IVP - Strangely Dim - May 2007 Archives

Academic Polemic

I live in a theologically intellectual bubble (I promise you that this is due mostly to my surroundings rather than myself). My husband is a full-time student, pursuing a degree in biblical studies, and we live virtually next door to his campus, enjoying all of the theological forums and Bible conferences and spiritual conversations that Christian colleges provide. I also work at a wonderful, theologically sound publishing house, in an office filled to the brim with extremely intelligent, God-fearing people.

Now, don't get me wrong. I love my life. Usually, I enjoy the stimulating conversation that takes place every day, as well as the provoking questions that arise in the course of reading books, interacting with ideas and pondering theology. There's always something to figure out, always something to wrestle with in my mind. It makes for an interesting existence.

It also makes for an exhausting existence sometimes. I have come to realize that I am not the kind of soul who is always encouraged by having more questions than answers. Sometimes thinking about the depth of God for too long makes me weary, even confused.

I am thankful for academia, thankful for those who are deep theological thinkers and can constantly dive into the mysteries of God and the universe. It truly is a gift to have that calling, and it is these people who often keep the church in check if it swings too far in one direction.

But I am not one of those people, and I think it's time I start embracing that aspect of my personality a little more completely. With an appreciation for academia planted firmly behind me for the moment, I am going to try and center my life on one thing:

Jesus loves me, this I know. For the Bible tells me so.

Mix It Up Day

Yesterday, apparently, was Mix It Up Day at InterVarsity Press. (It was also Sarcastic Wednesday, according to Hallmark's Hoops and YoYo.) Yesterday I parked in the parking spot normally taken by the director of production and fulfillment (gasp!). Yesterday the associate editorial director led a meeting normally led by the editorial director (wow!). Yesterday the director of sales and marketing sat in the seat normally occupied by the senior marketing manager (huh?!?). Yesterday the editorial intern took the favorite lunch spot of Craver VII. And yesterday the editorial department cancelled its weekly popcorn meeting in favor of a Thursday bagel meeting. I even switched stalls.

We were all mixin' it up yesterday. This post even mixed it up; I scheduled it to go online yesterday afternoon, but here it is, one day late. We didn't plan Mix It Up Day, but in all sorts of ways we honored it.

It's good, I think, to mix it up on occasion. It's far too easy to settle into habits and routines that once were refreshing and innovative for us but have become regimented, subconscious, automatic.

Some things, of course, lend themselves to becoming regimented, either by their nature or by design: our bodies require regular rhythms of sleeping, eating, whatnot; we discover the most efficient path to a repeated outcome, and we repeat it because to do otherwise would be silly, wasteful. Those things notwithstanding, I think there often comes a time when we need to look squarely at what we've become accustomed to, in order to determine whether we've become enslaved to it. Dietrich Bonhoeffer (my favorite Dietrich) gave at least one example in his book Life Together:

"Let him who cannot be alone beware of community."
"Let him who is not in community beware of being alone."

I'm struck by this pairing of statements both because they caution us against the type of settling we're vulnerable to--when we seek out community or solitude by default, we miss out on the benefits and responsibilities of their opposites--and because the paradox itself mixes it up for me. Every time I read these statements together, my initial reaction is "Huh? . . . Wait a minute . . . Huh?"

So for a time at least I get interrupted from my presumptions about what it means to be in community or in solitude, and I revisit my own understandings of what I need from others, and what they need from me. What happens next is unpredictable, which is, I suppose, why we don't often like to mix it up.

Nevertheless, I welcome you to make your own Mix It Up Day. Share your favorite memory of mixing it up (or getting mixed up) here. Then go, as they say, and do likewise.

Taking a Risk

A couple of weekends ago I watched the movie Stranger Than Fiction for a second time, which made me realize something I'm not sure I want to admit: I think I might have some strong similarities to the main character, Harold Crick. Harold is a strait-laced tax auditor whose days are essentially exactly the same, right down to the number of brushstrokes he uses when brushing his teeth. (No, I don't count my brushstrokes. That's not how we're similar.) His neatly ordered world starts to fall apart, however, when he begins to hear a woman's voice in his head, narrating his life. Things start to get really messy when the woman's voice casually mentions his "imminent death." Spurred to action at the mention of the d-word, Harold sets out to locate his narrator so that he can get the details on when and how she expects him to die.

As his routine gets more and more messed up, and as the pressure mounts to figure out when he'll die, Harold decides he might as well take a few risks (since he's going to die soon anyway). Perhaps the biggest risk he takes is pursuing a spunky, defiant baker named Ana Pascal who mostly despises him because he happens to be auditing her for tax fraud. Despite the unlikelihood of any romance developing between them, and despite the high possibility of her responding to him with scorn and mockery, he shows up unexpectedly at her bakery one night with a box of flours (infinitely more valuable to a baker than flowers) and announces his romantic interest. The significance of his risk, the tension as he waits for her to respond, is almost palpable.

So here's how I'm like Harold Crick: I think it would take an audible, narrating voice in my head and the threat of imminent death (or maybe even just one of those things) to make me take a risk. I like routine and predictability. On the thrill-seeking scale I'm probably about a negative sixteen. I don't even go to lunch spontaneously (though I am, of course, up for the occasional spontaneous Starbucks run).

