A feeble excuse for not posting all month, but it has been busy!
Monday, April 30, 2007
Thursday, March 29, 2007
The 'ethics' of torture
In Australia, public debate over the ethics of the 'war on terror' has recently focused on the situation of David Hicks to the exclusion of almost all else. While I find the treatment of Hicks - and the Australian government's long-standing unwillingness to challenge his detention - horrifying, it concerns me that Australians seem more worried about the specific case of Hicks than about the broader illegality and inhumanity of the situation at Guantanamo. This piece by the philosopher Slavoj Zizek is a powerful discussion of the issue of torture at Guantanamo - well worth reading.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
History for the Church (3): The Big Picture
I have recently come across a number of on-line discussions of the question: Why don't men go to church? Given the stats - women significantly outnumber men in every Western denomination - such discussions are not new. Participants tend to suggest a number of reasons for this phenomenon, from the 'femininity' of worship styles ('men hate silence and soppy songs'), to feminism ('men are pushed around by women at church'), to the sexism of the church ('men object to the way women are treated in churches'). Suggestions such as these are hotly debated, largely by reference to personal experience. eg, 'I'm a woman and I hate soppy songs' or 'I'm a man and I love soppy songs'.
What such discussions almost never do, however, is consider the most basic of historical questions. Has it always been like this? If not, when and why did it change? Questions like these immediately force us away from micro-issues to a broader perspective. In this case, for example, a very little research will demonstrate that the gender imbalance in churches in the Western world started to become apparent in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.* Interestingly, American settler churches were predominantly female almost from the beginning, whereas in Britain the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries appear to have brought about this shift. With this information, it immediately becomes obvious that soppy songs and feminism are unlikely to be highly significant factors in this change. Without proposing a definitive answer, this historical perspective suggests we might need to look to issues like industrialisation, changes in class structure, the development of new denominations and theologies, and the changing relationship between church and state. How have these changes affected the way Christians 'do' church? And, how have these changes affected what it means to be a woman or a man?
The value of considering this historical perspective lies not only in its power to explain the present. It also encourages us to look at broader, deeper meanings than those suggested by our own experience. For example, if we change our music or run 'men's-only' groups in order to attract men to church, we may indeed be successful. But we will not be asking the really difficult, and perhaps really important questions about whether our culture or the gospel determines how we as churches talk and think about what it means to be male or female, what it means to be part of a church, and how the two fit together.
This, then, is my next suggestion about the value of history for the church. In my last post I argued that looking at the past helps us ask different questions about the present. Here I am suggesting that looking at the past helps us answer questions about the present differently. History can alert us to the big picture, to the shifts in society and culture that influence us in profound but often imperceptible ways. It keeps us from allowing our own experience to dominate our interpretation of present events. At its best, it confronts us with the gospel, which is always preached and lived in a particular time and culture, to which it is always a word of both judgement and grace.
What such discussions almost never do, however, is consider the most basic of historical questions. Has it always been like this? If not, when and why did it change? Questions like these immediately force us away from micro-issues to a broader perspective. In this case, for example, a very little research will demonstrate that the gender imbalance in churches in the Western world started to become apparent in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.* Interestingly, American settler churches were predominantly female almost from the beginning, whereas in Britain the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries appear to have brought about this shift. With this information, it immediately becomes obvious that soppy songs and feminism are unlikely to be highly significant factors in this change. Without proposing a definitive answer, this historical perspective suggests we might need to look to issues like industrialisation, changes in class structure, the development of new denominations and theologies, and the changing relationship between church and state. How have these changes affected the way Christians 'do' church? And, how have these changes affected what it means to be a woman or a man?
The value of considering this historical perspective lies not only in its power to explain the present. It also encourages us to look at broader, deeper meanings than those suggested by our own experience. For example, if we change our music or run 'men's-only' groups in order to attract men to church, we may indeed be successful. But we will not be asking the really difficult, and perhaps really important questions about whether our culture or the gospel determines how we as churches talk and think about what it means to be male or female, what it means to be part of a church, and how the two fit together.
