Tagged: poetry
On Higher Education
I read and I read and I read.
It’s lovely.
But even I have doubts as to what exactly to do with all the knowledge. I am not interested in being a college professor. There was a time when I could almost imagine working hard and becoming an Indiana Jones-style biblical archaeologist (yes, kids, there are archeologists and they really do have dangerous/exciting experiences depending on the types of finds).
But that mood passed.
I ate with an old professor and we briefly discussed the pros and cons of re-engaging formal education. I wasn’t sold that the pros outweighed the cons. Specifically, every part of actual biblical training and academics is losing ground to the soft skills of Christian counseling and other versions of underwater basket weaving. Why join a dying breed? There simply is no demand from the public for an educated pastor. So the degree has to be for teaching or research, and the field is near exhaustion.
This brings me to the catalyst for this post. Check this endnote out. It is from Fr. John P. Meier’s A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus, Volume 5 “Probing the Authenticity of the Parables”. I have been reading his Marginal Jew books since 2001 (24+ years). I think in the beginning I used them against Christianity as I questioned the Faith, but over time they actually have become some of my favorite books on Christianity-ish, outside of the inspired canon.
All of those listed titles, articles, books etc. are about just one (1) parable. I have been in churches for probably 25+ years and I don’t think I could list that many individuals who have commented (informedly or free-association style) on any one (1) parable. Fr. Meier, on the other hand, read three pages’ worth of scholarly commentary. (And in at least two languages.) Talk about putting me in my place.
I take it all back. I do not read. I do not read. I do not read. And I have no business ever lofting an opinion about anything into the air.
In the end, Fr. Meier and his impossible bibliographies (1) arms me for rhetorical battle with the loudmouth ‘educated’ nonbelievers that I sometimes run into and (2) keeps Christianity larger than life.
I think my favorite title from those listed is, “Excuses, Excuses: The Parable of the Banquet (Luke 14:15-24) within the Larger Context of Luke.” Funny guy.
Also, not that Meier loves its conclusions, but he did reference it enough that it sounded kinda like a definitive work so I did pickup a used copy of Snodgrass’s Stories With Intent—a 900+ page comprehensive look at the generally eloquent parables. I have to admit I haven’t been this excited to read such a book in many years. So add that to Meier’s effects: inspirational.
Re-Learning Biblical Hebrew While Keeping an Eye on Starship Flight 10
Seriously, could my life be more interesting?
Why learn Biblical Hebrew? Well, as the scholars put it 100 years ago, to avoid being a “helpless plaything” in the hands of biblical critics. The Bible is always under attack. If you don’t know how to work with the original languages, you are not on solid ground.
Why watch Starship Flight 10? Well, because it’s incomparably awesome and beautiful to watch and incomparably compelling and poignant to contemplate.
Pilots—Hope Embodied
I’m at work today and was chatting with the mechanic. It got me thinking.
Man, this job sure requires me to place a lot of trust in other people.
This led to me wondering What makes someone want to be an aircraft mechanic?
This led to I sure hope the answer is ‘not being as brave or good-looking’ as pilots.
But I backed off that and landed on Flying the aircraft requires more trust in other people than mechanics usually possess.
There are surely other measures of trust or, more broadly, hope. But what I mean to call attention to is the why behind the quality of the trait that pilots necessarily possess.
Once considered, I say one must conclude that it isn’t merely the mode of travel, but the fact of travel that betrays the pilot’s special embodiment of hope. From the functioning of the aircraft, to the people at the (planned or unplanned) destination not killing you upon arrival, the pilot embodies hope.
From another angle, consider that Mark Twain said, “Travel is fatal to prejuidce, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts.”
That’s got all the right words, but it’s backwards. From where I sit, “Prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness are fatal to travel.”
But, of course, by travel I mean more than the movement of the body from one location to another. I count as travel learning—even via books. I count attending different cultures’ events (ie, Chinamen moving to Chinatown is not travel, but one religious Chinaman’s visiting of a different religion’s Chinaman family—all who live in the same apartment building is) as travel. There are probably other meanings I would count.
Or not.
So I only mean three things count as travel. (1) travel, (2) learning, and (3) dually (i) meeting people who look identical to yourself but are, in fact, not you and (ii) meeting people who look nothing like you and finding out they are, in fact, your identical twin. And the connection which binds these three is not travel, but hope.
