Over the Ocean, Through the Woods

I leave for Japan in twenty-five days. I'm moving to Akita province, pretty much as northerly and westerly as you can get. Still waiting on the details of my placement, aka, where exactly in this relatively large, yet unpopulated, province I am moving to, what age I'm teaching, what my apartment is like, whether I need to get an International Driver's permit, etc.

Right now, I'm in the process of preparing for my leaving as much as I can without really knowing too much about where I'm going. This includes getting rid of stuff that I won't be taking with me...which is actually quite a bit of stuff. It's amazing how much I can get rid of when I look at it and think, will this be relevant to my life in the next one to three years? If the answer is yes, it gets put back. If the answer is no, it goes away. I only need to emotionally let go of an item once before I can say goodbye for good. Once it goes in the get-rid-of pile, I pretty much forget about it. A sign that things are highly disposable to me? Probably.

Although I'm disposing of piles and piles of clothes, I have only been able to part with a handful of books, maybe ten, and some of those were because I had two copies of the same thing. Two copies of all of Shakespeare's sonnets? Not necessary. So one went away. This whole process is making me realize how much stuff I have, how much stuff I utilize on a daily basis. It's a lot. And a lot of it is just that disposable. I either don't really need it, or it can be easily replaced by something just like it. There is a lack of truly unique stuff in my possession. I have more blank notebooks than filled ones, I have more CD's I don't listen to than ones I do. It's materialism at its finest, partially because I am a marketer's ideal prey. I buy things with cool names and flashy advertising because I can, because I do things that make me feel good about doing them.

But things are disposable. I forget what I have more than I remember. And now I'm weeding through things in stages, parting with things in waves, piles at a time. Because I have twenty-fives days left before my entire life gets packed into two suitcases and a matching duffel bag. Stuff takes up space, sometimes more space than life does. I'm trying to reverse that.

A Graduation Benediction

Today was Baccalaureate chapel. I was asked to say the benediction near the end of the service, and this is the prayer I came up with. These prayers are all taken and edited from the Oxford Book of Prayer, with the loving assistance of my professor, Julia Young.
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Please stand for the benediction.

This is to be a charge for us, so you need not bow your heads, close your eyes, or fold your hands, but in your listening, I hope you may focus on these words, compiled from the prayers of past people of faith. May these words take root in your hearts today.

After the benediction, please remain standing for the doxology and the recessional.

Now receive the benediction.

Almighty God, bestow upon us the meaning of words, the light of understanding, the nobility of diction and the faith of the true nature.
And grant that what we believe we may also speak.

O Thou who through the light of nature has aroused in us a longing for
The light of grace, to Thee, I give thanks, Creator and Lord.
For from God, through God, and in God, all is, which is perceptible as well as spiritual;
That which we know and that which we do not know, for there is still much to learn.

Eternal Light, then, shine in our hearts,
Eternal Goodness, deliver us from evil.
Eternal Power, be our support,
Eternal Pity, have mercy on us.

God, who art three in One,
Grant us love’s eternal three –
Friendship, rapture, constancy;
Lord, till our lives be done,
Grant us love unending.
Bless us, God of loving.

You are wisdom, uncreated and eternal,
The supreme first cause, above all being,
Sovereign Godhead, sovereign goodness,
Watching unseen the God-inspired wisdom of Christian people.
Raise us, we pray, that we may understand
The supreme, unknown, ultimate, and splendid height
Of your words, mysterious and inspired.
There, all God’s secret matters lie covered and hidden
Under the darkness both profound and brilliant, silent and wise.
You make what is ultimate and beyond brightness
Secretly to shine in all that is most dark.
In your way, ever unseen and intangible,
You fill to the full with most beautiful splendor
Those souls who close their eyes that they may see.
And I, please, with love that goes on beyond mind
To all that is beyond mind,
Seek to gain such for myself through this prayer.

Though Jesus Christ our Lord, to whom with Thee and the Holy Spirit, be all honour and glory,
World without end, Amen.

