May
14
Long overdue.
Filed Under general, Grantham, concerts, learning, friends, Easter, Brethren in Christ, celebration, the end | Leave a Comment
Forgive me, dear readers. It has over two months since last I updated this page, and I am remiss.
Much has occurred since last we spoke. I got engaged to a beautiful, brilliant woman. I got a job with my dear friends at the BIC Offices. I presented two papers at academic conferences in West Chester and Pittsburgh, Pa. I saw Josh Ritter live, and it was the best concert ever in Brubaker Auditorium. I celebrated Easter. I spent a delightful thirty-six hours with some of my fellow English majors at a strange and wonderful place on Nell Road. And, as of 10:15 a.m. yesterday morning, I finished my undergraduate work at Messiah College.
On Saturday I’ll be walking across the Commencement stage. After that, you can keep up with me at http://devincthomas.wordpress.com/.
Thank you so much for joining me on this incredible journey.
I’ll be seeing you.
Mar
8
The old scout.
Filed Under general, learning, environment, Wendell Berry, activism | 2 Comments
I was forced to finally reflect on my time at the Artists for the Climate event thanks to Frank, whose momentary lapse in perceiving chronology resulted in frantic begging. They’ll appear in this week’s edition of The Swinging Bridge, but you, dear readers, will find them here first.
Also, apologies to Garrison Keillor’s far superior weekly column, from which I borrowed the title of this week’s post.
On Sunday, March 1, hundreds of students, activists, community members, and others interested in issues of sustainability and art gathered in Lisner Auditorium on the campus of George Washington University in Washington, D.C., for Artists for the Climate, a two-hour event bringing together writers, musicians, and other artists committed to activism on behalf of the planet.
As someone sympathetic to the cause of environmentalism—one who is passionate about salving the effects and stemming the causes of global warming, caring for Creation, practicing sustainable living, and investigating alternative fuel sources—I came to the Artists for the Climate event excited to hear from folks like Bill McKibben and Wendell Berry, to be enriched by writers who care passionately about the our world and our future while also inviting others into the cause.
What transpired, instead, was two hours of self-aggrandizing back-patting and uncritical groupthink from a host of award-winning writers, experienced politicians and academics, and acclaimed musicians.
The evening’s proceedings were replete with blatant pro-liberal oratory from all but a few speakers, and self-congratulatory eruptions of applause from the audience. There were buzzwords that sent the crowd into tizzying fits of approbation or rage—“vision” and “coal,” for example—and even a closing chorus meant to inspire unity. The gathering was somewhere between political rally and evangelical church service, a mix of mind-numbing rhetoric and ecological liturgy.
As someone not fully invested in the “environmental movement”—I don’t do rallies or lobbying or anything of that nature—and who prefers to address these very important issues at a grassroots level (through personal and communal efforts like conserving water, consuming locally grown food, and thinking critically about how my decisions to travel or purchase affect the environment), I was thoroughly put off by the whole proceeding.
I understand that, as the culminating event of the PowerShift 2009 Conference—three day seminar which instructs activists across the U.S. and Canada on how to mobilize and lobby on behalf of our planet—Artists for the Climate was meant as a symbolic gathering, a time of emotional and psychological galvanization in preparation for the next day’s protest outside the Congressional power plant. In some ways, I was truly moved by presenters like Terry Tempest Williams, a prolific and inventive writer whose articulate, dignified, and impassioned reading brought tears to my eyes (lines like “Disobedience that is wholly civil will produce love” and “Our power lies in our love of our homelands” were simple, declarative statements that brought home to me the gravity of our work as citizens of this planet), and Kathy Mattea, a self-proclaimed “recovering country music star” whose beautiful, haunting interpretations of Jean Ritchie’s Appalachian ballads were a highlight of the evening. And, without a doubt, Wendell Berry’s brief reading and reflection was a welcome oasis in the midst of a blistering desert.
