Last week was a sad week for us. About a week and a half ago, my Grandma, Blanche Warnick, passed away. I was blessed with being able to get to know all of my grandparents very well -- better than many people, I suspect. My relationships with my grandparents have been some of the richest relationships of my life. Through them, I am connected to the Great Depression, to the War, and to years of perspective and experience. Through them, I was exposed to lives of toil, frugality, faith, and sacrifice. Through them, I know what it is like to milk a cow, to go fishing, to ride on a tractor, to water ski at Lake Powell, to wake up to the sound of farm animals, to work at a college, to drink real milk, to build an airplane. I will not demean them by pretending they are (or were) perfect. They are human. Their value to me does not reside in perfect fantasy, but in solid reality. It is because of them that I now lead a life of comfort and privilege. Their hard work and moral character served as a springboard, I think, for all of us in my family, launching us into lives of remarkable possibilities (from farmers, as it were, to philosophers).
I will always remember Grandma Warnick's welcoming personality. She was unfailingly interested in what I was doing and supportive at every step of the road. Her good humor was a perpetual part of her personality. It was always gentle, always with a bit of self-deprecation thrown in (she would always amuse the family with her continuous attempts to learn Spanish). She was an example of finding happiness in simplicity and treasures in humility.
Rest in peace grandma! A flight of angels sing thee to thy rest.
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Wedon'tdothat [Bryan]
I recently read a story that I have been unable to get out of my mind. It has haunted my thoughts and dreams. It is both tragic and inspiring. The story is from the autobiographical account of one man's experience during World War II. The writer is the famous German novelist Gunter Grass. It recently surfaced, to nearly everyone's consternation, that the beloved author was actually a member of the infamous Waffen SS -- Hitler's elite stormtroopers. Although he struggles to remember the details, his account of his time during the war is fascinating reading. Here is the part that I just cannot forget:
To the memory of that blond kid. A boy with courage I don't know I possess.
Day after day in the morning drill, we went through a ceremony conducted by the corporal in charge of weapons, a man who looked serious on principle. He handed them out, we grabbed them. It goes without saying: every member of the Labor Service was to feel honored by the touch of the wood and metal, the butt and barrel of the carbine in his hands....We thought of ourselves as engaged, if not quite married, to the 98 carbine.
Though I make a point of using “we” here, there was an exception to that rank-and-file, somewhat facile plural. This exception was a lanky boy who was so blond and blue-eyed, and whose profile revealed a skull so elongated that the likes of him could be found only in propaganda promoting the Nordic race. Chin, mouth, nose, forehead—each was the epitome of “racial purity.” .... No one could beat him in long-distance running; no one could match his daring when leaping over musty ditches or his agility when clambering over a wall. He could do fifty knee bends without getting tired. There was nothing, no flaw, to sully the picture. But what made him an exception was that he—his name eludes my memory—was an insubordinate: he refused to take part in rifle drill; worse still, he refused to take butt or barrel in hand; and, worst of all, when our dead-earnest drill instructor pressed the carbine on him, he would drop it. Which made him or his fingers criminal.
With the spade, a basic utensil for everyone in the Labor Service, he did all that he was ordered to do. He would also have received top marks in camaraderie. He was the friendly, good-natured type, always ready to help, and he never complained. Upon request, he would give his comrades’ boots such a regulation shine that they would be a feast for sore eyes, even the eyes of the strictest N.C.O. during roll call. He had no trouble with brushes or dustcloths; it was only the firearm he refused to wield.
Every possible sort of punitive labor was imposed upon him, but nothing helped. He would work conscientiously for hours without a peep, emptying the latrine with a worm-infested bucket on a long stick—a punishment known as “honey-slinging” in soldiers’ slang—only to appear, freshly showered, at rifle drill shortly thereafter and refuse to wield the weapon once again. I can see it falling to the ground as if in slow motion.
At first we merely asked him questions and tried to talk him out of it. We actually liked the fellow, this oddball, this knucklehead: “Take it! Just hold it!” But when they took to punishing us on his account and tormented us in the hot sun until we collapsed, we all began to hate him. I, too, worked up my ire against him. We were expected to give him a hard time, and so we did. He had put us under pressure; we would return the favor. He was beaten in his barracks by the very boys whose boots he had polished mirror-bright. All against one. Through the boards that divided room from room, I could hear his whimper, the snap of the leather belt, the loud counting. These sounds are ingrained in my memory. But neither the hazing nor the beatings, nor anything else, could force him to carry arms.
Morning after morning, when we gathered for roll call and the drill instructor started passing out the weapons, the incorrigible insubordinate would let the one meant for him fall to the ground like the proverbial hot potato and immediately return to his ramrod position, hands pressed to trouser seams, eyes fixed on a distant point.
I cannot count the number of times he repeated his mantra, a catchphrase that has never left me: “We don’t do that.” He stuck to the plural. In a voice neither loud nor soft, he pronounced what he and his refused to do. Four words fusing into one: Wedontdothat.
When he was asked what he meant, he repeated the indefinite “that” and refused to call the object he would not take in his hands by its name.
His behavior transformed us. From day to day, what had seemed solid crumbled. Our hatred was mixed first with amazement, then with admiration expressed in questions like “How can that idiot keep it up?” “What makes him so hard-nosed?” “How come he doesn’t report sick? He’s been pale as a ghost lately.”
Then we let him be. No more beatings on the bare behind. The insubordinate stood above us, as if on a pedestal.
In the end, this morning ritual was cut off by his arrest. “Off to the cooler with him!” came the command.
From then on, discipline and order reigned. Every once in a while, the “convict” came up in our conversations. Someone—was it the drill instructor or one of us?—would say, “He must be a Jehovah’s Witness.” Or, “He’s a Bible nut. No doubt about it.” But the blond, blue-eyed boy with the racially pure profile had never referred to the Bible or Jehovah or any other Almighty; he had said simply, “Wedontdothat.”
One day his locker was cleared out: private things, including religious pamphlets. Then he was gone—“transferred,” it was called. We did not ask where to. I did not ask. But we all knew. He had not been discharged as unfit for service; no, we whispered, “he has long been ripe for the concentration camp.”
And since we knew of the camp, Stutthof, only by hearsay, we thought Wedontdothat—which was what we called him in secret—was in good hands. “They’ll bring old Wedontdothat down a peg or two.”
Was it all as simple as that?
Did no one shed a tear?
Did everything go on as it had before?
I must say that I was, if not glad, then at least relieved when the boy disappeared. The storm of doubts about everything in which I’d had rock-solid faith died down....
To the memory of that blond kid. A boy with courage I don't know I possess.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Ellie's Triathlon [Bryan]
Below are some pictures of Ellie's triathlon. It was a 250 meter swim, a 7 mile bike ride, and a 2 mile run. She has been getting up early all summer to train for it. I'll let her blog about it, if she wants, but I am very proud of her. Way to go Ellie!
Here is some poor quality video of the beginning of the race:
Here is some poor quality video of the beginning of the race:
Sunday, September 09, 2007
The Thin Red Line - Who are you?
I was walking through Walmart the other day and decided to scan the bargain bin DVD stack. It was, as usual, full of junk. But then I saw a copy of The Thin Red line, one of legendary filmmaker Terrence Malik's few projects. I had seen the movie a few years ago, and I was surprised to find such quality work in the bargain bin. I snatched it up for a mere $5! Those of you that haven't seen it really should. The film is, to put is mildly, unconventional. It is more poetry than narrative, more photographic artistry than film making, more philosophical essay than war movie. Its aspirations are high -- to be the Homer of the modern age. And it almost succeeds.
The film often uses the seldom used voice-over technique. The soldiers in the film reflect on what's going on in the battle (and in their own lives) mainly through a quiet voice-over. Their speech retains the ungrammatical cadences of rural America. But at the same time, their rough drawls are transformed into metaphysical poetry. At times, it is even difficult to know who is speaking -- the confusing mixing of the voices suggests, perhaps, our deeper connection to each other. The clip above is an example of the film's visual and literary artistry.
The film is about many things. It asks how conflict arises in the human heart. It ponders the many ways in which this conflict is manifest. Is seems to ask: How can a world that contains both love and beauty also contain such terrible cruelty and destruction. The film is even more amazed, it seems, at the mixtures of love and conflict, destruction and beauty, that reside in the same moment. Think of a predator taking down his prey.
Some key quotes:
What's this war in the heart of nature? Why does nature vie with itself? The land contend with the sea? Is there an avenging power in nature? Not one power, but two?
___________________________________
This great evil,where does it come from? How did it steal into the world? What root did it grow from? Who's doing this? Who killing us? Robbing us of life and light? Mocking us with the sight of what we might have known?
___________________________________
I remember my mother when she was dying. Looked all shrunk up and grey. I asked her if she was afraid. She just shook her head. I was afraid to touch the death I seen in her. I couldn't find nothing beautiful or up lifting about her going back to God. I heard people talk about immortality, but I ain't seen it. I wondered how it'd be when I died. What it'd be like to know that this breath now was the last one you was ever gonna draw. I just hope I can meet it the same way she did. With the same...calm.
