Christian: adjective and noun

First, thank you, Jarm and Marcia, for your thoughtful comments on my "Tensions in Education" diatribe. I intend to respond later and hopefully work into a dialogue about how we ought to "do" education.

But before that, I feel the need for a parenthetical blog. This is about our glorious and effervescent language, English. I love it. I love words. I love the feeling we get when they come together and we say what we mean. I mourn the passing of parts of definitions because our culture infiltrates and changes (horror of horrors) what a word means. I also delight in new words begin coined and increasing understanding.

Right now, though, I'm thinking of the quirk of English which jumps parts of speech. Words begin as nouns and become verbs, or vice versa, sometimes they degenerate or ameliorate into adjectives. Here my pet peeve has been "impact" which began as the shock of a truck slamming into something hard and gradually morphed into into process of it slamming, whereby it impacted the wall instead of having an impact on the wall. I have begun to accept this errant verb because it's not a hill I wish to die on. (Though chances are you will hear me talk about having an impact on rather than impacting.) I draw the line at the adjective, however. I don't believe in impactful trucks or books or weekends. Sorry.

But that is all neither here nor there. You know, a rambling introduction to warm you to the word in the title: CHRISTIAN.

In Acts 11:26 we read that marvelous verse which records the occasion on which a word entered the language. "And they were first called Christians in Antioch." I still remember the lesson or sermon in which I learned this amazing fact. And the speaker's translation was "little Christs." Being worthy to carry that weighty of a name has always been a burden to me.

But we have left "little Christs" behind and label ourselves Christians and pretty soon we start messing with the language. We figure if we come from America, we're Americans or from India we're Indians. Those are not little Americas or little Indias. The adjective really means "of". It works, it's valid.

I question the validity, though, of calling something "Christian" as a descriptor, unless you are talking about Christ's own words. So many things have willy-nilly been labelled Christian which have so little to do with being "of Christ" and have more to do with being of people who label themselves Christians as a cultural identity and not as a spiritual journey. Let's just name a few so we can see how rampant--and bizarre--it is to use Christian as an adjective:
Christian music, Christian lyrics, Christian school, Christian education, Christian country, Christian culture, Christian band, Christian retreat, Christian book, Christian bookstore, Christian mission . . .

Do we begin to see how strange it is to label things as such? We are so used to it, it seems normal. But what if I talked about Christian food, or a Christian diet, or Christian cars, or houses, or resorts, or airlines? Those are not normal. Those are value-free in this sense. But we have burdened some items (making them more "legitimate" perhaps) by calling them Christian.

I call this False Advertising.

Okay, my argument is that people can be little Christs. Things cannot. But we have another subset of "Christian as adjective" items who are people:
Christian rock star, Christian actor, Christian doctor, Christian mechanic, Christian teacher, Christian lawyer, Christian used car salesman, Christian fill-in-the-blank. This people are Christians, it is not a descriptor, it is them. Let us call each a rock star who is a Christian, a teacher who is a Christian, and so on, to avoid the slippery slope of turning a Noun into a catch-all and meaningless adjective.

Why am I even up on this soap box, you might be wondering? What is the big deal about parts of speech? Well, speech is how we communicate and doing it well will improve our chances of actually saying something and someone understanding. Besides, as little Christs, we desire to communicate Truth, which truthfully, cannot be done in a sloppy, generalized way.

I'm going somewhere with this. All this mulling came from thinking about what makes a Christian education? And as I hinted in the previous blog, we have used the adjective to tell us that Christian university education ends up being more about the rules the students are to follow than about the education they receive. The emphasis is on the curfew, dress code, media regulations, drinking, smoking, dancing, and other subcultural expectations served up by the administration to the parents who wish them. Sadly, surprisingly little emphasis is on mentoring the students into being responsible for their decisions and actions, and helping them learn to walk like "little Christs" which looks more like "do justice, love mercy, walk humbly . . ." than rules which promote the inevitable attitude of Pharisees.

