Loving Language in a Time of Commerce (or Happy National Grammar Day)

Once, when I taught upper-intermediate English to a design team at a major German auto company, one of my students showed me a grammar mistake in an email from an American colleague. This group of students was advanced enough for me to run a pretty tight ship, grammar-wise, so he was a bit amused that his native-speaker colleague would make the sort of grammar faux pas I would always pounce on during class.

Of course, the grammar mistake wasn't all that important. It didn't inhibit communication in anyway; the colleagues could continue business as normal. In commerce, it's clear communication that counts. I even read, in a Business English textbook of all places, that poorly-written emails are a sign of someone moving up the corporate ladder. Well-written emails reveal someone with too much time on their hands, but non-capitalized words clumsily spat out on a smart phone - that's a person with places to be.

Still, I loved unpacking little grammar secrets and the purposes of "why-we-do-this-when-in-German-you-do-that" mutual detective games in my English classes. It was great fun. But at the end of the day, I know that the need for international business is not elegance but to just do enough to overcome Babel, even if it ain't always pretty.  (I consider "ain't" a pretty part of the English language, but that could be a byproduct of my Appalachian)

This is thrilling, of course. There's communication! People who once may have never understood each other understand each other now! This also part of the dual nature of being an ESL teacher. I love language, especially written prose, but I also love it when people use language as is, discovering different channels and springs of communication along the way in our eternal effort to be understood.

This is partly why I blog, because my own electronic scribble creations are an outlet for me. There's a danger, though. I so wish I could be a real grammar snob and publicly rage against those native-English writers who fail to achieve every literal jot and tittle. For me, a fun way to spend the afternoon is a comma discussion by way of a memoir on the website for America's best source for all things prose. But a blog is a bad way to brag, especially about grammar. I bet, in fact, that as soon as I upload this, regardless of rereads by my wife and me, some grammar mistake will pop out like a pimple on my website, and a real grammar snob, if he had even bothered to read that far, would have to bite his fist to stop screaming. My writing goes on in fits and starts, a patch here, a paragraph here, an idea that occurred to me when I should have been thinking about something else, months of busyness when ideas collect like pollen waiting for the Spring, and some ideas are even remembered. Little time for editing, for prying my big-picture brain into a detail-oriented mentality. So I hit publish, hoping that the "you'res" aren't "yours" or that I didn't confuse "affect" and "effect," all the while wondering if I should mail Bill Gates a thank-you-note for blessing the world with spell check. Then, if I catch a mistake post-publish, I put on a hair-shirt and whip my own back 39 times. Ok, I don't do that, and I know the world doesn't care, but I can tell you that vanity-reading your own stuff isn't good for the soul.

Then, there's foreign languages. Over half of my MBA courses are in English (yippee!), but most of them are taught by non-native speakers, so the lectures are peppered with grammar mistakes which, as an English language trainer, I can analyse, explain, and suggest improvements. But I say nothing, not only to keep my professors' good graces, and not only because their mistakes rarely inhibit communication, but also because, often enough, it's my turn to speak German, and, and C1 fluent that I am, there's no way this side of heaven that I am going to get every detail of this language right. I'll never remember every gender of every non-gendered object, I'll continue to mix up their backwards numbers, and I insist that the differenced in pronunciation between o and ö is zero, null, nil, nada, and nothing. I am in deep need of grammar grace - at the university, at my church, in my family, and in any future employment.

Good writing with good grammar is beautiful. I can recognize it in German, even if I'll never produce it myself, and I can strive for it, however imperfectly, in English. The letter of the law, in language as in elsewhere, shows purpose, making communication effective, elegant, and enjoyable. But in our world of international commerce, international friendships, and international families, we get to communicate with each other, even if we'll never be maestros, and our strivings are beautiful in and of themselves. What should we do otherwise? In language, as with anything else in life, the best way forward is to love both the law and the person who will never perfectly fulfil it. We need to be full of grace and truth, and for this, we have an example.

Meanwhile, should you catch me in grammatical error, your welcome to point it out.

Parenting and Entangling Love

Part of having a child, a wife, bills, and interesting things to look at is that I don't write as often as I would like. By way of saying, I wanted to respond from my little corner of the web to an interesting online writing kerfluffle about the challenges and joys of parenting, but I'm a little late thanks to the challenges and joys of parenting (I'm writing these words with one of those Disney sing-a-long films running in the background). Here in Germany, a couple of journalists complained that modern demands of parenting and career simply can't work, but shrug and say they might as well try to make it work anyway. Then, Ruth Graham's protest against all the negative, "honest" parent-complaining drew a lot of attention (at least in my social networking sphere), including Rachel Lu's beautiful, thoughtful response. Lu wrote one of those "I-wish-I-had-written-that" essays clarifying my jumble of thoughts and feelings about parenting-angst with a lovely description of joy and love in parenting. The whole thing's worth a slow read, and I wanted to highlight a couple points she makes towards the end:

Finally, I should address the most critical question: Is it worth it? If so, why? Certainly, there are cultural changes that could make the plunge into parenthood less daunting. It would be possible, too, for parents to feel less stressed and more affirmed. Still, child-rearing will always be miserable and magical, for more or less the same reasons. It’s a “happy pig or unhappy Socrates” sort of conundrum. Parenthood makes life harder, but also richer. It’s less pleasant but more meaningful. That’s because love fundamentally changes us as human beings. Like the dissatisfied Socrates, we can look on the unburdened (including our own former selves) with a certain amount of wistful envy, but it isn’t in our nature to want to stuff love back into its Pandora’s box.

She ends with: 

An employer could never get away with drawing up a contract like the one you implicitly have with your kids. So yes, it’s reasonable to be a little bit terrified. It’s no small thing to let another person become the main star of your life. It’s even harder when you realize that one day they’ll just walk right out the door again, leaving you twenty years older but no longer able to sleep in on a Saturday morning.

Still, if the opportunity beckons, you should do it. Because if you don’t, you’ll be the person who chose the happy pig over Socrates. You don’t want to go to your grave knowing that one of your most important life decisions was to run away from love.

These thoughts are seconded by Jennifer Senior, author of All Joy and No Fun: The Paradox of Modern Parenthood. In her interview on Fresh Air, she documents the "no fun" part then gets to the joy, and like Lu, she knows what we all know, that the joy is worth it, even if it can't be numerically verified:

And, you know, the studies don't focus on (the joy) so much. I have to sort of go to philosophy and novels in order to discuss the joy. The problem with these studies is that if you're feeling good about something, you know, you rank it a five. So that moment that I was describing with my baby looking at me and cooing at me - which was, like, just like this transcendent moment in my life - would rate the same if I'm doing everything on a scale of one to five, as, like, a dinner with a friend, if I had a really great time at that dinner. In the same way that, like, you know, on Amazon, you know, a John Grisham novel and, you know, and Charles Dickens like kind of get fives, you know, but they're not necessarily the same experience, you know. 

And also, I can't remember who said this to me - I think it was George Vaillant, a psychiatrist who is kind of a poet-philosopher, too - he pointed out that, like, it's kind of like using a number to describe a taste. You know, how do you do that? So I think that social science misses a lot of the joy.

