I'm a teacher! I teach! - The First Hurdle

Today was a very important day. Today, for the first time, I faced down a class of high school students and taught them a lesson. I am officially a teacher!

(That is, until I'm flushed with triumph about teaching with my first official lesson plan in my methods course next semester. Or until I'm student teaching next spring. Or until I get my license. Or until I have my own classroom. Or until I've finished my first year. Or until that magic day when the class REALLY gets it. I reserve the right to name any and all future days The Official Start Of My Teacherness.)

How did I manage? Heroically, considering my deep dislike of presentations. I took presenting an old Scottish ballad to a bunch of apathetic, academically indifferent teenagers, looked it squarely in the eye, and... got myself good and drunk first, my old coping mechanism for nerve-wracking assignments.

Those who do not know me will have entirely the wrong impression now; those who do will be utterly confused. I do not use alcohol or any other foreign chemicals to get plastered. I simply distract myself working or surfing the Net or reading till the not-so-wee hours of the morning, and fatigue poisons do the rest. I used to think it was just procrastination; now I wonder if it's a half-deliberate attempt to hit an altered state of consciousness where I no longer feel nervous or frustrated, only euphoric or depressed.

Anyway, I chose my poem well. I managed to get the kids discussing the nature of fairies, and I managed to stop them at the point when they were looking at me funny by explaining that I wanted to discuss the magical kind. And they stuck with that! The first two verses, I let 'em struggle with the original poem. Then I asked them what they thought it meant, when the last stanza warns "'And nae maid comes to Carterhaugh /And a maid returns again.'" They seemed to agree with the girl who decided it must mean no maid ever comes back alive. All attention was riveted on me when I explained that the second time, "maid" was being used in the sense of "virgin". :-D It's sad how predictably it works, actually - load on the sex, and the kids are completely involved. After that point I gave them my quick translation so they could follow without getting utterly lost.

I lost their attention during the lengthy passage on how to free Tam - in retrospect, I should have emphasized more the odd situation of the man being the damsel in distress. Overall, I felt like I did an adequate job, but I could have done better. I also felt like I was getting off easy. This class was taught by an extremely experienced, competent, and deft teacher whose students were polite and well-behaved for this stranger while their teacher was watching. The teacher had also gotten their sympathy for me by comparing my student teaching to their senior exit presentations. The teacher also covered what would have been a woeful lack if I had been going solo - I completely neglected to review, highlight important points, take questions, etc. The teacher covered for me so naturally that I doubt the students noticed. I'm just glad it wasn't a formal lesson assignment. The review is the part where you actually hammer the lesson home; otherwise, odds are it'll be forgotten by nightfall. The teacher also improvised an excellent assignment: allow the students to write their own ballad. I would have spent more time collectively plotting before splitting the students into groups to work on different sections, but then, I would have planned this in advance or I wouldn't have been able to think of it at all. The teacher was improvising brilliantly with the time I left over.

I'm not being too hard on myself; I did well for what it was, and it's okay that I still have things to learn to pay attention to. (Dangling prepositions will be permitted in my class, thank you very much.) Still, it did get me thinking. I did a fraction of what a teacher needs to do, and I got the following review from a teacher who knows enough to know the lack:

"Ms. [gosh, it's weird to be called by my last name] taught a lesson on ballads (emphasis on "Tam Lin") on April 18. She had a class of 17 English IV Standard students in the palm of her hand. When she completed her lesson, the class decided she should be their teacher until the end of the year. :)"

Is it blasphemous that I spent the latter half of the period thinking about how God covers for us? We're allowed to stand or fall for the part we're ready to play, but for the rest, He covers so deftly that we look like we did something we can't. Here, a teacher made it look like I can teach a class. (Actually, God was probably involved too. Three hours of sleep following a sleep-deprived week, then no caffeine... but then, adrenaline does something too.) Another time, I might hold my temper with that complete and utter idiot, or I might offer good emotional support, or some sudden insight... but the minute I think I'm really doing well, that it's my contribution that's making the most difference, I'm kidding myself.

Still lots to learn and grow into!

The Terrible Trivium

Yes, I'm starting with another quote. Let's face it: quotes are how I frame the world.

The Humbug whistled gaily at his work, for he was never as happy as when he had a job which required no thinking at all. After what seemed like days, he had dug a hole scarcely large enough for his thumb. Tock shuffled steadily back and forth with the dropper in his teeth, but the full well was still almost as full as when he began, and Milo's new pile of sand was hardly a pile at all.

"How very strange," said Milo, without stopping for a moment. "I've been working steadily all this time, and I don't feel the slightest bit tired or hungry. I could go right on the same way forever."

"Perhaps you will," the man agreed with a yawn (at least it sounded like a yawn).

"Well, I wish I knew how long it was going to take," Milo whispered as the dog went by again.

"Why not use your magic staff and find out?" replied Tock as clearly as anyone could with an eye dropper in his mouth.

Milo took the shiny pencil from his pocket and quickly calculated that, at the rate they were working, it would take each of them eight hundred and thirty-seven years to finish.

"Pardon me," he said, tugging at the man's sleeve and holding the sheet of figures up for him to see, "but it's going to take eight hundred and thirty-seven years to do these jobs."

"Is that so?" replied the man, without even turning around. "Well, you'd better get on with it then."

"But it hardly seems worth while," said Milo softly.

"WORTH WHILE!" the man roared indignantly.

"All I meant was that perhaps it isn't too important," Milo repeated, trying not to be impolite.

"Of course it's not important," he snarled angrily. "I wouldn't have asked you to do it if I thought it was important." And now, as he turned to face them, he didn't seem quite so pleasant.

"Then why bother?" asked Tock, whose alarm suddenly began to ring.

"Because, my young friends," he muttered sourly, "what could be more important than doing unimportant things? If you stop to do enough of them, you'll never get to where you're going." He punctuated his last remark with a villainous laugh.

"Then you must -----" gasped Milo.

"Quite correct!" he shrieked triumphantly. "I am the Terrible Trivium, demon of petty tasks and worthless jobs, ogre of wasted effort, and monster of habit."