Do you see?
I Propose A Guessing Game
Read the following paragraph from a news article and guess the year.
I offer that the first and major clue is the last line, “…got into the papers.”
This puts us back before the internet. So pre-90s.
I’m not from New York. I have only visited once. There may be names that a New Yorker would know are old and therefore help date the event. But I don’t know them.
The idea that people are fighting about the elevation of a flag is immemorial, so that doesn’t help. But add “American” to the kind of flag and obviously we’re post-1776.
A quick review of steel’s development indicates post-1856 and Bessemer Process.
“Medical students” as a phrase immediately calls to mind post-WW2, so post-1945.
This means, if you guessed anywhere between 1945-1990, I’d say you “won” my game. Congratulations!
Of course, the true winners of the true game are those who can withstand the “hype” to which the news cycle demands undying attention.
The real date is 1970. That means for 65 years we have recorded evidence that some Americans want to lower the flag and others want to raise it back up. Or, 65 years of “Same $&@%, different day.” Or, 65 years of “Nothing to see here; move along.”
I Have No Friends with Whom to Lament Ozzy’s Passing
My pizza place boss, Joe, was the man who introduced me to Ozzy. I was 16. I knew of Metallica, but was scared of Ozzy still. Then I heard his music and had the epiphany that we all did—all of us Baptist kids who were taught (why?) that he was singing satanic songs. Satanic or not, all I knew was his songs and his voice were epic.
Joe had a funny story from his younger days of pissing in the landscaped bushes while in line for Ozzy’s autograph so as to not lose his place. And whether it was the same event or not, when he handed Ozzy the CD, Ozzy signed it and then passed it to the next band member, but not before Joe ripped it out of his hands and declared he only wanted Ozzy’s signature! (Naturally, Joe was drunk, and this accounts for both parts of the story.)
I remember going to Ozzfest at Sandstone Amphitheater in 1998. Over two weeks I saw Van Halen, Ozzy (Limp Bizkit, Megadeth, Tool, too), and Metallica. Talk about a phenomenal two weeks of live music. Life changing.
I remember this same Joe called in to the pizza place when he was in Chicago at a Black Sabbath concert. This would’ve been around the turn of the millennium too. He was, oddly, again in the bathroom. Why he ever thought to check in with us “kids from work” is beyond me.
I think, but can’t say for sure, that I saw another Ozzfest, but whatever the concert was billed as, Black Sabbath was the headliner. That was also a powerful experience. Toni Iommi standing in all black with that cross chain he always wears was just an incredible sight to see. Metallica is the definitive “band”, but Toni is the definitive lead guitarist. So cool.
I remember that all these concerts were years after the farewell tour “Live and Loud” two CD concert set I listened to all the time—my only solo Ozzy CDs. I also had Paranoid. But that was it. At some point I borrowed for an extended period of time Ozzmosis and fell in love with Perry Mason and I Just Want You.
Think of it. The superhuman man writes “I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired” and suburbanite kids like me feel like he knew exactly what we were going through. Ha.
Some fun trivia. Limp Bizkit just opened for Metallica. And Zakk Wylde, of solo Ozzy days (whom I saw—I think) and is definitely on the double CD album, was there with Pantera too. And if you haven’t watched any of the (fairly abysmal) final performance from July 5th, Zakk has a truly heartwarming moment where he, playing for Ozzy, understands that Ozzy is not going to sound as good as the old days and so starts to sing with him, but like, in an all cool-like and as if it was planned etc way. But there was no plan. See 20 sec mark and how Zakk “covered down”, as the Army pukes say. I think he’ll be welcomed into rockstar heaven for that one move alone.
I want to end by reminding the reader that I have often thought and implied and directly spoken the desire that Metallica NOT take the stage when they are too old to do it justice. I still pray fervently that they honor my wish. But as we are almost 30 days after the pair of Metallica shows and I still feel like my voice isn’t fully recovered, the thought, purely speculative, that Ozzy essentially gave everything to that last (admittedly pitiful) stage show gives me great peace.
“Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”
You did it, Ozzy. You embodied rock’n’roll, not just for a season, but with your entire life. Rest in peace.
On The Virality of Being Caught
Like many, many of you, I too watched more than one video of the recent Coldplay Kiss Cam Catch.
Why?
Firstly, because it already was “viral” and so I deemed it worthy of the peek.
