Season Six of Buffy the Vampire Slayer concerns Buffy’s troubles with finding her way in the world. After dying (at the end of season five), and being resurrected, Buffy is having some problems finding her purpose in life. In the musical episode, “Once More With Feeling,” she sings that she just wants to “feel” and that she wants “something to sing about.” Spike sings to her, “Life's not a song/ Life isn't bliss/ Life is just this/ It's living.” (I know that sounds uber-corny, but trust me, the show is masterful at making the trite meaningful. Plus the way Spike – James Marsters – looks at Buffy at this moment is enough to make your socks melt).
ANYWAY, I love me this stuff, but as many times as I watch this episode, I’m always left sitting there thinking, “Come on Buffy, what the crap? You have super-slayer powers, a dreamy dude worshipping you, a stylish yet affordable wardrobe, cool friends, and perpetually shiny and bouncy hair. What is it you’re sad about again?”
And then I am spiraled into self-reflection, because I know it’s true that I complain too. But I know I shouldn’t. I have a lovely life. I am paid to read books that interest me and to talk about them and write about them in a beautiful place with smart people. I think of my friend Maggie at Mizzou who would talk about how she drove a forklift for ten years before coming to grad school. And why am I complaining again? And as much as I complain about teaching, it brings me incredible joy. Seriously. I woke up at 5:30am this morning because I was so excited about creating a lesson plan centered on Jeopardy. That’s joy.
So I’ve decided to just not complain anymore, because every time I complain, I am giving myself permission to be ungrateful for the good things I’ve got. I am giving myself permission to NOT “be here now,” to NOT “be mindful,” to live in some fantasy world where I’m thinner, have a car, and everyone thinks I’m smarter than they are.
I am currently reading Thomas Merton’s Zen and the Birds of Appetite, and I find that Merton makes a similar point: “I might suggest a fourth need of modern man, which is precisely liberation from his inordinate self-consciousness, his monumental self-awareness, his obsession with self-affirmation, so that he may enjoy the freedom from concern that goes with being simply what he is and accepting things as they are in order to work with them as he can.”
So here are some ground rules:
1. I am only allowed to “complain” to people who can do something about it. So if for example, I have a problem with a professor, I am only allowed to talk to the professor about it. This will also keep me from gossiping.
2. I am only allowed to complain about things that I can change or that can be changed (the wisdom to know the difference, etc.)
3. Before I complain, I’m going to think about how my complaining might come off to someone who, for example, has to work 60+ hours a week in customer service for less money than I make. In short, I want to look at myself the way I look at Buffy.
4. I am allowed to debate, analyze, and criticize for the purpose of furthering my own beliefs or for the benefit of others. For example, I can criticize a book we read for class, and discuss what I don’t like about it, but I am not allowed to complain that we have to read it in the first place.
We shall see how this works. I’m already feeling more positive.
Showing posts with label God. Show all posts
Showing posts with label God. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Thursday, September 13, 2007
That Quiet Kid
It happens every semester.
There is one student (in my mind, usually male) who never talks. Sometimes he's in the back, sometimes he's in the front, but he just sits there and stares (sometimes under the brim of a baseball hat).
Then, inevitably, this kid writes a brilliant paper. And everything you said on the first day of class about the importance of participation, about how you have to talk to learn, about how we're all in this together and you have to contribute to learn right along with everyone else, etc. doesn't make sense. Because this kid said like one or two things the entire class thus far and yet seemed to get it more than anyone else.
I was always baffled about why this happened, up until this last week reading Living Speech by James Boyd White. White argues that much of what we say is "dead" speech -- cliches, empty phrases, chatter, propoganda -- it lacks meaning and life. He discusses briefly Quaker church services and Trappist monks, both of which are marked by silence. In a Quaker church service, everyone sits in silence until someone feels as though he or she has something meaningful to say. Similarly, the monks take a vow of silence not to alienate others but to clear away the clutter of daily life, to perhaps hear God better. (Though perhaps not as erudite of an example, there's an episode of Buffy where everyone loses their voice -- a similar point is made about how little of what we say actually means anything.) I mentioned this (the silent student, not the Buffy ep) to my professor, who remarked that studies of gifted children show that they spend a good portion of their day staring out the window.
I believe in silence in the classroom. After I ask a question, I usually let the silence stretch for quite some time -- silence gives students time to think. Sometimes you can't just answer a question right off the bat. Sometimes you need to look at your notes, or the reading, or the book, or sometimes you just need to stare out the window.