And, to follow this with a related obstacle earlier in the story, with the Lethargians:

"Well, if you can't laugh or think, what can you do?" asked Milo.

"Anything as long as it's nothing, and everything as long as it isn't anything," explained another.

"There's lots to do; we have a very busy schedule-

"At 8 o'clock we get up, and then we spend

"From 8 to 9 daydreaming.

"From 9 to 9:30 we take our early midmorning nap.

"From 9:30 to 10:30 we dawdle and delay.

"From 10:30 to 11:30 we take our late early morning nap.

"From 11:00 to 12:00 we bide our time and then eat lunch.

"From l:00 to 2:00 we linger and loiter.

"From 2:00 to 2:30 we take our early afternoon nap.

"From 2:30 to 3:30 we put off for tomorrow what we could have done today.

"From 3:30 to 4:00 we take our early late afternoon nap.

"From 4:00 to 5:00 we loaf and lounge until dinner.

"From 6:00 to 7:00 we dillydally.

"From 7:00 to 8:00 we take our early evening nap, and then for an hour before we go to bed at 9:00 we waste time.

"As you can see, that leaves almost no time for brooding, lagging, plodding, or procrastinating, and if we stopped to think or laugh, we'd never get nothing done."

"You mean you'd never get anything done," corrected Milo.

"We don't want to get anything done," snapped another angrily; "we want to get nothing done, and we can do that without your help."

"You see," continued another in a more conciliatory tone, "it's really quite strenuous doing nothing all day, so once a week we take a holiday and go nowhere, which was just where we were going when you came along. Would you care to join us?"

"I might as well," thought Milo; "that's where I seem to be going anyway."

Those are from The Phantom Tollbooth by Norman Juster. Shel Silverstein seems to have heard of the Lethargians:

I've been working so hard you just wouldn't believe,
And I'm tired!
There's so little time and so much to achieve,
And I'm tired!
I've been lying here holding the grass in its place,
Pressing a leaf with the side of my face,
Tasting the apples to see if they're sweet,
Counting the toes on a centipede's feet.
I've been memorizing the shape of that cloud,
Warning the robins to not chirp so loud,
Shooing the butterflies off the tomatoes,
Keeping an eye out for floods and tornadoes.
I've been supervising the work of the ants
And thinking of pruning the cantaloupe plants,
Calling the fish to swim into my nets,
And I've taken twelve thousand and forty-one breaths,
And I'm TIRED!

I'm astounded at how literature can be so aware of my busy schedule! It forgets blogging and Internet surfing for quotes, though. Also meticulously editing invisible HTML to clean it up where it won't be noticed.

Handy trick

My roommates and several other people I know memorize Scripture by writing verses on cards or slips of paper and sticking them where they will be frequently seen.

I have begun to set the appropriate passage as my browser's home page.

Because gosh darn it, as often as I want to quote I Corinthians 1:18-29, I ought to memorize it.

Wisdom and foolishness

A line from Pride and Prejudice is ringing in my head: "We are each of an unsocial, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say something that will amaze the whole room..."

I've always loved and identified with Elizabeth. Not that, you know, my infrequent blogging has ANYTHING to do with a disposition disinclined to discourse with a disinterested audience. Perhaps I need to set myself a schedule to offset the genius impulse. And moving on to tonight's topic, I apologize for its incoherence; I'm running on far too little sleep. But where would I be if I posted only when I wished to say something which will amaze teh interwebs? (Yes, Mom, that "teh" is intentional. Remind me to explain net slang sometime.)

20 Where is the wise man? Where is the scholar? Where is the philosopher of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world? 21 For since in the wisdom of God the world through its wisdom did not know him, God was pleased through the foolishness of what was preached to save those who believe. 22 Jews demand miraculous signs and Greeks look for wisdom, 23 but we preach Christ crucified: a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles, 24 but to those whom God has called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. 25 For the foolishness of God is wiser than man's wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than man's strength.

-I Corinthians 1:20-25, NIV

I'm very fond of this passage of Corinthians - from around 1:10 till the end of chapter 2. I Cor 1:25-28 or so is quoted in Madeleine L'Engle's A Wrinkle In Time, and is possibly my favorite part of that whole book. (One of these days I'll figure out whether the psalms in that book are Scripture or her originals.) When I discovered the source, I kept returning there. I liked to read and reread it; it's about how God chooses flawed instruments to reveal His glory. I still love that quote. I have not quoted it above. Because the part I quoted seems more relevant tonight.

Last week I had the privilege of watching Dr. Francis Collins, head of the now-completed Human Genome Project, give a lecture on science and faith (huzzah for people in favor of ending a fruitless, misinterpreted conflict!). Shortly thereafter, my mother lent me What's So Great About Christianity by Dinesh D'Souza, an interesting book that seems interested in being the Mere Christianity for the scientific mind. Today, a coworker brought up a scenario from his philosophy class challenging the right of Christ to forgive sins. All in all, the ideas wrapped up in the intellectual defense of Christianity are front and center in my mind.

Maybe the reason I like this section of Corinthians - that 1:10 or so through around the end of chapter 2 - is that it contains one of the rare mentions of intelligence. "The intelligence of the intelligent I will frustrate", in 1:19 - how encouraging! It seems that intellect is an ultimately insufficient means of understanding God. "Where is the wise man? Where is the scholar? Where is the philosopher of this age?" Frankly, spread across the board. It seems one can divine truth neither by opposing nor by agreeing with the psychologist, the professor, the scientist. No, one must abandon all hope of reaching true wisdom or power without the aid of God.

It's interesting to me the way people read this sort of thing - the Biblical warnings about Christ appearing foolish to the world, etc. I suspect the atheist would simply say Christianity foolish, a historical misunderstanding ranging from laughable to lamentable. Many Christians seem to react by smugly believing that we'll show them someday! They laugh now, but we'll get the last laugh! They're the fools!

