm in the midst of researching or writing and really excited, this all just flows and it's exhilarating to do. But reaching that threshold and pushing through seems to take me a long time, partially because objectively, it's a pretty daunting task to reach the standard I set for myself. So many things need to happen and there are so many ways to go wrong. Hardly a relaxing process.
That said I have observed several things about my own process of writing papers:
- I always go for primary sources if possible. They're really helpful.
- One of the benefits of computers is being able to "write" fast. So I take down every single quote that I think might be relevant to my topic. Then they're all gathered into one document, already typed up, and if I need direction, easy to refer to.
- This one is thanks to Regent: start with a good research question. Especially for this last paper, it's done wonders for keeping me on track. Every time I got lost in my ideas and asked "what am DOING," my question pointed me back in the right direction.
- I very rarely worry about the length of papers because I've developed a knack for picking topics that are the "right size."
- I have not yet mastered using outlines effectively--I need to just start writing and that process clarifies my ideas (or at least shows where they're muddled).
- Finally, and this has been the hardest thing to accept about paper-writing and the major reason I have such trouble with procrastination: my method of paper-writing is inherently inefficient and I haven't found any way around that. I will read books with information I don't use. I will redefine my thesis twelve times. I will write nearly three full drafts worth of stuff before I have my ideas under control and can bash out the final version. Not only that, but I have to write out the final version by hand--typing just doesn't work.
Well, that was fun. Now I need to clean up the wreckage that always follows paper writing--gather up all the loose papers and put them away, put library books in a bag to be returned, wash dishes...
Sunday, October 31, 2010
being Americanadian, hey?
I've started to say "eh?" at the end of sentences. It's over. I'm doomed. You cannot resist the power of the "eh?" (Except, real Canadians don't say "eh?", they say "hey?".)
It's funny to move to a different country where the culture is similar to your home country. If I had moved to a place like, say, Hungary, the "moments of belonging" would be more obvious and profound: I would understand what someone said, bravely ordered something at the meat counter, given directions to a native, etc. Being here, with no language and fewer cultural differences, feeling like I belong in Canada is much more subtle. Thank goodness for hey, hey?
It's funny, but my recent trips to the States revealed to me that I have in fact put down some roots in Vancouver. While I loved my trips to DC and the Midwest (both places that are very dear to me), there was a certain anxiety to "get back home." When I flew into the Vancouver airport, I knew that I was back where I belonged.
That said, my travels to the States also revealed to me how very American I am. Because I've moved around so much, I don't think of myself as from a particular place, but now I know I'm definitely from the U.S. When I came out of the Metro in DC (on the national mall), I looked at the people around me and thought, "These people are Americans too!" and it blew my mind. How great to be among people who grew up in the same country I did, with a shared identity (no matter how small)! In Canada, whenever I talk about my past, there's a tug, a desire to explain my country so that people understand it and know what it's all about. That doesn't mean I think America is perfect. It definitely has a lot of problems. But I *care* about my country and I want to make it better.
So here I am, sandwiched between my surprisingly strong patriotic identity and my growing roots in Vancouver. I'm not totally moved in yet, "homey" feeling notwithstanding. There are still bits of my life that need working out. Last week (or the week before), I heard Jeremiah 29:28 ("Therefore build houses and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce.") referenced multiple times and as my fellow student said, "You might want to think about that."
I am thinking. And I have realized, first, what a miracle it is to have put down roots. I've only been here for two and a half months now. That's a short time! Of course I won't have everything squared away. And this led to a second realization: even though I may be leaving Vancouver sooner rather than later, I don't need to rush the process. The important thing is to take each day as it comes, committed to the place and people it presents. I'm not always so good at this...but like everything else, it's a work in progress. :)
P.S. Dear Canadians: why do you shoot off fireworks on Halloween of all holidays? I understand that your national holiday may not be as enthusiastically celebrated with explosives as in the States, but Halloween? What's up with that?
It's funny to move to a different country where the culture is similar to your home country. If I had moved to a place like, say, Hungary, the "moments of belonging" would be more obvious and profound: I would understand what someone said, bravely ordered something at the meat counter, given directions to a native, etc. Being here, with no language and fewer cultural differences, feeling like I belong in Canada is much more subtle. Thank goodness for hey, hey?