Out of a Far Country: A Review

Out of a Far Country, by Christopher and Angela Yuan, presents the dual memoir of a mother and son as each struggles to find God amidst heartache, confusion, and loss. With each chapter switching between the perspective of the mother and that of the son, two simultaneous but parallel - and occasionally even opposite - stories are told.
The book opens in 1993, with Christopher telling his traditional Chinese parents that he is gay and thereby ‘officially’ becoming a member of the gay community, where coming out to ones’ parents is seen as a milestone event. Angela balks at her son’s open rebellion of the values he grew up with, just as Christopher finds freedom in revealing his long-kept secret, to his parents’ chagrin.
However, after Angela discovers her own freedom in God and the Bible, she begins to repair what has so long been broken in her life – her lifeless marriage, her cold heart, and her anger towards her son. She stops at nothing to let Christopher know that both she and God love him, no matter his decisions.
Meanwhile, Christopher’s involvement in the gay nightclub scene spirals out of control after he tries ecstasy for the first time, becomes a drug dealer, is involved in a series of homosexual relationships, and eventually is busted by the DEA for possession and selling drugs, specifically ice. During his time in prison is when he too finds the redemption of God, stops doing drugs, begins dealing with an HIV positive diagnosis, and realizes that God wants holy sexuality from him, not just heterosexuality.
The memoir is a touching account of a mother’s unfailing love, a son’s prodigal-like return to his family, and the hope that can be found in God. Although Christopher does not shy away from graphic detail of his time as a drug dealer and user, he does avoid it when it comes to his homosexuality. Thus, this story reads less as a treatise on dealing with homosexuality and Christianity than an account of a junkie finding God and the faithful love of his mother. Either way, the focus is less on the specifics of the sin than on the feel-good redemption of two lost souls, who find each other as they also find hope.

Language, Reality, Whatever

I wrote the opinion piece for the upcoming issue of the Talon. I was assigned the position that "swearing affects faith," but, because I swear like a sailor, it was something of an intellectual exercise to figure out how to defend a position I not only disagree with, but actively resist. This is the result.
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Words are powerful. The words we speak define the types of thoughts that we can express, and it is through words that we explain to those listeners around us who we are. Seen in this light, language itself defines me as an individual and also peoples’ perceptions of me. Words exist, both written and spoken, as the most common and efficient means of communication with others. Thus, language use should not be taken lightly, because in a very real way language works to define both personality and integrity.

This same principle applies to the use of profanity. By swearing (or conversely, not swearing), we are making a statement about the kind of individuals we are. Whether we like it, or always realize it, people do judge character based on the language a person uses and how it is used. Ignoring this fact can result in sloppy, unintentional impressions which do not accurately reflect the true nature of a person. I don’t think this is necessarily an issue of whether swearing itself is right or wrong, but of appropriate behavior in certain situations and of us, as speakers, being aware of the kinds of effects those behaviors have on others.

Expressing faith is no different. When I was attending community college, one of the ways I chose to express my faith to my peers was through my choice not to swear. Profanity runs rampant on most campuses, so my choice to show that I was different was through speaking differently than my peers. This approach was inoffensive and implicit; it didn’t push Christianity down anyone’s throat, but instead introduced my character through my language use. In this way, I was able to set myself apart obviously, but still subtly.

Profanity is also contextual. Words often exist on a scale of ‘better’ or ‘worse,’ and although these standards are arbitrary and change with time, geography, and situation, the capricious nature of words needs to be considered. There is nothing faith-like about offending a person through needless profanity, so in order to avoid the possibility of causing undue offense and harm to one’s testimony, it is better to avoid the use of swear words at all. In this way, one’s own faith is unhampered and one’s impression on others also remains intact.

Language presents a unique opportunity to witness without being invasive, threatening, or overly evangelistic. If faith should come through actions and not just professed declarations, abstaining from swearing can only have positive effects on both faith itself and on perceptions of faith by others. Therefore, if we want to portray images of being people of faith, our language should also reflect that goal.

Water for Elephants: A Review

Water for Elephants, a novel by Sara Gruen, tells the story of young Jacob Jankowski as he reminisces about his transition from upstanding veterinarian-in-training to fully integrated circus worker. The novel involves Jacob as an old man in a nursing home, struggling to cope with his wavering vitality and familial connection by filtering his surroundings through the memory of his youth in the traveling circus, The Benzini Brothers Most Spectacular Show on Earth.

After Jacob loses his parents in a fatal car crash, he runs away from his orderly life at Cornell, where he has been studying to be a veterinarian. Penniless and lonely, he jumps a train in the middle of the night - a decision that places him into the hands of fate. This train ends up being a circus train, and through the goodwill of August, the equestrian director, and the rough but lovable dwarf, Walter, Jacob becomes a vital part of circus life, as he uses his knowledge of animals to become the circus’ very own veterinarian.