The film ends without any strong answer to the perplexities of human conflict. There is a suggestion that love and conflict, beauty and destruction, are both part of one big whole (e.g., it suggests an "opposition in all things" that creates the multi-textured reality we know, love, and hate). There is also a suggestion that peace can be found in reflective pauses, and in such pauses, one can find courage to face such a difficult and beautiful oppositional world. When we stop to think, to be calm, to reflect, we recognize our ties to the world and to those around us. We realize our connection to those we fight with, those we love, and those we love whom we fight with.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Mormons Against Romney? [Bryan and Ellie]
As Mormons, people seem surprised that we are not supporters of Mitt Romney. Not that we have anything personal against him. He seems nice enough. We've heard many good things about his father, George Romney, and he did a good job with the Salt Lake Olympics. His health care plan in Massachusetts is widely admired. If a Republican must win, we suppose we would want Mitt to win. He would be infinitely better than someone like Rudy Giuliani (who combines, it seems to us, all of the bad characteristics of Bush and Clinton in one remarkably unattractive package).
Romney's being Mormon does not really affect our choice. We do not believe that Mormons have any special expertise in public policy, nor has it been our experience that Mormons are particularly more moral than other people -- especially when it comes to questions of large-scale social ethics. Plus, we would not usually vote AGAINST anybody because of his religion, so why should we vote FOR somebody because he shares our religion?
More specific reasons:
1. He has been vague about what his policies would actually be, as have most of the candidates. From what we've heard, though, he seems to want to continue most of Bush's policies (just executed more competently). Thus, he seems to want to carry on the Iraq War delusion (his ignorance about Iraq is actually remarkable). He wants to continue the national disgrace known as Guantanamo Bay (in fact, he even said he would "double it," whatever that is supposed to mean). He seems to want to continue Bush's torture regime. He also seems to favor Bush's tax cuts, which have increased income inequality. We disagree with all of this on moral grounds. He wants to get the "family values" vote, but he certainly does not share our values on these issues.
2. He seems like a consummate willing-to-say-anything-to-get-elected politician. All politicians have to do this dance, to some extent. His flip flops, though, seem particularly offensive. It is one thing to change your mind as situations change (i.e., Kerry changing his mind about Iraq). It is quite another to change your mind for purely political purposes. Did Romney really decide only recently that he was troubled by abortion after talking to a cold-hearted stem cell scientist, as he claims? If so, that means his previous thinking about abortion was remarkably shallow. Chait's description of Romney seems right to us: "I see him as a competent, moderate-minded manager who has decided his only chance of being elected is to masquerade as a whacko." Dude, if you have to change your views completely to win a primary election, you are in the wrong political party!
3. A minor note: He seems too concerned with image and style. At Bryan's graduation, he was the commencement speaker. He refused to put on his mortar board because, he said, it would "mess up his hair." And he wasn't joking. He strikes us as too sculpted and too scripted. He has confused his political persona with who he really is.
Romney's being Mormon does not really affect our choice. We do not believe that Mormons have any special expertise in public policy, nor has it been our experience that Mormons are particularly more moral than other people -- especially when it comes to questions of large-scale social ethics. Plus, we would not usually vote AGAINST anybody because of his religion, so why should we vote FOR somebody because he shares our religion?
More specific reasons:
1. He has been vague about what his policies would actually be, as have most of the candidates. From what we've heard, though, he seems to want to continue most of Bush's policies (just executed more competently). Thus, he seems to want to carry on the Iraq War delusion (his ignorance about Iraq is actually remarkable). He wants to continue the national disgrace known as Guantanamo Bay (in fact, he even said he would "double it," whatever that is supposed to mean). He seems to want to continue Bush's torture regime. He also seems to favor Bush's tax cuts, which have increased income inequality. We disagree with all of this on moral grounds. He wants to get the "family values" vote, but he certainly does not share our values on these issues.
2. He seems like a consummate willing-to-say-anything-to-get-elected politician. All politicians have to do this dance, to some extent. His flip flops, though, seem particularly offensive. It is one thing to change your mind as situations change (i.e., Kerry changing his mind about Iraq). It is quite another to change your mind for purely political purposes. Did Romney really decide only recently that he was troubled by abortion after talking to a cold-hearted stem cell scientist, as he claims? If so, that means his previous thinking about abortion was remarkably shallow. Chait's description of Romney seems right to us: "I see him as a competent, moderate-minded manager who has decided his only chance of being elected is to masquerade as a whacko." Dude, if you have to change your views completely to win a primary election, you are in the wrong political party!
3. A minor note: He seems too concerned with image and style. At Bryan's graduation, he was the commencement speaker. He refused to put on his mortar board because, he said, it would "mess up his hair." And he wasn't joking. He strikes us as too sculpted and too scripted. He has confused his political persona with who he really is.
Sunday, September 02, 2007
Big Apple [Ellie]
First, a silly comment about the title. I can think of nothing I would be less likely to compare New York City to than an apple. First of all, I don't really like apples. (I know this is unAmerican. Yada, yada, yada. I just don't like them, ok?) Second of all, apples have this fresh, clean, innocence about them. Fresh, clean, and innocent are just not terms I'd use to describe New York.
And now for my trip.
I had been looking forward to this trip for six months. Four days in The Big City doing big city things without my kids. Just the thought of the trip would send little thrills up and down my spine. Eating without preparing anyone else's food first. Sleeping without first putting anyone else to sleep. Walking through an art museum with my arms swinging free--no diaper bag, no stroller. Young mother heaven! Everyone warned me I would miss my kids. I did, I guess. In a, "Oh, look at those cute kids playing on the subway. My kids would love that," kind of way, though. Not in a "wish they were here" kind of way. I did miss Bryan. I spent a lot of the time I was in The City plotting a way to come again with him by my side.
I "heart" NYC. All the t-shirts said I would. (And it should be mentioned that EVERYONE was wearing those t-shirts in New York.) Just the memory of seeing Phantom of the Opera on Broadway and walking around Times Square at night still makes me giddily happy. It's hard to describe being surrounded by the huge gaudiness of it all--the excitement in the air, the dizzy, flashing colors splashing every building's surface. The music and the chattering masses of people. I loved everything we did--the Cloisters medieval art museum, a castle made from bits of medieval ruins; the Statue of Liberty (stouter than I expected); the "best of" burger and pizza joints we went to (fantastic!); seeing Manhattan Island lit up like a jeweled fairy land from across the East River; tasting my first caviar at the Russian Tea Room (not as bad as I though it would be); rushing through the Met at a breakneck pace (well, I wish we wouldn't have had to rush); riding in a crazy New York cab; traversing Central Park; and alternately swooning, puzzling, and giggling at MOMA's modern art. The City met all my expectations.
Unexpectedly, one of my favorite things about NYC was the subway. There's something about hurtling through a black abyss in a gently rocking cubicle that fascinates me. Add to the surrealness of that the people-watching possibilities. How many places in a suburban landscape can you find a mid-level executive and a drunken, singing homeless man sitting next to each other? Anyone can and does ride the subway. It's such an equalizer.
I loved being in New York City, and I was sad to leave it. I know I'll go again, and I hope it will be soon. But, for the record, I had a Dorothy moment flying back into Columbus, too. I almost clicked my heels together as I noticed, as if for the first time, Ohio's rain-washed greenness dotted with picturesque white farmhouses. Its beauty seemed to point up the City's flaws. It was clean, fresh, and innocent. Like a big apple.
And now for my trip.
I had been looking forward to this trip for six months. Four days in The Big City doing big city things without my kids. Just the thought of the trip would send little thrills up and down my spine. Eating without preparing anyone else's food first. Sleeping without first putting anyone else to sleep. Walking through an art museum with my arms swinging free--no diaper bag, no stroller. Young mother heaven! Everyone warned me I would miss my kids. I did, I guess. In a, "Oh, look at those cute kids playing on the subway. My kids would love that," kind of way, though. Not in a "wish they were here" kind of way. I did miss Bryan. I spent a lot of the time I was in The City plotting a way to come again with him by my side.
I "heart" NYC. All the t-shirts said I would. (And it should be mentioned that EVERYONE was wearing those t-shirts in New York.) Just the memory of seeing Phantom of the Opera on Broadway and walking around Times Square at night still makes me giddily happy. It's hard to describe being surrounded by the huge gaudiness of it all--the excitement in the air, the dizzy, flashing colors splashing every building's surface. The music and the chattering masses of people. I loved everything we did--the Cloisters medieval art museum, a castle made from bits of medieval ruins; the Statue of Liberty (stouter than I expected); the "best of" burger and pizza joints we went to (fantastic!); seeing Manhattan Island lit up like a jeweled fairy land from across the East River; tasting my first caviar at the Russian Tea Room (not as bad as I though it would be); rushing through the Met at a breakneck pace (well, I wish we wouldn't have had to rush); riding in a crazy New York cab; traversing Central Park; and alternately swooning, puzzling, and giggling at MOMA's modern art. The City met all my expectations.