There is one student (in my mind, usually male) who never talks. Sometimes he's in the back, sometimes he's in the front, but he just sits there and stares (sometimes under the brim of a baseball hat).
Then, inevitably, this kid writes a brilliant paper. And everything you said on the first day of class about the importance of participation, about how you have to talk to learn, about how we're all in this together and you have to contribute to learn right along with everyone else, etc. doesn't make sense. Because this kid said like one or two things the entire class thus far and yet seemed to get it more than anyone else.
I was always baffled about why this happened, up until this last week reading Living Speech by James Boyd White. White argues that much of what we say is "dead" speech -- cliches, empty phrases, chatter, propoganda -- it lacks meaning and life. He discusses briefly Quaker church services and Trappist monks, both of which are marked by silence. In a Quaker church service, everyone sits in silence until someone feels as though he or she has something meaningful to say. Similarly, the monks take a vow of silence not to alienate others but to clear away the clutter of daily life, to perhaps hear God better. (Though perhaps not as erudite of an example, there's an episode of Buffy where everyone loses their voice -- a similar point is made about how little of what we say actually means anything.) I mentioned this (the silent student, not the Buffy ep) to my professor, who remarked that studies of gifted children show that they spend a good portion of their day staring out the window.
I believe in silence in the classroom. After I ask a question, I usually let the silence stretch for quite some time -- silence gives students time to think. Sometimes you can't just answer a question right off the bat. Sometimes you need to look at your notes, or the reading, or the book, or sometimes you just need to stare out the window.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Wisdom From Rich Mullins
I just finished reading a “devotional biography” of Rich Mullins, a popular Christian music artist who died suddenly of a heart attack in 1997. The book combines quotes from Rich as well as others’ stories about him. I was interested in the book because just before he died, Mullins was considering converting to Catholicism. He was inspired by the work of St. Francis and even started his own semi-monastic order called “The Kid Brothers of St. Frank.” At the height of fame, he gave up touring, gave himself a $24,000 annual salary, donated the rest of his money to charity, and moved to a Native American reservation to teach music to kids. The book gave me a lot to think about, so I’m copying a few choice selections for you below.
Quotes from Rich Mullins:
I hear people say, “Why do you want to go to church? They are all just hypocrites.” I never understood why going to church made you a hypocrite because nobody goes to church because they’re perfect. If you’ve got it all together, you don’t need to go. You can go jogging with all the other perfect people on Sunday morning.
And this is what liturgy offers that all the razzamatazz of our modern worship can’t touch. You don’t go home from church going, “Oh, I am just moved to tears.” You go home from church going, “Wow, I just took communion, and you know what? If Augustine were alive today he would have had it with me and maybe he is and maybe he did.”
Whatever church you are in you should just stay there. They are all equally messed up.
I am a Christian, not because someone explained the nuts and bolts of Christianity to me, but because there were people willing to be the nuts and bolts.
God did not give Joseph any special information about how to get from being the son of a nomad in Palestine to being Pharoah’s right hand man in Egypt. What he did give Joseph was eleven jealous brothers, the attention of a loose and vengeful woman, the ability to do the service of interpreting dreams and managing people’s affairs, and the grace to do that faithfully wherever he was.
Many people believe that if you give e tithe to the church, then God will make you rich. Why? If you tithe, you get rid of ten percent of the root of all evil! You should be giving ninety percent because God can handle money better than we can.
[Speaking of legalism] I think it would be really easy to say, “I think what would really please God is if I don’t dance, I don’t chew, and I don’t go with girls who do.” It would be easy to say, “Oh gee I think what will really please God is if I become and evangelist and convert a thousand people.” It’s much more difficult I think for me to become who I am and who He created me to be.
Growing up protestant, I always thought of a monastery as a place where cowards went, people who can’t deal with the world. When you really begin to research some of this stuff, you find that these are some of the bravest people. Anyone who decides to face themselves head-on is a very brave person.
[To a group of Christian writers] Stop thinking of what you’re doing as a ministry. Start realizing that your ministry is how much of a tip you leave when you eat in a restaurant; when you leave a hotel room whether you leave it messed up or not; whether you flush your toilet or not. Your ministry is the way you love people. You love people when you call your wife and say, “I’m going to be late for dinner,” instead of letting her burn the meal. You love people when maybe you cook a meal for your wife when you know she’s really tired. If you are a Christian, ministry is just an accident of being alive. I don’t know that you can divide up your life and say, “This is my ministry,” and “This is my other thing,” because the fruits of Christianity affect everybody around us.