I will speak to Marcia's good comment next blog. But will end with a response to Jarm who said, "A Christian education is one which promotes a Christian worldview." That is a good answer, except that I prefer not to use Christian as an adjective because in the end, the person who is doing the educating will use his own worldview and call it Christian and then we still don't know what it is. I like the worldview idea, though. Maybe a Christian education is one that promotes the worldview of Christ. Which obligates us to try and see the world through His eyes. Suddenly words like grace and redemption and mercy and love start flooding in. Concepts like "inasmuch" and "70 x 7" and "foxes have holes" start defining "of Christ." Or at least being part of the definition.

So, I leave it with you. Do we abandon Christian as a label, and try to live the Noun of it? I will make the attempt.

Tensions in Education

As an educator and a product of the American educational system, I have an interest in what we are doing, where we are going, and what we are trying to accomplish. Looking on the web at various universities and graduate programs, I read about strategic visions and again run up against the "education as product" issue. Granted, we have to make our goals clear, they must be clear to us, but the goals I am seeing sound more like production than development of people.

Along a parallel line in my mind, I am asking questions about how Christians should be and are "doing" education. We have so many Christian colleges and universities with varying degrees of academic excellence and spiritual discipline. The more I think about these things, questions bubble up:

Can an institution be "Christian"? This troubles me because it labels the product, e.g. a "Christian education." What is it that precisely makes it Christian? What do Christians do differently? (Let's talk about this later, but I suspect that it has more to do with required chapel, curfews, dress codes and media regulations than education.)

Where is excellence in Christian education? Where is excellence in our faith? What does excellence have to do, if anything, with how we teach or train young people. (Not our Christian young people, but any young people.)

As Christians we are called to love one another and our enemies. Where does that fit with excellence? If we are developing young minds, are love and striving for excellence mutually compatible?

If our goal is to be among the faithful, how do we find the balance in the educational world? We serve Love and we serve Truth. Those are not exclusive one of the other. But how does it mesh with competition and perfectionism?

These are a few of the ideas that surface when I meditate on what we as educators are striving to accomplish. Any thoughts are welcome.

a day in the Ivory Tower

Today has been different. I sat by the fireplace in McConn (IWU's cafe), drank coffee and talked with young people serious about what they wanted to do and serious about their dreams. They are not all confident and certain, but they are passionate and engaged. They are in an institution which is educating them. I'm thinking about that.

Is education a commodity which can be bought and sold? Am I an idealist to think that an education is something that comes through hard work and personal effort? Something which requires asking difficult questions. Something which involves listening to those you disagree with, reading books that make you uncomfortable. Something which reaches deep into you and touches the living soul of you and challenges you to do the impossible.

Somehow, it appears that our culture has turned education into a product. Don't get me wrong, I was in a marvelous setting today: I saw young people sitting around working on their computers, reading, socializing, debating, being serious (and sometimes silly). It was perfect for a 21st century version of "The Aeropagus". I heard hard questions, icons shattered, and genuine heartfelt desire to learn and grow.

But within this fertile context, the structure was muddied with required classes, evaluations and assessments, drudge assignments, and a lack of sense of the intrinsic value. Education is being confused with codified, quantified packets of information, handed out, masticated and regurgitated. Education is being choked by training in a way of thought rather than how to think.

But these young people are seeing that their education is theirs to grasp. More than grades and notes and evaluations. More than what a panel of people somewhere deemed part of the basic requirements. And they are going to make changes, I hope. So much depends on a return to genuine love of learning.

par for the course

Suffering is not par for the course. It is the course.
This is not something we want to hear, but I am seeing it every day.

This trip has been amazing and so far we've only gone from Texas to Canada and down to Michigan. Only three weeks into a ten week sojourn. It has encouraged and challenged me. My friends have reminded me of the important things in life. Much as I'd like to give names, that might be invasive. So I will use hebrew letters to identify those who have ministered to me.

Aleph is recuperating from the ravages of chemo and accepting this second bout of cancer with grace and gratitude. Bet, her mother, is as joyful and full of laughter as ever; mindful of the precariousness of life, delighting in its robustness. The hospital stays and uncertainties are not dragging them down. Visiting them is a genuine "upper." Sure we talk about cancer, but we also revel in a son's amazing healing, an exotic eastern wedding, an upcoming grand/great-grandchild. God is honored.