Unexpectedly, one of my favorite things about NYC was the subway. There's something about hurtling through a black abyss in a gently rocking cubicle that fascinates me. Add to the surrealness of that the people-watching possibilities. How many places in a suburban landscape can you find a mid-level executive and a drunken, singing homeless man sitting next to each other? Anyone can and does ride the subway. It's such an equalizer.
I loved being in New York City, and I was sad to leave it. I know I'll go again, and I hope it will be soon. But, for the record, I had a Dorothy moment flying back into Columbus, too. I almost clicked my heels together as I noticed, as if for the first time, Ohio's rain-washed greenness dotted with picturesque white farmhouses. Its beauty seemed to point up the City's flaws. It was clean, fresh, and innocent. Like a big apple.
August Photos [Bryan]
August was a big month for us. We went back to Utah to see my sister Ashlee get married and to see my new nephew Benjamin. Then, Ellie took off (without the kids) to NYC to see her sister Emily. Some highlights of the Utah trip were:
1. Nora got to ride the "Heber Creeper" with Grandma and cousin John.
2. We got to play lots of "Settlers of Catan" with the Warnick clan.
3. We went to the Hill Air Force Base Museum.
4. We spent some time in Provo with Ellie's sister Anna and her husband Spencer.
5. We got to see nephew Benjamin's baby blessing.
6. We went fly fishing in the Uintah Mountains (China Meadows). I caught a 12-inch rainbow, but not much else.
7. I was able to go to Park City and have dinner with my long lost friends, David and Jared. Great food, great company, and great conversations (bow before Barak Obama Chappo, bow!)
8. Ashlee's wedding was beautiful (welcome to the family, Kurt!). We had a terrible time getting there, though, since our car overheated at an extremely bad time (long story).
9. We went to an incredible Thai restaurant in Layton and had our first experience with Tom Ka soup! Yum!
10. We went to the new aquarium they opened in Salt Lake. It wasn't bad. Did you know in the next life I want to be an octopus?
11. My brother Derek and family invited us down for a swimming party at their place. I played Dance Dance Revolution and didn't do too bad.
Some pictures:
Andrew driving around SLC.
Amber and Ruston.
Benjamin Ryan Warnick -- Welcome to the world!
Playing Settlers.
Hill Air Force Base.
Aunt Anna at the SL Temple.
China Meadows. It was a bit cold!
1. Nora got to ride the "Heber Creeper" with Grandma and cousin John.
2. We got to play lots of "Settlers of Catan" with the Warnick clan.
3. We went to the Hill Air Force Base Museum.
4. We spent some time in Provo with Ellie's sister Anna and her husband Spencer.
5. We got to see nephew Benjamin's baby blessing.
6. We went fly fishing in the Uintah Mountains (China Meadows). I caught a 12-inch rainbow, but not much else.
7. I was able to go to Park City and have dinner with my long lost friends, David and Jared. Great food, great company, and great conversations (bow before Barak Obama Chappo, bow!)
8. Ashlee's wedding was beautiful (welcome to the family, Kurt!). We had a terrible time getting there, though, since our car overheated at an extremely bad time (long story).
9. We went to an incredible Thai restaurant in Layton and had our first experience with Tom Ka soup! Yum!
10. We went to the new aquarium they opened in Salt Lake. It wasn't bad. Did you know in the next life I want to be an octopus?
11. My brother Derek and family invited us down for a swimming party at their place. I played Dance Dance Revolution and didn't do too bad.
Some pictures:
Andrew driving around SLC.
Amber and Ruston.
Benjamin Ryan Warnick -- Welcome to the world!
Playing Settlers.
Hill Air Force Base.
Aunt Anna at the SL Temple.
China Meadows. It was a bit cold!
Friday, August 31, 2007
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
My tornado story [Bryan]
This all reminds me of my own tornado story. The only tornado I have ever seen was not in the Midwest, but actually in Salt Lake City. I remember when I was growing up, I once asked my Dad once if a tornado would ever strike Salt Lake. He said that, no, tornadoes were impossible because the mountains prevented them from properly forming.
Well, there I was. The day was August 11, 1999 and I was just started working for the Division of Medical Ethics at the University of Utah. I was standing near a bus stop, waiting for a shuttle to take me up to the hospital. As I stood there, I noticed the sky was turning an odd, brilliant turquoise color. I have always loved storms, so I stood there and watched the turmoil going on in the sky above me. The clouds were moving rapidly and I noticed they were starting to move in a circle. I thought they might be forming a tornado, but I heard my Dad's voice saying, "Tornadoes can't happen in Utah." I dismissed the idea, but I continued watching the rotation and I grew excited as it started to descend. Here is a photo of what I saw at that point:
At that point, I remember turning to the guy standing next to me. He was also watching the sky and I exclaimed, rather stupidly, that "Hey, that looks like a tornado." He nodded is agreement. At that point, the shuttle bus came along. Did I stay to watch the only tornado I would probably ever see? No, I didn't. I got on the shuttle and left. But, there was some consolation to this stupid move. I think that during the shuttle ride I might have passed directly under the funnel cloud. I was watching the cloud out of the shuttle window and I noticed we were headed right for it. As we passed under it, I noticed a strong blast of wind. Needless to say, if the tornado had actually touched down, I might not be here to tell the tale.
Another disaster avoided!
Well, there I was. The day was August 11, 1999 and I was just started working for the Division of Medical Ethics at the University of Utah. I was standing near a bus stop, waiting for a shuttle to take me up to the hospital. As I stood there, I noticed the sky was turning an odd, brilliant turquoise color. I have always loved storms, so I stood there and watched the turmoil going on in the sky above me. The clouds were moving rapidly and I noticed they were starting to move in a circle. I thought they might be forming a tornado, but I heard my Dad's voice saying, "Tornadoes can't happen in Utah." I dismissed the idea, but I continued watching the rotation and I grew excited as it started to descend. Here is a photo of what I saw at that point:
At that point, I remember turning to the guy standing next to me. He was also watching the sky and I exclaimed, rather stupidly, that "Hey, that looks like a tornado." He nodded is agreement. At that point, the shuttle bus came along. Did I stay to watch the only tornado I would probably ever see? No, I didn't. I got on the shuttle and left. But, there was some consolation to this stupid move. I think that during the shuttle ride I might have passed directly under the funnel cloud. I was watching the cloud out of the shuttle window and I noticed we were headed right for it. As we passed under it, I noticed a strong blast of wind. Needless to say, if the tornado had actually touched down, I might not be here to tell the tale.
Another disaster avoided!
Me and Tornadoes [Bryan]
Speaking of bad Midwest weather, we had a bunch a funnel clouds the other day. They think a tornado might have touched down about four miles from our house.
When I first moved to the Midwest, I thought tornadoes would be relatively rare events. Not so! We usually get 3 or 4 tornado warnings a summer. Tornadoes have touched down in or near both of the communities where we live.
I think I'm getting used to these lonely, windy wanderers. On the day of the storm, I thought I heard the warning sirens go off. The sirens are not close to us, and we can only hear them faintly. I then went to get something but then quickly forgot about the sirens. I was alone with the kids and we sat there quietly and watched the rain and wind as we ate our dinner. After we finished, I noticed the faint sirens again and turned on the TV. The meteorologists were excitedly talking about all the rotation and funnel clouds that had just passed over my area. Just think: a tornado could have destroyed my house as we sat there eating dinner!
Another disaster avoided!
Helping Hands [Bryan]
Yesterday, I was gone on a 10 hour service project to Northernish Ohio. If you hadn't heard, the Midwest has really been pummeled lately with a lot of severe weather. Perhaps hardest hit were some small towns in Ohio. News reports are here. It was, and remains, a messy situation up there. So I donned the yellow shirt of a "Mormon Helping Hand" and went with a few guys from my Church up to Findlay and Ottawa Ohio (about two hours away).
I was happy to go. I've lately tried to be of better use to humanity -- to serve others and thereby find greater depth and richness in life. This was an opportunity to do that and I was not disappointed. It was an amazing experience. The towns still smell of mildew and debris is everywhere. Many stores are still shut down, even though the water has receded almost completely.
I was worried it would be a waste of time, as many service projects are. We drove to Findlay and were assigned a house to visit. We arrived and an old woman smiled and said, "You're late, I could have used you two days ago." We went back to headquarters for further instructions and were told to drive to nearby Ottawa. "Just follow the highway and it will be obvious where to go," they said. Well, the destruction was obvious, but it took us an hour to find the volunteer headquarters. We had already wasted several hours and I thought we would leave without helping a soul.