I don't like either reaction. I don't think God's wisdom is foolishness only to the world. I think that as long as we are in the world, even we who say we follow God's wisdom will find it foolish. I also think a lot of foolishness is justified by claiming to be God's wisdom. Unfortunately, while even the foolishness of God is wiser than man's wisdom, the foolishness of men is not. To react to this passage in any way other than with profound humility is to become the philosopher of this age with all the answers. (I would also love to reiterate the parallels I see between the Jewish/Greek conflict in the early Church and the conservative/liberal conflict in the modern Church, but that's another topic and I'm already wandering a fair bit.)

All this to say I like a reminder that being a fool for Christ is more than accepting humiliation - it's accepting humility.

I mentioned Mere Christianity above. Lewis is one of the greatest apologists for the Christian faith since Augustine. His strong intellectual arguments are popular to repeat in Christian circles. Unfortunately, they (like all arguments with subjects as all-encompassing as Life, the Universe and Everything) are flawed and fallible. Lewis himself was stricken by a loss in a debate on the subject later in his career. I wish I knew the details or the line of the arguments presented! I wonder sometimes if this blow shook his faith in any way, a faith closely tied with his faith in logic ("why don't they teach logic in these schools!"). I like to imagine that he went through a period of wrestling with God and questioning his faith in the intangible. I also like to imagine that this led to his creating my favorite defense of Christianity:

"One word, Ma'am," he said, coming back from the fire; limping because of the pain. "One word. All you've been saying is quite right, I shouldn't wonder. I'm a chap who always liked to know the worst and then put the best face I can on it. So I won't deny any of what you said. But there's one thing more to be said, even so. Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things—trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that's a funny thing, when you come to think of it. We're just babies making up a game, if you're right. But four babies playing a game can make a play-world which licks your real world hollow. That's why I'm going to stand by the play-world. I'm on Aslan's side even if there isn't any Aslan to lead it. I'm going to live as like a Narnian as ever I can even if there isn't any Narnia. So, thanking you kindly for our supper, if these two gentlemen and the young lady are ready, we're leaving your court at once and setting out in the dark to spend our lives looking for the Overland. Not that our lives will be very long, I should think; but that's a small loss if the world's as dull a place as you say."

Puddleglum, The Silver Chair*

It is a divine foolishness, this search for Overland. And now that I'm done quoting more than Mrs. Who in A Wrinkle in Time, I'm going to bed.

*I suspected I wouldn't have to type this out for myself, that I'd find a quote by googling "Puddleglum four babies" (on the grounds that "four babies" is a rather unique part of the quote). I am happy to report that this worked beautifully. Except for the sloppy transcription on the first couple sites I tried. Linking turned out to be impractical.

Shamelessly literary ramblings

A HYMN TO GOD THE FATHER.
by John Donne

I.
WILT Thou forgive that sin where I begun,
Which was my sin, though it were done before?
Wilt Thou forgive that sin, through which I run,
And do run still, though still I do deplore?
When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done,
For I have more.

II.
Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I have won
Others to sin, and made my sin their door?
Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I did shun
A year or two, but wallowed in a score?
When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done,
For I have more.

III.
I have a sin of fear, that when I have spun
My last thread, I shall perish on the shore ;
But swear by Thyself, that at my death Thy Son
Shall shine as he shines now, and heretofore ;
And having done that, Thou hast done ;
I have no more.

I have a deep and abiding love for John Donne which will probably crop up repeatedly if I keep writing here. An intellectual trying to grasp incomprehensible truths, a pious man with a positive fascination with sex, a believer who often felt no faith whatsoever - the contradictions are delightfully puzzling and familiar. After four years of study and seven years of love, I forget how incomprehensible his language can be for modern readers.

Be glad I'm not posting an analysis of Satire #3 or Sonnet 14: "Batter My Heart, Three-Personed God;" that I as yet but seek to study this one song of Donne's.

Anyway, this poem can be paraphrased thus: "God, will you forgive me for being a sinful human? Will you forgive me for sinning perpetually? Will you forgive me for getting others to sin? Will you forgive me for falling into that sin I thought I never would fall into? Hey, there's more I can list! Will you forgive my doubts, too? If you'll swear that it's all good, we're good."

But I love the refrain, because it's part of Donne's perpetual punning. Ordinarily I loathe punning with the fire of a thousand suns, but Donne's so dang good at it. "When thou hast done, thou hast not Donne, for I have more."

It's speculated, however, that there's another pun in that poem. See, his beloved wife's maiden name was More. "When thou hast done, thou hast not Donne; for I have More." The last line of the poem is usually rendered "I fear no more", but I prefer this obscure alternate version - "I have no more" - because I suspect it's what was on Donne's mind. His wife died a few years before this poem was written, and it broke his heart and almost killed him. "And having done that, thou hast Donne; I have no More."

Long, vaguely comprehensible rambling? Yes. But it comes down to this: this poem is, for me, a potent reminder of all the things I cling to before God. "I have More." This is the same guy who shamelessly wrote "For God's sake hold your tongue, and let me love..." and is famous for his mingling of the sacred and the sexual. It must have been very, very hard for him to remember God with his wife, and harder still to face Him having lost his wife. How many good things do I put before God? Shamelessly? Nakedly? Will he forgive the sin through which I run, and do run still, which I ought to deplore? And when will I learn to deplore it? (Donne was also the Dean of St. Paul's Cathedral; I suppose he was probably quicker on the deploring front than I.)

A fancy way of saying I've been prioritizing terribly lately. I've got to get on that tomorrow.

An explanation of the shiny new tags

I'm going through and tagging my entries, and thought I'd explain a little something.

Most of the tags are intuitive and sensible. "Briars" and "thorns", though, are not, and there is a distinction between the two.

"Briars" are impersonal or inhuman forces which cause anything from headaches to tragedy.

"Thorns" are personal, human forces which do the same.

And it may be noted that some of my "briars" are human, and some of my "thorns" are indistinguishable from those briars. Since I like neat categories, I thought I'd apologize up front for this shamelessly subjective distinction between "forces comprising humans which achieve inhuman immutability" and "people who ought to be able to behave better, darnit".

And now that I have thoroughly lost everyone, time for the revived blog to go! Expect more ranting about the education system in the new blog, by the way. I'm learning all kinds of interesting things about educational theory.