It's funny, but my recent trips to the States revealed to me that I have in fact put down some roots in Vancouver. While I loved my trips to DC and the Midwest (both places that are very dear to me), there was a certain anxiety to "get back home." When I flew into the Vancouver airport, I knew that I was back where I belonged.
That said, my travels to the States also revealed to me how very American I am. Because I've moved around so much, I don't think of myself as from a particular place, but now I know I'm definitely from the U.S. When I came out of the Metro in DC (on the national mall), I looked at the people around me and thought, "These people are Americans too!" and it blew my mind. How great to be among people who grew up in the same country I did, with a shared identity (no matter how small)! In Canada, whenever I talk about my past, there's a tug, a desire to explain my country so that people understand it and know what it's all about. That doesn't mean I think America is perfect. It definitely has a lot of problems. But I *care* about my country and I want to make it better.
So here I am, sandwiched between my surprisingly strong patriotic identity and my growing roots in Vancouver. I'm not totally moved in yet, "homey" feeling notwithstanding. There are still bits of my life that need working out. Last week (or the week before), I heard Jeremiah 29:28 ("Therefore build houses and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce.") referenced multiple times and as my fellow student said, "You might want to think about that."
I am thinking. And I have realized, first, what a miracle it is to have put down roots. I've only been here for two and a half months now. That's a short time! Of course I won't have everything squared away. And this led to a second realization: even though I may be leaving Vancouver sooner rather than later, I don't need to rush the process. The important thing is to take each day as it comes, committed to the place and people it presents. I'm not always so good at this...but like everything else, it's a work in progress. :)
P.S. Dear Canadians: why do you shoot off fireworks on Halloween of all holidays? I understand that your national holiday may not be as enthusiastically celebrated with explosives as in the States, but Halloween? What's up with that?
Monday, October 4, 2010
Significant encounters, part 3
My last encounter is much less charged than the previous two and involves me being a lot less tongue-tied, which was a nice change.
Our dialogue was good exchange of ideas and assumptions. It made me realize that my understanding of poverty (and related social issues) is rare. I'm no expert on poverty--my understanding of the various theories and explanations of, say, homelessness, is rudimentary at best. And it should be noted, in the world of social understanding, there is no one "right" answer because people are complicated, data is incomplete, theories are approximate. The only thing I know for sure is that I don't have all the answers--and neither does anyone else. Of course we can generalize reasons and come up with working theories (I think we have to, for mental organization) and of course there are wonderful social scientists doing excellent research that goes a long way towards explaining our social ills and how we could possibly fix them. Ultimately, like my conversation with my co-worker, it has to be a dialogue. We have to keep sharing what we know and figuring out which ideas make the most sense, but we need to start with the certainty that we don't know the answers.
Most importantly, however--this is a theme I see in all three of these conversations--I have to remember that all this theorizing, all this discussion is about *people.* In some sense, I stumbled over my conversation with my homeless friend because I cast the encounter in terms of roles. It was Michael the homeless man vs. Christina the child of privilege, instead of person to person. In my talk with the neighbor, it was old vs. young, not woman-to-woman.
Relating to people as people is a fuzzy, fuzzy thing. I can only think of it as an exercise in humility, that virtue that is notoriously tricky to define and acquire--as soon as you realize you're humble, you're not humble any more, because humility, at heart, is self-forgetting (NOT self-degradation, it should be noted). How does one become humble? I'm going to steal the punchline from President Wilson's talk at the first chapel service here. He cited someone (I think Thomas Merton), whose definition for humility was something like this: the proper posture of standing before God as his creature, a sinner and a saint. That's the starting point.
I was walking around UBC with a UBC student as part of a part-time job I've picked up. I explained that I go to Regent and, before we ducked into the library, managed to clarify the venn diagram of Christianity and Catholicism for him (although I'm not sure he got it entirely. It is confusing).
Later, though, we were talking about how expensive things are in Canada and it opened up a discussion of why things cost so much, why taxes are so high, and why people who are homeless can't get jobs. He claimed that the best job in Canada is being a beggar, and this time, I managed to affirm that yes, while there are probably some street people who are working the system, there are probably many others who are just getting by. I pointed out that it's hard for homeless people to find work because they haven't slept, haven't showered, don't have "appropriate" clothes. I somehow managed to work the idea of the cycle of poverty into the conversation as well. We talked about education and he told me his mom's advice: if he didn't want to go to school, he could always be a gangster, but--if he was going to be a gangster, he had to be the top one. Otherwise it wouldn't work out. I think his mom was a very wise woman.