Stories about Rich:
One of the most memorable things was Rich’s dedication to spending time with Jesus. One year his Lenten exercise was to stay up one hour after he wanted to go to bed so that he could spend time with Jesus. The disciples, he said, couldn’t stay awake with Jesus when he was praying in the Garden of Gethsemane. Rich didn’t do it to be heroic; he just wanted to do something Jesus asked of his friends.
When Rich lived with our family, each morning on his way to school he took a cup of coffee with him. After a month or so, I noticed that there were no mugs in our cupboard. When Rich got home that night, I said that we were missing our mugs. He said, “Oh I think I have some in my truck.” We found at least 20 mugs sitting in the truck. Some were broken, and some were not even ours. For Rich, material possessions were things to be used, not possessed.
[From Rich’s accountant] He said he wanted to live at the average working man’s wage, which at the time was about $24,000 per year. Obviously, his songs were on the radio, and his albums were selling well, so he actually made several times more than that. He told me he did not want to know how much he made because it would make it harder to give away.
Quotes from Rich Mullins:
I hear people say, “Why do you want to go to church? They are all just hypocrites.” I never understood why going to church made you a hypocrite because nobody goes to church because they’re perfect. If you’ve got it all together, you don’t need to go. You can go jogging with all the other perfect people on Sunday morning.
And this is what liturgy offers that all the razzamatazz of our modern worship can’t touch. You don’t go home from church going, “Oh, I am just moved to tears.” You go home from church going, “Wow, I just took communion, and you know what? If Augustine were alive today he would have had it with me and maybe he is and maybe he did.”
Whatever church you are in you should just stay there. They are all equally messed up.
I am a Christian, not because someone explained the nuts and bolts of Christianity to me, but because there were people willing to be the nuts and bolts.
God did not give Joseph any special information about how to get from being the son of a nomad in Palestine to being Pharoah’s right hand man in Egypt. What he did give Joseph was eleven jealous brothers, the attention of a loose and vengeful woman, the ability to do the service of interpreting dreams and managing people’s affairs, and the grace to do that faithfully wherever he was.
Many people believe that if you give e tithe to the church, then God will make you rich. Why? If you tithe, you get rid of ten percent of the root of all evil! You should be giving ninety percent because God can handle money better than we can.
[Speaking of legalism] I think it would be really easy to say, “I think what would really please God is if I don’t dance, I don’t chew, and I don’t go with girls who do.” It would be easy to say, “Oh gee I think what will really please God is if I become and evangelist and convert a thousand people.” It’s much more difficult I think for me to become who I am and who He created me to be.
Growing up protestant, I always thought of a monastery as a place where cowards went, people who can’t deal with the world. When you really begin to research some of this stuff, you find that these are some of the bravest people. Anyone who decides to face themselves head-on is a very brave person.
[To a group of Christian writers] Stop thinking of what you’re doing as a ministry. Start realizing that your ministry is how much of a tip you leave when you eat in a restaurant; when you leave a hotel room whether you leave it messed up or not; whether you flush your toilet or not. Your ministry is the way you love people. You love people when you call your wife and say, “I’m going to be late for dinner,” instead of letting her burn the meal. You love people when maybe you cook a meal for your wife when you know she’s really tired. If you are a Christian, ministry is just an accident of being alive. I don’t know that you can divide up your life and say, “This is my ministry,” and “This is my other thing,” because the fruits of Christianity affect everybody around us.
Stories about Rich:
One of the most memorable things was Rich’s dedication to spending time with Jesus. One year his Lenten exercise was to stay up one hour after he wanted to go to bed so that he could spend time with Jesus. The disciples, he said, couldn’t stay awake with Jesus when he was praying in the Garden of Gethsemane. Rich didn’t do it to be heroic; he just wanted to do something Jesus asked of his friends.
When Rich lived with our family, each morning on his way to school he took a cup of coffee with him. After a month or so, I noticed that there were no mugs in our cupboard. When Rich got home that night, I said that we were missing our mugs. He said, “Oh I think I have some in my truck.” We found at least 20 mugs sitting in the truck. Some were broken, and some were not even ours. For Rich, material possessions were things to be used, not possessed.
[From Rich’s accountant] He said he wanted to live at the average working man’s wage, which at the time was about $24,000 per year. Obviously, his songs were on the radio, and his albums were selling well, so he actually made several times more than that. He told me he did not want to know how much he made because it would make it harder to give away.
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