This, then, is my next suggestion about the value of history for the church. In my last post I argued that looking at the past helps us ask different questions about the present. Here I am suggesting that looking at the past helps us answer questions about the present differently. History can alert us to the big picture, to the shifts in society and culture that influence us in profound but often imperceptible ways. It keeps us from allowing our own experience to dominate our interpretation of present events. At its best, it confronts us with the gospel, which is always preached and lived in a particular time and culture, to which it is always a word of both judgement and grace.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
wilberforce and the evangelical left
I'm hoping to get back to my history for the church series soon, but in the meantime I noticed this interesting article, which discusses an issue I have referred to briefly: the use of William Wilberforce as a pin-up boy by evangelical lefties.
Friday, February 16, 2007
Worth reading
A trip to our local library a couple of weeks ago netted a haul of fine reading, which I have been working my way through. I can recommend:
Annie Proulx, Bad Dirt - These short stories continue Proulx's fascination with Wyoming - they read like something Garrison Keillor would write after listening to the entire works of the Bronte family on tape. A mix of humourous eccentricity and gothic chills, all rooted deeply in the plains and forests of Wyoming.
Kazuo Ishiguro, Never Let Me Go - reading Kazuo Ishiguro is like finding yourself being carefully wrapped in strands of sadness by a very cunning spider. This book ranges from bittersweet to melancholy to heartbreaking and back again, through the rather unlikely combination of English boarding-school tale and futuristic sci-fi. It's very good and it's very, very sad.
Kate James, Women of the Gobi - not from the library, but I bought a copy because it was written by a woman I went to school with in India. After giving up on her attempts to fit the evangelical mold of her family, Kate became fascinated by the exploits of a trio of missionary women who travelled across the Gobi Desert in the early twentieth-century. She went to China to follow in their footsteps and through her journey try to confront her own loss of faith. Travel-writing can be self-indulgent, but this is self-reflective in the best sense - funny and interesting and very moving.
Annie Proulx, Bad Dirt - These short stories continue Proulx's fascination with Wyoming - they read like something Garrison Keillor would write after listening to the entire works of the Bronte family on tape. A mix of humourous eccentricity and gothic chills, all rooted deeply in the plains and forests of Wyoming.
Kazuo Ishiguro, Never Let Me Go - reading Kazuo Ishiguro is like finding yourself being carefully wrapped in strands of sadness by a very cunning spider. This book ranges from bittersweet to melancholy to heartbreaking and back again, through the rather unlikely combination of English boarding-school tale and futuristic sci-fi. It's very good and it's very, very sad.
Kate James, Women of the Gobi - not from the library, but I bought a copy because it was written by a woman I went to school with in India. After giving up on her attempts to fit the evangelical mold of her family, Kate became fascinated by the exploits of a trio of missionary women who travelled across the Gobi Desert in the early twentieth-century. She went to China to follow in their footsteps and through her journey try to confront her own loss of faith. Travel-writing can be self-indulgent, but this is self-reflective in the best sense - funny and interesting and very moving.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
History for the Church (2): Seeing our blindspots
As part of my current research, I have been reading the journals of a missionary who worked in an Aboriginal community in North Queensland at the beginning of last century. New to the mission field and newly-married, his diary records the increasing tension between the senior missionary couple, already resident in the community, and him and his wife. Finally, in the entry before his departure to establish a new mission nearby, the missionary records in painful detail his full horror at the situation he has found himself in: the senior missionaries have been repeatedly and brutally beating the Aboriginal children under their care. Through the thin walls of their adjoining houses, the junior missionary and his wife listen to the wails of the children as they are beaten, but believe themselves unable to intervene because of the authority that the senior missionaries have over them.