Our dialogue was good exchange of ideas and assumptions. It made me realize that my understanding of poverty (and related social issues) is rare. I'm no expert on poverty--my understanding of the various theories and explanations of, say, homelessness, is rudimentary at best. And it should be noted, in the world of social understanding, there is no one "right" answer because people are complicated, data is incomplete, theories are approximate. The only thing I know for sure is that I don't have all the answers--and neither does anyone else. Of course we can generalize reasons and come up with working theories (I think we have to, for mental organization) and of course there are wonderful social scientists doing excellent research that goes a long way towards explaining our social ills and how we could possibly fix them. Ultimately, like my conversation with my co-worker, it has to be a dialogue. We have to keep sharing what we know and figuring out which ideas make the most sense, but we need to start with the certainty that we don't know the answers.
Most importantly, however--this is a theme I see in all three of these conversations--I have to remember that all this theorizing, all this discussion is about *people.* In some sense, I stumbled over my conversation with my homeless friend because I cast the encounter in terms of roles. It was Michael the homeless man vs. Christina the child of privilege, instead of person to person. In my talk with the neighbor, it was old vs. young, not woman-to-woman.
Relating to people as people is a fuzzy, fuzzy thing. I can only think of it as an exercise in humility, that virtue that is notoriously tricky to define and acquire--as soon as you realize you're humble, you're not humble any more, because humility, at heart, is self-forgetting (NOT self-degradation, it should be noted). How does one become humble? I'm going to steal the punchline from President Wilson's talk at the first chapel service here. He cited someone (I think Thomas Merton), whose definition for humility was something like this: the proper posture of standing before God as his creature, a sinner and a saint. That's the starting point.
Significant encounters, part 2
Then there was the woman I encountered in the alley as I was coming back for a run. We were chatting and in the course of the conversation, she asked if I had heard about the girl who was recently murdered in Surrey. I had, but she filled in the details and then said that she hoped they caught the perpetrator and sentenced him to death. She continued to say that she thought all people who committed serious crimes like that should just be taken care of--because there's no changing them and they shouldn't be allowed to be set loose in society. I must have looked slightly shocked, because she followed that up with, as a religious person, what did I think of that?
Cautiously, I said that I would like to believe that it's possible for anyone to change and that even if it doesn't happen very often, that's not something we should take away from people. And while I agree that those who are dangerous to their society should be removed from it, I'm not sure that means they need to be killed.
She looked at me pityingly. "You're young. You're idealistic. I used to be that way."
And I didn't know what to say. Of course, afterward I remembered the many "smart" things I could have said: that jails are not crowded because of murderers and rapists, but because of injustice, misfortune and a whole set of complex causes; that no justice system is perfect and would she want her grandchildren wrongly convicted and then lethally injected?; that I know a whole lot of "old people" who still held their youthful idealism.
But in the moment, I had no words, for two reasons. First, as someone who has been fortunate to experience very little prejudice (I feel like I've managed to miss a lot of the discrimination and harassment that can come with being a woman), it was jolting to be judged by, of all things, my age. I was no longer a person; I was a demographic. I felt utterly objectified.
Secondly, I was profoundly saddened because this is what the world looks like to someone who has no God. As a Christian, I can affirm that while people are born in sin, we are also made in the image of God--even murderers. I can affirm that I too am someone who deserves to be judged--and thank God I've never been in a place to be judged by the law. And most importantly, I can affirm that even as the world is a crazy, broken, confused place, there is still hope. I don't think I have idealism--I have hope.
Significant encounters
or, three people I've met who have made me think. In the interest of making these thoughts slightly less overwhelming, I'm going to break this post into three separate posts, one for each person.
In a perfect world, this is when I would have confidently proclaimed the welcome of all people into God's family; in real time, I was speechless. Would he be welcome? Even if a group welcomed him, would he even able to feel welcomed, this person who has no place? How can we give a place to people who have no place? (These are questions very close to home for someone who, when asked where she's from, has no one place.)
I realized later that I didn't know what to say, because I was so worried about me I was thinking about what *I* could say or do that would be right, trying to figure out how *I* could "fix" the situation. I feel foolish now, because if I learned anything at all last year, it was that service is not about "me". It's about "you" and then "us."