A New Leaf

I confess, I've forgotten about this thing. But as my sister starts a new blog, I figure it's only fair to join her in posting *waves to her sis over at Introspect*. If you've been here before, you may notice a few changes to my profile. Since the original Kir is being open about her identity, and since I don't see hoards of Internet stalkers beating down my door, I have opened up and admitted my first name. Also, I've updated my profile a bit, since in the past year I've gotten a little direction in my life.

Speaking of my sister, I wish to apologize for deleting your comment in a fit of "you revealed my secret identity!" panic prior to deciding on these changes. I'm keeping it in my email though, so if you want me to repost it I can do so verbatim.

Calling All Samaritans

I expect no one will read this, seeing as how I haven't updated in almost a year, but I have to write anyway.

We did the parable of the Good Samaritan in church today, and quite wonderful it was. I got intrigued when the pastor began describing how Samaritans were viewed by the Jews. Oh, I knew the two groups hated each other - loathed each other - despised each other; I didn't fully understand why.

You see, the Samaritans were simply not good enough. They were the bastards, the half-breed descendents of Jews who had compromised the true faith. Some synagogues would close their services with a prayer that God would exclude the Samaritans at the resurrection - basically, "Damn them, O Lord." Worse than pagans, these people had known the true faith but adulterated it almost beyond recognition.

At least, according to the Jews.

It occured to me to wonder what sort of unholy practices these Samaritans accepted. Perhaps they embraced the legitimacy of other faiths. Perhaps they accepted homosexuals. Perhaps they allowed women a place of power. Perhaps they despised the self-righteous hypocrisy rampant among the Pharisees and Sadduccees of the day. Perhaps they simply challenged the status quo.

Probably not.

But still. The Jews had a violent hatred of the Samaritans because they regarded them as second-class, illegitimate members of the same faith; the Samaritans had a violent hatred of the Jews in response. It sounds awfully familiar. It sounds, in fact, like Christianity in modern America, where anyone much to the left is a heretic and anyone much to the right is a fanatic - at least in the eyes of whoever speaks. Having moved to the left of the traditions in which I was raised, I feel very much like a Samaritan at times. And hatred of the self-righteous can get so very, very easy.

So I want to issue a call to all Samaritans: Let's see how we can imitate the Good Samaritan. So we are despised, rejected, hated; so what? We still follow a God who calls us to respond to hate with love, to bigotry with charity, to coldness with warmth. And that call does not extend only to those outside the faith, but to those so far in that they're heading out the other side. And perhaps we can remember that while Jesus spent a lot of time attacking the Pharisees and teachers of the law, while His only encounters with Samaritans were friendly ones, He nonetheless considered Himself a Jew and not a Samaritan. There is a place between fanaticism and heresy.

Oh, and that great line from the movie Luther: "It is easier to hate evil than to love good." But not better.

Blessed are the poor in spirit

Two-by-four, head; head, two-by-four. So nice to see you two getting reacquainted. Mind you keep the plank away from the eye.

This week has been an interesting one, insofar as Bible stuff goes. Wednesday I went to a study which was going over Luke 7, the week after it went over Luke 6. The sermon this morning was on Luke 4, with Jesus reading from Isaiah at Nazareth. See if you can find some subtle similarity among these various verses emphasized from those passages:

"Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. [...] But woe to you who are rich, for you have already received your comfort." Luke 6:20, 24

"Go back and report to John what you have seen and heard: The blind receive sight, the lame walk, those who have leprosy are cured, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the good news is preached to the poor." Luke 7:22

"Two men owed money to a certain moneylender. One owed him five hundred denarii, and the other fifty. Neither of them had the money to pay him back, so he canceled the debts of both. Now which of them will live him more?[...] I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven - for she loved much. But he who has been forgiven little loves little." Luke 7:41-42, 47

"The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor." Luke 4:18-19

These are most of the verses that got any emphasis from the various lessons. All lessons pointed out that in these passages, financial poverty is not the issue; spiritual poverty is. All lessons pointed out as well that when we do not recognize ourselves as being the poor, we're deceiving ourselves and deceiving ourselves out of the gift of grace into the bargain.

I always have to wonder how God defines this recognition. I'm a pretty bright girl; I can look at my life and figure out objectively that I don't measure up to God's standard. Do I feel impoverished? No. There are a couple verses that I always feel are tailor-made for me:

Come, all you who are thirsty,
come to the waters;
and you who have no money,
come, buy and eat!
Come, buy wine and milk
without money and without cost.
Why spend money on what is not bread,
and your labor on what does not satisfy?
Listen, listen to me, and eat what is good,
and your soul will delight in the richest of fare.
-Isaiah 55:1-2

You say, "I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing." But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked. I counsel you to buy from me gold refined in the fire, so you can become rich; and white clothes to wear, so you can cover your shameful nakedness; and salve to put on your eyes, so you can see.
-Revelation 3:17-18

I'm pretty good about rejoicing in my blessings, but also pretty good at ignoring anything that makes me uncomfortable. This includes my own shortcomings. I know they're there, but I'm enjoying my material, mental and emotional riches even when I'm aware that my spiritual debts have reached an all-time high.

So, here's a puzzler: how does a girl learn to become greedy for spiritual riches while still enjoying contentment in other areas? Better figure out the right answer soon, because I think God may be trying to send me a subtle little message with these lessons.

Inside out and upside down

"Thou art my beloved Son; in thee I am well pleased." - Luke 3:21 KJV

"The LORD hath said unto me, Thou art my Son; this day have I begotten thee." -Psalm 2:7

"Behold my servant, whom I uphold; mine elect, in whom my soul delighteth..." - Isaiah 42:1

My study NIV has failed to mention the connection between the first verse and the second two. This is what sermons are good for, pointing out connections.

We spend a lot of time these days worrying about self-esteem, self-respect, etc, and with good reason. There seems to be an inherent poverty in the human soul, a persistent belief in our own meanness, our insignificance in the universe. How many people really believe, in their heart of hearts, that they deserve any good thing? If I were REALLY known, we think, it would be impossible for anyone to love me.