And, you know, one of the remarkable things about joy is that it is sort of predicated on this idea of being very connected to somebody. I think Christopher Hitchens described, you know, having kids as, you know, your heart running around in somebody else's body. And that feeling is so powerful, it's almost scary, because there's almost, like, an implied sense of loss about it.

It's, like, you love somebody so much, that you are almost automatically afraid of losing them, like, that this connection is so deep, that you can't think of that connection without thinking of that connection being broken. So joy, in some ways, is almost a harder feeling to tolerate than sadness, in some ways, because it's so powerful and makes us so vulnerable. But it's why it is also so profoundly special and what makes parenting, to so many of us, so huge and incomparable.

So, a hearty amen to both from this papa across the pond. Both women (with an assist from Maria Popova) reminded me of C.S. Lewis' famous reflection in The Four Loves: "To love is to be vulnerable. To love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it in tact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it up carefully with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket - safe, dark, motionless, airless - it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside of heaven outside of heaven where you can be perfectly safe from the dangers and perturbations of love is hell."

Choosing lasting, difficult joy over immediate happiness is an ancient problem, and the fact that children are more of an economic burden than necessity thrusts today's (Western) family into the center of this choice. I've no special insight into this, but I'm encouraged: the fact that we're talking about it means this joy is not dead, and I wonder if paradoxically, we comfortable westerners are taking the joys of entangled love more seriously. This reminded me of something I noticed in that other great love entanglement: marriage. When I first came to Germany, I was told that Germans, consistent with the trends of most of Western Europe, were marrying later than Americans. I assumed that this meant they no longer took marriage seriously, that in a post-religious age they had deconstructed a ritual of religion and state enough to render it meaningless, or at least with much less meaning. Maybe at some point they'll muddle through the ritual and smile for the camera like distracted teenagers in a confirmation class, but more important is a fuzzy concept of love independent of the things our ancients had passed down.

It didn't take long to realize my assumption was wrong, at least among the students, young academics, and young professionals I interacted with. Sure, I'd hear people deconstruct marriage to justify premarital sex, but at the end of the day, marriage was a damn serious thing for most people, particularly for those in relationships. I found those living together didn't see their lifestyles as an alternative to marriage, but they saw marital commitment as something they couldn't lightly go into without a lot of practice and growth together. They were avoiding a complete entanglement, taking tentative steps into the rosebush, keeping the exit available, because they weren't about to make a commitment they didn't think they could keep. From this position, marriage was wonderful but overwhelming. They wanted it as much as the Bible-belt American standing before them, but with a deliberate slowness. I can imagine approaching child-rearing the same way, and it looks like more and more westerners are following in this path. The general seriousness about the topic impressed me, and it still does.

I sympathize. I had always wanted to be married, and yet the act of getting married cost me more courage than I could carry myself. Then our daughter came along, and she flooded our lives with love and joy but also with so many worldly worries that without the help of some god-fearing friends and family members, well, who knows how far we would have sunk. And still, both steps are the steps in my life where I can most clearly look at them and pronounce them good. I say this from a position of privilege - both my wife and I come from great families where martial promises were honored and children were viewed as gifts from the Lord. Not everyone grew up in such luxury, and I can understand how those without it might find the promises of love and joy of children much less believable, and all the "honest" parenting blogs could be a stumbling block for anybody. Entangling yourself in love is more and more a heroic, deeply serious step, the risks are no longer hidden behind smiles, closed doors, and rigorous cultural standards. It's serious stuff, and it's good we're all still talking about it.

Honest talking and writing doesn't hide the mess, the failures, or the heartbreak, but neither does it stay there, and I'm glad Lu and Senior reminded us how to write about the sort of things that don't fit on clever charts or Buzzfeed lists, but fit into philosophy, novels, poetry, and prose. The seriousness with which we're taking the commitments that irreversibly entangle our hearts to others mean that there's a hunger for it. And those of us who are presumptuous enough to tape our thoughts to the Internet should remember that writing about love and joy are worth the effort.

Nothing New Under the Sun

Oh look, my blog! I found it between the couch cushions, next to a bottle cap and a couple of pennies. I had to dust off the cookie crumbs, not to mention two, no, three impermeable gummy bears, plus hair that could be human or teddy bear. I tell you, one day, you put it down, and the next day it falls through the cracks and coats itself sticky with sugar. Well, I rinsed it off in the kitchen sink, because I found something familiar and needed to write about it. This is from Marilynne Robinson's Gilead. It describes the protagonist's mother, mothering in the late 1800s but still familiar today: 

"In many ways, she was a remarkably careful mother, poor woman. I was in a sense her only child. Before I was born she had brought herself a new home health care book. It was large and expensive, and it was a good deal more particular than Leviticus. On its authority she tried to keep us from making any use of our brains for an hour after supper, or from reading at all when our feet were cold. The idea was to prevent conflicting demands on the circulation of the blood. My grandfather told her once that if you couldn't read with cold feet there wouldn't be a literate soul in the state of Maine, but she was very serious about these things and he only irritated her. She said 'Nobody in Maine gets much of anything to eat, so it all comes out even.' When I got home she scrubbed me down and put me to bed and fed me six or seven times a day and forbade me the use of my brain after every single meal. The tedium was considerable."

If she lived today, she'd have a blog. I say this as someone deep in the careful parenting camp. And I'm sure the Internet makes her "health care book" look less like Leviticus and more like a book of nursery rhymes. I know I wield it like a weapon against any potential malady or sign of ill-health that could approach my daughter. And I'm sure a good portion of it is really healthy! Perhaps in a generation or two my daughter will laugh at this area and say "the tedium was considerable." But I hope she'll also remember herself as well-loved.

Speaking of which, you should read (or re-read) Gilead. I've just finished, and I haven't felt this way about prose since I read Breakfast and Tiffany's a couple years ago. I know Robinson is read and loved by plenty of literary connoisseurs, but for the rest of us, well, this book is a feast and there's no shame in being late for it. I won't say too much about it, because it's one of those books that's best left to speak for itself. I'll only mention a couple things. It's the letters of an aging pastor who knows he's dying to his young son. It's beautiful - more like a hike in the country than any sort of action film - with the most nourishing food for thought gently weaved into the narrative. And there's this quote: 

"For me writing has always felt like praying, even when I wasn't writing prayers, as I was often enough. You feel that you are with someone. I feel I am with you now, whatever that can mean, considering that you're only a little fellow now and when you're a man you might find these letters of no interest. Or they might never reach you, for any number of reasons. Well, but how deeply I regret any sadness you have suffered and how grateful I am in anticipation of any good you have enjoyed. That is to say, I pray for you. And there's an intimacy in it. That's the truth."

With this in mind, I intend to write more. 

