Sex on campus, the campaign trail, & in the classroom
Megan and I recently gave away four boxes of books and sold two others to secondhand book dealers. Taking old beloved books off our shelves was a painstaking process. Most of the books we ended up giving away were from college and seminary (if you were wondering: science books resell for a whole lot more than religion books). One book I did not give away — maybe will never give away — is Our Sexuality, assigned for a college course on human sexuality.
Human Sexuality, taught by a UCC pastor turned sociologist, was one of the most personally affecting courses I took at St. Olaf College. It’s been seven years now since I soaked up lectures on everything from sexual physiology to the economics of the pornography industry, but an oft-spoken line of the professor remains with me: “Understanding your sexuality is the foremost component to understanding yourself.”
Many words come to mind to describe that wonderful course and the atmosphere created by the professor’s thoughtful pedagogy — non-judgmental, liberating, embodied, reflective, hilarious, sacred — but it’s that last one that sticks with me.
Looking back, I’m not sure how he did it. Somehow, though, without his even talking about faith much at all, I was convinced that the professor’s deep respect for his students as sexual beings came from his Christian convictions. Despite that fact that he gave several lectures bemoaning the sexist history of the church, I also got the distinct impression that when our professor enjoyed sexual intimacy with his wife (which he was open to discussing), he understood sex as a holy gift from God and within God’s love.
Pivot now to two sets of recent articles. First, Saturday’s NY Times has eight commentators discussing “The Gingrich Question: Cheating vs. Open Marriage.” As I flipped through the short essays weighing-in on open marriage, divorce, sexual intimacy, etc. I was struck that the Times had failed to ask any clergy for their perspective. Which got me thinking: was the snub an oversight by the Times, or did it simply reflect the fact that clergy are not skilled (equipped?, open?) to speak publicly about sex.
Mind you it’d be a cinch to find a preacher who’d use the Times’ bully pulpit to argue in loud monotone for marriage between one man and one woman. Many of the Times’ writers, however, demonstrate much more careful words and thoughtful consideration than that, and I wondered what pastors might say publicly beyond, “marriage is good.” (I’m not saying it isn’t, by the way, just that I long for a deeper, richer, more theological conversation than most pastors react with, or at least those covered by the mainstream media.)
Thankfully, then, I later caught up on my Christian Century reading to find just that: several campus pastors reflecting on the complicated culture of dating, sex, drinking, and hook-ups at their colleges (including, my alma mater).
I recommend the series of articles, “Sex on Campus: College chaplains on the hookup culture” at The Christian Century’s website (may require subscription). It’s all just tidbits from a larger conversation we need to have, but I’m heartened that it’s out there. I long for more holy places like my college human sexuality course to discuss sexuality, sexual ethics, culture, and faith.
I’ll close with the hopeful words of Tara Woodard-Lehman, Executive Director of the Westminster Foundation at Princeton University. Words of which, my former human sexuality professor, would be proud:
I attempt to help students cultivate a prophetic, holy imagination—one that helps them imagine a self and life that is integrated. I invite them to affirm what Rowan Williams calls “the body’s grace,” a vision of sex as an identification of one’s own body with another’s body as mutually given sources of joy and desire. I invite them to see their bodies through the sacred lens of their Creator, who names them as good, very good. Even if they can’t quite believe that it’s true, I hope that they want it to be true. And I trust that over time, by God’s grace, they will live more fully and faithfully into that new reality.
image by Matthew Bowden
Adam, Have Your Say: My Brush with the BBC
Blogging has opened many doors for me over the years. That’s not the reason I blog (see “Why I Blog”), but it’s a fun perk. Last week brought a special highlight.
I received an email from a reporter at the BBC radio show, “World Have Your Say.” In light of Christopher Hitchens’ death, they were planning a show on the use of metaphorical language and cancer. Somehow — through Google, I presume — the reporter found an old blog post of mine reflecting on a book I read last year, a chapter of which was on this exact topic.
The email asked if I’d be willing to be a guest on the live show which, by the time I read the email, would be taking place in under 3 hours. Obviously, I couldn’t make it to their NY studios as they had queried. The local MPR studio in Moorhead wasn’t an option due to staffing constraints, so after speaking with someone at the WHYS office in London, we agreed I could be a guest via Skype.
For the next 2+ hours, I was a nervous wreck. I scanned several chapters on Google books addressing language, cancer, and pastoral care. I read Hitchens’ essays on his cancer in Vanity Fair. I perused several obituaries and remembrances of Hitchens. By the time that was done, I had five pages of notes and it was showtime. But, no call. The show started without me.