This is the kind of material that rarely makes it into 'church' history - in fact, standard accounts of this particular mission praise the senior missionary for his industry and piety in conventional terms. Church historians, under the onslaught of the postcolonial critique of missionary endeavours as inherently imperialist, have been generally concerned to defend the virtue of missionaries, and wary of hanging out the church's dirty linen. I think this is short-sighted. Recognising and facing up to the failures of the past seems to me a distinctively Christian duty in history, and one which will be both liberating and instructive. As my title for this post suggests, I believe a charitable but honest and critical study of our common past will allow us to identify and guard against recurrent blindspots in our theology and praxis.
For example, the account of these senior missionaries and their violence pushes us back to our theology of sin. In the Australian context, missionaries were far too often placed in situations where they had extensive authority over vulnerable people and virtually no accountability. At the same time they were poorly supported, profoundly isolated and under incredible stress. The naivety (and racism) that assumed that such situations would not regularly lead to (at best) authoritarianism and (at worst) abuse is simply incredible. But it should shock us into considering the situations today in which we assume that simply because someone is (or claims to be) a Christian, they can safely be given power without accountability. This does not mean that we view those in power - parents, church leaders, missionaries, politicians - with nothing but cynicism. But it does mean that we are not naive about their power or the potential that it creates for evil as much as for good.
History is not a panacea - it cannot show us all our blindspots, as however hard we look we are often still bound by our own agendas and assumptions. But I believe it can recall us to our theology, and force our eyes open to hard truths, helping us to repent of the sins of the past, seek forgiveness and reconciliation, and lead us to find new ways of being church that avoid repeating those sins in the present.
This is the kind of material that rarely makes it into 'church' history - in fact, standard accounts of this particular mission praise the senior missionary for his industry and piety in conventional terms. Church historians, under the onslaught of the postcolonial critique of missionary endeavours as inherently imperialist, have been generally concerned to defend the virtue of missionaries, and wary of hanging out the church's dirty linen. I think this is short-sighted. Recognising and facing up to the failures of the past seems to me a distinctively Christian duty in history, and one which will be both liberating and instructive. As my title for this post suggests, I believe a charitable but honest and critical study of our common past will allow us to identify and guard against recurrent blindspots in our theology and praxis.
For example, the account of these senior missionaries and their violence pushes us back to our theology of sin. In the Australian context, missionaries were far too often placed in situations where they had extensive authority over vulnerable people and virtually no accountability. At the same time they were poorly supported, profoundly isolated and under incredible stress. The naivety (and racism) that assumed that such situations would not regularly lead to (at best) authoritarianism and (at worst) abuse is simply incredible. But it should shock us into considering the situations today in which we assume that simply because someone is (or claims to be) a Christian, they can safely be given power without accountability. This does not mean that we view those in power - parents, church leaders, missionaries, politicians - with nothing but cynicism. But it does mean that we are not naive about their power or the potential that it creates for evil as much as for good.
History is not a panacea - it cannot show us all our blindspots, as however hard we look we are often still bound by our own agendas and assumptions. But I believe it can recall us to our theology, and force our eyes open to hard truths, helping us to repent of the sins of the past, seek forgiveness and reconciliation, and lead us to find new ways of being church that avoid repeating those sins in the present.
Saturday, February 03, 2007
History for the Church (1): What is it good for?
My husband has been thinking about writing a short story set in a post-apocalyptic Southern American community which has been ravaged by some kind of virulent virus. The consequences of this virus include an inability to remember beyond the short to medium term - people in this community only retain memories of the last few years. Into this community comes a figure called 'The Historian' - someone who is able to discover and record the past experiences of individuals and the community as a whole. The question posed by the story is: How much difference does having a history make? Can a marriage be saved if an estranged couple are reminded of their romantic meeting and early happiness? Can a community find new unity and purpose when given access to the story of their past? Alternatively, can access to truth about the past be destructive?
I'm hoping Andrew will write this story - and not just because I've always wanted to read fiction with an historian as superhero! It poses the same question I am considering here, though in a different context - what is history good for in the context of the life and witness of the church? Keeping in mind that far better scholars than I have written books on this topic, I am merely going to use my next couple of posts to suggest a few reasons why the church should pay attention to history.