Jacob’s newfound sense of belonging is jeopardized, however, when a friend becomes irreversibly ill and Jacob works to prevent him from being ‘redlighted,’ when the circus goes into debt over a supposedly stupid elephant, and when Jacob falls in love with Marlena, August’s wife and the circus’ star performer. Jacob shows his resourcefulness by befriending and training Rosie, the elephant, who becomes the show’s biggest money maker after Jacob crosses her language barrier. However, his desire to do the right thing and to protect Marlena pits him against the politics and shady practices of greedy Uncle Al, the manager of the circus, and against August, whose jealousy and violence ostracize him from both his wife and his friend.

This novel presents a vivid and delightful insider’s look at circus life during the 1930’s, while still engaging with the class and ethical issues of that setting. Jacob is unendingly likeable as a protagonist, and the cast of colorful supporting characters provides entertaining and haphazard scenarios of both humor and loyalty. However, the overall plot remains rather formulaic, occasionally feeling rushed and shying away from the details which would really bring the story to life. The dual development of Jacob as both an old man and a youth progress the novel on several stages with depth and delight, but underdeveloped main characters, such as Marlena, who acts more as device for Jacob to do good than anything else, and predicable plot devices keep this novel at the level of enchanting, but not challenging.

Dangerously Educated

"It must be allowed that learning does take away something, as the file takes something from rough metal, the whetstone from blunt instruments, and age from wine; but it takes away what is faulty; and that which learning has polished is less only because it is better" - Quintilian

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We talked in class briefly the other day about the dangerous elements of education, especially in regards to theology. That, somehow, becoming educated is a greater evil than maintaining ignorance, because education, the university setting, exposes students to bad theology, bad philosophy, bad ideas. Some pastors even pride themselves on their lack of education. But I wonder why this is, that if one can get an education, why one wouldn't. Is there something better about not being exposed to things and ideas? Yes, learning can be dangerous, but so is crossing the street, and that doesn't stop me. In fact, I think I prefer my education (and my street-crossing) dangerous, because I'm not sure I would truly be being educated (or truly be getting to the other side) if it wasn't.

I Dream in Diamonds - A Conceit

I haven't updated this blog since I used it for advanced expos last semester. And I rarely post poems. Except for my last post. So this happens to be an odd coincidence. But I wrote this poem for Genres class this semester, and thus I send it out into the world.
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Pretty, but useless, thoughtless.
Cubic zirconia,
I hated my April birthday because diamonds
Have no color
And I was never given a necklace with a real diamond.

I watched darkness swallow the dusk in a moment.
The night is a bracelet of black pearls,
Uneven but smooth,
Unending and circular.
It shines sometimes, when the moon flirts with the trees,
Clouds playing a paper fan over the eyes of the coquette.
I prefer black pearls,
Especially over diamonds.

I wanted to wear that night like a vintage gown,
With glass beads and cream pearls for stars,
Metal and stone.
The sand, the oyster, the alloys, the rocks,
All natural things.
I held a paper fan over my eyes and flirted through a dream.
A boy, his eyes like sapphires.
He wore that grey pinstripe suit like the foggy pre-dawn hour.
He threw stones onto my fingers, circular and hollow,
And he lavished my arms with amulets of moonstones,
And we were happy, I think.
Because I couldn’t sleep,
Because I couldn’t dream,
Outside of the rocky waves he made behind my eyes and outside my window.

His eyes were rubies.
I needn’t be scared, he said,
His voice wrapping around my throat as a diamond necklace for an April birthday,
As real diamonds, hard enough to scratch out his ruby eyes,
Hard enough also to cut the night which I was wearing away from my opal skin.
He glimmered red light then,
The red light of a garnet red planet,
And I wanted the sapphires back, as brooches to pin the dark onyx around my shoulders once again,
Stripped bare, stripped blank, no prongs of gold or silver or rose gold to hold it in place.
The pearls scattered, a sinew chain snapping, when they fell to the ground,
Slipping into corners
Chased by the glassy, starry beads,
And I was the bold, agate moon again,
His eyes deep violet amethysts that burned crevasses into my bald surface.

As the dawn rose then,
His grey suit turned copper,
The setting for the hard purple gems.
He moved a stone cold hand over my bleached face,
Swiping the fading light from behind my cloudy paper fan, stealing it away from me
As he rode into his rightful place
In the sky.
Nightless then, lightless,
I awoke with only a necklace to show for it, an April birthday’s real diamond,
A dream.