The host welcomed several guests from around the world, so I figured I hadn’t made the cut. Perhaps a midwestern Presbyterian minister’s perspective wasn’t quite what they wanted after all. And then, 15 minutes into the show, my cell phone rang. A very British-sounding producer quickly explained I’d be joining them after the news break.
So that’s how I found myself upstairs in the study, listening to a BBC Radio show on my cell phone, too nervous to breathe. After the news break, indeed the host welcomed “Adam from North Dakota” to the conversation. I said my two cents exploring the non-violent metaphor of “journey” or “walk” language for those living with cancer, trying to keep things short and sweet. I attempted to jump in with a question later, but then one was asked of me, concerning cancer diagnoses and faith struggles. Thankfully, I had anticipated I might get asked something like that, and had a few notes at the ready. I also tried my best not to bumble the next follow-up as much as I might have.
Then, 55 minutes were up, and the show was over. After the credits rolled and the news began, a producer came on the line and thanked me for appearing. “Oh, sure, no big deal, I do this all the time,” I said. As if.
The show is archived here: World Have Your Say, Dec 16, 2011: “The Topic of Cancer: Following the death of Christopher Hitchens, we ask ‘can you ever fight cancer with a positive attitude?’”
Bookstore Confession
I bought a book, then 5 minutes later found an identical cheaper one online using my smartphone, so I returned it. Was this wrong?
I recently found myself at Barnes and Noble with quite the conundrum. The parking lot was crazy busy. The Nook booths up front were heaving with rabid present-seekers. The coffee shop bustled with students cramming for finals.
I was there, however, for a reading by an author friend of mine. The reading area was, well, quieter. I can say I wasn’t the only audience member since the poet’s mom came too.
After the reading—which was great—I perused the stacks as I considered the wisdom of making a purchase for myself so close to Christmas. But, with great speed, books destroy my powers to delay gratification, so before long I had two in my hands. Thanks to a herculean effort I narrowed it down to one by Neil Gaiman, but I wasn’t certain about it.
So, I brought out my iPhone. No, I didn’t scan the bar-code quite yet, I simply Googled the title, Anansi Boys. After a few flicks, I learned the book was the story of a character from a Gaiman’s previous novel, American Gods. So, I went to find American Gods on the shelf.
They had one edition. Hard cover. $26.99. Tenth Anniversary Author’s Preferred Text Edition. I swithered, but then walked it calmly to the register. A minute later, I had purchased the book for $29.01.
As I sat in the car warming up — this is Fargo, remember — I felt deep regret. $30 is our household’s monthly book allowance (not including school books). I just blew it in one fell swoop. I did really want to read American Gods, but it was mostly an impulse buy. So, on another impulse, I whipped out my phone and brought up the Amazon app. I scanned my just-purchased book’s barcode, and its Amazon page popped up in two seconds.
Amazon price: $17.60. No sales tax. I have a student Amazon Prime account, meaning I have free two-day shipping on most purchases. I bought it one tap. One tap. Then I opened the car door, walked back in to Barnes and Noble, stood in line, returned the $29.01 copy, and drove away with more money in my pocket and a very confused conscience.
Novelist Richard Russo recently published a NY Times Op-Ed piece lambasting Amazon‘s smartphone apps.
Then, Slate’s Farhad Manjoo responded to Russo quite wisely it seems to me, complicating matters entirely.
Loyal readers will know I’m a sucker for small independently-owned book stores. I miss living in bigger areas like Decatur boasting places like Little Shop of Stories with it’s wonderfully curated collection, friendly staff, smart book groups, and glorious story times. (And, get this: Neil Gaiman has visited Little Shop.)
Often, in Fargo, I buy used books from Red Raven, and I’ve purchased several from Zambroz. I try to buy work books through The Thoughtful Christian.com, usually at great discount, but certainly not with two-day shipping. But I do buy a lot of books via Amazon. Most, even. And I’m still wrestling with my Barnes and Noble return.
So, dear Internet, I confess it. But, to be honest, I’m not sure whether I have sinned or not. If so, my penance will be donate the $11.41 difference to a good cause. But, maybe, I was just a savvy shopper with a smartphone and the good sense to take advantage of my student free two-day shipping when I can.
Am I an Amazon app sinner destroying my local economy, or a smart shopper saving $11.41 I can now spend locally?
Discuss.
Two Bits on American Exceptionalism
As I got a haircut this week, my stylist asked, “So, would you want to live abroad for a few years?” We had a lovely, fairly nuanced chat ranging into aspects of American exceptionalism. I love discussions of American exceptionalism because, if they are managed well, they get into some tricky issues rather quickly (much better than discussions of patriotism).