Let me start by saying that by 'history', I do not mean a simplistic 'theologising' of the church's past. I am not devaluing theologians, or the importance of a theological framework for Christians making sense of history. Theological history is, of course, a worthwhile kind of history - but it is an intellectual history, which emphasises the genealogy of ideas over and above broader social and cultural changes. So, for example, the Reformation can be understood primarily in terms of the theologies of Luther, Calvin and Zwingli and their interactions with the theologies of the Roman Catholic church. This is not wrong, but it is inadequate. It is inadequate because it suggests that ideas exist in a vacuum, rather than within a far broader historical context in which they can be evaluated and understood. It is also inadequate because it sees change as emanating from the ideas of a few individuals - which almost inevitably leads to a history of 'great white males'.
My own area of history provides a clear example of this problem. The history of early Methodism has, until recently, focused primarily on the thoughts and actions of John Wesley, with some attention paid to secondary figures such as Charles Wesley or John Fletcher. All of these men were very important to Methodism and all of them were fine thinkers and strategists. But only recently have scholars begun to notice that a substantial majority of early English Methodists were women. In addition to the unusual women who became preachers, women were involved in pastoring, evangelising, home visitation, class leadership, hymn-writing and the teaching of children. It is fair to say, I think, that women's pastoral and evangelistic efforts were the Methodism that many of their contemporaries encountered. Through their actions and choices women shaped Methodism in significant ways, and yet their contribution has hardly been studied. This is not just a problem for those who want to recover the place of women in church history, it is a problem for anyone who is sincerely interested in the phenomenon that was and is Methodism. Studying the theology of Methodism - understood as John Wesley's sermons, Charles Wesley's hymns, John Fletcher's writings - is not adequate to explain and evaluate the movement and its significance. Rather, we must use the tools that historians have developed - attention to social, cultural, political and geographic contexts - to explain change over time.
In the first place, then, I want to note that for good reasons Christians are concerned with theology - but theology alone will not help us to understand the past. In my next couple of posts I will go further to suggest some reasons why a broader understanding of the past is a useful thing f0r the church.
I'm hoping Andrew will write this story - and not just because I've always wanted to read fiction with an historian as superhero! It poses the same question I am considering here, though in a different context - what is history good for in the context of the life and witness of the church? Keeping in mind that far better scholars than I have written books on this topic, I am merely going to use my next couple of posts to suggest a few reasons why the church should pay attention to history.
Let me start by saying that by 'history', I do not mean a simplistic 'theologising' of the church's past. I am not devaluing theologians, or the importance of a theological framework for Christians making sense of history. Theological history is, of course, a worthwhile kind of history - but it is an intellectual history, which emphasises the genealogy of ideas over and above broader social and cultural changes. So, for example, the Reformation can be understood primarily in terms of the theologies of Luther, Calvin and Zwingli and their interactions with the theologies of the Roman Catholic church. This is not wrong, but it is inadequate. It is inadequate because it suggests that ideas exist in a vacuum, rather than within a far broader historical context in which they can be evaluated and understood. It is also inadequate because it sees change as emanating from the ideas of a few individuals - which almost inevitably leads to a history of 'great white males'.
My own area of history provides a clear example of this problem. The history of early Methodism has, until recently, focused primarily on the thoughts and actions of John Wesley, with some attention paid to secondary figures such as Charles Wesley or John Fletcher. All of these men were very important to Methodism and all of them were fine thinkers and strategists. But only recently have scholars begun to notice that a substantial majority of early English Methodists were women. In addition to the unusual women who became preachers, women were involved in pastoring, evangelising, home visitation, class leadership, hymn-writing and the teaching of children. It is fair to say, I think, that women's pastoral and evangelistic efforts were the Methodism that many of their contemporaries encountered. Through their actions and choices women shaped Methodism in significant ways, and yet their contribution has hardly been studied. This is not just a problem for those who want to recover the place of women in church history, it is a problem for anyone who is sincerely interested in the phenomenon that was and is Methodism. Studying the theology of Methodism - understood as John Wesley's sermons, Charles Wesley's hymns, John Fletcher's writings - is not adequate to explain and evaluate the movement and its significance. Rather, we must use the tools that historians have developed - attention to social, cultural, political and geographic contexts - to explain change over time.