The Violinist (A Voice of Our Own)

My weekly journey to Stuttgart ends late in the evening. My last class finished, I walk briskly down Koenigstrasse. Stuttgart's great shopping street is nearly empty. The locals huddle in bars to watch the Wednesday night soccer games and dart in and out of clubs like shy gophers with cigarettes. The muscles in my legs burn with the pleasure of movement that contrasts nicely to the icy central-European breeze against my face. There's freedom in walking, freedom in knowing that the street, the sneakers, the buildings standing in attention all the way were designed to parade me to the train station and take me home, where my daughter sleeps and my lover waits. I am fast, but I don't hurry; I walk in an un-lonely solitude that I experience in big cities at night. 

A line of music breaks my thoughts like an unexpected visitor. Where have I heard that before? Oh yes. That's "Time to Say Goodbye" the song Andrea Bocelli sing's in my parent's speakers and in that Italian cafe I frequented in Freiburg. It's not typical of the violinist. She usually plays songs from movies. I usually hear her play the theme from Schindler's List or "My Heart Will Go On." 

The violinist is blonde, pretty and perhaps a bit too thin. She's young - a teenager? Her hair is straight and nearly tied behind her head in a pony tail that wags in a friendly manner as she movers her bow back and forth over her instrument. She's an amateur, no question, with only the occasional evening pedestrian for an audience. I like to think that she's Russian. I don't know of course, but my prejudice says that a blond girl with a violin must be Russian. Of course, I can't tell. She could be a local. She could have been born down the street from me in the good ol' US of A. Or anywhere else, really. 

Why does she play? Need? Charity? Hope? Hopelessness? I don't know. But as I pace by, I reflect how much she's like a blogger. It's one thing to play in our bedrooms or write in our journals - little pieces of us expelled from our minds with no listener or accountability. But the street and the Internet give us a voice. Regardless of our talent or depth, we get to say something that might be heard by anyone who happens to walk by our night, our street, our website. We may dream of Carnegie Hall or The New Yorker, we may reflect on what changes in history, education or genetics might have gotten us there. But that does stop us from playing and typing, pretending and expressing, saying something that may just cut through the noise of our busy minds. 

I continue home, "Time To Say Goodbye" fading behind my right shoulder. 

Feel free to leave some change in the hat. 

The Tall One and the Short One

In a flash of spiritual inspiration, I gave up Facebook for lent. On Fat Tuesday, after an orgy of status updates, link sharing, photo tagging and friend stalking, I closed the blue f-tab for the last time until the Feast of the Risen Lord, during which I will open the tab back up and frantically share every funny thought that occurred to me during the previous forty days. The tab was closed, and I moved my neck. Up. Down. Right. Left. Roll the neck. Look around. Evidently, the computer is at some sort of table designed for eating (judging from the crumbs on the keyboard). There were three chairs - the one I was sitting on, white and wooden, an identical one next to it, and, across, a funny-looking chair with long legs, a small seat, and it's own individual table.

My steps away from the computer were tentative. Everything was strangely non-digital. There were colorful playthings on the floor and bookshelves much like the ones I see in the backgrounds of literary blogs. The difference was that it was so three-dimensional and there's a feeling of touch to it. It felt like I was imposing myself.

Suddenly, I heard a noise! It was the light, clumsy rumbling of little feet. A very short human person came running at me with a peculiar smile on her face (from the dress, hair and other appearance indicators, I am assuming "her"). I made gestures to indicate that I came in peace and that she should take me to her pigmy tribal leader, or at least a representative from the nearest Consulate. The little person simple smiled, grabbed my leg and said "pa pa pa pa," and some other phrases in broken English, including "story," "pretty," "I'm a Little Teapot," "Jesus," and "Elmo."   

Then, what I will now call the "Tall One" entered. She (and I am sure she was a she) was not especially tall per se, but she was significantly taller than her babbling companion, whom I will now refer to as the "Short One." The Tall One seemed to be the matriarch of the... well, where were we? Clearly indoors (as indicated by the large wooden door and several windows that couldn't be clicked)... However, unlike the Short One, she did not speak the language I'm accustomed to on Facebook but rather the one they use at studiVZ. The Tall One spoke to me in a familiar manner, something involving food and plans for the evening, but I was relieved to see that I understood her. My translation function was working away from my profile (though I haven't been able to test other languages).

In an effort to bond with the Tall One and the Short One (no telling what they would do if they turned on me), I tried sharing a clever commentary from the New York Times website. I couldn't post it anywhere on the walls, so I simply held up the computer and used gestures to point to the still open tab, highlighting a sentence that I found especially pertinent. But I got no response, no effort to re-share - not even a thumbs up. Well, I thought, if they weren't into insightful observations, how about humor?

I held up a series of funny, tongue-in-cheek pictures about how various strata of society - the media, my parents, the education system - see personal bloggers. I found the pictures hilarious and was secretly comforted by the thought that anyone sees me at all, but no dice. Neither the Tall One nor the Short One Got it. In fact, the Short One wanted to draw on my pictures. I suggested she use the keyboard to type, but the Tall One intervened.

Then it dawned on me why I wasn't getting through to them. I hadn't sent either of them a friend request, and with my privacy settings, that means they wouldn't be able to see what I shared. I wasn't sure how to do this without the Internet, so I improvised. I found a couple of pictures of myself (for some reason, there were several of them, along with pictures of the Tall One and the Short One framed by polished wood). On the back I wrote "Un Till would like to be your friend". The Tall One frowned and put hers back in the frame. The Short One drew on the picture until the Tall One took it away.

My last hope was an ancient socializing technique called "poking." Cautiously, I drew closer to the two companions. I extended my index finger and poked each one in the belly area. The Tall One gave me a bemused look, but the Short One shrieked with childish laughter. Finally, I was getting somewhere. Facebook has a lot to teach them about bonding.

An Open Letter to My Daughter

Dear Daughter,

It's been a great 20-plus months. Your mom and I are proud of the way you're growing: walking, talking and fulfilling that divine duty of being unspeakably cute. However, now that you are freely running around and resolutely expressing your own opinions, it's time to set some ground rules.

1. Every morning, you are to eat nutritious oatmeal with little pieces of apple mixed in, not banana-chocolate chip muffins (like the four I ate).
   
2. You are not to walk in the street (as I often do, because I like having more space).
   
3. I know you like the YouTube videos of classic Sesame Street songs that we watch together, but goofing off on the Internet is a destructive waste of time. Oooo... someone posted a link on Facebook analyzing the challenges facing the Bears' offensive line.... interesting... stay there, I'll be back. (reads for ten minutes, then opens a political blog from a Twitter feed)
   
4. Speaking of glowing screens, relaxing in front of the television is not a healthy way to spend an evening (fortunately, you go to bed before your mother and I indulge in this nightly ritual).
5. Never let your anger get the best of you. This is especially relevant in the car, where we have to deal with TAILGATERS!!! HONESTLY, ARE PEOPLE JUST SO FULL OF THEMSELVES OR SO PERSONALLY FRUSTRATED THAT THEY NEED TO PUT THEIR LIVES AND THE LIVES OF EVERYONE AROUND THEM IN JEOPARDY TO SAVE, WHAT, SEVEN SECONDS OFF THEIR COMMUTE!!???? HEY!! YOU IN THE AUDI COUP WITH THE PRETENTIOUS SUNGLASSES! GET OFF MY... I'm sorry, where were we?
   