I’m not objecting to the purpose of an event like Artists for the Climate or even an event like PowerShift: sometimes, it feels good to be empowered and encouraged. What I find disheartening and, frankly, disturbing is the language with which PowerShift executes its agenda. As they write on their website, PowerShift exists to “hold our elected officials accountable for rebuilding our economy and reclaiming our future.” Activists “must use the time we have to redefine what is politically or financially feasible.” And while the group’s desire to “to strengthen the climate and clean energy movement by infusing our nation’s young leaders with new ideas, skills, connections with each other,” is admirable, there’s little mention of dialogue—of examining and challenging our ideas and worldviews, the kind of hard and painful work that helps us to clarify our motivations and our desires.
The “They Rhetoric” that suffused the Artists for the Climate event—“They are responsible for poisoning our rivers” or “They are responsible for raping our national lands”—is dangerous and divisive. It engenders an “us-versus-them” mindset. It draws black and white distinctions when shades of gray are ultimately more valuable. When it moves outside the doors of Lisner Auditorium and into the rhetoric that young environmental activists use on the streets, it creates deeper fissures in the already fragile fabric connecting the believers and the non-believers, the ideologues and the yet-uninformed.
Wendell Berry—the closest thing the contemporary environmental movement has to a patron saint (although he would most likely eschew such a label)—addressed this very issue during his brief ten minutes on the Lisner stage. Tall and broad-shouldered but speaking with a quiet humility that defied his appearance, Berry told the story of a young “witty”—the nickname for a town idiot in his region of Kentucky—who encountered a man digging a hole in the middle of the street. After asking, “Why are you digging that hole?”, the witty was informed that “it’s to bury all the sons of bitches.”
“Who’s going to cover us up?” the witty finally asks.
Though Berry provided no subsequent explanation for his parable, I’d like to think that Berry and I saw the same thing in Lisner Auditorium that night: a crowd of people too wrapped up in shrugging off the blame for our present environmental debacle that they’ve lost the sense of self-awareness and self-criticism necessary for any effective social movement. They’ve lost the recognition that every single person on this earth is complicit in its slow and painful deterioration. They’ve forgotten how to be humble, and in the process have grown insular and unwelcoming.
Mar
2
(Working title.)
Filed Under general | Leave a Comment
Things I should tell you about in the near future: the Emmylou Harris concert; the Jubilee Conference; my week with illness; seeing and hearing Wendell Berry. But I’m entirely too tired right now, so I’ll leave you with this.
The Peace of Wild Things
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.— Wendell Berry
Feb
19
Oh, dear God, you see how weak I am? I can’t even finish a simple Visigoth metaphor.
Filed Under general, common cold | Leave a Comment
When people talk about the common cold, they say it’s “going around” — a turn of phrase I never fully appreciated until today, when around ever corner lurked the specter of illness: the hollow-throated wheeze, the slimy snuffle, the baritone reverberations of a hacking cough. Its oppressive presence has infiltrated my circle of friends: first Katie, then Sasha and Victoria, now Frank. I logged on to Facebook, and six people had recently posted statuses about avoiding disease.
Meanwhile, I’m trying to fortify myself: plenty of hand-washing and Vitamin C. Caffeine only weakens the immune system, so I forewent my obligatory Diet Pepsi before work. Now I’m at home, effectively walled in behind a most-appropriate episode of Frasier and my well-worn copy of A Farewell to Arms. (I abhor Hemingway, but it’s for an independent study. The most amusing part so far: re-reading all the pointless, tangential, and downright ignorant marginalia I scribbled during my junior year of high school. Hilarious.)
To all you sick sacks out there: get better soon. Drink plenty of fluids and get lots of rest.
To all you fighting the good fight, vigilantly pressing on in the face of imminent infection: godspeed.