In the first place, then, I want to note that for good reasons Christians are concerned with theology - but theology alone will not help us to understand the past. In my next couple of posts I will go further to suggest some reasons why a broader understanding of the past is a useful thing f0r the church.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Saturday, January 27, 2007
History For The Church
Over the next couple of weeks, I want to reflect on a question that I've been wrestling with for some time: What does it mean to study and write history for the church? That is, what do those of us who are both practising historians and practising Christians have to offer the church through our skills and training? I'm going to reflect on my own experiences as both historian and pew-sitter, but I'd also love to hear what others think - whether as historians, churchgoers, ministers, theologians or misc! What do you think historians have to offer the church?
I have deliberately chosen the title 'history for the church' for this series, because this is how I want to imagine my role as a Christian and historian: whatever the subject of my research, whatever the primary audience for my findings, in some sense I want to be orientated to serving the community of faith. This is something of a change for me. I write history that is directly concerned with the place of Christianity in past changes. But my approach to that subject is broadly 'secular' - that is, I don't seek to directly identify divine involvement in that process of change. In fact, I have been quite resistant to 'church history', which in my experience has often been history controlled by current theological and denominational agendas, to the detriment of any serious engagement with the complexities of the past. One example in evangelical circles is the tendency to portray the politically conservative anti-slavery activist William Wilberforce as some kind of left-wing progressive, which prematurely shuts down any thoughtful analysis of the distinctive strengths and weaknesses of the evangelical tradition of social involvement. Wilberforce, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Martin Luther King and Bono blur together as roughly equivalent figures!
In the next couple of weeks, therefore, I hope to think about some more constructive models for the church in engaging with historical questions. I want to consider 'history for the church' both at a broad, theoretical level - what is the role of history in the community of faith? - and at a very practical level - what role can historians play as members of the local and scattered church? These are big questions, and I don't promise to arrive at any comprehensive conclusions - but I hope you'll join in the ponderings!
I have deliberately chosen the title 'history for the church' for this series, because this is how I want to imagine my role as a Christian and historian: whatever the subject of my research, whatever the primary audience for my findings, in some sense I want to be orientated to serving the community of faith. This is something of a change for me. I write history that is directly concerned with the place of Christianity in past changes. But my approach to that subject is broadly 'secular' - that is, I don't seek to directly identify divine involvement in that process of change. In fact, I have been quite resistant to 'church history', which in my experience has often been history controlled by current theological and denominational agendas, to the detriment of any serious engagement with the complexities of the past. One example in evangelical circles is the tendency to portray the politically conservative anti-slavery activist William Wilberforce as some kind of left-wing progressive, which prematurely shuts down any thoughtful analysis of the distinctive strengths and weaknesses of the evangelical tradition of social involvement. Wilberforce, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Martin Luther King and Bono blur together as roughly equivalent figures!
In the next couple of weeks, therefore, I hope to think about some more constructive models for the church in engaging with historical questions. I want to consider 'history for the church' both at a broad, theoretical level - what is the role of history in the community of faith? - and at a very practical level - what role can historians play as members of the local and scattered church? These are big questions, and I don't promise to arrive at any comprehensive conclusions - but I hope you'll join in the ponderings!
Thursday, January 18, 2007
listening to...
The felicitous combination of Christmas presents and Christmas sales has left me with a swag of great new music, which I am enjoying enormously. I can heartily recommend:
Emiliana Torrini, Fisherman's Woman
The Audreys, Between Last Night and Us
Missy Higgins, The Sound of White
Sophie Koh, Silly Thing
Wailin' Jennys, Firecracker
OK, so there's a ridiculous preponderance of women singing sweetly to the sound of strings, with just enough acidic edge to keep it from being totally saccharine. I can also recommend Sufjan Steven's Songs for Christmas (man singing sweetly to the sound of strings, with just enough acidic edge...etc.) if for no other reason than the terrific title of 'Get Behind Me Santa', one of the carols he composed. But basically, to quote The Audreys, 'If this is the state you find me in, blame it on the banjo and violin...'.