6. Refrain from all addictions. Oh wait, my coffee just ran out... I'll be right back (hurries to kitchen.... )
   
7. I know that you have enjoyed getting to know some of the little boys in the church playgroup. Let's remember: it is never too early for fatherly intimidation. Be sure to tell them that your dad is an expert in five forms of martial arts and is particularly effective with nunchucks.
8. Finally, it is in poor taste to wantonly post personal reflection, pseudo-insights about religion (or sports or politics or philosophy) or attempted humor on some blog where anyone with Internet access can read it.
   

Did a Big Idea Make Big Ideas Elusive?

This weekend, some friends sent me Neal Gabler's interesting New York Times commentary, "The Elusive Big Idea." In it, Gabler bemoans the lack of influence compelling intellectual ideas have on modern Society. We make icons of those who, in the past, not only thought of something new, but also captured the attention and commanded the respect of the rest of the Western world, to the point where their ideas not only transformed their own field but impacted society as a whole. Freud's study in psychology brought about a paradigm shift in his own profession and influenced literature, theology and much else. The same could be said of Einstein with physics, Niebuhr with theology or Keynes with economics. Not only that, Gabler argues, but the ideas, and the intellectuals who argued for and about them, held more respect in popular culture. He writes:

"A big idea could capture the cover of Time — “Is God Dead?” — and intellectuals like Norman Mailer, William F. Buckley Jr. and Gore Vidal would even occasionally be invited to the couches of late-night talk shows. How long ago that was.

If our ideas seem smaller nowadays, it’s not because we are dumber than our forebears but because we just don’t care as much about ideas as they did. In effect, we are living in an increasingly post-idea world — a world in which big, thought-provoking ideas that can’t instantly be monetized are of so little intrinsic value that fewer people are generating them and fewer outlets are disseminating them, the Internet notwithstanding. Bold ideas are almost passé."

Now, you might be thinking, isn't the screen I'm staring at now a pretty big, transformative idea? Couldn't we add the likes of Bill Gates, Steve Jobs and Mark Zuckerberg to our pantheon of people with good, world-changing ideas? No, writes Gabler.

"Entrepreneurs have plenty of ideas, and some, like Steven P. Jobs of Apple, have come up with some brilliant ideas in the “inventional” sense of the word.

Still, while these ideas may change the way we live, they rarely transform the way we think. They are material, not ideational."

In fact, all this information technology is part of the problem.

"Where are you going? What are you doing? Whom are you seeing? These are today’s big questions. It is certainly no accident that the post-idea world has sprung up alongside the social networking world. Even though there are sites and blogs dedicated to ideas, Twitter, Facebook, Myspace, Flickr, etc., the most popular sites on the Web, are basically information exchanges, designed to feed the insatiable information hunger, though this is hardly the kind of information that generates ideas. It is largely useless except insofar as it makes the possessor of the information feel, well, informed."

I understand these this intense need to be informed, and the makers of social media, not to mention search engines, were smart to capitalize on this. A few minutes ago, I had to close the tabs with my Facebook and Twitter feeds just so I could stay focused on this blog. Gabler goes on to write how traditional media, the disbursers of big ideas, is suffering in an instant information society. Print is shrinking in market share, and popular television talk shows no longer invite intellectuals to sit on their couches. Instead of pausing to think, we now have the means to gorge ourselves with information, and we use it.

We're a narcissistic society, it's true, though I'm sure other professors had said that about their students a generation ago. Also, I don't think profit and intellectual thought are as antithetical as Gabler says it is. He admits that there are indeed thinkers with ideas to give and mentions a few examples, but they just don't have the same impact or attention of the idea generators of the past. But I largely agree that today, with our glut quick, instantaneous information and fewer ideas that manage to influence everyone.

Here's the thing, though. Isn't the death of a big idea, in part, the result of ideas themselves? Gabler laments the fall of enlightenment thinking, which he says is related to the death of the big idea, but he never mentions a big idea that critiqued the enlightenment itself: postmodernism. Postmodernism's flagship tenet is the deconstruction of meta-narratives, which is another way of saying big ideas, is it not? Postmodernism became popular, because some big ideas, full of influence, impact, debate, scholarship and much else, were devastating. Consider this neat summary from an Economist article five years ago (about which I wrote here):

"The founding post-modern text (as books are called in pomo) is by two Germans, Theodor Adorno and Max Horkheimer. Published in 1944, “Dialectic of Enlightenment” examined the culture that had given birth to Auschwitz. It declared that “enlightenment is totalitarian”—that the 18th-century attempt to replace religion with rationalism had supplanted one form of mental slavery with another. God had been elbowed out by fascism, communism, Marxism, Freudianism, Darwinism, socialism and capitalism. The post-modernists thought their job was to “deconstruct” these grand theories, which they called the “meta-narratives”. The pomos would free people from them by exposing their sinister nature."

What hath big ideas wrought? Yes, Freud and Einstein had big ideas, but so did Hitler and Stalin. Perverse as they were, they were birthed in an enlightened culture where ideas, to use Gabler's words, were not "intellectual playthings," but had "practical effects." Indeed, it was fear of Hitler that caused Einstein to apply his big ideas towards the creation of the atomic bomb. If big ideas are less important to many of us, it is, in part, because they managed to destroy themselves in the process.

What is the result of the postmodernist critique of big ideas? Well, one is mass individualism, which Gabler laments without naming. As the Economist article points out, Capitalism has taken advantage of this with niche marketing, which is perhaps why Mark Zuckerberg has probably had more of an impact on most of us than Steven Pinker (to use one of Gabler's examples). Aided with technology, we all get to pick and choose what we read, what feed we follow or whose pictures to tag. But it doesn't necessarily mean we cease to think; our thoughts rarely rest in conformity with our preferred ueber-thinker, and when they do, that thinker has less impact on society as a whole. I primarily use Facebook to share links and read the links my friends have posted, and much of it is good, substantial stuff. Ideas are not extinct, but there's a lot more of them, and, for better or for worse, it's less likely that the big few will dominate.

Yes, this leaves all of us wide open for narcissism. Furthermore, I share Gabler's dislike of celebrity gossip and the computer-like gestation of information without thought, not to mention a preference for long, thoughtful essays over the verbal volleyball of cable punditry. I wish Letterman would feature a prominent professor for every actor he hosts. But I would rather live with our frantic, electronic marketplace of ideas and distractions then go back to a time when an evil idea could become so dominate.

Will Wilkinson, in reply to Gabler, believes (and "would bet his immortal soul") that "more big ideas... were studied, discussed and produced in 2010 than in 1950." He goes on to put a sunnier face on modern intellectual discourse:

"A TED talk or a book-talk spot on "The Daily Show" may not have the audience or cultural centrality of a half-hour with Dick Cavett on ABC in 1970, but more people are consuming and discussing big ideas, old and new, than ever before. The difference is that the audience and the discussion has become fragmented and decentralised.

The fun part is that I, as a lay thinker, can join the discussion right here on the information super highway. For those of us who prefer a cooler, more intellectual environment, the answer is to remain relentlessly thoughtful, reading and considering the ideas we come across. Before, of course, we post them on Facebook.

