Sleep in Our Clothes and Wait for Winter to Leave

Election Day 2008

This post is my blog's endorsement of Barack Obama. Here's hoping that today's events will translate to 4 years of change.

So you'd rather argue with angels?

I'm doing a bit of research work for a retired Harvard professor who happens to be in Princeton researching, lecturing, and heading up the Center for Semitic Studies. Orthodox Jew from Ethiopia and eccentrically brilliant, this dude knows 17 languages--simply ridiculous. In any event, during my interview he struck with me a line I found hilarious yet insightful. Here's how it went (roughly).


Prof: So did you come straight to Princeton from college?
Me: No, I took a year off and worked a bit.
Prof: I see. And what did you do in that year?
Me: Oh, I worked in a law firm and considered going to law school. (thinking "is getting drunk for a year a legitimate response?")
Prof: And why didn't you go?
Me: I don't know. It wasn't for me. I suppose it didn't seem fulfilling arguing over such futile matters.
Prof: So you'd rather argue with angels than men?
Me: Hahaha. Yes, I suppose so.
Prof: And you find that fulfilling?
Me: Um...so far, yes sir.
Prof: Well good. It doesn't pay very well.

Was that the whiskey talking or was that your heart?

Central Park

If you've never been to NYC or Central Park in the Spring, you should make it a priority. This photo pales in comparison to the fullness of its beauty.

Irony

Located on Witherspoon Avenue in downtown Princeton, NJ--across the street from my favorite coffee shop (Small World!) and at the entrance of the alley to a great record store--was this hilarious, yet dreadfully ironic and wildly inappropriate street name. This post is in memory of it. It was removed this summer--and probably for good reason.

So long sweet summer

I spent two weeks in Silver Lake.
The California sun cascaded down my face.
There was a girl with light brown streaks,
and she was beautiful but she didn't mean a thing to me.
Yeah she was beautiful, but she didn't mean a thing to me.

So one last touch and then you'll go.
And we'll pretend that it meant something so much more.
But it was vile, and it was cheap.
And you are beautiful but you don't mean a thing to me.
Yeah, you are beautiful but you don't mean a thing to me.

*Lyrics by DCFC

Why I'm Indebted to this Man

If you know much about me, you'll know that I am a poor writer and an even worse public speaker. The thrust of my feeble attempts to communicate with other humans is generally (and most effectively) done via anecdotes or short concise lists. With this in mind, please allow me to share with my faithful readers (all 3 or 4 of you) a post that is long overdue, and one that I could never fully do justice.

In short: the man's name is David James Keen. My best friend and confidant of about 7 years this February.

Consider this anecdote:
David and I were in NYC in April pontificating over a few cold ones at a small pub in the West Village. 'Twas a lovely Manhattan evening and the smells of the early Spring impregnated the air. To my surprise, one of the most beautiful women I have seen in Manhattan sat down at the table adjacent to us. Virtually everyone male in the room noticed her--she was that kind. You know, the kind of girl whose beauty is so imposing it demands all of your attention. I, of course, NEVER approach women--far too shy for such a thing--and immediately dismissed the idea of some embarrassing, failed attempt to speak with her. David pleaded with me over and over to talk to her, but I wouldn't hear of such a thing. Finally he had somehow managed to talk me into approaching her, apologizing for the interruption, and kindly telling her that she was beautiful and she should know that. I thought this sounded plausible. I mean, what woman doesn't want to hear that she is beautiful--that is, in a non-creepy, completely appropriate manner? So, after much reluctance, I thought, "What the hell? I've never done this and I'm in NYC with my best friend for god's sakes. What's the worst that could happen?--I come off as a creepy bastard? Then she would merely know the truth about me?" So, I did it.

In short, it was a success! She was delighted to hear my compliment and even told me that she especially needed to hear that tonight after the terrible day she had had. We made some small chat beyond pleasantries and then I left. No exchange of numbers or a request for anything in return. Simply a kind smile and a compliment. Makes me wonder how others will respond to genuine kindness.

David, this post is for you. Without you, I would lack a significant amount of confidence--especially when it comes to women. In the end, please consider this list(see below) as a token of my love and reasons as to why I am indebted to you.

10. He honks and "deuces" every pedestrian on the road.
9. He lets me call him any pet name I may desire, e.g. "ol' biggin" "Tank" "Bossman" "Blossman" "Rev the Tank" et cetera
8. He is an evangelical that actually thinks
7. He let me live at his house for free during the summer of '08
6. He's someone with whom I share a love for IPA's
5. He's a man of conviction and faith to a degree that I wish I possessed
4. He went streaking at my college graduation
3. I'm always more confident around him
2. I met my last girlfriend because he introduced us when I was too afraid to approach her--which turned out to be short-lived but a great thing with a great young lady
1. He knows every single one of my shortcomings and still loves me unconditionally

Left Uninspired by the Crust of Railroad Earth

The Democratization of Jesus

Set in motion by the enlightenment and precipitated by all that followed the American and French Revolutions, there has been a dramatic expansion in the circle of people who consider themselves capable of thinking for themselves about virtually all issues (this blog being evidence). While ordinary people first began to adopt a new rhetoric of liberty, what followed has been societies comprised of individuals who are increasingly more autonomous. Such phenomena has seen the erosion of respect for authority and tradition. This seems to be best described as a process referred to as democratization.

Scholars have long noted the effects of the seemingly ubiquitous process of democratization in Western society, but what piques my interest is its affect on religion, specifically on how one views Jesus.

Of course, going to a liberal seminary, I am more interested in how external forces have influenced and largely shaped the Christian faith, rather than viewing it as developing from some divine, sovereign power. That being said, I’ve been thinking quite a bit about how democratization has affected perceptions of the person and work of Jesus.