Of course, most of us know this isn't our biggest problem. Our biggest problem is that we tend to think too well of ourselves. Maybe because we feel insignificant, we feel a need to impress others (and ourselves) with our strength, our wisdom, our intelligence, our power. Low self-esteem? That's the last thing I need to worry about. My besetting sin is pride, didn't you know that? That's WHY I'm so unlovable. I'm one of those bloody Pharisees, completely on top of the world, nowhere to go but down.

The two messages seem conflicting, but they obviously work well in tandem: I'm worthless, so I'd better go increase/show off my worth, but the fact that I'm doing that shows how worthless I am, etc. There's a phrase oft repeated in my church which applies here: "It's a lie from the pit of Hell, and it smells like smoke."

The thing is, God has told each of us that we are His beloved children. If we are Christians ("little Christs"), then the words of Psalm 2 and Luke 3 apply to us as well. "Your are my son; today I have become your Father. Ask of me, and I will make the nations your inheritance, the ends of the earth your possession," he invites us. I know, it's hard to believe in good news without strings attached - especially for those long in the Church, which seems to fear that preaching grace to the saved will result in orgiastic sin and chaos. You and I are God's creation, His pearl of great price, His beloved bride, His sons and heirs. This, not poverty, is our natural state, the inheritence which is ours since creation began.

But if we are Christians ("little Christs"), then the words of Isaiah and Luke 3 apply to us as well. "Here is my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen one in whom I delight." We are called to be servants, to be willing to demean ourselves before others, not despite our inheritance but because of it. We should have an outlook "the same as that of Christ Jesus: who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant" (Philippians 2:5-7).

I think this is some of the foolishness of God that Paul talks about in I Corinthians 1:20-30. It's foolishness to ask people to give up their rights, to let themselves be pushed around, to place others above themselves. It's all very well in moderation, but really! There are limits.

Perhaps there are limits. I don't believe God asks women to wait hand and foot upon a husband whose idea of marriage is to keep wives barefoot, pregnant and thoroughly battered. I don't believe God asks men to sit idly in slavery and oppression, fawning at the feet of the oppressor, reveling in captivity. But I think God does call for submission nearly as radical. When someone takes your cloak, give your coat as well. If someone makes you carry something a mile, go the extra mile for them. In Christ there is neither slave nor free, but we should be willing to take on thankless tasks for one another even to the point of servility. We should give of ourselves, our time, and our money lavishly and with joy. This is not because we're worthless, because we deserve slavery, but because we are princes and princesses who have something to give, something which is needed.

Humans are inherently worthless, and should therefore work hard and push for their rights to achieve worth and recognition, to gain the acknowledgement of the masses. Humans are inherently priceless, and therefore can afford to work hard without pushing for rights, without human recognition or acknowledgement, with nothing but a "well done, good and faithful servant." If one of these ideas is true, the other is completely inside out and upside down.

Contentment

...is a nice cup of tea, a good book, family around, and the smell of homemade cinnamon raisin bread baking in the oven.

Actually, the first is contentment, the first two happiness, the first three joy, and the last alone is ecstacy. Having a father who's an amateur baker is a definite plus. I'm never moving.

When I'm depressed, I find myself worrying that depression is simply my natural state of being. My writing usually reinforces this impression; I'm at my most articulate when describing the soul-baring anguish of despair. It's easy to come away convinced that happiness isn't meant for me, that such snatches of freedom and joy are only brief highlights. It reminds me of one of the most poignant passages in the book Return of the King. Sam and Frodo are in Mordor, driven to despair and ready to give up. Sam remarks that if he were in front of Galadriel again, he wouldn't ask for anything fancy - just water and sunlight, two things sorely lacking in the hobbits' journey. Suddenly, the clouds part, and a sunbeam illuminates a stream the hobbits had missed. That's how my happiness seems, sometimes - a rare moment of brilliance in the midst of despair, just enough to continue the arduous journey of life.

But this is worth chronicling. Firelight and tea, cinnamon bread, family, laughter. A week in which I got two afternoons off. A good book just completed. For the better part of this week, I've been enjoying a peace and happiness at least as strong and inexplicable as any depression I've experienced. God provides moments of extravagant grace here, and if that's all I need to reach Mount Doom and gain passage into the West, that's what I'll take.

Thread Breaks

At the moment, I'm earning my daily bread in an embroidery shop. It's nice working with my hands after working with my brain all through college, but some days make me want to scream.

Like today. Our embroidery is done with some marvelous computer-run machines which, once set up, are supposed to run automatically through the intricate patterns to produce yet another stunning work of art (or, more often, simple logo or monogram). The worker, in theory, goes about her business setting up the next run, doing small chores, etc while the machine plugs away. The only thing which can stop this beautiful process is a thread break. I leave it to the reader to imagine how rare this event is in this age of miraculous technology.

Today we got to run a 43,000-stitch design. This is about ten times as long as a typical design - tricky to start with, because the machines are more prone to thread breaks the longer they run. (Not that I'm implying that these marvelous machines ever have thread breaks.) This is, however, doable; we ran this design on Friday in under an hour. So it's time to make it more challenging, and do it on a leather vest! Leather is about the least embroidery-friendly substance in the known world, at least out of the things anyone would ever consider embroidering. (And I'm an expert on that list. Our customers have had us embroidering everything from car covers to interesting segments of men's boxers.) And just in case we might get bored, the design would run right over two seams on the back of the vest - seams done blue jean style, only thicker because of the leather. The needles almost burst themselves with, er, joy.

But how many thread breaks? you ask, being too clever to be fooled by my bitter sarcasm. How many thread breaks? I lost count. But to give you an idea how this was running... well, I said we got to do this "today." In reality, we started this thing at 1:30 PM on Friday. At 4:45, it was a little over halfway done, and I was nearly stark raving mad. How many thread breaks? I must remember to ask the marvelous computer that was running the machine. Given that the average time to fix a thread break is 2 minutes, and the average running time between thread breaks was 20 seconds, it ought to be mathematically possible to figure it out right now. Even so, it was running better than today: the last third took from 9:30 AM to 1:00 PM.