Joy in Writing

I've put aside at least two posts this weekend. I also left a couple of post ideas festering in the fantasy stage of the process. My writer fantasies usually involves: 1) a blogpost changing the world for the better 2) it goes on to make me independently wealthy without damage to my soul 3) for my efforts, I am interviewed by Terry Gross on NPR's Fresh Air. It goes something like this:

TG: Un Till, I have to say, your posts are well-written, inspiring, and worth the outrageous wealth that has been showered upon you. Yet, you keep rejecting a stable career as an Abercrombie model to type on the internet. What is your secret?

UT: Well, Terry (may I call you Terry?), it all comes down to my humble refusal to obsess about myself.

Ahhh.... (dreamy smile before coming back to earth with a frightened shutter)

But the aforementioned posts tempted by anger, and anger, while sometimes appropriate, is a dangerous emotion to publish on the Internet. There is something to this, though. Part of writing's charm and joy is processing our emotional responses to something.

I've been thinking about why I enjoy writing. I wish I enjoyed building machines as some of my relatives do. Building things create beauty and discovery and economic stability, not to mention tremendous opportunity to practice generosity. But I enjoy opening up one of those glowing built things and typing words on it (in between reading words at other growing places). Writing helps me make sense of my reactions to what I read and experience; it helps me sort out my messy top drawer of emotion, imagination, thought and memory. When I'm finished, I better understand close things like my daughter's voice or distant things like another country's national tragedy. Not that I ever truly understand them, but it takes me down the road, loosening some convictions and tightening others. Posting these thoughts where others can read them gives them a measure of discipline and accountability that was not otherwise there. I've journaled before, and I'll probably do so again, but the results are usually (not always!) a fire hose of free-writing gibberish, offering me only outlet without light. The idea that someone may actually read it means I have to make the swarm of bees that I call my brain somehow coherent. And (to the best of my abilities) fair, honest and respectful. Or completely silly.

When he completed the Narnia series, C.S. Lewis received a lot of mail from children asking him if he would ever write any new books about the land of Aslan, Lucy and Caspian. Lewis always wrote back, "no," but he encouraged the children to write their own Narnia books. "It's most fun!" he would write (at least I think that's how he put it - my copy of Letters to Children is elsewhere). And it is, for many of us. Give it a try. After all, part of the great fun of the Internet is we all get to write on here for free. If you find your posts are angry, though, be careful. Shouting "you fool" is a dangerous indulgence.

Learning to Walk

My daughter is a walker. It took her a little while, right up to the year and a half "start-worrying-says-the-doctor" deadline. It's been a fun process, letting her little hands grasp my pointer finger as she, with escalating confidence, moves her chubby little legs across the living room floor. She's naturally cautious, but she's recently realized the utility of staying on two legs, and loves the opportunity to take off down the street or explore the garden with her Oma (credit where credit is due: my father-in-law bought her some shoes that, unlike her other shoes, were clearly made for walkin').

Do you know of anyone who remembers learning to walk in their childhood? I know I don't, and I doubt my daughter will either. But these small steps for baby will grow in to adult steps that will carry her a world over. This is a cause for thankfulness, as Chesterton famously pointed out when he wrote: "As children, we were grateful for those who filled our stockings at Christmastime. Why not be grateful to God for filling our stockings with legs." Worth thinking for any of us who can easily tackle a staircase or hike a trail through the forest. Working limbs for the glory of God.

My daughter won't remember the lesson, yet she'll remember to walk. God designed her legs for this purpose and, Lord willing, these legs will carry her well through the years. This could serve as a bit of encouragement for anyone finding him- or herself in the position of teaching, among them pastors and parents. It's almost a running joke among Christians, where, week after week God's word is preached to us. I often find myself thinking, "wonderful sermon last week! I felt so invigorated as I sat in the pews! Now, what did he talk about again?"

Sometimes, perhaps even often, we remember those moments where a seed, faithfully thrown, hits our hearts and begin to take root, causing positive change and enlightened understanding, even when we're quite young. But as I've been writing (and indeed reading) more, I've become aware of an unaccounted for inventory of knowledge, particularly spiritual knowledge. I'll read about a concept (this week it's been Christ-like service as espoused in Philippians 2-3, which is as beautiful to think about as it is difficult to apply) that will awaken dormant thoughts and teachings, waiting in my mind to be breathed upon. Where did I learn them? A sermon? A conversation with my father? A book? A blog post? A song my mother sang to me as a baby? Some combination of the previously mentioned?

Sometimes, I'll remember; sometimes I won't. I like to remember. I like to remember who to thank, who was important to my journey. But the point is that I remember, and that I put it into practice, that I don't forget my face the moment I walk away from the mirror. That's why I think that, even when we can't immediately regurgitate the relevant facts like Will Hunting, even when we've forgotten last week's sermon or a proverb from our granddad, there's still hope. We're laying down the bricks in a house we can't understand. We're adding seasoning to the mix of every soul. We're teaching each other to walk, tentative step by tentative step until we learn to walk to new heights. Something worth remembering, even if you never remember having read it here.

Presuming to Blog

Among fatherhood's pleasures, I especially enjoy the role of teacher. It could be gratifying because I have a desire to be listened to and appreciated, or it could be a genuine bi-product of our created role as parents. Either way, from the morning diaper change to evening prayers, I am an expert on the alphabet, a scholar of stair climbing and a genuine professor of potty. Less encouragingly, my increasingly-perceptive daughter observes how I treat her mother, how I take care of our possessions and how I respond stress, conflict and chores. I am a conscious and unconscious teacher.

Often, this is a joy, but it is also a weighty responsibility. God has given to me enormous spiritual influence over this child, and Jesus has some strong words for those who abuse this. The Bible recognizes the pleasure and the power of teaching, and I for one love that role - I love the moment when someone who previously did not understand a concept, especially if it is a lovely concept, grasps it - their eyes open like a blooming flower and the muscles in their face relax. This is a joy and a privilege, and it is often very Godly. When I was a missionary in Germany, I remember sitting in a pub discussing the Gospel over beers with a good friend (hey, somebody has to do it). I got to show him that astounding truth Paul writes in 2nd Corinthians 5, that Jesus died and rose again that we may be reconciled to God. For my friend it was a new way of seeing Christianity, and life in general, and it was a moment to cherish, hopefully for both of us.

Yet, remember how much harm we can do through our speech. James writes: "Not many of you should become teachers, my brothers, for you know that we who teach will be judged with greater strictness." With this verse in mind, along with the digital flair up over Rob Bell's new book, John Dyer writes in Christianity today that not many of us should presume to be bloggers. It's good practice to imagine what James would say to the digital age, and Dyer he argues that social media does not encourage the self-control he describes:

"In fact, they encourage an opposing value system. Social media relentlessly asks us to publish our personal opinions on anything and everything that happens. There is no time for reflection in prayer, no place for discussion with other flesh and blood image bearers, and no incentive to remain silent.

You must declare your position, and you must declare it now."