I wish I took risks more often. I'm inspired and moved by people who take big risks. People like the Canaanite woman in Matthew 15. She approached Jesus and his disciples with a request for help, knowing that they had every reason to reject her: She was a woman in a male-centered culture. She was a Gentile. And her daughter was demon-possessed, which probably didn't win her any popularity contests. The disciples, being human, provided the expected, culturally savvy reaction: they saw her only as an annoyance, a distraction, and urged Jesus to send her away. He, however, engaged her in conversation, even pushed her a bit to see how serious she was about receiving help for her daughter. In the end, Jesus was impressed with her. "Woman," he exclaimed, "you have great faith! Your request is granted."

As far as we know, this woman had never met Jesus before. Most likely she had only heard about him and his miracles from others. And the risks she took in asking Jesus for help and in taking him at his word that her daughter was healed could have caused her deep pain. After all, Jesus could have just been telling her what she wanted to hear without actually granting her request, to get her to leave him alone.

But Jesus didn't send her away or ignore her, like the disciples wanted to. And he did what he said; Matthew tells us that "her daughter was healed from that very hour." He honored the risks she took.

Well of course Jesus didn't mock or deceive her, you're thinking, shocked that I'd even suggest it. He wouldn't, because he isn't like us needy broken humans. But many times, I must subconsciously think he might respond to me that way, because I'm not usually willing to take risks that make me completely dependent on Christ for help. Risks like telling a small group about a painful but formational event that happened before I knew them. Or being honest with a student in the youth group about something she did that hurt me. Or even taking opportunities to test areas I think I might be gifted in but have insecurities about. But when we take Jesus seriously, he, I'm learning, takes our risks seriously, no matter how small. He doesn't scorn those steps; he actually celebrates them. And he always does what he says he'll do, knowing full well (because he did become human, like us) how hard a risk can be.

Sitting here, I don't have any "imminent death" threats to move me to take a risk. And no voices in my head narrating my life. But maybe the promise of abundant life from someone who always keeps his word will be enough.

Product-ivity

This month has, already, been full of many "things to do." I hear words like this passed between people on a daily basis:

"I've got lots of things to do today."
"I've got so much stuff to do this week."
"If I didn't have so many things to do, I could get some sleep."
"There's not enough time in the day for all of the things I need to do."

And the like.

A few days ago I had many "things to do," including a load of reading for grad school and some papers to write. As the night turned out, I never got any of those things done.

I came home from work and helped my husband, Michael, with a paper. It's finals week for him, and I'm the editor-in-residence in our apartment. Shortly thereafter a friend called me, and we met to have some coffee together. The conversation was great and we were able to pray for one another, which was especially encouraging because we are both heading into some new transitions in our lives. It was a spiritually refreshing and relationally rich time, but not very "productive" in relation to all of the "things to do" in my life.

Not an hour after returning home, one of the people who lives in our apartment complex knocked on the window, and we invited her inside. This woman lives alone and we barely know her, but she obviously needed some other people to connect with. The three of us shared some words, some food and some prayer. By the time she left, I needed to get in bed.

So I accomplished nothing Monday night that was on my "things to do" list. I was not "productive" in the sense that most Americans use the word: I had not accomplished any tangible thing that could prove my worth to the world at large.

But "doing things" and being "productive" are not necessarily spiritual realities. Even the word itself implies that we are creating a product: product-ivity. We have enmeshed Christianity with the American dream and so we find pride in describing ourselves as productive: "I'm productive today!" or "I'm a productive human being!" are phrases commonly praised by others. All too often, we understand our worth in relation to what we produce, sometimes even seeing ourselves as a product to be presented to the world. And yet humans are not products. My fault is in using this language of "product-ivity" to try and craft myself into the very thing I am not designed to be.

Monday night was a reminder that I am not a product. I am a creation of the God who has more on his mind than grad school papers, the God who knows when talking with a neighbor is the most important thing I can do. The papers can wait, the "things to do" and "productivity" can be put on hold. God is in the process of crafting fuller human beings, and if I actually paid attention to the cliché of "being a human being rather than a human doing," I might lead a life that is a little less hectic and perhaps even less self-focused. I might even begin to see others (and myself) as creations rather than as product-creators or even as products themselves. Wouldn't that be a lovely thing to do?

Speaking of Rabbits

Today is the first day of May, which means another frantic attempt by Lisa and me to say "Rabbit" before the other. I think I've won today, but only with Lisa; my friend Web sent an e-mail at 1 a.m. and called at 8 a.m. to get the jump on everyone. At best I can go for second place, so for all of you playing along at home: "Rabbit!"

Speaking of rabbits, we're multiplying like rabbits here at IVP. I've already mentioned the three new IVP blogs: Andy Unedited, Addenda and Errata, and Behind the Books. Reading those blogs gets you deep inside the heads of various folks in the publishing industry. Here at Strangely Dim, this month you'll be introduced to yet another person willing to publicly declare herself both strange and dim.

Ann Swindell is a graduate student, a sales coordinator for the Press and a writer of increasingly great renown. You may have seen her stuff at Relevant Online or in Radiant magazine. Starting this month you'll see her stuff here.

Rabbit fever: catch it!