Charles Blow, in a Nov. 18 NY Times column, shared survey results indicating Americans are somewhat less convinced of our exceptional qualities than previously. A NPR “Talk of the Nation” episode this week, featured Blow with Matthew Franck of the Center on Religion and the Constitution of the Witherspoon Institute.
My own perspective on American exceptionalism is heavily influenced by two personal factors. First, I hold both US and UK passports. I was born in the US, and my father is American, but my mother is from the UK. I’ve never thought of myself as anything other than American, but I also embrace what feels like a positive personal asterisk of having family in Scotland, visiting there regularly, and loving my mother’s Scottishness (and my 50+%).
Second, in college I studied on the Global Semester Program, a five-month term abroad taking our group from St. Olaf College to seven countries. We literally traveled around the world. Among the many formative takeaways from this experience was, about halfway through, coming to view myself as a citizen of the world rather than only an American. This understanding had a profound impact on my worldview.
By the time I returned stateside after the months away, I also embraced my Americanness with a new revelry. (Oddly, though US currency really is pretty bland-looking compared to much of the world’s, upon my return, the knowledge that I once again had US greenbacks in my wallet after so many months changing money was strangely satisfying.)
Views of America’s exceptionalsim (or not), tend to pivot on one’s definition of what it actually is. I don’t have the guts to posit a fully-encompassing or unique definition here, but I do try to bring the following lenses to all discussions of it:
- Humility — assuming one is the best only proves one is not. Hubris proves exceptional in only the worst ways. I think of the city on a hill metaphor (which, by the way, did not originate with Reagan) as a check and a burden, not something to be celebrated. If we are shining on a hill for all to see, would we truly want the world to embrace all characteristics (our rates of poverty, or healthcare access, or current political aversion to compromise)?
- Responsibility — there truly is something beautifully unique, and a gift, about America: our welcome (when it is that) to immigrants, our religious freedoms, our work ethic, our collective narrative, our unity and diversity, our willingness to sacrifice, we could go on forever. Because of these gifts, any discussion of American exceptionalism must include a call to service, for we have been given much.
(Also, any discussion of this topic shouts for more, and this post is only the merest of nibbles. But, come one, it’s a blog.)
In response to my Thanksgiving piece last week, Andrew Whaley posted the hymn text of Lloyd Stone (and Georgia Harkness’ extra verse). I first came across Stone’s poem in college — soon after my study abroad experience — and it was a revelation, speaking what I felt so much more eloquently than I could muster.
This is my song, oh God of all the nations,
a song of peace for lands afar and mine.
This is my home, the country where my heart is;
here are my hopes, my dreams, my holy shrine;
but other hearts in other lands are beating
with hopes and dreams as true and high as mine.My country’s skies are bluer than the ocean,
and sunlight beams on clover leaf and pine.
But other lands have sunlight too and clover,
and skies are everywhere as blue as mine.
This is my song, thou God of all the nations;
a song of peace for their land and for mine.
Beyond Mashed Potatoes: Giving Thanks Together
This week at Theology Pub we discussed Thanksgiving from various angles. I found it an interesting topic because giving thanks — and gratitude in general — is certainly not unique to people of faith. Apparently, the religious origins of the first Thanksgiving(s) are debatable, but in later years Thanksgiving certainly took a more religious tint. Abraham Lincoln’s Proclamation calling for Thanksgiving to be celebrated by all states on the same day (as opposed to previous practice) is filled with religious overtones.
I’m struck that giving thanks, as a concept, is perfectly well and good (it’s what our mother taught us, after all) but complications come with the follow-up questions, the second part of the sentence, the: so what?
Giving thanks….to whom?
Giving thanks…for what?
Giving thanks…by oneself or together?
Giving thanks…our of obligation, or out of true gratitude?
Shirley Guthrie’s Christian Doctrine is the most accessible and thorough introduction to Reformed Theology that I know. I go back to it often. Like the other theology texts I consulted in preparation for Theology Pub, neither “thanksgiving” nor “gratitude” is in Guthrie’s index. I did, however, find this glorious passage that’s stopped me short this Thanksgiving week:
Everything we have said about satisfying our creaturely necessities and enjoying creaturely pleasures is true only to the extent that we remember that God is not only our Creator but the Creator of all human beings, and that God’s good gifts are given not just to us and our kind of people but to all people. To deny these gifts (necessities and pleasures) to any person or group, or to support any political or economic system that does so, is rebellion against the Creator who said that the physical-bodily life of every human being is good. Christian Doctrine, Shirley Guthrie, p. 160
Thanksgiving, after all, is an act. It’s action, but in our normal cultural parlance it seems as if it’s all about stopping, looking back, reflecting with our kin. At Thanksgiving, many of us end up asking that question, “What am I thankful for?” But Guthrie seems to want to broaden our thinking from “I” to “we.”