It is sobering to remember that we will be held accountable for our words, and perhaps more so the words that we so unaccountably scrawl on the internet for the world to see. This, I suspect, is an increasing pastoral problem (and parenting - I often wonder when we will allow our daughter to start a Facebook account. Parents, what's your household internet policy?) - how do we act like Christians on the Internet? I note that Dyer himself is blogging about the question, and his forthcoming book From the Garden to the City: The Redeeming and Corrupting Power of Technology will presumably provided this much-needed service. I certainly echo Dyer's call for restraint, reflection and wisdom, and I can probably point the finger to myself as well.

There are, however, two points in the article that concern me. First, in citing the Rob Bell hubbub, he avoids talking about online behavior of Christian leaders. He has some good analysis elsewhere, but he concludes that "best-selling authors, major authors or public theologians" have a different responsibility. That much, is indeed true, but shouldn't good Christian behavior on the internet start at the top? I don't think many of the Christian sheep bleating their opinions on universalism into cyberspace were being particularly original. Were not a majority just following, and retweeting their shepherds? I agree, many of us need to slow down and think before hitting that publish button, but in the larger discussion of online Christianity should include its uses for Christian leaders (incidentally, I have been edified by our own church's internet use, including the blogs my pastors contribute to, as well as our current online Lenten devotional).

Second, what kind of technological use is Dyer advocating? He concludes with

"I say, let the teachers teach and let them be judged more strictly.

As for the rest of the priesthood of believers, let's believe what we believe and then, as James advised, "show it by [our] good life," sharing our beliefs with those embodied souls in our immediate vicinity—just like Christians before 2004 used to do."

Well, yes, let's be cautious about our postings, particularly if we are trying to punch above our theological weight limit. And yes, we will better glorify God by showing these things through our good lives, and yes, one of the dangers of any technology is that it isolates us from our neighbors. I worry though, that Dyer leans to far in the other direction, towards an unhealthy disengagement by lay-Christians from a new part of reality. Like it or not, we are in a post-2004 world. For better or worse, much of our world is now online, and part of showing a good life, of letting our lives shine before others, means doing so online. Yes, there are dangers. And no, an online life should not replace a real life among family, friends, neighbors and co-workers. But the internet provides new opportunity and new ways of love, encouragement, prayer and edification. We are to be salt and light in all spheres, including the digital one.

That's why I don't think all of the high-tech idealism is unfounded. Dyer points out the danger of Facebook constantly asking "what's on your mind" or Twitter asking "what's happening" every time we log on - it can be an invitation to exhibitionism and a bane to self-control. There is danger there. On the other side of the coin, these questions are an invitation for users to join a greater conversation, a conversation that will only be as sinful as we make it. I like using Facebook to photostalk friends and share articles that I think are interesting - two pleasures I did not have pre-2004. I also use it to better understand the lives of missionaries we support and receive prayer from a woman in Chicago who has a social-media propelled praying ministry.

And, while Blogspot and Wordpress may give way to a lot of hot air, I for one am grateful to some of the lay Christian bloggers out there. Joshua's Spiritual Klutz blog, is regular, practical Christian wisdom, and I'm glad he is willing to put it out there. He's a trained writer and a good communicator, and a blog is a good place for him to serve with these gifts. The question, then, goes beyond whether or not a lay-Christian should blog (though that is a good one to prayerfully ask) to how can that blog edifying? This will be true for any Christian who writes, sings, paints or plays an instrument, all with varying levels of notoriety.

In many ways, that is why I presume to blog. Yes, God will hold me accountable words, and perhaps more so for words that anyone with a smart phone can find. I hope that this blog is an outlet for my thoughtful, creative side - a side that I don't get to use much these days, but a side I wish to use for God's glory. I'll be the first to say how short of that I fall. I try to avoid going beyond my pay-grade on any subject, and, while I presume to blog, I don't presume to be an expert, espousing my carefully researched ideas to my followers. I hope these are thoughtful responses and reflections, in all, part of that greater conversation.

If this is a conversation, then I hope for some feedback. How should the Christian engage social media? How do we read James 3 in light of Facebook, Twitter and blogs? How can we be salt and light online? How do leaders - from pastors to parents - teach their pupils about the internet? Think carefully before you hit publish, but I hope I'm not leading you into darkness when I ask, what's on your mind?

List Nauseum

The following is my end of the year list. Now, before you navigate back to your Facebook page, let me at least say that this list is different then all the other lists you've read. For starters, Kanye West's new album is nowhere on it.

First an introduction (no seriously, don't go to your Facebook page just yet). My favorite end of the year list is David Brooks' annual "Sidney Awards," where Brooks' mines the best magazine essays (this was a particular gem) of the past twelve months. I would like to do something similar, but with my own twists and biases. I would like to introduce you to my friends. At least some of those who have an online presence. I want to highlight their best 2010 writing to bow out the year. I found their words edifying, and I suspect you will as well. Trust me, it'll be worth the time, as you recover from your New Years party, college football in the background.

Following Christ is a growing-up process that involves and a lot of falling and a lot of grace. It often feels clumsy, Spiritual Klutz is a weekly reminder, via personal stories, of grace and redemption - big, small and always relatable. If you are new to Spiritual Klutz, I highly recommend his series about forgiving his father. However, if his own statistics are any indication, I suspect what you're really interested in is the series on singleness.

Hyde Park Heroes follow E. (or is it L.?) and her husband M. as they take on the Second City (that's Chicago, if you're still wondering). Working in an urban non-profit, E. (or is it L.?) has a good word, with links to resources, on poverty and Christianity. Or, for something more light hearted, you can read about their trip to Chinatown, where the fish are, somehow, worse than the Washington Monument.

With Clearspring taking off (become a customer by clicking the orange button with a plus sign to the left of this page), Justin has not put a lot of updates on the Oatmeal Stout blog (c'mon buddy, pick up the slack!), and the last update to his food blog was written by a rather untrustworthy guest. I can, however, recommend his relatives. In fact, Via his dad's blog, you can read about a family who embraces the online life. Plus, his future wife has a great blog on art, craft and small business.

If there were any good spiritual ideas on Un Till, I probably got it elsewhere. Take a moment to check out my pastors' new blog, or learn all about my father's church in O-town.

Finally, no Kanye, but I do have some musical recommendations for you. Ben is back in Washington and writing some great indy rock. (You should also check out his wife's, Lauren's, paintings) Crowds and critics eagerly anticipate Wendell's new album in 2011, but you can preview his new stuff via YouTube (for example). Tortoise and Hair made in on the radio with a great series of interviews and songs. These videos brought back plenty of fond college memories (I lived with the Tortoise during my junior year).

If I left you out, it's because I forgot, so forgive me for goofing. Go ahead and link to your blog in the comment section. Plus, I'd love to meet the online versions (and maybe even the real versions) of your friends. It is, of course, different than meeting them in person. But if read an essay or listen to a song written for art, processing or fun, you will know a part of an author you may have otherwise not discovered. Send me your recommendations. I hope you had a great 2010, and I wish you blessings, peace and God's love in 2011.