Gimel deals with the effect of addiction in her family. Despite her own weaknesses, she presses on--encouraging all around her and keeping laughter close to the surface. Dalet and daughter are finding wholeness despite the loss of a beloved spouse; daughter is seeking to reach young people struggling with pain. Her tattoo is eloquent: the wrist slash ending in a heart. Jesus is pleased.

Hei is recovering from an invasive heart stimulation, but more aware of the needs and concerns of those she prays for daily. Her heart overflows with compassion. Vav has sons needing to make the right choices, but wisely chooses to allow them to make their choices and pray for them. Saying, "I told you so" would be easy. Watching them deal with consequences is so hard. The Body of Christ is strengthened.

Zayin is paying debts racked up by her deceased mother. Although her deceased ex-mother-in-law left a legacy, none came to her or her children. The injustice of this outrages me, but she says she is doing it to honor her mother. She harbors no bitterness about being left out of the other inheritance. Christ is smiling. Holy Spirit is given a situation to bring glory to God.

Het is caring for her Alzheimer's afflicted mother in law. At great personal and financial cost, she and her husband are taking up the slack from other siblings unwilling to help. Her own parents need more support and care which she struggles to give them. She is a source of encouragement to her sons as they see her example. The church is strengthened.

There are more that I hope to mention. But they are just a reminder of all those suffering, taking on of responsibility, doing the right thing which is the hard thing--being faithful disciples. Eternal realities are being tapped in this life. We are all heading on a course. The choices we make here are setting our direction. When we let suffering guide us into wisdom, the course is safe.

Suffering isn't par for the course. It is the course.

Mom's hard battle

This morning I went to Windsor to see Mom. I'd visited in December for the Christmas party and she had no idea who I was then. I didn't know what to expect, but figured she wouldn't know me.

But without the glitz of decorations, confusion of overly loud carols, and general over-bearing good will of the season, Mom seemed less anxious and more aware. This saddened me. I'd hoped she didn't know what was going on around her. She knows.

It wasn't difficult to convince her I was me. She kept repeating, "I can't believe it's you," as she hung onto my hand. "Life is so frustrating . . ." her voiced trailed off many times to a humming she did to try to focus. "I just sit for hours and look . . ."

"What are you looking at, Mom?" "Junk. Just junk. I'm just wasting my time."

"I can't see any more. I can't hear what they are saying. You don't know what it's like in here." She pats her body. She isn't complaining about the environment; it's is her body that has betrayed her. Her accountant's precision and organization are lost in the confusion of being wheeled here and there for meals and visits to the toilet. "When can I go home?" When, indeed?

"It's such a struggle here."

"Mom, stop struggling. Just relax and let go." Her eyes look haunted. I feel pain and guilt and dread and yes, confusion. She doesn't deserve to be here. No one does. Looking around I see elderly folk nodding off in their wheelchairs along the aisles. One lady rolls her knee socks up and down, up and down.

Mom's hands are bruised and spotted from the effects of blood thinning drugs. Drugs designed to keep her alive. "Dad has been gone such a long time and I really want to see him," she whispers to me. She knows what she's missing. She doesn't understand why she is still here. Nor do I.

I have no answers.

Be Kind

Well, it has taken me much longer to resume blogging than I ever expected. I enjoy the liberty to start a "new post" and see where it goes. But I haven't written for half a year. There is a reason why . . .

A very sad thing happened right after Phil broke his tibia and fibula. Writing about the hospital experience was therapeutic. The trauma of seeing Phil crippled (temporarily, but crippled, nonetheless) quickly submerged under the confusion of being removed from our team. We had grown into a symbiotic relationship with the orphan ministry. We had such great relationships with the Shona people we were interacting with. (See the picture of Synodia, above, who was part of the exciting orphan group I nurtured.) I had been mentally writing blogs and not getting to them because of the fulfillment and delight in the work.

Then we were taken off the team and I had more time than I was used to, lots more time. With nothing to say. Nothing that would make sense anyway. So I felt it better not to say anything and wait.

I have waited. It has been a long journey and I'm not there yet, but I know how to write now. It is a very old philosophy that triggered me; old as Plato, some say. But I read it on Isabel's UD t-shirt. It caught me and resonated deeply.

"Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle."

I have just been through one, so I have a fresh reminder. And it isn't exactly over, but it's receding. It was painful to be taken off a team, then not understand why, then be advised to choose another . . .