Luckily, we got a humbling assignment. We went to a young couple (twenty-ish) whose house had been submerged in three feet of water. The husband was desperately trying to salvage the house but had not made much progress. The whole first floor was destroyed. We spent two hours ripping up floors, dry wall, and furniture. It was something that he could not have done by himself (it would have taken days, I imagine). I got to take out a wall with a sledge hammer! It was good to work and to actually feel like I was doing some good. The next house we were assigned to was equally yucky, at least in the basement. The basement floor was covered with inches of mud and with all manner of unknown guck. We cleaned out the basement, swept up the guck, and moved an enormous 300 lbs water heater up some rickety stairs. Again, a task that could not have been done without our help.
At that point, of course, I was covered in sweat and, well, guck. But it was exhilarating to be of such tangible use to others. I wish other people would flood so I could have more opportunities like this!
(My only concern with this whole endeavor is the yellow T-shirt thing. It seems like we Mormons like to use these opportunities to promote goodwill toward our community -- it is, to put it coarsely, "service projects as Public Relations Opportunities." I'm not sure how I feel about this; I think I might prefer being more anonymous.)
Sunday, August 05, 2007
A Dinnertime Conversation
Scene: Bryan and Ellie discussing some random trivia. Nora asks a question out of the blue.
Nora: What do you think about the bridge incident?
Bryan: The "incident"? I've never heard you use that word before. Where did you learn it?
Nora: What does "incident" mean?
Bryan: It is like an accident...
Nora: An accident?
Ellie: It is like when something happens, usually something bad. You said it right, "bridge incident."
Nora: Incident.
Bryan: So where did you learn that word?
Nora: The News Hours with Jim Leher.
Bryan and Ellie blink is guilty disbelief, worried that a nerd is being born right before their eyes. They continue eating.
Nora: What do you think about the bridge incident?
Bryan: The "incident"? I've never heard you use that word before. Where did you learn it?
Nora: What does "incident" mean?
Bryan: It is like an accident...
Nora: An accident?
Ellie: It is like when something happens, usually something bad. You said it right, "bridge incident."
Nora: Incident.
Bryan: So where did you learn that word?
Nora: The News Hours with Jim Leher.
Bryan and Ellie blink is guilty disbelief, worried that a nerd is being born right before their eyes. They continue eating.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Thursday, July 26, 2007
July Events
We had a fun July. Ellie's parents and sister Emily came to visit us and we spend the month touring around Ohio.
Here are some pictures:
Andrew at our favorite "beach" on Deer Creek Reservoir.
We spent a weekend at Lake Erie. Here we are at the Peace Memorial (3rd tallest monument in the US) which celebrates a U.S. navel victory in the War of 1812. It is on an island called Put-In-Bay, which is a great little resort community. Actually, it is a mix of small town Ohio and resort community.
Here I am on Lake Erie.
On Put-in-Bay you can take a tour of the world's largest geode. It is big enough to fit 35 people inside. Really cool!
Sparklers on the 4th of July. We also went to the Hillard City parade. A fairly unimpressive deal with a bunch of little league baseball teams and local advertising. Fun though.
Nora on the Ferry ride to the island. Kids loved it.
Bryan
Here are some pictures:
Andrew at our favorite "beach" on Deer Creek Reservoir. 
We spent a weekend at Lake Erie. Here we are at the Peace Memorial (3rd tallest monument in the US) which celebrates a U.S. navel victory in the War of 1812. It is on an island called Put-In-Bay, which is a great little resort community. Actually, it is a mix of small town Ohio and resort community.
Here I am on Lake Erie.
On Put-in-Bay you can take a tour of the world's largest geode. It is big enough to fit 35 people inside. Really cool!
Sparklers on the 4th of July. We also went to the Hillard City parade. A fairly unimpressive deal with a bunch of little league baseball teams and local advertising. Fun though.
Nora on the Ferry ride to the island. Kids loved it.Bryan
The Irresistible Revolution
I just finished reading The Irresistible Revolution: Living as an Ordinary Radical, by Shane Claiborne. It is on of those books that really shakes you up if you let it. I'm trying not to let it. Claiborne is a radical -- a Christian radical -- a Jesus-obsessed man. He has the strange idea that a Christan should take the teachings of the New Testament seriously. When the Jesus says, "Sell everything you have and give it to the poor," Claiborne has the nutty idea that he meant it. Likewise, when the NT says that we will be condemned unless we clothe the naked, feed the hungry, welcome the stranger, and visit those in prison, he thinks these are things we should actually do. I know, crazy. He also believes, get this, that Christians should be perceived as weird and unpopular, and that they should be allies with the strange and unpopular people of the earth (the lepers, as it were). Christians should befriend the homeless, the prostitutes, drug addicts, criminals, the mentally ill -- you know, the smelly, dirty people that we don't like to be seen with. No easy suburban Christianity for him! To top it all off, Clairborne thinks that the NT says something about "loving your enemies" and "doing good to those who hate you." He thinks Christians could end hatred and war through active and unexpected acts of love -- even if it leads to death. The NT surely can't be that naive...can it?
Clairborn's challenge is to those of us who think that it is compatible with Christianity to live lives of comfort and popularity. He thinks that the NT rejects any such compatibility. A Christian cannot live a safe, ordinary life. Christianity involves taking massive risks, giving up personal comfort, and facing poverty and hatred directly. He writes in the beginning, "I wondered what it would be like if we decided to really follow Jesus." His book is an attempt to tell stories about his journey to take the teachings of the NT seriously. He tells of working with Mother Theresa in Calcutta, of living and working in the "slums" of Philadelphia, of traveling to Iraq to help the very people his country was bombing. His teachings are mixed with the authority of lived experience. I'm getting really nervous about all this, now that I think about it.
No problem, I guess I can just give more to charity, maybe increase my LDS "fast offering" a little bit. Well, here is a sample of Claiborne's writing:
Layers of insulation separate the rich and the poor from truly encountering one another. There are the obvious layers like picket fences and SUVs, and there are the more subtle ones like charity. Tithes, tax-exempt donations, and short-term mission trips, while they accomplish some good, can also function as outlets that allow us to appease our consciences and still remain a safe distance from the poor. ...
It is much more comfortable to depersonalize the poor so we don't feel responsible for the catastrophic human failure that results in someone sleeping on the street while people have spare bedrooms in their homes. We can volunteer in a social program or distribute excess food and clothing through organizations and never have to open up our homes, our beds, or our dinner tables. When we go to heaven, we will be separated into those sheep and goats Jesus talks about in Matthew 25 based on how we care for the least among us. I'm just not convinced that Jesus is going to say, "When I was hungry, you gave me a check to the United Way and they fed me," or, "When I was naked, you donated clothes to the Salvation Army and they clothed me." Jesus is not seeking distant acts of charity. He seeks concrete acts of love" "you fed me...you visited me in prison, you welcomed me into your home...you clothed me."...
Rich and poor are kept in separate worlds, and inequality is carefully managed but not dismantled. When the church becomes a place of brokerage rather than an organic community, she ceases to be alive. She ceases to be something we are, the living bride of Christ. The church becomes a distribution center, a place where the poor come to get stuff and the rich come to dump stuff. Both go away satisfied (the rich feel good, the poor get clothed and fed), but no one leaves transformed. ...
Often wealthy folks ask me what they can do for Simple Way. I could ask them for a few thousand dollars, but that would be too easy for both of us. Instead, I ask them to come visit. Writing a check makes us feel good and can fool us into thinking we have loved the poor. Be seeing the squat houses and tent cities and hungry children will transform our lives. Then we will be stirred to imagine an economics of rebirth. ...
Almost every time we talk with affluent folks about God's will to end poverty, someone says, "But didn't Jesus say, 'The poor will always be with you'?"....Far from saying in defeat that we should not worry about the poor, since they will always be among us, Jesus is pointing to the church in her true identity -- she is to live close to those who suffer. The poor will always be among us, because the empire will always produce poor people and they will find a home in the church, a citizenship in the kingdom of God, where the "hungry are filled with good things and the rich sent away empty." I heard that Gandhi, when people asked him if he was a Christian, would often reply "Ask the poor. They will tell you who the Christians are."
Ouch. That gives new meaning to the question "Are Mormons Christians?"
But is it really that hard to be Christian? Claiborne thinks so:
Jesus doesn't exclude rich people; he just lets them know that their rebirth will cost them everything they have. The story is not so much about whether rich folks are welcome as it is about the nature of the kingdom of God, which has an ethic and economy diametrically opposed to that of the world. Rather than accumulating stuff for oneself, followers of Jesus abandon everything, trusting in God alone for providence.
Reading this, you'd think that Claiborne would be a very serious, somber puritan. Not so: he writes about dancing, singing, and laughing. A God who doesn't dance, for him, is not a God he is able to worship. He writes with humor and wit. I can get on board with that sort of theology. But then he ruins it with all this "give everything to the poor" stuff.