By the end, my biggest peeve was not the thread breaks. I understood that the leather was tricky (and probably sticky, from the point of view of a rapidly running machine). What drove me mad was the machine's attempt to take care of them itself. It would detect a thread break and stop immediately - even if the thread break was nonexistent, or something that would quickly take care of itself if the machine would run through it. At other times, I would watch the thread fray to nothing before my eyes, and yet the machine would keep running, determined to make it work. In either case, I would have to back the machine up and make it do twice as much work to make up the mixed-up section. Sometimes, the tangled mess would fray the thread still more, and I'd have to redo a section three, five, ten times.

Being the wonderfully spiritual obsessively analogizing person I am, I distracted myself by trying to find Great Lessons in the mess. It started out seeming obvious: Listen to the operator. However smart your programming might be, however adjustable you might be, you will be wrong often enough that the operator's opinion ought always to come first. And ignoring that will lead to a lot of mess, and a lot of fuss that could be avoided the second the operator is heeded. Good good. Excellent idea. Then I realized the analogy breaks down at the point where the operator feels an intense desire to take a sledgehammer to the whole operation after a certain point. And especially when the operator starts hating the whole business. I don't think God's patience is so finite.

So, make of it what you will. I will settle on spiritual warfare. Demonic interference is the only explanation for the machine managing to get still worse when I started humming "It Is Well With My Soul." They're out to get me, I tell you.

Tidings of Comfort And Joy

Another Christmas has come and gone, much the same as every other Christmas. Family comes, family goes, gifts come and go, the feast comes (and comes... and comes... we'll be working through leftovers for the next couple weeks here). Our church had a service on Christmas, but with a dress code ranging from evening wear to blue jeans. The sermon was a marvelous illustration of Jesus as our hero, using comparisons to Sleeping Beauty, Beauty and the Beast, Return of the King, Superman, and the Matrix - mostly Return of the King. It's wonderful having a pastor with similar rabid hobbies.

But before he got to the story comparisons, our pastor went on a nice riff about heroes in general. He talked about how people come up to him a lot with problems, and ask, "Am I doing something wrong?" He says terrible things happen without our doing anything wrong, and we don't have to be strong enough to deal with them. We don't have to be big enough, or special enough, or smart enough to deal with every obstacle. It's as ludicrous as trying to stop an airplane from falling. And yet we've got a Superman ready to dash away from his day job at the first sign of distress. We might be stuck in a castle surrounded by a cage of thorns and beset by a dragon, but we've got a Prince fighting his way through. We have horrors in our lives, but we have a Beautiful Savior whose healing love can cover them. We have a King whose sword drives back the inexorable juggernaut of evil, a King whose hands bring healing in the aftermath, a King whose reign brings joy to the edge of darkness. And we have the One who will truly set us free.

It might have been observed that I'm fond of Isaiah. Aside from the passage that gives this blog its name, I particularly like Isaiah 59. It begins with an unshirking look at the utter injustice of this world. Then, midway through verse 15,

The LORD looked and was displeased
that there was no justice.

¹⁶ He saw that there was no one,
he was appalled that there was no one to intervene;
so his own arm worked salvation for him,
and his own righteousness sustained him.

God has seen, and He's said "Enough. I'm coming down there, and if anyone's interested in making a world of hurtin', they'll be getting one." Christmas Day is about our newfound opportunity for peace on earth, about our hero winning the battle, about the fact that we can leave this bloody mess to God and just collapse in a good cry and a rest while He takes care of it. It's about tidings of comfort and joy.

Learning to stand

I was recently ranting my mom about my frustrations with the evolution debate, and my mother, being a wonderful lovely person whom I do not deserve to have as a parent, listened politely and said little in disagreement, despite the fact that we agree on almost nothing in that field. We batted back and forth about whether intelligent design belonged in the classroom at all, whether strict division of instruction along subject lines is desirable, and the general nature of science as a subject. We had hammered out some rough truces, which was roughly satisfying, and then I fumed:

"Why do so many people waste so much time with this intelligent design in science class thing? It's not the end of the world to leave it out, nor to put it in."
"Some people just need to fight, I think."

And this is very true. I named this blog after a Bible passage which I feel expresses this desire to argue, to debate, to test. But for some reason this made me think.

There are a number of Great Debates at the moment in which Christianity figures prominently. Evolution. Abortion. Homosexuality. The boundaries of "freedom of religion." Actually, in each of the above Christianity is not only a player, but it's generally assumed that God's position (if there is a God) is set out in genuine Mt. Sinai stone for the world to see in, er, gray and gray. And Christians (on both sides) will claim that their desperate struggle is part of a desperate stand to protect God's interests, or at least God's interests for His people. Christians will bemoan the lack of spine which keeps fellow believers from standing against the prevailing winds of unbelief.

Certainly there are a lot of people in this world who could stand to learn a thing or three about standing up for the right thing. But being involved in a debate is not an indication of standing, or even swaying with the wind. It's hard to believe, I know, because it's so rarely observed, but humans can be contrary critters. There are actually people out there who prefer to lean against the wind. I know, I'm one of 'em. And some of us like to lean into the wind so hard that when the wind stops blowing, or we're taken into shelter, we fall flat on our faces.

I've wondered why I was born into privilege, into comfort, into a loving home in a relatively safe and prosperous country, and I think this is why. I need to learn to stand independent of the prevailing wind. I think the truly strong person is able to stand for what they believe without needing to push or pull against anyone or anything else, and I think God moves us away from the props which inhibit this. Now I just need to push everyone else into understanding this, and getting along while appreciating diversity of opinion, and then corralling everyone into the Right Point Of View as soon as my studies ascertain exactly what this is. Yeah.

Impressions after a tragedy

6You will hear of wars and rumors of wars, but see to it that you are not alarmed. Such things must happen, but the end is still to come. 7Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be famines and earthquakes in various places. 8All these are the beginning of birth pains. -Matthew 24

18I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. 19The creation waits in eager expectation for the sons of God to be revealed. 20For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope 21that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God.

22We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. 23Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. 24For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what he already has? 25But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.

26In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express. 27And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints in accordance with God's will.