Emiliana Torrini, Fisherman's Woman
The Audreys, Between Last Night and Us
Missy Higgins, The Sound of White
Sophie Koh, Silly Thing
Wailin' Jennys, Firecracker
OK, so there's a ridiculous preponderance of women singing sweetly to the sound of strings, with just enough acidic edge to keep it from being totally saccharine. I can also recommend Sufjan Steven's Songs for Christmas (man singing sweetly to the sound of strings, with just enough acidic edge...etc.) if for no other reason than the terrific title of 'Get Behind Me Santa', one of the carols he composed. But basically, to quote The Audreys, 'If this is the state you find me in, blame it on the banjo and violin...'.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
New Year, New Resolutions
I'm back at my desk after three relaxing weeks in Queensland, and along with my other fairly predictable new year's resolutions (eat more vegetables, pray more, swim more, file more, stress less, read the pile of books I collected in second-hand bookshops while on holiday) I am determined to get back into blogging. I have a couple of series in mind - one on history for the church (as opposed to 'church history'), one on WIlliam Cavanaugh's challenging book 'Torture and Eucharist' which I have recently started reading. This year I'm employed as a research fellow, working on a major project on 'missions and gender' in Australia - so that should make it into my posts as well. Thanks to those of you who have kept visiting this blog, and asked when I would get back to it - hopefully there will be something more regular for you to read from now on!
Friday, November 10, 2006
The Dawk
'Imagine someone holding forth on biology whose only knowledge of the subject comes from The British Book of Birds, and you have a rough idea of what it feels like to read Richard Dawkins on the subject of theology.'
Thus begins the literary critic Terry Eagleton's recent review of Richard Dawkins' latest book, The God Delusion. If you have somehow managed to miss it, it's well worth a read.
Thus begins the literary critic Terry Eagleton's recent review of Richard Dawkins' latest book, The God Delusion. If you have somehow managed to miss it, it's well worth a read.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
detective fiction
I've guest posted on my top ten detective fiction must-reads over at faith and theology . Writing the list was a lot of fun, but took ages because I kept stopping to re-read old favorites!
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Gaudy Night
I have been re-reading one of my favorite novels of all time, Gaudy Night, by Dorothy L Sayers. Dorothy was a terrible old snob, and her portrayal of porters, maids and valets is teeth-grittingly condescending, but I am, nonetheless, always delighted by this book. It paints Oxford in unforgettably golden tones, and makes one long to punt, stroll the college gardens, quote John Donne and dine at High Table. And if you have followed the encounters of Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane through the previous novels of the series, nothing is more satisfying than the last page of Gaudy Night. Crime, romance, comedy and philosophy - it's all here!
For those of us who hang out at both universities and churches, this is the bit where Harriet goes to church:
'Here was the great Anglican compromise at its most soothing and ceremonial. The solemn procession of doctors in hood and habit; the Vice Chancellor bowing to the preacher, and the beadles tripping before them; the throng of black gowns and hte decorous gaiety of the summer-froocked wives of dons; the hymns and the bidding-prayer; the gowned and hooded preacher austere in cassock and bands; the quiet discourse delivered in a thin, clear, scholarly voice, and dealing gently with the relations of the Christian philosophy to atomic physics. Here were the Universities and the Church of England kissing one another in righteousness and peace, like the angels in a Botticelli Nativity; very exquisitely robed, very cheerful in a serious kind of way, a little mannered, a little conscious of their fine mutual courtesy. Here, without any heat, they could discuss their common problem, agreeing pleasantly, or pleasantly disagreeing to differ. Of the grotesque and ugly devil-shapes sprawling at the foot of the picture, these angels had no word to say.'