Seriously, this is a very challenging book. I don't think Claiborne's book (or theology) is perfect. He seems to ignore moments in the Bible when God seems to glorify in blood, hatred, and division. I also ignore the uncomfortable stories, of course, but if we are really supposed to take scripture so seriously -- dead seriously -- it would be nice to have a reason why we can also ignore such ugly passages. Claiborne also seems to put a lot of stock in pranks, meant to garner attention for his movement. I don't think Jesus was much of a prankster; he was more of a quiet revolutionary. He wasn't about acting to garner attention. Finally, the book sometimes seems to violate the principle of "doing your alms in secret." The line between teaching through experience and self-glorification is a very thin one, and I'm not sure Claiborne walks it perfectly. But then again, I'm not sure I walk it perfectly when I teach either. Finally, Claiborne really emphasizes high-profile, easy to spot types of human suffering, like homelessness. Not all suffering is found in the ghetto, though. The rich lonely woman dying in a comfortable rest home seems also to be in need, and her need may have little to do with the economics of "empire."
Overall, though, this is a dangerous, life-changing book. It is book very similar to Hugh Nibley's Approaching Zion. Stay far away from both of them.
Bryan
Thursday, July 12, 2007
New OSU President
So, OSU has picked a native Utahn, Mormon, bowtie wearing, education professor to be its next president.
Oh wait...
Oh wait...
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Review: Wicked
So, there we were. Ellie wanted to go see the Broadway sensation Wicked for her Mother's Day present. We are not usually Broadway types (unless it is something by Stephen Sondheim), but we were very excited to go. Although I tend to prefer off-broadway type of plays, I guess we like theatre in all its forms. Broadway shows are usually outside of our price range, so this was a special treat.
I didn't know anything about the show before I went. I knew that many other people liked it. In the end, I think Ellie and I both had a wonderful time, but I thought the show was only modestly successful. The music isn't as good as other broadway plays I like, but in some ways it was richer and darker. The "happy ending" at the end seemed forced, as if the normal theatre goer is unable to deal with anything remotely tragic.
However, the play does have something of an edge to it. It basically has a "the masses are asses" type of attitude, showing how average people think and feel what they are told to think and feel. The play, for all its popularity, is really making fun of we who are sitting there watching it. That is to say, the play is mocking you as you watch it. For example, we, the audience, had believed what we were told about the "real story" of the Wizard of Oz. This play seems to suggest that we were fools for thinking so: Understanding does not come so cheaply. There is no one narrative, it says, which so easily reduces to good versus evil, and yet we always like to think in those terms. This play, as in real life, shows that our perceptions of who is good and who is evil is often an illusion that has been consructed for us by others, and we go along happily believing what we are told. The play is in a long line of plays, my favorite of which is Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead, which delight in counter narratives and show us how familiar tales can look very different from another perspective. I really like this genre.
Bryan
Some recent photographs
Our blog usually isn't visual, except in rare bursts. Here is another burst.
Here is a picture from Nora's birthday way back in March. She got a cute little cowgirl outfit.
In April, we had our annual Easter Egg hunt. It's fame is growing.
Some good looking fellow in a bowtie.
Another good looking fellow.
In May, we took a trip back to Champaign. We were able to spend some time with our friends, the Cassavaughs, the Ackroyds, the Webbers, and others. It was great to see everybody again.
We've done a lot of hiking lately. First, in Darby Creek Park, not far from our house.
Last week, we had two baby bunnies to come to visit. It was a lot of fun, but they sure pooped a lot!
More hiking. This time, at Ash Cave, about an hour south of us in the beautiful Hocking Hills region of the state.
Ash Cave has a pretty little waterfall that makes a little pool. Here, the family jumps in. Alas, we didn't see the "No Wading" signs until our way out!
Here is a recent picture of Ellie.
Bryan
Here is a picture from Nora's birthday way back in March. She got a cute little cowgirl outfit.
In April, we had our annual Easter Egg hunt. It's fame is growing.
Some good looking fellow in a bowtie.
Another good looking fellow.
In May, we took a trip back to Champaign. We were able to spend some time with our friends, the Cassavaughs, the Ackroyds, the Webbers, and others. It was great to see everybody again.
We've done a lot of hiking lately. First, in Darby Creek Park, not far from our house.
Last week, we had two baby bunnies to come to visit. It was a lot of fun, but they sure pooped a lot!
More hiking. This time, at Ash Cave, about an hour south of us in the beautiful Hocking Hills region of the state.
Ash Cave has a pretty little waterfall that makes a little pool. Here, the family jumps in. Alas, we didn't see the "No Wading" signs until our way out!
Here is a recent picture of Ellie.
Bryan
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
At the grocery store
At the grocery store this evening, there were too many customers and too few cashiers. As I stood in a long line at a self-serve check-out, I casually watched the young Latino family in front of me. The husband and wife were stylishly, though inexpensively, dressed, and had two wide-eyed, well-groomed children. As I waited for them to finish checking out, I heard the following muttered, angrily and plenty audibly, behind me.
"Yeah, look at them. Goin' slow like they got all the time in the world. Pretty easy for them, move to this country, livin' the good life. They just get everything given to them; they don't have to work for it or nuthin'. They got more than somebody who lived here all their life. Got all the time in the world."
These remarks, coming from a black man behind me to his wife, struck me as incredibly ignorant and hostile. Expecting to be likewise lambasted if I took too long to check out when it was my turn, I rushed through my purchases, scanning and bagging haphazardly. I happened to scan my cream cheese twice, but looking at the long line behind me and recognizing my mistake as fairly insignificant, I just kept on going. Behind me, the man's voice spoke again: "Honey, I think you scanned that one too many times, didn't ya?"
Yes, I did, I responded, surprised. But it's a long line. It's ok.
"Come on, honey, tell 'em. They can come and take it off. Do you want me to get someone to come do it for ya?"
No, no. It's ok.
Then he called to a store worker in the next aisle over. "This girl here scanned somethin' one too many times. Can ya come take it off for her?" To me: "Honey, this store got more money than you do. They don't give you nuthin' for free."
True. But, no, no, I said again. Really, it's all right.
As I left, I looked the man in the eyes, smiled, and thanked him for looking out for me. He responded kindly, and I headed home with my twice-paid-for cream cheese.
I'm not sure what struck me so much about this encounter. Was it the jarring experience of hearing one member of a minority group being racist towards another? Was it having my assumptions about someone quickly overturned? Was it seeing someone change from nasty to nice in less than a minute? Anyway, all I can really take away is a naive puzzlement that a person can be almost simultaneously bad and good. I don't know why that seems so strange to me. Aren't I? Aren't we all?
Ellie
"Yeah, look at them. Goin' slow like they got all the time in the world. Pretty easy for them, move to this country, livin' the good life. They just get everything given to them; they don't have to work for it or nuthin'. They got more than somebody who lived here all their life. Got all the time in the world."
These remarks, coming from a black man behind me to his wife, struck me as incredibly ignorant and hostile. Expecting to be likewise lambasted if I took too long to check out when it was my turn, I rushed through my purchases, scanning and bagging haphazardly. I happened to scan my cream cheese twice, but looking at the long line behind me and recognizing my mistake as fairly insignificant, I just kept on going. Behind me, the man's voice spoke again: "Honey, I think you scanned that one too many times, didn't ya?"
Yes, I did, I responded, surprised. But it's a long line. It's ok.
"Come on, honey, tell 'em. They can come and take it off. Do you want me to get someone to come do it for ya?"
No, no. It's ok.
Then he called to a store worker in the next aisle over. "This girl here scanned somethin' one too many times. Can ya come take it off for her?" To me: "Honey, this store got more money than you do. They don't give you nuthin' for free."
True. But, no, no, I said again. Really, it's all right.
As I left, I looked the man in the eyes, smiled, and thanked him for looking out for me. He responded kindly, and I headed home with my twice-paid-for cream cheese.
I'm not sure what struck me so much about this encounter. Was it the jarring experience of hearing one member of a minority group being racist towards another? Was it having my assumptions about someone quickly overturned? Was it seeing someone change from nasty to nice in less than a minute? Anyway, all I can really take away is a naive puzzlement that a person can be almost simultaneously bad and good. I don't know why that seems so strange to me. Aren't I? Aren't we all?
Ellie
Nora and Andrew
Why do we rarely talk about our children on this blog? Isn't that all anybody (by this I mean family) wants to know about?
To remedy our grave errors of the past, here is some current kiddie news.
Nora: Nora is 4 years old. She is still very into princesses, although this obsession has branched out a bit and now includes Polly Pockets and Violet Incredible. Over the past few months her future career choices have been: a science teacher that teaches about whales, an artist, a doctor who doesn't give shots, and the wife of a superhero. (Why not a superhero herself, cum Violet?) She loves to draw, especially castles, caves, ocean creatures, princesses, and roller coasters. If she had her way, we would swim or run through the sprinklers every day. Nora also speaks and sings in fluent "Spanish." (Her version.)
Andrew: Andrew is almost 18 months. He loves anything with wheels or wings. As I have heard described by other moms of sons, he came with built-in sound effects. He doesn't use many words, but he has quite a repertoire of sounds he makes for objects--most notably, VROOM, for any of the above-mentioned beloved moving objects. Andrew also has a penchant for throwing things. He can pitch his sippy cup full of red juice overhand all the way across the kitchen. We are so proud. Andrew makes us laugh (or yell) every day.
