The Forum, Roma

Title-less (thoughts?)

To see ourselves as others see us

Church of St. Mary: Ephesus, Turkey

Hands

Sorrow

Sorrow found me when I was young

Sorrow waited; sorrow won

Sorrow, they put me on the pill

It's in my honey; it's in my milk

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Addendum: Apparently the foregoing post concerned a close friend of mine, probing him to ask, "Dude, are you alright?" Me: "Yeah, why?" Friend: "Saw your blog post...the one about being sorrowful or something. It seemed pretty...um....depressing."

In retrospect, I suppose this post is a bit melodramatic. As such, I'm adding a disclaimer informing all that I'm ok. I do owe a 'tip of the hat' to MB, the Big Cat, for taking this picture and to The National, the band from whom I stole and posted the lyrics under the pic.

Boom. 10/21/10

An unlikely god, man

A funny thing about the whole divinity business of Jesus is that he is uniquely unqualified to be a god. Prima facie he is a human. In general, to be divine is not to be human. So the Mesopotamian god Erra is accused of behavior inappropriate to his assigned status, i.e., he acted like a human. The god Yahweh of Israel reminds Hosea's audience (Hos 11:9): "For I am god and not a man." That humanity and divinity fall in two generally incommensurate categories is axiomatic. But Jesus--according to his posthumous ecumenical councils, and certainly a modicum of textual/scriptural sources--is regarded as both human and divine. An ironic mix indeed.

One wonders too about his fitness to be a god (or God) when one considers the way in which his life played out. If the "God" were to assume flesh, wouldn't we expect a more formidable character? A John Rambo, Jean-Claude Van Damme-esque avatar? But this guy goes hungry, gets tired, suffers from thirst, is sad, anxious, gets heckled and harassed, he calls and puts up with followers who never actually get it--what kind of god is that? An utterly human god. This fellow just walks around--though does so on water during one occasion--spending most of his time talking. A pedestrian god. Walking and talking. Walking and talking. When he does pop for an upgrade in transportation, it's on a donkey. And in the end, his life culminates to death in 3 hours: a series of moans, groans, gasps, and laments. Dunzo. What kind of god is that? How can this son inspire?

Having likely offended all moral & Christian sensibilities by now, the reader is likely to ask: "What about the resurrection, man? You're telling only half the story?" Yes, yes. The resurrection's great. And St. Paul so admonishes that without it all faith is futile (1 Cor 15:?--somewhere in there, I believe). But eschewing several century-old, hackneyed responses merely touting the resurrection--proffered as if it were the solitary lifebuoy in a sea of invectives--I find the suffering God-figure moving, poignant, and beautifully compelling.

To say that God suffered does seem counterintuitive. But to say as much also suggests that God is not only creator (however one interprets "create") but also our co-participator. That an ineffable God condescended, assumed flesh--and even suffered!-- implies that this God participated in all the grandeur and misery of humanity, accompanied by all of life's vicissitudes. Envisaging Jesus as God participating in as much yields an assurance that no earthly adventure, from puberty to death, is unprecedented or incapable of being shared and that one's life is thoroughly witnessed and therefore not wasted. It is, in a sense, God's great act of solidarity with humanity--a humanity characterized by suffering and joy.

As a consequence, I like the image of the suffering God. Put simply, it's comforting. In fact, I love the suffering God, not as one loves wine or chocolate, because they are special, but as one loves one's own body and consciousness, because they are part of one's own being. This, I find, is especially true for those who feel to be a radically defective person. The suffering God--the one w/marks on his hands and feet, the one with a gaping hole in his side, the one who didn't quite fit in with the status quo--offers humanity a sense of self-being, a meaning. A seemingly unqualified god, indeed. But behind the legends, misappropriations, and theological jargon exists a place where one can mutually participate in the drama of global salvation--a place where one ceases to be a radically defective person. The suffering God: the great human equalizer.

Lost in Translation

Taken in Mykonos. One of the Greek Isles. I have a silly penchant for funny signs, advertisements, and marquees (especially those of the ecclesial variety).

Time together is just never quite enough

Blizzard(s) 2010

This pic bears witness to the brutal, mid-atlantic/northeast winter, which happened to be the snowiest in recorded history. In fact, at one point we Princetonians sat on nearly 2 ft of snow. But the last vestiges of snow have just melted. Spring is at the fore. L'Chayim!

Don't make fun of grad students, they just made a terrible life choice

Broad is the Gate...broader than we once supposed

The Blood of Christ, The Cup of Salvation

If the majority of Protestants subscribe to the belief that Jesus was 100% human and 100% divine, why can't they get on board with consecrated wine being 100% wine and 100% blood? I'm no catholic, but I at least show my obeisance to the consecrated elements. Low Christology, High Sacramentology...both existing coterminously. Still working that out.

Good Riddance Summer 09

Labor day has come and gone, which means the days of summer 2009 are waning…and fast. But in my opinion, the days aren’t ensuing fast enough. While the autumn brings crisp weather, vibrant colored leaves, the hope of a new school semester, and the quixotic love affair we often associate with the cooling temps, a recap of this past summer proves to be one of the less scintillating summers on record.

Joe Queenan’s piece in the Labor Day weekend edition of the Wall Street Journal recounts the ignominious summer, calling it “the least eventful summer since 1491.” I couldn’t agree more.