What if Thanksgiving is not about what God gives me, but about God’s gifts to all the world, now and forever? Thinking of Thanksgiving in this corporate manner then pushes us further to consider Thanksgiving as action, as call to discipleship. It becomes more than about feeding the homeless turkey and mashed potatoes on Thursday, but about making sure all my brothers and sisters — all those whom God created and loves — have equal opportunities to enjoy God’s gifts. Or, further even, we follow our call beyond making “opportunities available” for all to perhaps enjoy God’s gifts, and instead we don’t stop until all are resting in the promises of God, not just possibly doing so, but actually doing so.
For me, the Advent season always takes on a wonderful sense of justice-seeking. As I prepare for Christ’s birth, I’m reminded every year that our world looks all too un-Christlike. This year, however, I’m getting that feeling a little early through the more secular Thanksgiving holiday. For that, I’m grateful; to that, I hope to respond.
image by bromundt
What? You don’t have a TV! (part 2)
[For previous installments of this series, see Part 1]
When I’m traveling for work and staying in a hotel room, I’ll often turn on the TV set. Generally, I’ll watch live sports, ESPN highlights, or CNN. It’s sort of a treat. On vacation, however, I never watch TV. For me, TV watching is somehow antithetical to vacation. Let me explore both of these claims.
First, though I don’t have a TV at home, I watch television in hotel rooms because it’s novel. I enjoy catching a baseball game or seeing what personalities in the news actually look like. When I travel for work I’m usually busy 10+ hours a day, so when I get back to the room I like to veg if I can. TV access makes that easy.
If I had a television at home, I might use it this way as well, but I think the unusual nature of TV access while traveling makes it more enjoyable. Like that delicious smoked turkey each Thanksgiving (and maybe Christmas), it’s best enjoyed as a special treat.
In fact, this leads me to the second point, that I don’t watch television on vacation (one exception being FSU football games). For me, vacation is a time to rejuvenate, read books, take walks, surf the Internet, just be. So it just happens, without me really meaning for it to occur, that on vacation I rarely watch television. Movies, I’ll watch. But more on that next post.
In fact, I’m beginning to feel like these posts are more parts self-disclosure than helpful reflection, so I’m stopping here for today. I don’t like it when my blog descends into navel gazing rather than more broad-minded critique. I do plan, though, to post soon regarding the media I do watch online — including several TV shows.
What? You don’t have a TV! (part 1)
Megan and I are part of the 1% — we don’t have a television. In fact, we haven’t for over five years (well, ten years, if roommates’ TVs don’t count). The decision to eschew a television was not one we pondered for long. It was not a measured countercultural stand against multinational corporations’ braincell-destroying dross called “entertainment” these days. Rather, we just figured, “Nah, guess we don’t really want a TV.”
People’s reactions to the disclosure that we don’t have a TV can be put into two categories. The first, is plain disbelief. Folks sputter, ask rapid-fire clarifying questions, search our cupboards and bookshelves for a surely-hidden flatscreen. They’re flabbergasted, gobsmacked, bewildered even.
The second reaction is even more telling. Many people respond by saying something like, “Oh, well, I don’t actually watch much TV at all. I mean, I should probably get rid of it too.” As if our decision not to have a TV is intended to cast aspersions at them.
This reaction — and it is quite common — cracks me up because it turns out that my decision not to have a television is in no way an attack on all televisions everywhere any more than my decision not to make french press coffee is a rebuke of delicious beverages. I’m not a TV hater. They do not offend me. I have never smashed one to pieces (though I have turned off a few that play Fox News in public spaces).
So, believe me when I say, “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.” I promise. Therefore I don’t need to hear you apologize for the little television you do watch. I don’t need to have you explain, “I only watch one show a week.” Or, “we really should get rid of it.” Come on, folks. Own it, don’t apologize. (Or, if having a TV really does make you feel guilty, get rid of it.)
Over the next while, I’m going to take some posts to reflect on our lack of TV. I do this, in a small way to “come clean” — after all, it’s hard to know what to say when people say, “Hey, you know that commercial when….” Invariably, I don’t.
Mostly, though, I’m writing this series as an exercise in self-reflection. I wonder about things. How has not having a television for 10 years shaped me? Does that fact I don’t consume much television media influence my consumption of other media? In what ways is not watching TV a “spiritual practice,” or even a protest of powers and principalities?
Any questions of your own? Do me a favor: on a commercial break, send them my way.
image by Jay Lopez
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