What a pleasure it is to have two children. I bask in the joy of it when they play some silly game together and dissolve into helpless giggles. I chant it to myself when just as I step into the shower Andrew pulls Nora's hair and they both scream through the rest of my shower. No doubts here that parenthood is like one of Nora's roller coasters.
Ellie
To remedy our grave errors of the past, here is some current kiddie news.
Nora: Nora is 4 years old. She is still very into princesses, although this obsession has branched out a bit and now includes Polly Pockets and Violet Incredible. Over the past few months her future career choices have been: a science teacher that teaches about whales, an artist, a doctor who doesn't give shots, and the wife of a superhero. (Why not a superhero herself, cum Violet?) She loves to draw, especially castles, caves, ocean creatures, princesses, and roller coasters. If she had her way, we would swim or run through the sprinklers every day. Nora also speaks and sings in fluent "Spanish." (Her version.)
Andrew: Andrew is almost 18 months. He loves anything with wheels or wings. As I have heard described by other moms of sons, he came with built-in sound effects. He doesn't use many words, but he has quite a repertoire of sounds he makes for objects--most notably, VROOM, for any of the above-mentioned beloved moving objects. Andrew also has a penchant for throwing things. He can pitch his sippy cup full of red juice overhand all the way across the kitchen. We are so proud. Andrew makes us laugh (or yell) every day.
What a pleasure it is to have two children. I bask in the joy of it when they play some silly game together and dissolve into helpless giggles. I chant it to myself when just as I step into the shower Andrew pulls Nora's hair and they both scream through the rest of my shower. No doubts here that parenthood is like one of Nora's roller coasters.
Ellie
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Professors as Heroes?
Generally speaking, people are uneasy with us college professors. Most people who have been to college often look back fondly at least some of their teachers, who may have taught them something important or helped them gain a new perspective on things. At the same time, there is wide spread suspicion that professors aren't really earning the tax-payer money they get. They only have to show up to class a couple times a week, after all, and write a paper now and then on some trivial and useless topic. As Charles Sykes wrote, professors are generally "overpaid" and "grotesquely underworked" who neglect their teaching duties while writing "masses of unread, unreadable and worthless pablaum." Perhaps more importantly, there is this sense that professors don't really share regular human values -- that they as a group hate things like families, religion, and morality. They live as eternal children in a never-never land, not wanting (and, indeed, unable) to take on real responsibilities and solve real problems. Their only desire is to indoctrinate unsuspecting students into moral relativism, leftist politics, and hatred of America.
There are many problems with this image of course. In all my years in the university, for example, I have never met one "moral relativist" in the sense that people worry about. Although there are, of course, lazy profs who don't care about teaching, most that I know take their classroom responsibilities seriously and work far beyond what is expected for their relatively meager salaries. Of course, when professors do in fact buck this stereotype, no one seems to notice. The idea of professors actually doing important things in the world never gets voiced beyond university brochures. I think we have this standard idea of who is hero. A hero is a tough guy with big muscles who fights fires and kills terrorists. A hero isn't somebody who likes to think about atoms, Greek papyri, poetry, or anything French.
Consider how little you might have heard about the VTU massacure for example. Most people heard about Prof. Librescu, but not the others. From Wikipedia:
I'm not saying professors are better than other people -- far from it. I know the vices of professors as well as anyone -- and I know a few who are really idiots. But may I at least suggest that we are not the subhuman leeches that many people think we are?
Bryan
There are many problems with this image of course. In all my years in the university, for example, I have never met one "moral relativist" in the sense that people worry about. Although there are, of course, lazy profs who don't care about teaching, most that I know take their classroom responsibilities seriously and work far beyond what is expected for their relatively meager salaries. Of course, when professors do in fact buck this stereotype, no one seems to notice. The idea of professors actually doing important things in the world never gets voiced beyond university brochures. I think we have this standard idea of who is hero. A hero is a tough guy with big muscles who fights fires and kills terrorists. A hero isn't somebody who likes to think about atoms, Greek papyri, poetry, or anything French.
Consider how little you might have heard about the VTU massacure for example. Most people heard about Prof. Librescu, but not the others. From Wikipedia:
Professor Liviu Librescu held the door of his classroom, Room 204, shut while Cho attempted to enter it. Librescu was able to prevent the shooter from entering the classroom until most of his students escaped through the windows, but he died after being shot multiple times through the door. Only one student in his classroom died.[35][36] Subsequently, a petition was started to rename Norris Hall to Librescu Hall to honor this professor.
Jocelyne Couture-Nowak tried to save the students in her French classroom, Room 211, after looking Cho in the eye in the hallway. Colin Goddard, one of seven survivors in the French class, told his family that Couture-Nowak ordered her students to the back of the class for their safety and made a fatal attempt to barricade the door.
Hearing the commotion on the floor below, Professor Kevin Granata brought 20 students from a nearby classroom into an office, where the door could be locked, on the third floor of Norris Hall. He then went downstairs to investigate and was shot by Cho. Granata died from his injuries. None of the students locked in Granata's office were injured.
I'm not saying professors are better than other people -- far from it. I know the vices of professors as well as anyone -- and I know a few who are really idiots. But may I at least suggest that we are not the subhuman leeches that many people think we are?
Bryan
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Movie Review: The Queen
Ellie and I watched The Queen last Friday night. It was a great film, both entertaining and, at times, profound. The story deals with the interaction between Tony Blair and Queen Elizabeth after the death of Princess Diana. I'm not a close follower of the British royals, but I do occassionally watch their tulmultous lives with a degree of detached curiousity. I'm both attracted to, and repulsed by, the idea of hereditary monarchy. The importance of continuity in national traditions and the idea that there could be a noble elite, who selflessly serve their country rather than themselves, are both fascinating (if not often historically supportable) ideas.
Behind the film there is also a tragic commentary on human leadership. The same leadership skills that work so well on one occasion do not work so well in others. Thus, the detached, stiff-upper-lip leadership style the served the royals during the hard times of WWII did not work during the Princess Diana "crisis." The often whimsical demands of the public change without warning, and this left the Queen in a state of confused incomprehension. Tony Blair, at this moment, understood the need for showmanlike displays of emotion, national idealism, and a Clintonesque "I feel your pain" type of response. But as the film ends, Blair and the Queen are talking about the events. The Queen offers the Prime Minister a warning: someday he, too, would be left on a limb, out of touch and uncomprehending of public sentiment. The film in this respect is really more about Tony Blair and his own tragic demise, unfortunately swept up in the George Bush initiated vortex of disaster. Blair, like the Queen, was unable to read what the public demanded. Alas, there was no one to salvage him as he had salvaged the Queen. A pity: I always liked Blair. He, along with Colin Powell, are the two most tragic public figures of the last decade.
The problem is this: How much should a leader follow public opinion versus trying to sculpt public opinion. The film says to would-be leaders who are trying to lead the public that they playing with suicide. The public takes you in, eats you up, then vomits you out when they are done. A happy theme indeed!
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Thursday, May 03, 2007
A Response
With the PBS documentary, I know several people who have been asked questions about Mormons. This has prompted quite a bit of reflection on the the question of "What does it mean to be Mormon?" Here is one of my favorite responses.
I have a very good non-Mormon friend who watched the PBS documentary and asked me a question about why I was still Mormon. She wrote:
Here is how I responded:
Bryan
I have a very good non-Mormon friend who watched the PBS documentary and asked me a question about why I was still Mormon. She wrote:
It must be Mormon week. I say that in lighthearted jest. Yesterday, two nice young guys knocked on my door and wanted to talk to me about it. Then tonight, I turned on my favorite channel (PBS)--that's right laugh all you want--and the program tonight is about the history of the Church of Latter Day Saints. I've been curious to know more about it all for a while, so I decided to watch. It's still playing right now. Have you ever seen the program? Usually I like and trust PBS shows well, but I have to be honest with you---if Mormonism believes and does (or has believed and done) all of the things the show says, I must be missing something because it is being portrayed as some sketchy visions, incredible (and perhaps unwise) movement across the country, and the carrying out of violence. Of course, that's not even mentioning the whole polygamy thing, which I am willing to allow may have just been a blip in the past and no longer is supported.
So what am I missing or what is not being portrayed correctly? There must be more to it or good, smart people like you wouldn't believe?
Here is how I responded:
Sorry about your Mormon week! :)Note: she is a philosopher; hence the jargon.
Wow, that is a deep question! I did watch the PBS documentary on both Monday and Tuesday and overall I thought it was good and largely accurate. Remember though that, as TV producers their job is to focus on the controversial and the sensational, and leave almost everything else out. What they did cover, however, they covered accurately. I thought the eerie music and visuals used at certain times were a bit odd. Such things suggested a "meta-interpretation" or "voice of authority" about what the REAL interpretation of Mormonism was. In the end, though, I thought the series was good. It captured something important of the ups and downs of the Mormon experience.
