Simply Simon

Goals, hopes & aspirations

Andrew made some comments today that struck a chord with some things I’ve wondered about this past month. He talks about the awkward, perhaps strained relationship between our honourable bent to planning and goal-setting and the disquieting fact that so much of life lies beyond our control.

This resonates on two levels. Firstly, I have long been in the practice of setting out on paper my aspirations for the year ahead. The consequent ‘annual manifesto’ often verges on the side of grand and comprehensive. This year, feeling just a little weary of the grand, I summarized my aspirations simply as these: get healthy, be a good neighbour, and write a book. As goals go, they’re not terribly noble, encapsulating, or even especially ‘spiritual’. Still, each represents a choice that is, to a large extent, one I need to make and re-make in my daily routine. Beyond that: ‘Go easy on yourself!’ was the sage advice of a friend late last year. I’m trying.

Secondly, as a new academic year approaches and I map out course plans, learning objectives and prepare lectures, there is only so much that I can plan with any degree of confidence. In a sense, all I can do is provide the bones to a good and challenging unit for my students. Adding the ‘flesh’ is beyond me. Will they engage? Will they read? Will they be changed in some small or significant way? I don’t know. I can only hope so.

Howard Thurman’s words are reassuring:

“There are many forces over which the individual can exercise no control whatsoever. A man plants a seed in the ground and the seed sprouts and grows. The weather, the winds, the elements, cannot be controlled by the farmer. The result is never a sure thing. So what does the farmer do? He plants. Always he plants. Again and again he works at it—the ultimate confidence and assurance that even though his seed does not grow to fruition, seeds do grow and they do come to fruition.

The task of those who work for the Kingdom of God is to work for the Kingdom of God. The result beyond this demand is not in their hands. He who keeps his eyes on results cannot give himself wholeheartedly to his task, however simple or complex that task may be.”

______________________________

Howard Thurman, For The Inward Journey, Friends United Press, 1984.

Back

Returning to work tomorrow after a week away with my children. They are a delight. We spent time in Echuca on the northern border by the Murray River. The wetlands in the Barmah-Millewa forest were a highlight. The drive north was delightful. The rains have made such a difference. The rivers are still low but flowing again and the grasses and crops are several beautiful shades of green.

Still, we're back and another semester beckons. Three units this semester: (i) Research Methods in Practical Theology; (ii) Spirituality of Everyday Life; and (iii) Facing Crisis & Change: Worship & Pastoral Care. Hoping to start work on two new writing projects, though time may conspire against me. My partner is making great strides with her own research and hoping to wrap up the PhD this year.

Much to hope for and work toward.

Across the line

Today feels like a finish line. The semester is over. The essays are all marked and final results submitted. The College’s annual School of Ministry ended just hours ago, and I’ve said my farewell to colleagues off to various places and commitments for the mid-year break.

To be honest, it’s been a difficult semester, one in which I’ve not always felt like a great success as a teacher. As though I’ve just limped across the line, coming in somewhere last, I’m certainly not up for a lap of victory. I feel more like slinking off to the dressing room, and hoping no one notices.

In today’s mail, I received a copy of a journal in which I have a brief article, Sustainability in the Classroom. Interestingly, I was asked to write it back in January with the semester yet to unfold. As I read it through this afternoon, I was reminded why I need to be a little gentler on myself. Though I don’t always remember it in the moment, perhaps not every lap is meant to be a winner, not every kick is for the goal.

Perspective is a good thing. My investments in the classroom are for a lifetime, not only for the moment. While one semester may feel a bit ordinary, there was one before it and there will always be another one to follow.

Theologians Beware

Kim Fabricius recently posted ten propositions on being a theologian. This is his first:

1. Actually, there is no such thing as a theologian, anymore than there is such a thing as a Christian. Theologians are not solitary creatures. Theology is the outcome of good conversation, the conversation of friends. Though – the rabies theologorum – you could be forgiven for thinking the opposite! Which is why, in the interest of world peace, it is probably wise that theological conferences are held infrequently. Theologians are like horse manure: all in one place and they stink to high heaven; they are best spread around.

You can read his nine others here.

12 steps for doctoral students

Michael over at the blogging parson has provided a helpful 12 steps for doctoral students. It's worth a look. Having just accepted a gig addressing the issue of formation in research, this is certainly grist for the mill. Thanks to Sean for the tip.

Sacred stories

This will be my third year teaching Living the Faith, a unit designed for first year students in theology. Central to the unit is the opportunity for participants to engage reflectively and intelligently with their own stories of faith.

Students' initial reactions to this are varied. Some are surprised, delighted, even relieved—pleased for an opportunity to reflect seriously on their journey thus far. Some are dismissive, thinking that ‘testimony time’ is simply too ‘mickey mouse’ for a serious student of theology. Still others are mystified, wondering how their own mundane experiences have any relevance to rigorous Christian thought.

In my view, personal stories of faith—and our critical dialogue with them—are a foundational component of vibrant theology. For this reason, I’m always on the look out for good examples of everyday story as theology; not simply theoretical arguments for the worth of narrative, but hands-on examples. For this reason, I was delighted to come across Diana Garland’s Sacred Stories of Ordinary Families: Living the Faith in Daily Life.

