Ten clues Megan is out of town
Megan is in the states for three weeks. As happens, I suppose, my habits have slowly changed over the 17 days living alone. For better or for worse, here’s how I know Megan is gone.
* The kitchen table is overrun with sermon planning.
* My “cooking” (which I enjoy) has turned to “heating.”
* I get to use all three alarm clocks myself!
* I can’t remember the last time I closed the bathroom door.
* No readjusting the rear view mirrors.
* Only my jackets hang on the banister 
* My body made me buy a salad today; it craves vegetables.
* I went to the video store and got a violent film without thinking twice.
* No laughter.
* I find myself saying, “I wonder if it’s ok to speak to myself out-loud?”
photo by Jose Adrian Salvador
So what?
The Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life released a mega survey yesterday called the “Religious Landscape Survey.” It hit several front pages yesterday and is popping around the blogosphere today (see blogrunner here.) The NY Times summary is here.
What I have yet to find, however, is any real analysis. For most professional churchy folks, nothing from the survey should really jump out. We’ve known mainline denominations are decline and immigration is changing the religious landscape. We’ve known church affiliation of young adults is declining. We’ve known the south is more religious than the northwest. So what?
Jim Wallis just posted his first response, but it’s more a remix of his normal platform than a real reflection.
So I’ll hasten to add my non-reactions in the first 24 hours as well. First, it takes time to meaningfully reflect on huge reports. Our 24/7 news cycle is not fit for this. It gets Wallis and televangelist and a bishop to reflect on the report without having read it fully, and without time to process. Better forums include weeklies, journals, the academy. Sure, by releasing the report in such a form Pew Forum makes a big splash, but the water will evaporate after HRC’s next kitchen-sink campaign blunder.
Second, almost all blog entries I found on the report are just disseminating the basic findings without any significant reflection. The little reflection I found is just a rehashing of the blogger’s usual position. Perhaps the breadth of immediate dissemination is wide, but the depth of reflection is shallow.
So give me a week. I’ll think on these things, research a bit, pop my Scottish context into the mix and see if anything bubbles up. And if you find any solid reflections on the survey, let me know and I’ll post them in an update below.
Update:
- Again, a re-saying of his normal rhetoric, but a good one. Brian McLaren reflects on the survey here.
Money in my pocket
Art comes in many forms. It hangs in galleries, it marks public squares, it will be rewarded at the Oscars Sunday. In Scotland, though, art is in your pocket.
I’m speaking of the pound and two pound coins. They are beautiful works of art. America’s coins pale in comparison. While I like do our new bills, our coinage is pretty wimpy. The penny costs more to make than it’s worth–time to discontinue it if you ask me. Dimes are so measly you need several to even feel their weight. Nickels are better–I love the new portrait–but at the end of the day they’re still only worth 5 cents. Quarters are my favorite American coins, but they don’t exactly inspire confidence.
Contrast this with the amazing, beautiful, handy, and heavy pound coin, and you’ll be getting all your pennies together to convert them to pounds.
I’ve been smitten with the pound coin for as long as I can remember. It’s a coin that feels like its worth something. It exudes a confidence befitting its roughly $2 value, but not an arrogance. It’s thicker than most coins I know, and strangely, beautifully heavy.
Americans miss out on the art of the pound coin, but also its use. At home, rarely can one pay with a purchase using only change. In Scotland, it’s common. Get a few pound coins together and you can buy coffee, and lunch too. They’re handy for parking meters and vending machines, for tips and buying newspapers.
The two pound coin is just as strong, but doesn’t surpass the oner in terms of sheer beauty. A two pound coin inspires confidence while its large circumference suggests its value (about $4). Move over measly dirty ratty dollar bill.
So you can take it to the bank: coinage is surely one area where Scotland has America beat. The pound coin is a real treasure.
Who said art didn’t buy?
(images from reflex stock; top pound coins; bottom two pound coins)
Page 50, here I come
I have a long list of books I’d like to read. Unfortunately, the one I’m currently reading is proving less than impressive. Looking back, I should have known this before I bought it because it has three tell-tale signs of sketchy books.