I'm not surprised that you weren't too impressed by our story. Much of Joseph Smith's story, for example, seems implausible, even unbelievable. Especially to a critical mind it hardly seems to be taken seriously on an purely evidentiary basis. Joseph Smith himself seemed to realize this -- he said he wouldn't have believed it himself if it hadn't happened to him. And there are big issues, both ethically and epistemically, that arose after Joseph's time.
Many of the reasons I believe are reasons that are not particularly rational, or it least not rational in the sense that would be compelling to an unbeliever. Let me try to explain, though, why I continue to be Mormon.
1. Part of it has to do with the way Mormonism has enriched my life. Without a doubt, some of the best, kindest, more generous people I know are Mormons. Not all are of course, but many. Mormonism is a religion that demands that you actively participate in a rich community life; it demands that we use time and money for others. I have seen this process change me and those around me for the better. One of the people I admire most, my Dad, was the product of such a process. And if a religion can make people like my Dad, I think that is something of a small miracle. To be sure, there is no other group of people I would want to be with in a difficult time than my fellow Mormons.
2. Another part of why I am Mormon involves certain experiences I've had. As a missionary in Argentina, I was sometimes asked to "give blessings" to sick people. I was once asked to do this for a little 8 year old girl who had recently been diagnosed with Leukemia. I still remember her big brown eyes and her worried family. They were very poor and obviously didn't know what else to do -- they weren't even Mormons. Anyway, after I got done saying the prayer that is involved, I felt a presence I've never felt before. I left the city shortly thereafter and didn't find out what happened until later. I was talking to the missionary who had replaced me in that area and he said that, during the girl's next hospital visit, they couldn't find any trace of Leukemia. Of course, I realize there are other explanations for this in addition to the divine miracle theory -- perhaps even more "rational" explanations. But this experience seemed to suggest to me that I was in the faith community where I belonged.
3. Another part of the me loves various aspects of Mormon doctrine. Joseph's emphasis of communitarianism was a direct rebuttle to the unbridled capitalism of the day. His social views were grounded in economic equality. I like that. I also like how Mormons believe in an "open cannon" -- that there is no final last word and that one should always be open to new "revelation" in all of its different forms. This is a very pragmatic and post-modern idea, and it connects with Joseph's ideas about an "open universe" more generally. I also like how the church is, in many ways, deeply democratic. To many people, it sounds odd when I say that. But the church is largely governed by laity -- everyone takes a turn in community governance. I like how the church teaches the existence of the "Heavenly Mother" and that the divine life is not solely comprised by monotheistic patriarchy. I like the doctrine that God is embodied. It lends a dignity to our physicality that runs directly contrary to the Platonic, Augustinian, and Descartian traditions. In short, Mormonism teaches that equality matters, that democracy matters, that openness matters, that being a woman matters, and that bodies matter. There are a few more things, but that will do for now.
4. I find great meaning in Mormon community life. Wherever I go, I will have people to support me and look after for me. I have built lasting friendships. These communities, for me, have something of the divine about them. These church, both locally and globally, is also often involved in impressive humanitarian projects. Finally, I like the idea that family community is especially important and that family relationships last forever. As I think of my own family, I can't imagine living without them. Mormonism gives me hope that I will never have to. This is where temples and family "sealings" come in: to offer precisely that hope.
5. Having said that, I should say that many aspects of the modern church, from my perspective, have failed to live up to the doctrine. We have often not lived up to our obligations to minority groups. We have fought against women's rights when we should have been the first to support them. We have embraced materialism and become too comfortable with war. We have not welcomed in certain sorts of outsiders. In short, we've become, well, too sure of ourselves and closed. I also would be lying if I said I didn't have occasional doubts at times about things relating to LDS history and doctrine (just as I have doubts about equally important religious issues in Biblical history, Christian doctrine, and theism in general). My life is a constant struggle between doubt and faith and I'm not sure I've managed this struggle very well.
In the end, I think we Mormons are a bunch of imperfect people who are really trying to better ourselves and build better communities. The sincerity of the quest, the goodness of many of the people, the beauty of the ideals, and the voice of my own experience keep me Mormon.
Does that make sense? It was probably more than you wanted to hear.
Bryan
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
"The Mormons" documentary
Like many other Mormons, I've been glued to PBS this week for the two part documentary on the LDS Faith. If you missed it, you can watch it here. Here are my impressions:
1. Overall, I loved it. I think it should be required viewing for all Mormons. I think it hit fairly well the ups and downs of the Mormon experience.
2. Elder Jensen did a masterful job -- he hit all the notes. Elder Oaks did extremely well talking about the Mountain Meadows, but at other times seemed a bit closed minded and harsh. Elder Packer cames across as more gentle than I expected, and somewhat taken aback by his previous comments about gays, feminists, and intellectuals.
3. I was pleased they gave so much air time to Terryl Givens, my favorite Mormon scholar. He discussion of the joys of "Mormon embodiment" was perhaps my favorite part. He is one guy who makes me feel like the LDS faith can engage with the mind.
4. Other favorite parts: the gospel choir in sacrament meeting (too bad it's so rare!), the lady's testimony about "the ridiculous story about the white boy, the dead angel, and the gold plates," the hurricane Katrina clip, Harold Bloom analyzing the LDS faith, the dying young woman and her family, the analysis of the closeness of LDS wards. It showed Mormonism at its best.
5. Other parts I did not enjoy but thought were important for me to hear: Margaret Tascano's description of her bizarre and cruel court experience, the grotesque fiasco of Mountain Meadows, the holocaust victim explaining why he did not want his relatives baptized, and the John Taylor nonsense about Black's being the instruments of Satan. It is important for us Mormons to remember that we are capable to both disrespectful and despicable acts. We should never forget that.
6. I thought a lot of time was given to ex-Mormons, but it oddly worked out very well much of time. When someone who has been excommunicated still had reason to talk about the beauty and power of Mormon ritual and community, it seemed to come across as all the more powerful for me. The films did a great job at humanizing everybody -- from the gay Mormon, to the general authorities, to the feminist intellectual, to the polygamists, to the holocaust baptism objector, to the Republican senator.
7. Stupid stuff: the "if my mission president asked me to blow myself up, I would have" crack, the eerie music that seemed to kick in at odd times, the strange red painting of God, the polygamy was "all about sex" comment, the description of past temple rituals.
8. I wish they would have found more strong, faithful, and smart LDS women (other than Kathleen Flake and the token neurologist, there weren't many). I also wish they would have given more time to Darius Gray.
9. I learned some things I didn't know about Mormon history, for example, I had never heard about the "Short Creek Raid."
Way to go PBS!
Bryan
1. Overall, I loved it. I think it should be required viewing for all Mormons. I think it hit fairly well the ups and downs of the Mormon experience.
2. Elder Jensen did a masterful job -- he hit all the notes. Elder Oaks did extremely well talking about the Mountain Meadows, but at other times seemed a bit closed minded and harsh. Elder Packer cames across as more gentle than I expected, and somewhat taken aback by his previous comments about gays, feminists, and intellectuals.
3. I was pleased they gave so much air time to Terryl Givens, my favorite Mormon scholar. He discussion of the joys of "Mormon embodiment" was perhaps my favorite part. He is one guy who makes me feel like the LDS faith can engage with the mind.
4. Other favorite parts: the gospel choir in sacrament meeting (too bad it's so rare!), the lady's testimony about "the ridiculous story about the white boy, the dead angel, and the gold plates," the hurricane Katrina clip, Harold Bloom analyzing the LDS faith, the dying young woman and her family, the analysis of the closeness of LDS wards. It showed Mormonism at its best.
5. Other parts I did not enjoy but thought were important for me to hear: Margaret Tascano's description of her bizarre and cruel court experience, the grotesque fiasco of Mountain Meadows, the holocaust victim explaining why he did not want his relatives baptized, and the John Taylor nonsense about Black's being the instruments of Satan. It is important for us Mormons to remember that we are capable to both disrespectful and despicable acts. We should never forget that.
6. I thought a lot of time was given to ex-Mormons, but it oddly worked out very well much of time. When someone who has been excommunicated still had reason to talk about the beauty and power of Mormon ritual and community, it seemed to come across as all the more powerful for me. The films did a great job at humanizing everybody -- from the gay Mormon, to the general authorities, to the feminist intellectual, to the polygamists, to the holocaust baptism objector, to the Republican senator.
7. Stupid stuff: the "if my mission president asked me to blow myself up, I would have" crack, the eerie music that seemed to kick in at odd times, the strange red painting of God, the polygamy was "all about sex" comment, the description of past temple rituals.
8. I wish they would have found more strong, faithful, and smart LDS women (other than Kathleen Flake and the token neurologist, there weren't many). I also wish they would have given more time to Darius Gray.
9. I learned some things I didn't know about Mormon history, for example, I had never heard about the "Short Creek Raid."
