ETF #1: Aslan's Forum

As I begin this project of Embracing the Funk (ETF), I'm going to start with Aslan's Forum--partly because it's on my mind today, and partly because its contribution to the funk is minimal.

Aslan's Forum is a readers' forum at Oak Hills Baptist Church. The forum, originally facilitated by Wendell Hoffman, was a big reason why my wife and I chose to attend Oak Hills. Moving from the Dallas metroplex to Sioux Falls, I had pretty much given up on the possibility of having a thoughtful, intellectual reading group, or something like Denton Bible Church's Lay Institute. But, when we visited Oak Hills, the sign for Aslan's Forum was stading smack-dab in the middle of the hallway. The group became a real blessing for me.

The forum continues to provide a number of blessings, as I get to enable and participate in an ongoing discussion of books that both interrogate and support the Christian faith. In some ways, Aslan's Forum is what I wish teaching could be--interested and engaged readers gathering to learn from one another. (On the best of days, that's what the classroom can be like.)

Aslan's rarely contributes to the funk. There are, of course, moments when one wishes turnout was greater, but I'm thankful for the core group of regular attenders who allow me to learn from them. There are, also, times when I think I ought to be reading other poets, criticism, etc., in order to reinvigorate my writing life. But the books and the discussions associated with Aslan's Forum provide the sort of nourishment that shapes my thinking about my faith and my world, thereby serving any writing I do, rather than detracting from it. And, the forum comprises my most consistent means of serving and ministering inside the church, which I think is vitally important.

For those who might be interested, the reading list for 2006-2007 is included below. Anyone interested in participating can obtain more details from the web site for Aslan's Forum.

• October 2006: Stephen Prothero's American Jesus: How the Son of God Became a Cultural Icon
  
• November 2006: Kathleen Norris's Dakota: A Spiritual Geography
  
• December 2006: Donald Miller's Blue Like Jazz
  
• February 2007: Andrew Beaujon's Body Piercing Saved My Life: Inside the Phenomenon of Christian Rock
  
• March 2007: Marilynne Robinson's Gilead
  
• April 2007: J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone
  
• May 2007: C. S. Lewis's The Four Loves
  

Embrace the Funk

Thursday, after a very busy day of committee work, I received an email from a colleague noting that I looked tired and thanking me for a list of committees and concerns to which I have been contributing. Then, today, I attended the South Dakota Festival of Books, and--as always happens when I attend such events--I came away with this huge sense of...well, I've described it elsewhere as a "funk."

My colleague's email inadvertently highlighted a list of invovlements and activities that are important, but not necessarily a part of my job, and certainly not a part of the larger vision I would like to be pursuing for my career and my life. I have fallen back into the very conditions I promised myself I would be escaping. Here's a passage from my tenure portfolio, submitted and approved last year:

As I began my career at USF, I envisioned myself initiating and maintaining a writing center while most of my more research-oriented activities centered on my life as a writer. Instead, five years later, I find my program of professional development shaped largely by the wonderful complexities of writing center work and the joy of teaching a variety of coursework within the English department. My writing life, on the contrary, has taken a back seat. The pendulum has swung too far, and my goal looking forward is to renew the pursuit of the balance.

Three weeks into a new semester, it's become increasingly clear that I've yet to "renew the pursuit" of anything, much less balance. Indeed, I appear to have strayed further from the goal, taking on involvements that aren't obligations, that aren't likely to be productive, and that aren't--or shouldn't be, really--my job.

Thus, over the course of the next week or so, I'm going to embrace the funk, as I attempt to evaluate my involvements and figure out what to winnow. If you're on a funk-free kick, then you'll probably want to avoid this blog for a week or so.

A Remarkable Thing

Well, today is a better day, as the pre-semester funk has abated for now. One reason for this was the chance to talk with members of the freshmen class who chose to participate in USF's freshmen reading program. Last-minute preparations for our discussion of Marilynne Robinson's Gilead reacquainted me with the following quotation from the novel:

A good sermon is one side of a passionate conversation. It has to be heard in that way. There are three parties to it, of course, but so are there even in the most private thought--the self that yields the thought, the self that acknowledges and in some way responds to the thought, and the Lord. That is a remarkable thing to consider. (45)

That is a remarkable thing, and one so easily forgotten in the rush of syllabus construction, and photocopying, and scheduling, and anticipating the mountains of papers coming my way over the next few months.

I know the parallel between preaching and teaching is potentially problematic for many. (And for me, depending upon how one defines/characterizes those two endeavors.) But, as I conceive the two, the parallel seems to resonate. Almost eighteen months ago I found myself considering a similar notion.

Pre-Semester Funk

The fall semester gets underway here at USF on Wednesday, and I've suddenly been struck with the pre-semester funk. I've been excitedly working on syllabi and planning out courses. I've been looking ahead at all of the projects and opportunities that the semester holds. And I was (and am, mostly) looking forward to everything. But then....

1) I received an email from John Poch, a treasured friend who was writing to encourage me--to goad me, actually--into applying for a Bush Foundation artist fellowship. I placed an advance order for John's new book and then left the Bush Foundation stuff to check for another day.


2) My wife and I screened Akeelah and the Bee to see if the kids were ready for it. (Not yet.) At the heart of the movie is this quotation by Marianne Williamson:

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

3) One of my closest friends emailed an update on his writing project, stating that it wasn't going to be done for this fall (as originally intended), but that he was writing regularly and felt good about the sudden burst of discipline in his life.

4) Following my friend's email, I looked up the guidelines for applying for the Bush Foundation artist fellowships, only to find that I haven't published enough in the last six years to qualify.

Suddenly the semester ahead seems too full. Too encumbered by the duties and obligations (and yes, the joys) of teaching, and serving, and administrating, and ...committee-ing. I'm suddenly in a funk, and these two poems come surging back into my mind. The first by Rilke. The second by James Wright.

Archaic Torso of Apollo

We never knew his fantastic head,
where eyes like apples ripened. Yet
his torso, like a lamp, still glows
with his gaze which, although turned down low,

lingers and shines. Else the prow of his breast
couldn't dazzle you, nor in the slight twist
of his loins could a smile run free
through that center which held fertility.

Else this stone would stand defaced and squat
under the shoulders' diaphanous dive
and not glisten like a predator's coat;

and not from every edge explode
like starlight: for there's not one spot
that doesn't see you. You must change your life.

Lying In A Hammock At William Duffy's Farm In Pine Island, Minnesota

Over my head, I see the bronze butterfly,
Asleep on the black trunk,
blowing like a leaf in green shadow.
Down the ravine behind the empty house,
The cowbells follow one another
Into the distances of the afternoon.
To my right,
In a field of sunlight between two pines,
The droppings of last year's horses
Blaze up into golden stones.
I lean back, as the evening darkens and comes on.
A chicken hawk floats over, looking for home.
I have wasted my life.