1) Bullets. Flipping through I now see lists and lists of bullets; several per chapter. How did I miss this before?! Bullets work for political talking points, perhaps, or for giving quick and varied support for an issue that must be argued quickly, but bullets in a professional book are a bad sign. Bullets say, “I didn’t take the time to fully think this through, but here it is anyway.” Or, “I can’t really support my argument, but here it is one measly sentence.”
2) No footnotes. Sure, footnotes can be cumbersome (though always better than endnotes). But a professional book on religion, theology, and pastoral care should have footnotes. Where are your ideas coming from? Where can I go for more information? Lack of footnotes also signals lack of an editor. I don’t understand how the author of the book I’m currently reading gets away with quoting another author or work without giving a full citation. “John Doe says in her book, ________” without a footnotes, is neither scholarly nor acceptable.
3) Quote chunks. On every few pages of the book I find huge chunks, several paragraphs, taken from somebody else’s work. It feels like the author just googled then copy and pasted into his book and called it good–and didn’t even footnote! Writing a new book means presenting a new argument, supported by others’ work certainly, but not simply a bringing-together of strong paragraphs from better books. Ridiculous.
Why am I still reading the book, if it’s so bad? I’m not quite sure. I have a rule that if I don’t like a book after 50 pages I don’t have to finish it (books for class excepted, of course). There are too many good books in the world to waste one’s time with the bad. I’ve only gotten to page 41 of my current blunder. Page 50, here I come.
photo by hisks
Guest Blogger Series: Elin Ljung and the BIBLE
Guest Blogger Series: Part 8 
or
An exercise in anthropomorphism
The Bible is a heavy book. Unless you carry a pocket-sized Bible (and have incredible vision), pretty much any Bible will be heavy-heavy to hold, heavy to carry, heavy so that it makes a satisfying thump when you set it on a desk. The Bible is so heavy that it must have tissue-thin pages in order to fit them all in without breaking human limbs. These tissue pages rattle loudly in a hushed sanctuary, especially to a restless child. How clearly I remember the cold seeping dread that suffused me each time my careless page-flipping tore one of those pages, just a little, near the spine.
When I think of the Bible, I imagine it as a weary book. Its weariness comes in part, of course, from its heaviness. A shelved Bible must support its whole weight on the bottom edges of its cover, hopefully one of the hardback variety. An opened Bible must support the weight of the reader’s prayers. I can imagine that the most terrified of Bibles are those that lie open on lecterns at the fronts of churches. What an immense weight-the collective pressure of an entire congregation listening, of that grouped dependence. Probably only the really big, ancient Bibles feel comfortable with that position, the ones illuminated by monks.
I imagine that Bibles are jealous of other books. The Bible has just as much beautiful imagery and just as many fascinating stories as a reasonable selection of classic fiction, but nobody ever just reads the Bible. They always read the Bible. It seems to me akin to how Ryan Giggs must feel* if he ever wants a pint: the people from whom he orders the pint will never think of him as just a bloke who wants a pint. He’s Ryan Giggs. I would think that might start to wear after a time.
But I do think the Bible must enjoy being analyzed, being pulled apart and interpreted and argued over. It just must be tickled to death to see students wound into a corner over what made Abraham a true believer, or over what indeed it was the St. Paul meant in this epistle as opposed to that other one. If Bibles ever rejoice, I imagine they do it when people look for more than the face value of their words, or when they remember that the Bible they’re reading might come in as many versions as there are scholars who translate it.
Heaviest of all to the Bible must be the knowledge of all the wars fought, all the evils done, all the crimes committed in its name. The Bible and the Koran must sit around commiserating with each other every so often, just to let each other know they’re not alone. After all, pretty much the worst that happens to other books is censorship or burning, not so much war.
But then, after all, pretty much the best that happens to other books is a brief rush of fame on the bestseller list-fleeting. But the Bible’s heavy weight inspires reverence, conversion, devotion, and simple kindness. I imagine the Bible might like that.