But I digress…back to my original point. I’m no expert but it seems the process of democratization has unleashed forces providing an impetus for individuals to interpret the role of the church and define Jesus in a way that seems to fit them best. The nonrestrictive environment of Western society has allowed common people to reshape society, and subsequently impelled laypersons to do the same with the church. Churches are now in the control of local hands, indigenous expressions of faith have followed, distinctions between clergy and laypersons have narrowed, and common persons have been charged with the self-declared duty of defining faith for themselves rather than by tradition, creed, or papal authority.

The net sum of all this has less to do with ecclesiastical structures and more to do with the incarnation of Jesus into popular culture. We get to determine our civil authorities, we get to determine to whom we will be married, we get to determine where we work, what we eat, who sleep with, how many partners we’ll have, and, oddly enough, the kind of Jesus we envisage. The long and wide-ranging effects of democracy’s self-determination have bled over into our own definitions of Jesus. In short, Jesus is no longer our King of Kings; to many he is our homeboy!

So here’s my question(s): Is anything sacred anymore? Is this really a bad thing?

Music and Tangible Grace

I'm a music junkie. I love it. It's what moves me; it's my opiate; it's my heroine drip. It's precisely what has the ability to take me beyond any palpable seam of time and texture. I've often had conversations with friends that no other form of art can do such a thing. What has ensued has been endless debates, but still I remain firm in my position. But what is it about music that moves me?

My sense is that music has saved my life over and over. As a young man having my heart broken and dealing with the loss of love, it was music that kept me connected in the face of the violence imposed by unrequited or forgotten love. As a child trying to sleep at night burdened with anxiety over the unknown, it was the sound of the old hymns my mother would play that kept me connected to her in the face of all that was changing. The music she played was rich and complex, its harmonies painful then joyful, its rhythms slow with sorrow, or dancing with exuberance. By listening to music, I feel as if there is a world that can hold me...can hold all of us. In a sense, music makes God's grace tangible.

Retribution Theology Gone Wild

II Kings 2:23-24

Moral of the Story:

I saw this on a website and thought it hilarious...Enjoy!

Men, the Mating Game, and Depression

I've given some significant thought to the aggression, irritability and depression in males. It seems to transcend age groups, race, social status, religious affiliation etc.. But the question that puzzled me is whether depression/aggression is manifested as a response to cultural stimuli or can its locus be found in the biological makeup of males. The answer, of course, is both; but since I have neither the time nor the resources to assess the former, I have some initial thoughts on the latter from what I've gathered in reading and my own anecdotal evidence.

According to the scientific definition of our biological makeup, there are two types: male and female. The former produce many small gametes and the latter produce few but much larger gametes. To put this in perspective, one female egg can house something like 1/4 million sperm cells--incredible! While the female produces only a few hundred eggs in her life, the male produces millions of sperm daily. Thus, there will always be many times more sperm than there are eggs.

As a consequence, these millions of sperm must rigorously compete for access to those rare eggs. This, in my opinion, radically effects how we act as males. As the male attempts to move his sperm to gain access to the best eggs, the female gets to make a selection from among those males who come courting. Men are then always in flux and in a restless state of pursuing the best females in efforts to fertilize their precious, limited eggs. From the greenest of algae to the most blue-blood aristocrat, we are involved in a game of cat-and-mouse where males' primal response is to pursue and females' is to escape (or accept).

What does it all mean?
So here is the deal-i-o. I would argue that there will always be more irritable and depressed men than women. Because women carry the larger, more scarce eggs, they will always be sought after by more men than the other way around. Women will always have the upper hand and will always get to choose the most attractive male from among those who present themselves to fertilize her egg. This inevitably frustrates men. Those who don't get to fertilize the best eggs turn irritable; those who don't get to fertilize any eggs turn violent or depressed or both.

Maybe this explains why young men do stupid things and take more risks than young women. Since young men are in an endless competition with one another, some must be willing to fight or take other risks in order to have the best chances of having sex with the most attractive females. In this sense, it helps explain some of male aggression.

Maybe this is one reason why older men cheat on their wives. If they stay with their 50-year old, post-menopausal wife, their chances to fertilize the best eggs are obsolete. However, if they find a beautiful, young mare, their chances at the best eggs increase. Of course, none of this occurs on a conscious level, but the biological make-up does seem to serve as a sort of impetus for one's actions.

Just a thought.

New Jersey Coast

I recently visited the NJ coast on my birthday. It was a lovely day. In fact, I've learned any sunny day that reaches above 40 degrees at the beginning of February in New Jersey makes for a great day. Though I can't be certain, my estimation is that this photo was taken near Ocean Beach, NJ.

I've snapped hundreds of photos in the last month or so. I was roughly pleased with this one.

Title Track

My first post is to comment in brief on the title I chose for this blog: "Faith Seeking Understanding" or "fides quaerens intellectum." Perhaps I chose this title because I thought it appropriately describes my Sitz im Leben (i.e. setting in life).

I'm currently in graduate school at Princeton Theological Seminary, so at the backdrop of such a statement is the understanding that the task of my self-examination (and general reflection of all things material and spiritual) rests on the assumption that faith and inquiry are inseparable. Perhaps what I assume reflects the age-old adage posited by Augustine, "I believe in order that I may understand." But, of course, any Princetonian who dabbles in theology knows I am ripping off the great St. Anselm who is credited with coining the phrase from his piece entitled, Proslogion, 1. Still, my sense is that all this is indicative to the fact that as religious human beings, we desperately seek to understand in what we claim to believe.

But in the end, I have to believe that this faith seeks understanding, and ultimately understanding will bring joy amidst this miserable world.