28And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. Romans 8

38For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, 39neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. Romans 8

14For this reason I kneel before the Father, 15from whom his whole family in heaven and on earth derives its name. 16I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, 17so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, 18may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, 19and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God. Ephesians 3

I don't know how much the Pakistanis will appreciate expressly Christian prayer, but they have it. They and all the other victims of this mess of a world. Would God care to explain if He has any particular message in mind, before He gets drowned out by the explanations of His self-appointed spokesmen?

Secondary Causes

I've been seeing a lot of stuff from the anti-evolution forces these days, and I've come to a conclusion: I'm heartily sick of the terms in which the whole debate is framed. I have gone from creationist to ID to evolutionist and back.

The various groups pushing alternatives to evolution under such names as "creationism" and "intelligent design" usually do so for at least one of two reasons. The first, and more annoying, is the belief that if God ever becomes unnecessary to explain our existence, God will Himself be disproven. The second, and more understandable, is the belief that God did indeed create the heavens and the earth, and that it would be wrong to teach anything less than the Truth.

But science isn't about Truth. Science isn't about God. Science is about God's handiwork. Science is about secondary causes.

Secondary causes are the causes after God. Secondary causes are the things we learn to understand more about the cause and effect. For instance, the first cause for a baby might be "when a mommy and daddy love each other very much...", but the secondary causes are the biological mechanisms which actually complete the intent of the first cause, and without understanding the secondary causes, our understanding of the process is incomplete. It's fine to summarize "Mommy and Daddy made a baby" or "God did it", but it leaves a lot less room for awe at the complexity.

Think about it! What glories of creation would we not know if we summarized with "God did it" or "God does it"? The heavens declare the glories of God in supernovae, in black holes, in quasars, in the faint whisper of microwave radiation broadcasted across time. God made the heavens so that light travels at a constant rate in a vacuum (or does it?), so that the moon holds the Earth safely steady on her axis, so that the sun governs the days and the stars govern the seasons. The God who knows the movements of each quantum particle is far more than the God who can chart only the fall of each sparrow or the hairs of one's head, and the God who can number the days of a galaxy far more than the God who can number my days alone.

We discover these things when we ask things like "Where does light come from?" and "What force keeps the planets in motion?" and refuse to accept "God did it" as an answer. We discover what a marvelously well-designed Creation this is when we consider it apart from its designer.

Neither creationism nor intelligent design follow this pattern. The first, as a scientific movement, falls apart entirely: it cannot work without a Creator. There is no way to explain, for example, how light and vegetation could exist prior to heavenly bodies except "God did it, it's a miracle." This is about as scientific as the Resurrection: It may be true, but it's a miraculous theological truth and not a scientific one. And no, there's no need to be insulted by that; since science is only concerned with secondary causes, why worry if it doesn't answer Primary questions? Intelligent design is similarly out of bounds. Where we cannot say how the Designer did something, it says merely "the Designer did it." Perhaps true, but scientifically cheating.

And this is why I'm going to try to drop from the scientific debate. It's a mess of science and theology and philosophy with no ground rules, no common ground, and little interest in disinterested truth. I've gone from "creationist" to "intelligent design," and now seem left with "evolutionist," which describes my scientific persuasion, but who will side with my theological persuasion that Genesis is an absolutely truthful (if not scientific, if not factual) account of creation? And who will take the time to discern among them? It's an unholy mess, and may God free us from it to spend more time doing justly, loving mercy, and walking humbly with Him.

Katrina

What's in a hurricane?

I'm a little callous about natural disasters, generally. Possibly because most of my memories of surviving Hurricane Hugo are quite pleasant - Dad buying ice cream (which had to be finished immediately in the power outage!), camping out in the hallway, playing on the new jungle gym of fallen trees. So when a disaster strikes with warning, I kind of tend to assume that everyone will be okay, that everyone will sensibly and safely evacuate, and if not, well, maybe they can go swimming a lot closer to home than usual.

Then today I was informed that, in my town in North Carolina, gasoline was going to be out of supply from 6:00 PM tonight until at least Monday, thanks to Katrina. That slightly cloudier, slightly windier day we had the other day had spent itself wrecking our nation's petroleum ports and refineries.

I've never heard of one storm having such a wide effect in the States. It started me wondering about the depth. I'd been avoiding the news stories, you see, because I've been sticking to reading every moment I'm not working. But tonight I look it up, and discover that the death toll is likely to be in the thousands.

In the thousands.

One storm. And this isn't a tsunami striking without a decent warning system. This is one we've been watching approach for days. We've known for at least two days that it was likely to hit New Orleans and the surrounding area. We have sophisticated communication and transportation systems. Why couldn't we avert the tragedies? Property damage is painful, but loss of human life is ...

is...

.

And I can't understand it. Why should rescue missions even be necessary? Why in Heaven's name were there more than a tiny handful of people left, and why were any people left outside, say, the Astrodome?

It probably has to do with logistics and complications I don't know about. Who knows what kind of glut was on the highways out? How many stubborn souls simply refused to move? Who was forgotten, left behind as evacuees streamed by on every side...

I recall hearing that people will be dying of dysentary and dehydration because of the impossibility of maintaining a supply of drinking water. How little it takes for our society to crumble. I may not see my sister this weekend, because her roommate may not be able to refill her tank upon reaching this place. Suddenly, a few hundred miles have grown from a few hours away to an impassable distance. I'm trying to imagine how it is where there are no roadways left above water.

And I'm imagining floating in a little boat on a lake, with maybe some treetops and alligators, but fun enough in the end, right? *sigh* I really am too callous about disaster. Now to go get that stupid song (I'll let you guess which one specifically) out of my head.

Thinking in italics

And this was right. And it was fate that had let Edward recognize this just when he'd got his Plan. And it was right that it was Fate, and the city would be Saved from its ignoble present by its glorious past. He had the Means, and he had the end. And so on... Edward's thoughts often ran like this.
He could think in italics. Such people need watching.
Preferably from a safe distance.