Provocative Language

One of the "Democracy in America" bloggers over at the Economist is taken aback by the some strong language about President Obamain a Spiegel article. The article is the German magazine's account of the climate change summit in Copenhagen, and it accuses Obama of "stabbing the Europeans in the back" by suggesting going forward without establishing concrete targets. The blogger writes that such "hope for the future, pragmatism for now" (my wording) action is "vintage Obama," and stabbing Europeans in the back was neither the goal nor the result.

I won't comment on the politics or policy, but the blogger should understand how livid many Germans were about Copenhagen (I just tried to find an English translation of a particularly nasty commentary wondering why on earth the President would use so much political capital on healthcare when action on climate change is so urgent). For many Germans, climate change is not one of many challenges, it is the challenge. Sure, they may not understand the realities of American politics, but as someone who lived in both places, our coverage of the Europeans is not always as nuanced as it should be.

Furthermore, Der Spiegel, for it's reputation for wordy, serious documents, is not one to let the facts stand in the way of provocative language (especially if it can be used in a headline). This actually makes their interviews with politicians very entertaining, because they use the same sort of language in their questions. German politicians know what to expect and often hit back just as hard. Having lived in Germany during the Iraq war, I've seen the worst of it. Heck, they even disgracefully gave a cover story to "9/11 was an inside job" conspiracy theorists. That being said, I enjoy reading Der Spiegel, and some of their journalism is excellent. Safe to say, I've learned to take their language with a grain of salt.

10 More Books

Some prominent, professional bloggers have taken up David Frum's challenge to post ten books that have influenced their worldview. (I first found out about this reading Ross Douthat's list) The rules are to go with your gut feeling, and not necessarily mention your favorite books. As a non-prominent, non-professional who occasionally updates his blog (and who often fantasizes about prominence and professionalism), I am going to list mine. Fair warning: anyone reading this will probably be more edified going to the pages of these pros, and my books will be less wonkish by comparison, but for what it's worth (in no particular order):

1. The Bible - Jesus. Church. Holy Spirit. Make disciples. I know, forgive the pat Sunday-school answer. But I've truly found it worth believing. It is the one book I have read, in very small parts, nearly every day since I was fifteen. Different parts have meant more to me in different seasons - the Psalms, the Gospels, Romans and Philippians have all featured prominently, and I am, lazily but beneficially, reading through 1 Peter at the moment. Sermons preached directly from its pages have influenced me as much as any of these books. A list of books that influenced me without the Bible would be a dishonest list. When I read some of the "high points" - the Sermon on the Mount, John 14, Romans 8, Psalm 40, what can I say? If only it influenced me more.
2. I just took a break for thirty minutes to find a paper I wrote in college on the Cyprus conflict. I could not find it, but it sites a book whose approach to history and international conflict is better imprinted on my conscience more than the name of the book or the author. (I think the name was something like Cyprus: Island in the Sun, my Google-search was not fruitful either. I remember that the author was British. In any case...) One of the difficulties researching the Cyprus conflict was to find a book that was not clearly biased to either the Greek or the Turkish side. This particularly nuanced book was the only one I found that could effectively explain and analyze both sides. It encouraged or affirmed my mistrust sources who fail to understand their opponents point of view. This affects my faith, my politics and my philosophy of evangelism.
3. Les Miserables, Victor Hugo - It's a 1400 page Gospel Presentation. The first seventy pages describe the character of a priest who only figures briefly into the main plot, and is a wonderful celebration of a Christian. It is blissfully long-winded, purposely poetic and edifying to the last page. If you are only familiar with the film or the musical, let me just say that if you have read the book, they will both come across as superficial. It's pages brought grace, healing and wonder to me in Freiburg's dark, smoky cafes.
4. "The Weight of Glory," C.S. Lewis - Ok, it's a sermon, not a book. But I read it in a book, and, unfortuately, I did not hear him preach it in 1940s Oxford. This serious meditation on heaven is an argument for Christian hope, and as its final paragraphs demonstrate, why Christian hope, true Christian hope, does not keep our heads in the clouds, but propels us to love others. Lewis haunts me with the fact that there are "no ordinary people," that everyone we encounter is either "an immortal horror or an everlasting splendor." This weight, paints the way I ought to treat strangers, colleagues, friends and family (with God's help).
5. The Lord of the Rings, J.R.R. Tolkien - My first epic fantasy, I braved Middle Earth when I was thirteen. Deeper symbolism I did not grasp at the time, but often overlooked in this epic is the theme of the unlikely heroes. More than any battles of good v. evil, Gollum's complexity or Christian symbolism in resurrecting wizards or returning kings, the little Hobbits give us the idea that in our own journeys, we can make it, in spite of our inadequacies (with God's help).
6. The Accidental Detective Series, Sigmund Brouwer - While we're all the subject of books I read in Middle School, here is one (or, ok, a series) that actually was written for Middle Schoolers. I read through these books like kids today read through the Harry Potter series. It is certainly not high literature, nor high children's literature like the Chronicles of Narnia or the Wind in the Willows (both of which I better understood as an adult). It did, however, show normal Christian kids living in community with other normal Christian kids that had two very important things: fun and humor. The fact that Ricky Kidd and his friends got into extraordinary situations did not undermine this. In it's own way, they lived out what C.S. Lewis said about merriment in "The Weight of Glory": "We must play. But our merriment must be that kind (and in fact it is the merriest kind) which exists between people who have, from the outset, taken each other seriously." So many children in other Christian stories suffered through dry, stoic lessons that made Christian orthodoxy and morality seem insufferable. At the same time, many of my friends in Middle School played in ways that were cutting and vicious. Brouwer's thirteen-year-old heroes played and joked in the Lewis way, and that example made no small difference in my very young view of Christianity, community and friendship.
7. War and Peace, Tolstoy. I read that Virginia Woolf once commented that War and Peace is a story that leaves nothing out. I agree. Not a page is wasted, not a word is missing. Read it, if you have not. If you are intimidated by the book's length, read it anyway, because it is actually easy reading. The prose is gentle and does not confuse (unlike Dostoyevsky), and it is divided into easily-digestible chunks. Tolstoy simply understands the human nature of each of his characters, and this, in turn, has helped me understand my own.
8. The Divine Conspiracy, Dallas Willard. Though I was raised in a Christian home and went to Bible-preaching churches all my life, I had never really heard much teaching from the Synoptic Gospels, including the Sermon on the Mount (outside, of course, the Passion and Christmas stories). I had plenty of Paul and John, of course. The Divine Conspiracy was assigned reading before I went to Germany, and I devoured every word of it. It taught me to understand and appreciate and truly believe the Sermon on the Mount, and I am indebted to Professor Willard, and Matt, who told us to read it. There may be better Sermon on the Mount stuff out there - my dad, who read it after my enthusiastic recommendation, thought it did not add anything new for him (though my dad has a Master's of Divinity). But no question it was my gateway to a deeper Biblical understanding.
9. Blue Like Jazz, Donald Miller. Yes, I know. As a hip Christian, I should probably be over Blue Like Jazz, the same way hip people ought to get over anything that becomes too popular. But so much of evangelicalism seemed to exclude certain political philosophies, certain styles, certain areas of the country, certain lifestyles that Christianity never needed to exclude. In college and in my travels, I met all sorts of people who so needlessly rejected Christ's teaching for all of these reasons. Miller, in a kind, post-modern way, separated the Gospel from these unnecessary chains and looked lovingly at the excluded, saying, "I want Jesus to happen to you." A phrase worth repeating.
10. Till We Have Faces, C.S. Lewis. I could use a number of C.S. Lewis books for this last spot - the Narnia series, his apologetic works, the Space Trilogy, The Great Divorce. Till We Have Faces (along with Perelandra) was C.S. Lewis' favorite among his works, and for good reason. The best stories are the stories of a discipleship, and a reluctant, angry disciple making her case against God, what we so often do, finally surrendering into the arms of her Lord, is story I live and re-live so often. I love the scene where, in a solemn march to recover the body of her beloved sister, Lewis' heroine is seduced by the beauty of nature. She narrates, "You may believe I was sad enough; I had come on a sad errand. Now, flung at me like frolic or insolence, there came, as if it were a voice - no words - but if you had made it into words it would be, 'why should you not dance?'"