Garland, Dean of the School of Social Work at Baylor University, seeks to better understand the character of faith being lived out in ordinary Christian households. Based on extended interviews with 110 families across the United States—traditional, blended, single-parent, bi-racial, poor, working and middle class—Garland explores through their stories the nature of family identity, the expression of faith, indicators of resilience, spiritual practices and disciplines, and the experiences of God's presence in both ordinary and life-changing moments.

Garland's purpose is two-fold. Firstly, and perhaps most significantly, Garland wants to listen, to give voice to stories of ordinary families. Though routinely perceived by the tellers as unremarkable, Garland approaches these stories as rich repositories of truth and wisdom. Thankfully, she manages to avoid the trap of overlaying these stories with her own theological agenda or of speaking as the expert interpreter. Rather, she treats these stories—many of them very moving—with the respect and theological legitimacy they are due. Secondly, Garland wants to prompt the church to do likewise, to encourage congregations to value the multiple stories of everyday faith contained within them, and to find new ways of practicing this faith together.

As it happens, the book’s been out since 2003, but then it always takes me a while to catch up! Still, if you haven’t come across it, I commend it to you.

Baptists Today

With some anxiety, I began preparing today for our contribution to the Baptists Today conference up on the Northern Beaches of Sydney, August 24 - 27.

My partner and I will join Ross Gittins, Economics Editor for the Sydney Morning Herald, in considering "the ways that consumerism shapes our lives and our communities, and what it means to live as a follower of Jesus in a society suffering from consumption addiction."

Might see some of you there!

A Psalm

I am teaching a class this semester called Lifestyle Ethics in which we explore the implications of our Christian commitments for (i) life in suburbia and our choices re home ownership, (ii) life at the shopping mall and our identity as consumers, (iii) life on the freeway and our dependence on the automobile, and (iv) life on the run and our relationship with time.

We began the first session yesterday with a responsive reading of this paraphrase of Psalm 139. I like it because it grounds my own ethical responses to these sorts of issues—it centres them in the reality of God's presence in every place and every decision.

Psalm 139

Lord, you have examined me and you know me.
You know everything I do;
from far away you understand all my thoughts.
You see me, whether I am confessing or denying you.
Even before I speak, you already know what I will say.

You are all around me on every side;
you protect me with your power.
Your knowledge of me is deep,
for you knew me before I was born;
and this is beyond my understanding.

It is very dangerous to serve you in this world,
but where can I go
to escape from being the instrument of your peace?
What far place can I flee to,
without confessing you?

If I withdraw myself into “neutrality”,
you would be there;
if I go into my office to hide behind my keyboard,
you would be there;
if I take refuge in the farthest country away from the oppression of my people, you would be there, to remind me of what I promised you.

I could ask the darkness of my pain and humiliation to cover me,
or the light of your love in my life, to turn into darkness;
but even the night of my suffering dissolves in the light of your presence.

You created me in your image and loved me even before my mother conceived me.
I praise you,
what you do is so wonderful and above our human understanding.

Examine me, O God, and change my mind;
test me, and clean my thoughts.
Start the revolution in my life, create me anew,
and guide me in the way everlasting.

_______________
Zephania Kameeta
Why, O Lord? Psalms and Sermons from Namibia
World Council of Churches, 1986

Teaching

A week from today the new semester begins. I’m teaching three units: (i) Lifestyle Ethics, (ii) Table Spirituality and (iii) Theology and Practice of Pastoral Care. Beginning new classes is always challenging for me. After many years teaching, it never comes easily. Though I love teaching, fronting up to a new class brings the most unreasonable levels of anxiety.

Parker Palmer’s writing on the nature of teaching has often been an encouragement. As a Quaker, Palmer writes of the 'teacher within’. Good teaching, he argues, arises out of authenticity. Whether we acknowledge it or not, our teaching emerges out of our inwardness, for better or worse. Better then to confront our inwardness, to seek self-understanding, to face our fears and inadequacies, to find our true selves. For through such self-knowing is the only genuine path to good teaching. “Technique,” Palmer contends, “is what teachers use until the real teacher arrives.”

"I realize that the idea of a teacher within strikes some academics as a romantic fantasy, but I cannot fathom why. If there is no such reality in our lives, centuries of Western discourse about the aims of education become so much lip-flapping. In classical understanding, education is the attempt to 'lead out' from within the self a core of wisdom that has the power to resist falsehood and live in the light of truth, not by external norms but by reasoned reflective determination. The inward teacher is the living core of our lives that is addressed and evoked by any education worthy of the name."

End in sight

Gasp! Up for air. Have been submerged the past week under a depressingly deep pile of essays, book reviews and journals. Semester's end is always bitter sweet. Classes ending. Fond farewells. Time to reflect on a semester well spent. Noting the smallest of indents upon lives. Gratified. Thankful. Surprised. Sobered. And then the final assessments.

Essays are always a mixed bag. Some make me smile. A few even inspire! Others make me groan and limp t'ward the coffee. Still, each a cloudy window into minds and hearts that long for meaning, for faith, for God. And we end a little further along the track than when we began.

It's all good!