My mind raced with protest. Now I remind myself, everyone I meet is fighting a hard battle. I might be part of the hardness of his (or her) battle. If only we could see the inter-connectedness of our struggles, and appreciate one another for the ways we overlap into each other's space. Tendrils of ourselves intertwine with tendrils of those around us. Sometimes we get pulled, and uncomfortably so. But there is perspective to be gained from the discomfort.

Oswald Chambers wisely observed, "As soon as God becomes real, other people become shadows." I see where he's going with this; it's in the perspective. But I am not there yet. In my life, God has a much more shadowy role, and the things others do seem much more concrete. This is an area I want to learn in: not to anesthetize myself to life, but to cling to the reality of God.

When God is REAL to me, then I will be able to be kind and maybe even help someone fighting a battle of his or her own.

Reflecting on "Hospital" ity

We have had our first close encounter with Zim hospitals. The occasion was Phil's rapid descent from a tree he was trimming, resulting in a shattered ankle and broken tibia and fibula. It happened around 5:30 p.m. and our dear friend (and nurse), Julie, came as soon as we cell-phoned her. She determined The Avenues was the place for Phil's trauma and we followed her in our car.

Upon entering "Casualty" which Americans would know as ER, the pace of time slowed. There was a doctor somewhere. There were people in uniforms, but no one was in a rush. We were offered a form to fill out within 30 minutes. When the doctor was available, it was discovered that we had not yet paid for him to look at Phil. So we filled out another form and paid. The good doc was an ob/gyn, but upon seeing Phil's ankle, declared it broken. He didn't know how badly, we would need an x-ray.

I needed to go to the x-ray dept, fill out another form (all with the same information) and pay another fee for the technician to take the picture. Then Phil was wheeled down the hall, the x-ray taken, and the doctor declared profoundly that it was "worse than bad." This did not bode well. It was clear that Phil would need to stay the night. An injection for pain was finally administered (about two hours after arrival).

Next, blood was taken. Oh, but there is no lab in the hospital, so Julie and I had to hand deliver the blood to an all-night lab some blocks away in a rather seedy neighborhood. We cruised the blocks until we localized the lab, shook the gate for the guard to wake up and let us in, took a complaining elevator to the 2nd floor, and submitted the blood. I filled out more forms and another payment (higher than the previous two) was exacted. Finally the blood was put into the centrifuge. The next client coming in warned us that the elevator was not working (had trapped him for a while), so we thanked him and took the stairs.

Upon regaining the hospital, we learned that now I would have to raise $1800 for Phil to be admitted that night. He could not travel and would not be able to go home, nor would he be allowed into the ward until they saw the green. It was 11 p.m. This is my first genuine encounter with an African Catch-22. Two of our team leaders tried to reason with them. Our mission has used them for years, and they have sent referrals to our mission hospital in the north. The matron finally relented and agreed to accept him for $500 that night. I had to go home and bring it before they would let me fill out the next forms and hope for his admission. After I paid that, they handed me the ER bill, I was stupefied.

Things take longer in Africa, you'd think I'd get used to it after two decades. He came in on June 31st and was finally admitted on July 1. He was exhausted with pain and bureaucracy. When they wheeled him up to his two-man room, the light was unceremoniously turned on, waking the patient in the other bed. Fortunately, he turned out to be a wonderful cell-mate and they are fast friends now.

The next day I attempted a variety of unsympathetic ATM machines, managed to find some money Phil had hidden and paid up for admittance. He was scheduled to be operated on that afternoon, but I had to come and pay deposits for the surgeon and anesthetist. After the surgery, I was called at home to come and pay for x-rays before he would be taken to diagnostic imaging. And so it went through the week. Each time a new expense appeared, I had to pay before it would be rendered.

I am still boggled that when he was coming home we were presented with another bill in the thousands. And he still has the surgeon's fee for the two operations. To be perfectly fair, the care was wonderful. The technicians and nurses were professional. The service was gracious. And the total cost was, of course, less than it would have been in the US. But the obvious priority of being paid was a reminder to me that as I am "serving" it is important for me to do it with a servant heart. Mercenary service is not really service at all, it is delivering a product.