Feb
2
As a natural pessimist, an avid student of American history, and a born-and-bred Anabaptist (that last one is meant as a joke swaddled in truth), I often find it difficult to express in great volume any semblance of patriotism. I prefer to put my faith in God’s kingdom rather than the domain of the world. I think too often of our collective national embarrassments, the gross injustices that have stained our national fabric: slavery, segregation, the Trail of Tears, Dred Scott, Hiroshima, the Vietnam War. And I find it hard to believe that we’ve learned from our mistakes. History is bound to repeat itself: we continue to launch campaigns of “freedom,” unjust wars incited under the banner of American democracy; we allow greed to fester in our economic centers; we fear and marginalize the Other. We whitewash our history of discrimination and violence, and then refuse to learn the lessons staring us in the face.
And yet, in spite of this baggage, I return time and time again to the great American Creed—words that have inspired women and men for centuries: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all . . . are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” And that’s when it happens, when the idealist in me springs to life and challenges me to look at this country in a new light, as a place of passion and possibility and patience. I find myself in a confusing paradox. I vote and voice my opinion because I hope that democracy works and that my voice does matter. I recall our moments of national brilliance: the signing of the Emancipation Proclamation, the ratification of the Nineteenth Amendment, Dr. King’s “I Have a Dream” speech.
It was, in a word, unbelievable. In the blistering cold, I stood shoulder-to-shoulder with 1.8 million others. I prayed. I sang under my breath. I listened to the speech—bold, pragmatic, and thankfully free of media-ready sound bites and trite bromides. The idealist in me soared with a blind hope.
I spent the rest of the day—the walk from the Capitol lawn to the K Street Greyhound terminal, the long, bumpy bus ride back to Harrisburg—feeding that faith. Listening to Bruce Springsteen, the poet of American paradox, on my iPod; eavesdropping on the fellow Inauguration-goers in the front of the bus. One woman—who had campaigned furiously for Obama in her neighborhood in York, Pa.—could barely contain her excitement: “When he stepped up and lifted his hand, and put his hand on that Bible, I was done. I didn’t hear anything. It was just, ‘Thank God. Thank God. Thank God.’ I lost it. I bawled.”
Stories like this, more than anything else—more than old words and photographs and long, beautiful speeches—truly restore my faith in my country. Right after the ceremony, walking on Capitol Hill in an ever-thinning crowd, I jotted a quick sentence in my notebook: I just don’t know what to do with all this newfound pride. I’m still working through that—still listening to Springsteen, still eavesdropping for stories that ring with a deep sincerity. For now, in the words of the Boss, I’ll come on up for the rising and hope that I’m not disappointed.
(More pictures here. Also, I’m aware that this is long and serious and pretty treacly. But I needed to get it all out. Stay tuned for some of the day’s humor. Trust me. There was plenty.)
Jan
7
How I Netflixed My Christmas Vacation
Filed Under general, movies | 2 Comments
Sure, I did more than just sit around and watch movies this break. But on those days when I just stayed in my pajamas and vegged in front of the tube, I kept my mind occupied with these great flicks.
Monster House (2006) ***** / *****
The best Pixar movie Pixar never made. Disney and Co. wish they could be this inventive.
Me and You and Everyone We Know (2005) *** / *****
At this point I’m pretty much over artists who do the whole “look-how-edgy-and-postmodern-I-can-be” thing. And yet I was strangely drawn to the characters in this, writer/director Miranda July’s first feature.
The People vs. Larry Flynt (1996) **** / *****
It’s not Milos Forman’s best work (Amadeus and/or One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest being the preferred candidates there) and the last ten minutes or so get a little too preachy (about the importance of the First Amendment, free speech, etc.) for my taste. I might’ve come out differently on this one a few weeks ago, but in light of recent circumstances, the film’s philosophizing on the importance of satire in public discourse resonates. Woody Harrelson delivers a career-making performance, transforming an altogether unlikeable character into someone with whom we at least empathize.
Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day (2008) ***** / *****
It’s light fare, but the vivacity and charm of its leads (the always-wonderful Frances McDormand and the delightful Amy Adams) keep this remarkably fun, entertaining film from simply succumbing to genre conventions. A comedy of manners that Oscar Wilde himself would have relished.
The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford (2007)
**½ / *****
Like the abiding folk ballad that remembers the bandit, director Andrew Dominik’s film takes a revisionist approach to telling the tale of Jesse James. At its most insightful, it proposes that the James legend is the beginning of America’s obsession with celebrity. But that notion doesn’t compensate for the rambling 160 minute length or the film’s other major “insight,” which it could have more easily articulated by merely italicizing the word “coward” in its extra-long title.
Dec
24
Yule Tube: My 5 Favorite Christmas-Themed TV Episodes
Filed Under general, television, Christmas | 2 Comments
While other, less inventive blogs are listing out their favorite Christmas films and albums, here at Wit Has Truth In It, I’ve decided to list out my favorite Christmas TV episodes. So sit back, pour yourself some nog, and get ready for tinsel-y merriment and mistletoe-y fun.
5. “Twas the Nightmare Before Christmas” (The Golden Girls, S2E11)
In all of its cheesy 80s glory, this Christmas-themed episode of The Golden Girls features a steamy holiday confession (Blanche: “the sight of a Santa sets my body aflame with unbridled desire”), a yuletide hostage situation at the local grief counseling center, and a Beach Boys’ “Christmas carol.” The perfect holiday schmaltz from everybody’s favorite sexagenarians.
4. “The One with the Holiday Armadillo” (Friends, S7E10)
Sure, Friends had already reached its peak by the time they rolled out this clash-of-holiday-cultures episode, with Ross trying to teach his son about Hanukkah while dressed as an armadillo. But from Pheobe’s candy-filled Christmas skull to a holiday tale that culminates in “Superman flying all the Jews out of Egypt,” this episode seems fresh and funny.
3. “Merry Christmas, Mrs. Moskowitz” (Frasier, S6E10)
The plot (on Christmas Eve, Frasier must pretend to be Jewish to appease his new girlfriend’s mother) is merely ancillary to the episode’s hilarious visual punchlines (Eddie dressed as a canine Santa; Niles “outing” the Cranes while stepping from the bathroom dressed as Jesus Christ and carrying a Christmas tree) and religion-related one-liners (Niles’ advice on how to be more Jewish: “Just answer every question with a question”).
2. “The Best Chrismukkah Ever” (The O.C., S1E13)
In keeping with this list’s tradition of menorahs-versus-mangers, I present The O.C.’s answer to holiday conflict: Chrismukkah, “the greatest superholiday known to mankind, drawing on the best of what Christianity and Judaism have to offer.” After episode upon episode of Ryan-Marissa drama, geeky Seth finally takes center stage in this hit-and-miss show’s arguably greatest contribution to TV history.
1. “Miracle on Evergreen Terrace” (The Simpsons, S9E10)
It’s like It’s a Wonderful Life, if that movie had ended with a violent, unresolved looting of the Baileys’ home. When Bart inadvertently destroys the family’s Christmas presents and blames it on a burglar, the family receives a Christmas spirit-y donation of $15,000 from their neighbors. However, the truth eventually comes out and the Simpsons become yuletide pariahs. Leave it to television’s longest-running series to completely subvert the warm snugglies that traditionally accompany a Christmas episode.
Dec
20
Liberal collegiate rhetoric.
Filed Under general, academics, Christianity, learning, grace, theology, faith, Brethren in Christ, SALT House, Barack Obama | 3 Comments
It’s been a tough couple of weeks, both academically and personally. Since the return from Thanksgiving Break, I’ve cranked out more than forty pages of writing and two in-class presentations. I’ve been humbled in more ways than one, and found myself thinking deeply about a really important issue. Meanwhile, in the great big world out there, a megapastor was tapped to deliver a high-profile prayer for our country and a lot of eyebrows were raised.