Visiting Elders and Impossible Minister Ratios: Differences of the Scottish and American Church
My article for the church magazine follows. I tried my best to write a balanced perspective, both pushing a bit on the Church of Scotland and celebrating their many fine aspects. If I’m brave, I’ll write more detailed reflections in the future on each of the article’s three points. An outsider coming in and telling you all your faults is no fun–and not ministry–so one must tread carefully, with humility, always remembering the log in one’s own eye.
February Magazine Article
Mrs. Kelley, my high school Latin teacher loved teaching us common English sayings in Latin, I think to show that the Latin language wasn’t quite dead yet. I still remember a few of those sayings: Veritos vos liberabit is from John 8:32, “The truth shall set you free.” Cave canum means “Beware of the dog.” And tempus fugit translates to “Time flies.”
My time at St. Columba so far has allowed me to consider all these phrases. Certainly, the Bible has played a large role, including Jesus’ teachings about truth. Far too many pastoral visits have me dodging a dog–maybe its their instinctual response to another wearing a dog collar. And my time at St. Columba has surely flown by.
Though few of you have asked me anything about my Latin language experience–thank goodness, it’s all a blur–many have asked about my perceptions of the differences in the Church of Scotland and the American Presbyterian church. So I shall take this brief column to note what strike me as the most notable differences. Please take these thoughts in the open and reflective spirit in which they are given. Indeed, neither the Church of Scotland nor the American Presbyterian church has everything figured out, and we all would do well to consider how the Spirit is moving in our own context and beyond.
First, one major difference between our denominations is the duties of elders. In American Presbyterian churches, elders are not assigned a district and therefore do not regularly visit members. Conscientious St. Columba elders will visit those in their district at least quarterly to drop by communion cards, and perhaps a few more times for other purposes. At home, the average size of church sessions is perhaps 20-30 elders, and elders only sit on the session for a few years. They are still charged will similar tasks–to nurture the faith and life of their congregation, to visit, comfort, and support their community of faith–but the American Presbyterian church lacks a tradition of regular visitation.
Second, perhaps the most significant difference in our denominations is the ratio of ministers to members. An American Presbyterian church of similar membership to St. Columba (1400 members) would likely have about five ministers on staff and several other full-time employees. I suppose this drastic difference is mainly due to differences in financial support, but is cultural as well. Americans expect “programs” from their church–organized mission trips, education and evening activities for young people, weekly meals and classes for adults, Sunday school for all ages. Church members in Scotland tend not to carry such expectations. Perhaps, too, one consequence of this difference in ministers to member ratio is the importance of Scottish members helping to support the work of the church as there are fewer full-time staff members.
Third, another striking difference is the Church of Scotland’s parish structure. Many Church of Scotland ministers spend a significant amount of time conducting funerals for those within the bounds of the parish but with no clear connection to the particular kirk. Also, ministers in Scotland have certain duties in the schools. In the States, Presbyterian ministers seldom conduct funerals for those unconnected to a particular church, and the idea of a minister teaching in a school is mind-boggling, so strong is our cultural prescription for “the separation of church and state.” So Scottish ministers have more clear and consistent contact with a specific geographical area while American ministers are more like free-range meat, working over a fairly large area.
I could go on, as I’m fascinated by these differences and their corollaries. Do American churches rely too much on ministers? In America, what does it say when someone moving to a new town may not find a Presbyterian church within fifty miles? Should the Church of Scotland–as was suggested in February’s edition of Life and Work–consider steps to train elders to conduct parish funerals? Does the American penchant for church programs overshadow more pressing needs outwith the church? Should any Church of Scotland congregation, or American congregation for that matter, have multiple ministers while rural parishes struggle to call even one?
These, and many others, are the questions the Scottish and American Presbyterian churches face. I pray that we may all move forward, seeking Christ’s will, being guided by the Holy Spirit, and praising God in all we say and do. Or as Mrs. Kelley would say, Ad maiorem dei gloriam, “For the greater glory of God.”
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