Way to go PBS!
Bryan
Saturday, April 28, 2007
April happenings
In April, I went to one of the biggest academic conferences in the world. It was the meeting of the American Educational Research Association. The paid registration at g conference makes one feel tiny and insignificant. Nothing makes one's ideas feel less important than 18,000 other people also simultaneously sharing their ideas. Everyone is talking, but no one is listening. At least that is how it feels.
Other April news includes:
Andrew now says at least five words: out, daddy, birds, hat, and jelly. There may be others, but we have yet to translate them appropriately.
Ellie's first month as RS Pres went well. People have said some very nice things to her and offered their support -- this has helped her immensely. She will probably have to help plan her first funeral soon. She also had an emergency where she was desperately trying to track down home teachers. I'll let her tell about that experience, though, if she wants.
Nora and Ellie have taken to reading the Chronicles of Narnia together. Nora loves C.S. Lewis. I wasn't sure she was ready for extended narratives, but I guess she is.
We made our first trip of the year to the Columbus Zoo last weekend. Andrew loved the aquarium, which allowed him to get really close to some big first. My favorite part of the Zoo is visiting the wierd Okapi. We bought a membership, so I guess me and the Okapi will become good friends.
Speaking of Columbus, we recently found a beautiful area about 15 mintues away. You
can check it out here. I've found a new place to do my work! (A great thing about my job is that I can "work" almost anywere -- I'll I need is a book and a pencil). We took Nora on a hike down by the river and she was so excited she fell in.
I guess that will have to be all for now.
Bryan
Other April news includes:
Andrew now says at least five words: out, daddy, birds, hat, and jelly. There may be others, but we have yet to translate them appropriately.
Ellie's first month as RS Pres went well. People have said some very nice things to her and offered their support -- this has helped her immensely. She will probably have to help plan her first funeral soon. She also had an emergency where she was desperately trying to track down home teachers. I'll let her tell about that experience, though, if she wants.
Nora and Ellie have taken to reading the Chronicles of Narnia together. Nora loves C.S. Lewis. I wasn't sure she was ready for extended narratives, but I guess she is.
We made our first trip of the year to the Columbus Zoo last weekend. Andrew loved the aquarium, which allowed him to get really close to some big first. My favorite part of the Zoo is visiting the wierd Okapi. We bought a membership, so I guess me and the Okapi will become good friends.
Speaking of Columbus, we recently found a beautiful area about 15 mintues away. You
can check it out here. I've found a new place to do my work! (A great thing about my job is that I can "work" almost anywere -- I'll I need is a book and a pencil). We took Nora on a hike down by the river and she was so excited she fell in.
I guess that will have to be all for now.
Bryan
Friday, April 27, 2007
What's up with BYU?
Via the Deseret News:
A month of controversy over the decision to invite Vice President Dick Cheney to speak at Brigham Young University's commencement ended Thursday with more than 20,000 BYU graduates and their families, along with faculty and staff, soaking Cheney in applause....Cheney thanked BYU for the honorary degree and closed by saying, "I leave here as a proud member of the Brigham Young Class of 2007." A standing ovation lasted a full minute.Barf!
Bryan
Thursday, April 19, 2007
I've passed this around a bit before, but I always chuckle when I read it. If you're not on the infamous tenure track, you might not appreciate it as much. It is the dreaded denial of tenure letter.
Bryan
BY ANDY F. BRYAN
January 22, 1939
Assistant Professor Henry “Indiana” Jones Jr.
Department of Anthropology
Chapman Hall 227B
Marshall College
Dr. Jones:
As chairman of the Committee on Promotion and Tenure, I regret to inform you that your recent application for tenure has been denied by a vote of 6 to 1. Following past policies and procedures, proceedings from the committee’s deliberations that were pertinent to our decision have been summarized below according to the assessment criteria.
Demonstrates suitable experience and expertise in chosen field:
The committee concurred that Dr. Jones does seem to possess a nearly superhuman breadth of linguistic knowledge and an uncanny familiarity with the history and material culture of the occult. However, his understanding and practice of archaeology gave the committee the greatest cause for alarm. Criticisms of Dr. Jones ranged from “possessing a perceptible methodological deficiency” to “practicing archaeology with a complete lack of, disregard for, and colossal ignorance of current methodology, theory, and ethics” to “unabashed grave-robbing.” Given such appraisals, perhaps it isn’t surprising to learn that several Central and South American countries recently assembled to enact legislation aimed at permanently prohibiting his entry. Moreover, no one on the committee can identify who or what instilled Dr. Jones with the belief that an archaeologist’s tool kit should consist solely of a bullwhip and a revolver.
Nationally recognized for an effectual program of scholarship or research supported by publications of high quality:
Though Dr. Jones conducts “field research” far more often than anyone else in the department, he has consistently failed to report the results of his excavations, provide any credible evidence of attending the archaeological conferences he claims to attend, or produce a single published article in any peer-reviewed journal. Someone might tell Dr. Jones that in academia “publish or perish” is the rule. Shockingly, there is little evidence to date that Dr. Jones has successfully excavated even one object since he arrived at Marshall College. Marcus Brody, curator of our natural-history museum, assured me this was not so and graciously pointed out several pieces in the collection that he claimed were procured through Dr. Jones’s efforts, but, quite frankly, we have not one shred of documentation that can demonstrate the provenance or legal ownership of these objects.
Meets professional standards of conduct in research and professional activities of the discipline:
The committee was particularly generous (and vociferous) in offering their opinions regarding this criterion. Permit me to list just a few of the more troubling accounts I was privy to during the committee’s meeting. Far more times that I would care to mention, the name “Indiana Jones” (the adopted title Dr. Jones insists on being called) has appeared in governmental reports linking him to the Nazi Party, black-market antiquities dealers, underground cults, human sacrifice, Indian child slave labor, and the Chinese mafia. There are a plethora of international criminal charges against Dr. Jones, which include but are not limited to: bringing unregistered weapons into and out of the country; property damage; desecration of national and historical landmarks; impersonating officials; arson; grand theft (automobiles, motorcycles, aircraft, and watercraft in just a one week span last year); excavating without a permit; countless antiquities violations; public endangerment; voluntary and involuntary manslaughter; and, allegedly, murder.
Dr. Jones’s interpersonal skills and relationships are no better. By Dr. Jones’ own admission, he has repeatedly employed an underage Asian boy as a driver and “personal assistant” during his Far East travels. I will refrain from making any insinuations as to the nature of this relationship, but my intuition insists that it is not a healthy one, nor one to be encouraged. Though the committee may have overstepped the boundaries of its evaluation, I find it pertinent to note that Dr. Jones has been romantically linked to countless women of questionable character, an attribute very unbecoming of a Marshall College professor. One of these women was identified as a notorious nightclub singer whose heart he attempted to extract with his hands, and whom he then tried, and failed, to lower into a lake of magma. Another was a Nazi scholar he was seen courting just last year who, I’m told, plummeted into a fathomless abyss at Dr. Jones’s hand. And, of course, no one can forget the slow decline and eventual death of Professor Abner Ravenwood after Dr. Jones’s affair with Abner’s underage daughter was made public, forcing her to emigrate to Nepal to escape the debacle.
Demonstrates successful record in undergraduate and graduate teaching:
In his nine years with the department, Dr. Jones has failed to complete even one uninterrupted semester of instruction. In fact, he hasn’t been in attendance for more than four consecutive weeks since he was hired. Departmental records indicate Dr. Jones has taken more sabbaticals, sick time, personal days, conference allotments, and temporary leaves than all the other members of the department combined.
The lone student representative on the committee wished to convey that, besides being an exceptional instructor, a compassionate mentor, and an unparalleled gentleman, Dr. Jones was extraordinarily receptive to the female student body during and after the transition to a coeducational system at the college. However, his timeliness in grading and returning assignments was a concern. Establishment of an appropriate record of departmental and campus service: Dr. Jones’s behavior on campus has led not only to disciplinary action but also to concerns as to the state of his mental health. In addition to multiple instances of public drunkenness, Dr. Jones, on three separate occasions, has attempted to set fire to the herpetology wing of the biology department.
Perhaps most disturbing, however, are the statements that come directly from Dr. Jones’s mouth. Several faculty members maintain that Dr. Jones informed them on multiple occasions of having discovered the Ark of the Covenant, magic diamond rocks, and the Holy Grail! When asked to provide evidence for such claims, he purportedly replied that he was “kind of immortal” and/or muttered derogatory statements about the “bureaucratic fools” running the U.S. government. Given his history with the Nazi Party, I fear where his loyalty lies.
To summarize, the committee fails to recognize any indication that Dr. Jones is even remotely proficient when it comes to archaeological scholarship and practice. His aptitude as an instructor is questionable at best, his conduct while abroad is positively deplorable, and his behavior on campus is minimally better. Marshall College has a reputation to uphold. I need not say more.
My apologies,
Prof. G.L. Stevens
Bryan
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