So as I struggled to create a compelling thesis about the role of Fate and human agency in the Coen Brothers’ No Country for Old Men and paged through book upon book for information on patriarchal oppression in the Old Testament Holiness Code, I found myself easily drawn into conversations with my friends and mentors, my co-workers and my professors about the larger issues at play in each situation: Can a film be both “great” and “inappropriate”? What if the Bible’s only talking about homosexuality in terms of a pagan idol-worship ritual and not as a monogamous sexual union between two consenting, loving adults? Where do grace and truth play into each of these questions? And how do we engage these important topics without sounding like reactionary jerks?
A few weeks ago, one of my roommates (on his way to the bathroom at 2 a.m.) overheard me say in my sleep: “I don’t want this to turn into liberal collegiate rhetoric!” I have no dream-memory of this incident, but the more I think about it the more I recognize that my conscious thoughts have slipped into my unconscious mind. My friends and I are often too willing to sit around talking about critically important theological issues and presume that our views should be the ones espoused from the pulpit. For instance: as a connoisseur of popular culture, I’m of the belief that intellectually engaged Christians should try to seek out the truth present in film, literature, music, and television. But some folks aren’t. Those who know me would be quick to point out that I’m not often grace-filled when I address others’ concerns with this philosophy. I’m irritable and presumptuous and intransigent. But as my boss Jeff Rioux reminded me during last week’s hullabaloo, we do what we do because we truly do want people to see this truth. We love popular art and we love Christians, and we want to try and reconcile those things.
In my last four years at Messiah College, I’ve found myself particularly attracted to and inexorably drawn to the liberal persuasion, to the Social Gospel and the idea that “they shared everything they had.” A lot of this doesn’t fly in the Christian circles in which I run, and that’s often a difficult tension to live in. Many of the friends who share my beliefs and my dichotomies have chosen to move away from those circles, and that’s often a healthy decision. And while I’m much more comfortable at places like this, I don’t think that the world will every change unless I can start having really thoughtful, engaged, and grace-filled conversations with this guy. Unless we find a middle ground, we’re just going to keep dovetailing.
I love this quote from our president-elect. I love the fact that he’s bold about what he believes (he’s still a self-defined “fierce advocate for equality for gay and lesbian Americans”) and yet willing to extend the hand of grace to those who aren’t yet on his same page.
We’re not going to agree on every single issue, but what we have to do is be able to create an atmosphere … where we can disagree without being disagreeable and then focus on those things that we hold in common as Americans.
—Barack Obama, on the Rick Warren controversy
This is just to say that I’m sorry for the wounding words I’ve uttered in the last few weeks. This is just to say that I’m dedicated to turning over a new leaf. This is just to say that the world needs social and political and theological change, but first the world needs to exhibit a little more grace. This is just to say that I’m tired of all the liberal collegiate rhetoric. Especially mine.
Dec
3
This is going to be published in next week’s issue of The Swinging Bridge, but I just couldn’t wait. Add them to your Netflix queue, run out to see them in theatres, or wait until next semester when then come to Parmer. Either way, see them all and then tell me what you think.
10. Låt den rätte komma in [Let the Right One In] (dir. Tomas Alfredson)
If Twilight had been made by the Swedes instead of the Mormons, it might have looked like Let the Right One In: a vampire film only in the strictest sense, it’s really a coming-of-age tale of two lonely, desperate adolescents—one of whom happens to be undead.
9. Vicky Cristina Barcelona (dir. Woody Allen)
At first, I didn’t warm to Woody Allen’s steamy travelogue of the sensible, soon-to-be-wed Vicky, the impetuous, hot-blooded Cristina, and the fiery Spanish painter who stirs their passions. But the film’s vivid performances (particularly Penelope Cruz’s turn as the painter’s unstable ex-wife) and dangling denouement haunted me for weeks afterwards. Without a doubt Allen’s best film in years.