I'm glad I had this conversation, to hammer home that even when I'm not working with people on the margins every day, I'm still responsible for this outward orientation, this attitude of humble service.
At a (very crowded) informational lunch about small Bible study groups, a rather scruffy looking man asked if he could join us at a table. From his clothing, and the fact that he was carrying a weather-beaten resuable shopping bag, I gathered that he was probably homeless. He loaded up his plate with food and I, again, guessed that this would probably be the most significant meal of his day.
He asked what the lunch was for and I explained about small groups. He looked at the list and asked if he would be welcome at them. I mumbled something vaguely affirmative. Then he said to me, "They say that I could come, but they don't mean that. I wouldn't belong there. I don't have a place in the world; I wouldn't belong there."
In a perfect world, this is when I would have confidently proclaimed the welcome of all people into God's family; in real time, I was speechless. Would he be welcome? Even if a group welcomed him, would he even able to feel welcomed, this person who has no place? How can we give a place to people who have no place? (These are questions very close to home for someone who, when asked where she's from, has no one place.)
I realized later that I didn't know what to say, because I was so worried about me I was thinking about what *I* could say or do that would be right, trying to figure out how *I* could "fix" the situation. I feel foolish now, because if I learned anything at all last year, it was that service is not about "me". It's about "you" and then "us."
I'm glad I had this conversation, to hammer home that even when I'm not working with people on the margins every day, I'm still responsible for this outward orientation, this attitude of humble service.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
being Canadian
So I have now been in Canada for over two weeks. I could regale you with a list of "things that are different in the Canada than in the US" but such lists are usually fairly boring, so really, all you need to know is that cheese is REALLY expensive here. Or at least it feels very expensive for something that is so delicious and useful. Ah well, I suppose living abroad involves such sacrifices. I'll manage somehow. :)
In any case, Vancouver more than makes up for its other minor flaws by giving me a marvelous public transportation system. I'm living on two useful bus lines (one to UBC, one to downtown via Kitsilano) and have come to realize that waiting for more than 10 minutes is something to be complained about. After living in DC, land of the wayward bus, this is nothing short of a miracle. Sorry DC, you lose on this one.
I've spent most of this week going to new student orientation. All of the presenters kept apologizing for the length of orientation and the amount of information being thrown at us, but after LVC orientation last year (which was longer in terms of both days and hours per day), I thought it wasn't so bad. In fact, I thought orientation was well planned and executed. Almost all of the talks and presentations were helpful (even necessary!) and the days were nicely paced in terms of information and student attention spans.
For me, hearing again about Regent's vision, short interviews with several profs, and meeting other students really helped me mentally "move in" to Vancouver, to Regent and to the work that I'll be doing next year. I'm looking forward to the beginning of classes on Monday. That's when the real work will begin.
One of the presentations on our last day of orientation was the most perfect "Canada in a nutshell" that I've ever heard. Granted, I have no basis for comparison, this being the only lecture I've ever heard about Canada, but it was brilliant. Prof. Stackhouse introduced Canada by saying that the best way to get a first grasp of Canada is to understand its geography (as opposed to say, its history or culture).
I think Canada and I have that in common. I have often felt that the best way to describe myself (and my history) is in terms of locations and where I have been geographically. I have lots of interests, experiences, and traits. But who I AM, is maybe someone who's been a little bit of everywhere and found a home and a family. I hope that happens here too.
In any case, Vancouver more than makes up for its other minor flaws by giving me a marvelous public transportation system. I'm living on two useful bus lines (one to UBC, one to downtown via Kitsilano) and have come to realize that waiting for more than 10 minutes is something to be complained about. After living in DC, land of the wayward bus, this is nothing short of a miracle. Sorry DC, you lose on this one.
I've spent most of this week going to new student orientation. All of the presenters kept apologizing for the length of orientation and the amount of information being thrown at us, but after LVC orientation last year (which was longer in terms of both days and hours per day), I thought it wasn't so bad. In fact, I thought orientation was well planned and executed. Almost all of the talks and presentations were helpful (even necessary!) and the days were nicely paced in terms of information and student attention spans.
For me, hearing again about Regent's vision, short interviews with several profs, and meeting other students really helped me mentally "move in" to Vancouver, to Regent and to the work that I'll be doing next year. I'm looking forward to the beginning of classes on Monday. That's when the real work will begin.