Secondly, because the very idea of “getting caught” requires that generally suppressed emotion “shame”.
“Shame”, then, is what caught my attention. Is anyone ashamed anymore? Apparently, the answer is “yes”.
Maybe not the Parents who are castrating their children. Maybe not the Doctors who are overlooking every single problematic behavior in favor of chemical treatments. Maybe not the blue, green, or pink-haired faggots. Maybe not the Marxists. Maybe not the Politicians in general. Maybe not Celebrities. Maybe not Professors. Maybe not MegaChurch Pastors and Boards. Maybe not Blacks. Maybe not Illegal Immigrants. Maybe not Gang Bangers. Maybe not New Yorkers or Californians.
But that couple at the Coldplay concert did. And we all recognized it immediately.
They were living some kind of bliss, some kind of pure illicit fantasy—forbidden love—right up until the moment they were not. Just an amazing thing to consider. Where exactly were they until that moment?
The song in Romeo and Juliet comes to mind. “A Rose will Bloom/It then will Fade”.
No More LifeGuard Babes
I don’t know if you saw, but the other day a nerd-bomber with a drone just spontaneously and brilliantly saved a person from drowning by flying out a rescue device. (Took two tries actually.)
For those of you who can read facts but struggle to draw conclusions correctly, allow me to help. This simple, lifesaving effort just removed all hope of me ever receiving CPR from a Baywatch-style lifeguard, a la Sandlot scheming.
Until this event, I have to say that I didn’t believe any single person’s actions could be more disastrous to life on earth than the first man to work through the siesta.
The future is bleak. And apparently limitlessly so.
Just Have To Smile
When you work at an airport and shortly after arriving see and hear a brightly colored colored biplane suddenly appear from behind your hangar on what, by altitude and position, must be its base turn, looking like it is the one that needs saving from the opening scene of Disney’s The Rocketeer, you just have to smile.
Reading Log 4.9.2025
Same for Vol 2 as I said about Vol 1, “Grant’s memoir was amazing and astounding on nearly every level. What a time to have been alive.”
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Re: Pilgrim’s Progress: I will share the text I sent to a friend.
“On another subject, I finally started John Bunyan’s famous ‘Pilgrim’s Progress’.
Four chapters in and I would say this book may be more valuable to Christianity than the Bible itself. One more entry in the matter of ‘what a shame that folks have dropped it out of vogue’.
If you want a copy, I can send one to you. It is part of our homeschool set.”
(Obviously I would need a GoFundMe account to accomplish this for the world’s population. But if you are serious that all you need is a copy to get you reading, my offer stands. Comment below or email me. We’ll get you one.)
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I have read tons of Mark Twain. Or it feels like it. But I had no idea about Mr. Wilson and the twins. Twain is ridiculous. I always thought he was hilarious, as evidenced here again, but these open the “ridiculous” description too. And watch out! The “n” word is on full display as he calls into question everything you have ever thought about life on earth.
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The reason you read Pascal is to see for yourself that these “greats” are impossible to justly or sufficiently summarize. The infamous “wager” is far more involved than how it typically is presented.
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The math essays don’t teach you particular skills, but they are interesting and do contain such marvelous sentiments, found curiously nowhere else, as, (paraphrasing) “We don’t need to think more. We need to think less. We need to accomplish as much as possible with as little thinking. That is true advancement.”
Oh, and if you want a single essay as an icebreaker, to test the waters, it’s Euler’s hands down. “The Seven Bridges of Königsberg.” See here.
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I like writing these updates. But I wonder if anyone will ever use them as intended. Time will tell.
My 4-Yr Old Recognized Beauty
She FT’d me as they were walking into the garage to leave for mega-church. The door opened, and the way she holds the camera it was difficult to not notice the barely cloud-speckled blue sky. Then I saw she did too. And without prompting she said, “It’s a beautiful day,” and faded almost into a hum, “in the neighborhood,” which is of course from Daniel the Tiger or whatever the name of the Mr. Roger’s-based show is called. (Not that she has seen it in several months since I tossed the TV, but I feel like being clear that she isn’t an abstract idea floating around in the aether, but a little girl.)
Anyhow, it’s true.
And that’s the point I want to make to all you anxiety-driven, suicide-prone, depression-claimants. Take a look at the lilies of the field. If my four year old can see them, then surely they are there.
Captain’s Log 