8. W. (dir. Oliver Stone)
Leave it to controversial director Oliver Stone to cobble together the first George W. Bush biopic, a cinematic tour-de-force that vacillates from SNL-style farce to psychotropic fantasy to intimate character study. Josh Brolin’s even-handed portrayal made me want to hug and simultaneously slap our beleaguered 43rd President.
7. In Bruges (dir. Martin McDonough)
You probably forgot about In Bruges, a darkly comic thriller that cropped up in theatres this February. The film’s familiar genre (if you liked Guy Ritchie’s brilliant Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels, you’ll love In Bruges) veils its depth: a tale of redemption so dark and so total that the light, when it finally appears, simply flickers.
6. Wall-E (dir. Andrew Stanton)
An animated film that’s also an environmental cautionary tale? A children’s movie that contains no dialogue for its first forty-five minutes? The best-yet offering from the studio that brought us Toy Story and Ratatouille? Yes indeed.
5. The Visitor (dir. Thomas McCarthy)
Renowned character actor Richard Jenkins finally takes center stage as the unlikely protagonist Walter Vale in Thomas McCarthy’s eloquent The Visitor, a profound film that cares deeply about its characters.
4. Burn After Reading (dir. Joel & Ethan Coen)
It may seem like a wild departure from their 2007 Oscar-winning No Country for Old Men, but Burn After Reading is perfectly consonant with Coen Brothers classics like Fargo and Blood Simple—quirky, dark, and threaded with ambiguity. George Clooney is wonderfully slimy as lothario Harry Pfarrer, the American answer to James Bond.
3. The Dark Knight (dir. Christopher Nolan)
What can I say about The Dark Knight that hasn’t already been said? Ledger’s performance is brilliant and deserving of a posthumous Oscar. Nolan’s direction is crisp and efficient. It’s Hamlet and Michael Mann and Bob Kane all rolled into one mind-blowing, genre-defying spectacle.
2. Young@Heart (dir. Stephen Walker)
Populated by hilarious and heartwarming characters, this film follows a senior citizens chorus that charms audiences with covers of contemporary pop-rock hits (Coldplay’s “Fix You,” The Ramones’ “I Wanna Be Sedated”). You’ll laugh and cry in equal measure. A truly beautiful film.
1. Rachel Getting Married (dir. Jonathan Demme)
The Oscar-winning director of The Silence of the Lambs offers this tale of family dysfunction, human fragility, and the power of redemption. Kym (a remarkable Anne Hathaway) is a chain-smoking former drug addict who has left rehab to participate in her sister’s impending nuptials. Hiding personal trauma behind a façade of self-deprecating wit, Kym struggles to simply co-exist with her harried sister (Rosemarie DeWitt), peace-maker father (Bill Irwin), and icy mother (Debra Winger).
Demme films Rachel Getting Married like an avid documentarian, his camera capturing every intimate detail and broad gesture. His vérité style imbues the film with a minimalist beauty, reflecting the rawness and poignancy of this small story.
Nov
10
Still, all my song shall be…
Filed Under general, academics, Democrat, Christianity, Garrison Keillor, learning, grace, theology, politics, faith | Leave a Comment
A lot has changed since last I wrote. The U.S. elected a new leader, a strong man with moral convictions that transcend the myopic concerns of a cluster of Christian conservatives; a thoughtful man who moves the masses with his words; a gracious man whose embrace acknowledges the full diversity of our nation. Katie came back to Grantham. I said some things that I’d been meaning to say for a long time. The Swinging Bridge published a controversial issue. Ron Sider spoke at Slate Hill Mennonite Church. A bad apple ruined an otherwise wonderful concert. And the weather got colder, the skies a little grayer.