One of the presentations on our last day of orientation was the most perfect "Canada in a nutshell" that I've ever heard. Granted, I have no basis for comparison, this being the only lecture I've ever heard about Canada, but it was brilliant. Prof. Stackhouse introduced Canada by saying that the best way to get a first grasp of Canada is to understand its geography (as opposed to say, its history or culture).
I think Canada and I have that in common. I have often felt that the best way to describe myself (and my history) is in terms of locations and where I have been geographically. I have lots of interests, experiences, and traits. But who I AM, is maybe someone who's been a little bit of everywhere and found a home and a family. I hope that happens here too.
Monday, August 23, 2010
the simple (and well considered) life
This always happens when I come home--I think I have all this time to relax and organize my life and spend time with my family. Then all of a sudden I have three days left and a whole mess of things to do.
Case in point: dealing with my clothes. Gathering all my clothes in one place for the first time since I left for college, I have reached the following conclusion: I have too many clothes. Corollary: clothes are a pain. I am thankful that I have enough clothes to be adequately (sometimes even attractively!) clothed, but I start to wonder when eight pairs of shoes is my bare minimum to be prepared for all wardrobe (and weather) eventualities. I'm inclined to believe monasticism had it right--a vow of poverty is the best way to reduce both hassle and the burden of possessions. Fashion, packing, and matching shoes become a non-issue when you're wearing the same thing every day.
I like to think that it's my year of LVC-induced "simple living" that's bringing about this change of attitude towards my possessions, but it's more likely that I'm just tired of carting my life around in a suitcase. 100+ pounds of luggage gets old after awhile.
Along similar "life value" lines, I stumbled across this article about twenty-somethings on facebook and it made me think. I fit nearly all the descriptions of this new "emergent adult" ("untethered to romantic partners or to permanent homes...avoiding commitments...forestalling the beginning of adult life." Check, check and check!) and it's kind of interesting to be a subject of sociological interest. I agree with the psychological nitpickers at the end of the article: I don't think emergent adulthood is a required step of psychological maturation; I'd say it's simply a cultural phenonmenon resulting from the optimism of the Millenial generation, enabled by the middle-class privilege retained from the baby boomer generation. That said, it's real and (I think) worth studying. I'd be interested to know what the experts, and eventually history, decide--is this emergent adulthood good or bad? Is it good to be financially independent? Undoubtedly. Is it good to do good in the world and seek a life goal, if that opportunity is available to you? I think so. The million dollar question: are the two mutually exclusive? As one stuck in it I'm not sure I'm the best one to judge. I certainly have gone the route of "seeking" instead of "growing up" per se, but I hope that doesn't mean it's not possible to do both.
It is a little bit of a blow to realize that in my apparently unorthodox life path, I am actually behaving like a predictable young adult of my time. So much for being unique and thinking out of the box. I guess it's okay to be on the gospel train if you're bound for glory.
Case in point: dealing with my clothes. Gathering all my clothes in one place for the first time since I left for college, I have reached the following conclusion: I have too many clothes. Corollary: clothes are a pain. I am thankful that I have enough clothes to be adequately (sometimes even attractively!) clothed, but I start to wonder when eight pairs of shoes is my bare minimum to be prepared for all wardrobe (and weather) eventualities. I'm inclined to believe monasticism had it right--a vow of poverty is the best way to reduce both hassle and the burden of possessions. Fashion, packing, and matching shoes become a non-issue when you're wearing the same thing every day.
I like to think that it's my year of LVC-induced "simple living" that's bringing about this change of attitude towards my possessions, but it's more likely that I'm just tired of carting my life around in a suitcase. 100+ pounds of luggage gets old after awhile.
Along similar "life value" lines, I stumbled across this article about twenty-somethings on facebook and it made me think. I fit nearly all the descriptions of this new "emergent adult" ("untethered to romantic partners or to permanent homes...avoiding commitments...forestalling the beginning of adult life." Check, check and check!) and it's kind of interesting to be a subject of sociological interest. I agree with the psychological nitpickers at the end of the article: I don't think emergent adulthood is a required step of psychological maturation; I'd say it's simply a cultural phenonmenon resulting from the optimism of the Millenial generation, enabled by the middle-class privilege retained from the baby boomer generation. That said, it's real and (I think) worth studying. I'd be interested to know what the experts, and eventually history, decide--is this emergent adulthood good or bad? Is it good to be financially independent? Undoubtedly. Is it good to do good in the world and seek a life goal, if that opportunity is available to you? I think so. The million dollar question: are the two mutually exclusive? As one stuck in it I'm not sure I'm the best one to judge. I certainly have gone the route of "seeking" instead of "growing up" per se, but I hope that doesn't mean it's not possible to do both.