You see, nothing really happened. Health-care reform got nowhere. Obama picked no fights with anyone, refusing to demonize the health insurance corporations. Sotomayor’s Supreme Court nomination was confirmed, but with far less drama than I expected (or hoped for). The economy remained stagnant—growing neither worse nor better. More people were indicted on fraud charges (e.g. Richard Scrushy of HealthSouth). And Cash-for-Clunkers launched, making most of the headlines—indicative of just how boring this summer turned out to be. If it weren’t for the little incident with the cop and the black prof from Harvard up in Cambridge and the subsequent “beer summit,” coupled with the town-hall brawls, as it were, the headlines probably would have retreated to less stimulating topics, such as the increasing deficit or Tom DeLay’s debut on “Dancing with the Stars.”

Aside from the political and economic, Lance Armstrong didn’t win the Tour de France; the Yanks climbed to the best team in baseball (surprise, surprise); the Lakers won their 15^th championship; and all of the movies stunk (I haven’t seen “Inglorious Bastards”). Indeed, the only one who can claim to have had a busy summer is the Grim Reaper. Did everyone die this summer?

Personally this summer was a bit lackluster: No vacations! Notwithstanding a trip home, two trips to NYC, and a 36-hour excursion to the Maryland shore, I’ve found myself short of money and short of fun. Much to my chagrin, I studied for TWO standardized tests: GRE and LSAT. A poor decision, as the most effective approach most likely would have been to tackle one at a time. The result: overwhelming mediocrity on two important exams instead of quality performance on one. Hindsight is indeed 20/20, my friends.

On the up and up, I did fall in love with a wonderful young lady. But the distance is taxing to say the least. She’s at the University of Tenn., and I am still in Princeton. What’s more is that on my most recent visit a few weeks ago, she was “uninvited” to a wedding, because the bride and groom had to make “budgetary” cuts on non-married, non-engaged couples—though I had RSVP’d both of us months in advance. At the event, the wedding party showed up in stretch hummers and the recently married couple left in a helicopter. Since when are people (especially old friends) more expendable than open bars, air travel, and extravagant entrances? What a guy, huh?

But the summer is over. Class starts in a week and the hope of a new semester and a new year is abreast. Here’s to a better autumn and a hope that the future holds an exciting new frontier. And here’s to a summer that I say GOOD RIDDANCE!

Photography as Philology

My untrained eye, lack of creativity, unsteady hand, and crappy camera all come together in these photos. As such, I apologize. Sometimes I liken my photography (if I dare call it that) to my Hebrew and/or Greek translations. Both are a work of interpretation from an original to a representation. Both face the obstacle of inadequacy. Both never fully capture the import of the original presentation. Both forfeit the striking, salient features appreciated in their original context.

So what's been goin' on wich'ya?

Well, quite a bit actually. Notwithstanding my previous post, I have been largely mia, as it were, and for that I apologize to all my readers--and of course by 'readers' I mean to indicate those faithful few whom I can count on one hand.

So what's been going on, seriously?

I continue to vacillate between a PhD application and law school application. Law?! John, I thought we had moved past all that? Yes, we had. But alas! the latter has resurfaced only recently. "Why?" you ask? Indeed, queries into the matter often leave me vexed, but for the sake of my reader, that is for your sake, I'll run down the pros and cons. NB, however, a PhD in Religion is no doubt my first choice.

So as many (i.e. all) of you know, the economic climate has taken a turn for the worse, and we have all felt (and continue to feel) its repercussions in one form or another. Indeed, the ivory towers of higher education are not impervious to such consequences. The resultant effects are felt primarily in funding, which means no hiring and a paucity of PhD slots among institutions. As such, every school to which I am applying this Fall is taking ONE PhD candidate. Now don't get me wrong, I'm a solid student with high marks all around. But do I possess the makings to qualify for the one, particular spot? Do these schools really need one more white male? Broadly speaking, does society really need another less-capable, over-achieving, white male, seeking to add a word or two to the religious milieu of the day? In short: no, no, and no! But, as it stands, I am going to apply. At this point I feel as though I would be remiss, coming this far and working this hard, if I did not at least give it a shot. As such, I will be applying to the following: Princeton, Duke, Emory, Vandy, Notre Dame, and Baylor (and maybe Yale).

On the up and up, I almost have a 4.0 (3.94 to be exact) and have even been selected to teach as a graduate assistant next year in Hebrew. With a writing sample in the works, a couple faculty recommendations pending, and a plethora of GRE vocab cards, I continue to proceed with a hope and a dream.

If the aforementioned fails, I'm off to other options. I'm thinking law school or trying my hand in the micro-brewing business. The name of the micro-brewery: He-Brews.

And that's what's been goin' on.

Quintessential II

This post is dedicated to my dear friend Tyler Broome, a.k.a 'T-bone'.

During college, whenever someone would get overwhelmingly intoxicated and do something embarassing, my friends would say that that person pulled a 'T-bone'. Now that we've since graduated, at each wedding--when we all regather together--we eagerly wait to see who among us pulls a 'T-bone'.

For the record I'd like to say that I've never done so...at least not in the last few years.

Love ya', T-bone.

Quintessential

This post is dedicated to my dear friend Mike Bailey, ubiquitously known as MB, and to me as "The Big Cat."

Sometimes when I'm having a bad day, I simply look at this photo and envisage the title/superscription reading: "Adult ADD at its finest: if he's not tyrannizing, he's checked out."

happy hour...now there's a misnomer

Sleep in Our Clothes and Wait for Winter to Leave