I am sure if I wrote the list again tomorrow, other books might be on it. The Father Brown Stories from G.K. Chesterton are a superb collection of Christian fiction (I really want to read The Man Who Was Thursday, but have not yet found it). Wendell Berry's essays challenge more than so many pundits. The Brother's Karamazov remains among my favorite books, and the brother's in question are three of the most compelling characters I have read. The Trial by Franz Kafka is such crazy paranoia that I could not stop reading (though I am not encouraged to re-read).

So, other non-professional, non-paid bloggers and internet surfers, what are your books? I hope my friends will make their own lists (perhaps Justin or Liz or Karin or Joshua).

Cheers, Google

I want to join everyone, including our hometown newspaper, who is praising Google for standing up to China. I am aware of those, like the testy Chinese business professor I heard on NPR the other day, who say their move is purely pragmatic. I do not see the sense in this argument. Yes, their Chinese competitors had a greater market share behind the Great Firewall, and will certainly benefit from Google's withdraw, but simply walking out on a billion upwardly-mobile customers does not seem like a good business strategy to me. Maybe it is possible for corporate executives to make real moral stands.

As a customer of both Gmail and Blogger, I am particularly gratified that they pulled out in response to state-sponsored threats to their users' privacy. As a reward, I will stay with blogger and not switch Un Till to Wordpress (something I had honestly been mulling over).

I understand the desire of a harmonious, controlled society. It can create grand things, as demonstrated by the Beijing Olympics. It can prevent bad things. Among the victims of Chinese censorship are things I find morally reprehensible, like pornography. But the idea that this produces a world and culture that spins in rhythm like a Victorian ballroom is fantasy. It is not worth the crushed lives of those who think, speak, look or feel something other than the dominant rhythm. I am thankful that I live in a society where I can think for myself, where I can choose not to join the dance, where, whenever someone who thinks differently is elected to office, I do not need to fear for my voice.

Cheers, Google.

Food Blogger

Justin has a new blog about food - always one of my favorite subjects. He even has the occasional guest writer...

Yes, I am an amateur

In high school and college, I was part of the swing-dancing fad. We used to go, wear khaki trousers and pay our cover fees and swing the cute girls from youth group all over the dance floor. But we remained amateurs. There was, however, a class of the professionals. I don't think these people had any sort of social life outside of swing dancing. They wore zoot suits, until zoot suits became too cool. Then they wore trendy, butt-enhancing jeans with tight t-shirts and Puma sneakers. Whatever they wore, their styles, combined with their excellent grasp of the "lindy-hop", communicated to all of us that they were the kings of the dance floor. I knew I could never live up to their standards, not without sacrificing any other extra-curricular activity that gave meaning to my soul. (that did not keep me from being jealous, as you probably already have guessed) Nevertheless, I still had fun as an amateur. Dancing remained beautiful, a way to connect and find your self in a rhythmic structure of artistic expression.

The other day I was described as a competent generalist, well read in all I do, but never an expert in any one thing. But the writers at Soul Shelter gave this comforting article on amateurism. I have been to jam sessions where I could play some rhythms on my guitar to keep from sounding cacophonous, but could never be on the in crowd. Yet, I love Soul Shelter's description of this folk festival. Yes, there were probably some amazing musicians. But there was a spirit that managed to celebrate everyone without excluding anyone. It appears loving and giving, where everyone, for the love of the music (or the dance, or the words, or whatever art form you choose), can still celebrate greatness, and have a part to play. It's comforting for an amateur who is well aware that his blog contributes nothing of professional value. But in my blog I can appreciate good writing, attempt to be a good writer, and celebrate, all for the love of the word itself.

Yes, I know. I'll keep practicing.

Peanuts

Every once in awhile, I'll find something interesting on the internet and email it to myself with the heading "blog idea." As you can imagine, I have more "blog idea" emails in my inbox than I actually have blogs. Often, they go out of date. The shelf life for blog ideas is about as long as your average attention span.

Here is a few week old article from the New York Times, that, much like its subject, has withstood the test of time. I have always loved the funny-pages. I still do, though I don't think there are any great comics since Calvin and Hobbes and The Far Side no longer run (and whenever I need to cheer myself up, you can find on the couch, shoes off, laughing as Calvin picks himself up from a tiger-pounce).

Peanuts, of course, is the granddaddy of the American comic. Few strips manage to be that honest and consistent for so long. For instance, take a look at this article on "Peanuts scholars" examining Schroeder's musical scores. Who knew a comic could have scholars? These sort of stories demand that Sunday afternoons be much longer.

Creation Wedding

My wife and I shared a few laughs about the American wedding industry when we got married last year. As a woman, she wanted a beautiful wedding of course (and decried the outrageous cost of flowers in the U.S.), but as a German, she was immune from the idea, implicit in every bridal magazine, that the perfect marriage required the perfect wedding. Perfect does not mean, of course, the perfect amount of family and friends being blessed my Gospel truth and holy union. Perfect means that every decoration, cloth, cake and peace of food amounts to some sort of geometric ideal (which is quite expensive).

The dream of a beautiful wedding, with holy symbolism and holy union, remains, and I was encouraged when my wife forwarded me Luz's blog. In Luz's dream wedding, each of the bridesmaids represent a day of Creation from Genesis 1. The climax, of course, is day six, when God made man "in his own image his own image, in the image of God he created them, male and female he created them." The bride and groom, glorious and beautiful (I should point out, not naked as in the original account) emerge. Take a look at the drawings, and let me know what you think.

Genius

I sincerely wish I had thought of this first. Nothing for Ungood is an American blog about Germany that is as humorous as I try to be. John, you are a genius. Meine Frau hat auch gelacht.

Even better than a blog

What could be better than a blog? How about a song sketchbook? Ben is posting rough "sketches" of new songs our pleasure and our judgment on the website of his band, the Northernness. He promises a new demo every Monday, and he already has posted two great ones. The current song is another online Advent listenable about Simeon's reflection after beholding the Messiah. Listen to it, and give him your suggestions, criticisms and shout-outs.