It is a little bit of a blow to realize that in my apparently unorthodox life path, I am actually behaving like a predictable young adult of my time. So much for being unique and thinking out of the box. I guess it's okay to be on the gospel train if you're bound for glory.
Friday, May 28, 2010
a hospital kaleidoscope
In LVC we throw around the word "community" a lot but it can be hard to know what that really means. As cheesy at it sounds, this week I got to see community in action.
The setting? One of my housemates was in the hospital. The hospital was far away. We were all busy with work. It would have been easy to just carry on with our lives...but that didn't happen. Everyone pulled together and did what it took to make sure that we made it out to visit--whether that meant missing work or taking two buses back to the house at eleven at night. I was waiting for the bus with two of my housemates after a hospital visit and realized that (at least for a little while) my priorities had become community-first, self-second. For someone who lives very much in her own head, this was an incredible thought. And considering we've only known each other for nine months, I can only marvel at a) my housemates (who are quality people) and b) how we are slowly becoming greater than the sum of our parts.
That realization also made me see how far I have to go. It took some prodding to work up the energy to make the trek to the hospital. I also realized that community-focus and my compassionate attention shouldn't just be a hospital thing. A person zoning out in the living room may need my company just as much as my physically isolated housemate in the hospital.
Our hospital visits also hammered home another lesson that I've been learning this year: the more narrow your "problem" or interest, the wider your world. For example, my job is pretty specific--I teach adults. However, education with adults, especially when centered around attaining a high school credential, becomes a swirl of other issues including parenting, relationships, fair housing, just wages, employment, child care, and much more. In the same way, going to the hospital became much more than one housemate being sick. It made me realize (not for the first time) that there are very few hospitals actually IN the District, especially in the center of the city. Those hospitals that are in the city are generally dismissed as inferior. My housemates and I thought that our hour-plus commute to Sibley was arduous--but for some people, that's how long it takes to get to school/work every day. We spent three days with a 'second job' of hospital visits, but some people spend years visiting their loved ones who are sick. And what happens when concerned family members don't have the privilege of taking two buses to see their loved ones? Or the luxury of taking off work?
All in all, I come away from this week feeling undeservedly fortunate. I think that's what they call blessing.
The setting? One of my housemates was in the hospital. The hospital was far away. We were all busy with work. It would have been easy to just carry on with our lives...but that didn't happen. Everyone pulled together and did what it took to make sure that we made it out to visit--whether that meant missing work or taking two buses back to the house at eleven at night. I was waiting for the bus with two of my housemates after a hospital visit and realized that (at least for a little while) my priorities had become community-first, self-second. For someone who lives very much in her own head, this was an incredible thought. And considering we've only known each other for nine months, I can only marvel at a) my housemates (who are quality people) and b) how we are slowly becoming greater than the sum of our parts.
That realization also made me see how far I have to go. It took some prodding to work up the energy to make the trek to the hospital. I also realized that community-focus and my compassionate attention shouldn't just be a hospital thing. A person zoning out in the living room may need my company just as much as my physically isolated housemate in the hospital.
Our hospital visits also hammered home another lesson that I've been learning this year: the more narrow your "problem" or interest, the wider your world. For example, my job is pretty specific--I teach adults. However, education with adults, especially when centered around attaining a high school credential, becomes a swirl of other issues including parenting, relationships, fair housing, just wages, employment, child care, and much more. In the same way, going to the hospital became much more than one housemate being sick. It made me realize (not for the first time) that there are very few hospitals actually IN the District, especially in the center of the city. Those hospitals that are in the city are generally dismissed as inferior. My housemates and I thought that our hour-plus commute to Sibley was arduous--but for some people, that's how long it takes to get to school/work every day. We spent three days with a 'second job' of hospital visits, but some people spend years visiting their loved ones who are sick. And what happens when concerned family members don't have the privilege of taking two buses to see their loved ones? Or the luxury of taking off work?
All in all, I come away from this week feeling undeservedly fortunate. I think that's what they call blessing.
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