That Swinging Bridge article got folks talking. It’s not perfect, and I hope the writer learns a valuable lesson about journalism: sometimes, the right string of words can really get folks riled up. It might not have all its ethical ducks in a row, but in seventeen short paragraphs the article stirred up enough moral silt to get folks talking about these muddy waters. The entirety of my World Religions class on Friday was dedicated to discussing homosexuality and Christianity. Friends pondered it over wraps and mozzarella sticks in the Union, over cream cheese bagels at the Falcon. Katie’s Newswriting class jawed about it, too. All the hubbub got me thinking. No doubt, homosexuality is a polarizing issue. More than once in World Religions, a cocksure first-year raised his/her hand to say, “I don’t even know why we’re talking about this. The Bible says it’s wrong, and it’s as simple as that.”
Really? Brian Smith is fond of telling my Women in the Old Testament class that any reading of the Bible is a nuanced reading. There’s a lot of cultural baggage weighing down the scriptural passages about homosexuality: the stuff in Leviticus is bunched up against similar prohibitions against garments woven of two fabrics and eating seafood — Old Covenant restrictions that contemporary Christians chose to reject. And when Paul mentions homosexuals in his letter to the Corinthians, he lumps them together with “adulterers” and “male prostitutes”; not even the most stalwart critics of the gay lifestyle would suggest that a monogamous sexual partnership between two women bears any resemblance to adultery. (Plus, scholars acknowledge a lot of ambiguity with the English translation of Paul’s Greek… but I won’t even touch on that.) Not once do we get a condemnation of homosexuality in the context of a monogamous, loving relationship between consenting adults. Could the culture of the day have impacted the way the Biblical writers addressed the issue?
On the other hand, we can go back to Genesis 2 and read that “for this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and they will become one flesh.” God created male and female to be complimentary companions in a sexual and emotional union. Could it be that homosexuality is a result of the fall of humanity, our inherent brokenness?
In any case, people are upset. As well they should be — this is a divisive issue. There are well-intentioned, genuine Christians on both sides of the divide, both raising questions and talking about redemption and love and acceptance. For what it’s worth, I think the article was a good thing. Sure, it’s not perfect. Sure, there might be factual inaccuracies. Sure, there are journalistic breaches aplenty. (Why didn’t the writer get a response from the administration? Why didn’t he talk to Residence Life and see what they have to say about Messiah “not enforc[ing] the policy” against homosexual behavior?) But it got folks talking. If Messiah takes seriously its mission “to educate men and women toward maturity of intellect, character and Christian faith in preparation for lives of service, leadership and reconciliation in church and society,” then an article that has spawned this much conversation — constructive, I hope, and open and gracious — can’t possibly be a bad thing.
This semester has been challenging. Personal issues aside, I’m graduating in seven months with only a vague concept of what I want to do with the rest of my life. I’m struggling to spend time with my friends and complete my work with the necessary dedication and attention to detail. I’m being confronted on every side with questions and controversies that rattle my convictions, forcing me to speak up and defend. More than ever before I’m realizing that the politicized term “Christian” insufficiently describes and (often) inaccurately represents the multiplicity of voices springing out of this tradition. I’m realizing that, in many ways, my liberal rhetoric is just as polarizing as the conservative rhetoric I rally against. I’m making the same concessions, the same broad generalizations, the same stringent demands. I’m realizing more and more the truth that, to mean anything at all to a broken and hurting world, Christians must first practice grace and humility — whatever the consequences.
Garrison Keillor has a beautiful rendition of the hymn “Nearer, My God, to Thee,” and when it popped up in my iTunes playlist this morning, I found myself profoundly thankful for the perfection of divine Providence, for a God who knows just what I need to hear and when I need to hear it. It’s a prayer — not just “Help me, help me, help me,” but “Guide me, guide me, guide me” — I’ll try and remember to whisper the next time I jump into the fray, ready to wield my underdeveloped opinions like some rudimentary club.
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee;
E’en though it be a cross
That raiseth me,
Still all my song shall be:
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.There let my way appear:
Steps unto heaven;
All that Thou sendest me,
In mercy given,
Angels to beckon me:
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.