Terry Pratchett, Men At Arms

I love Terry Pratchett. Very perceptive man. Okay, so the Discworld books are silly books, meant to be taken lightly. I'm going to commit the grievous sin of taking this seriously. Because it's true.

Thinking in italics is a very dangerous talent. Although truth be told, if all those without the talent tried to watch all those with it, those without would find themselves severely outnumbered. Most people think in italics at least some of the time. The right way to live. The best literature/theater/food/wine. If nothing else, we find ourselves thinking along the lines of how wrong it is to always think in italics, the way everyone [else] does.

Thinking in italics ought to be treated as carefully as morphine. It's addictive, it's dangerous, and in large quantities it's poisonous. One is tempted to ban it entirely. Yet in some extreme cases, it's the only solution. If slavery isn't wrong, it will be tolerated for its many economic conveniences. If honest dealing isn't right, Enrons will abound.

I'm not good or wise enough to say exactly how italics should be allocated. I do say that we should try to be aware of our italicized thoughts, and subject them to particular scrutiny.

And now I shall return to Discworld and silliness.

Screwtape Writes Again

C.S. Lewis discovered a valuable trove of correspondence between Screwtape, a rather important infernal bureaucrat, and Wormwood, his nephew, a junior tempter. These Screwtape Letters provide useful insight into the inner workings of Hell.

I believe I may have found a fragment of another letter of Screwtape's, though to a different tempter. (Wormwood had but one patient, a male, before he failed and was fed to his superiors.) I record it below.

... You complain that your patient is self-aware and dedicated to thwarting her own faults. You complain that this makes it impossible for you to introduce subtle sins of sloth, self-indulgence, etc. You complain, in short, that this self-awareness and dedication render your job impossible.

My only reply is to wonder yet again what Slubgob is teaching you young fiends. How can you fail to notice the delightful possibilities inherent in her trying to thwart her faults? All you need do is bring her faults to her attention, and she will try to thwart. Humans are always worse than they think they are; I am sure that you will be able to surprise her with enough genuine faults (and even flagrant sins) that she will spend the greater part of her day trying to thwart. Her self-awareness simply means that she will do half the work for you. Soon she will become so engrossed with thwarting that you will be free to introduce imaginary sins and failings to the burden as you please. The result is a veritable banquet of misery, self-hatred and doubt.

Now this is a delicate point. You must never allow her to pause and ask herself, "But didn't Christ say that He came not for the righteous, but the sinners? Is not His sacrifice great enough for even my sin?" Our side have lost many to the Enemy in such circumstances, and those who have got past this obstacle can become deadly weapons in His hands. But I think the danger negligible. Any activity which focuses the patient away from the Enemy is to be desired. And if it is disguised in a noble package such as self-examination, so much the better.

It may surprise you to learn that this is one activity where revealing your influence can be helpful. The knowledge that she is (or has been) vulnerable to you may drive your patient into a still-deeper frenzy of negative soul searching. Never allow her to see the difference the Enemy has had in her life in the same time period. If she does ask that very obvious question, ask in return whether she has made as much progress as she ought. Then focus her not on her progress, but on the distance remaining (which, as I have said, is always greater than these humans suppose). Try convincing her that the sin is too great to be forgiven - a nice dash of pride and hubris which increases despair nicely. If all else fails, make her aware of how much time has been spent wrestling with such silly things as self-doubt and despair, and convince her that she must fix herself before anyone discovers how wretched she has permitted herself to be. Then of course you may trot out her failings again for her review, and begin the cycle again.

The great joke, of course, is that humans are always at least as wretched as your patient believes herself to be. The Enemy had taken this into consideration when He made His atrocious offer of amnesty, just as He considered how His people would fail after accepting Him. (Remember Peter's denial?) And yet He still promises that He, "who began a good work" in each of His people, "will be faithful to complete it". This is all part of His mysterious plan, which He calls "unconditional Love". Our top fiends are even now working to unmask this fiction, but until the facts of the matter are revealed, we must content ourselves with the Enemy's term. At any rate, this is the reason why contact with the Enemy is so dangerous. It might begin all sorts of pursuits of His "Love", which are never desirable.

Posted for the benefit of two friends - one literal, one proverbial. I hope it's coherent enough.

Rescue Stations

I saw an entry in Dry Bones Dance today which reminded me of a parable I love.

There was once a treacherous stretch of shore which caused deadly shipwrecks on a regular basis. People drowned almost every day.. Then one day, a group of people decided to build a rescue station on the shore, from which they could go out and save shipwrecked people. The station was small and primitive, but as more and more people were saved from the water, more and more people made contributions to it for the benefit of others. Bedrooms and hospital facilities were added. Comforts were added one by one, such as fine dining and rec centers. Soon, people became more concerned with the station than with rescuing the shipwrecked people. The rescue station became a sort of country club for a very exclusive clientele.
A few people in the group were outraged at the change. They demanded a return to their original mission - people were drowning once more. These few were not heeded, so they went and made a new rescue station next door.
Unfortunately, within a few years the process repeated itself. And repeated itself again. Until now, the beach is famous for its stretch of exclusive country clubs, just in sight of the rocks where people drown almost every day. And no one is left to do anything about it.

Sometimes I feel like the modern Church spends a lot of time worrying about minutia, or disproportionately worrying about certain sins. How many of us beg God to have mercy, dance joyfully in His grace, or lavish His love upon the world He made, upon the people He redeemed with His Son? How many of us act to seek and save the lost, rather than search and destroy?
Love should be the chief hallmark of the Christian. We should in humility consider others better than ourselves. If we are not self-seeking, if we keep no record of wrongs, if we always hope, always trust, and persevere in these traits, we should have no cause for bitter battles with our brethren. Doctrinal issues become a mere question of theory, when the real question is how we can help heal a fallen world.
I'd almost be happier if I saw the church bitterly arguing about which way to help the poor, to feed the hungry, to succor those in misery. Or how to draw all peoples to God. Arguments about which political party to support or how badly we should hate a particular sin seem like a waste of time, and I'm tired of it. It seems like a great many other people are tired, too. I wonder if we're due for an Awakening soon? Only unlike the previous Awakenings, one more interested in the summons of heaven than escape from hell.