For those of us who hang out at both universities and churches, this is the bit where Harriet goes to church:
'Here was the great Anglican compromise at its most soothing and ceremonial. The solemn procession of doctors in hood and habit; the Vice Chancellor bowing to the preacher, and the beadles tripping before them; the throng of black gowns and hte decorous gaiety of the summer-froocked wives of dons; the hymns and the bidding-prayer; the gowned and hooded preacher austere in cassock and bands; the quiet discourse delivered in a thin, clear, scholarly voice, and dealing gently with the relations of the Christian philosophy to atomic physics. Here were the Universities and the Church of England kissing one another in righteousness and peace, like the angels in a Botticelli Nativity; very exquisitely robed, very cheerful in a serious kind of way, a little mannered, a little conscious of their fine mutual courtesy. Here, without any heat, they could discuss their common problem, agreeing pleasantly, or pleasantly disagreeing to differ. Of the grotesque and ugly devil-shapes sprawling at the foot of the picture, these angels had no word to say.'
Friday, September 29, 2006
avoidance
This may not mean very much to those of you who are unaware of the feverish excitement that surrounds Australian Rules football in Melbourne, but:
Every year, as a matter of personal amusement, I make it my aim to try not to know which teams are in the Grand Final. Initially, this is not too difficult - just a matter of being generally ignorant about the teams and their progress. As the season progresses, however, and particularly as the Grand Final approaches, it becomes increasingly challenging. I have to politely excuse myself from conversations, avoid certain sections of the newspaper, listen to my iPod on the tram. Last year I succeeded, this year I unintentionally discovered that the Sydney Swans were once again on the menu. But I've got about 24 hours to not find out who the second team is. The pressure is on, and I'm seriously considering skipping the departmental coffee break, as way too dangerous. I mean, there are people here writing their PhDs on Aussie Rules!
Every year, as a matter of personal amusement, I make it my aim to try not to know which teams are in the Grand Final. Initially, this is not too difficult - just a matter of being generally ignorant about the teams and their progress. As the season progresses, however, and particularly as the Grand Final approaches, it becomes increasingly challenging. I have to politely excuse myself from conversations, avoid certain sections of the newspaper, listen to my iPod on the tram. Last year I succeeded, this year I unintentionally discovered that the Sydney Swans were once again on the menu. But I've got about 24 hours to not find out who the second team is. The pressure is on, and I'm seriously considering skipping the departmental coffee break, as way too dangerous. I mean, there are people here writing their PhDs on Aussie Rules!
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Hallelujah! Get happy!
Less than two months since I submitted my thesis, and the examiners' reports are back! The two eminent scholars (whose sandals I am not worthy to untie) who read the thesis did their job thoroughly. A nice balance of compliments and criticism: they unerringly identified the methodological flaw at the heart of the work, which had bothered me from the beginning - I still don't know how to fix it! Overall they were both enthusiastic, and passed it without amendment. I just have to bind it, hand it in, and wait for the letter that proclaims me 'all but degree'! And decide whether I want to try and turn it into a book (which, as both examiners said, would require a fair bit of reframing. It's a slippery little sucker!)
So sincere thanks to those of you who've seen me through this! There will be a party, and you're all invited.
So sincere thanks to those of you who've seen me through this! There will be a party, and you're all invited.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
string thing
Were a genie to appear and offer me three wishes, I would ask (having dealt first with world peace and church unity) whether I could please be given a proficiency in playing the banjo. I've never even picked one up, but there is something about the combination of rhythm and whine in banjo music that I find deeply endearing. Five albums that I am currently listening to on my iPod make good use of those qualities. In no particular order, I recommend:
40 Days (The Wailin' Jennys)
Blue Horse (Be-Good Tanyas)
Illinois (Sufjan Stevens)
O Brother Where art Thou? (Various)
Why should the fire die? (Nickel Creek)
Toe-tapping good!
40 Days (The Wailin' Jennys)
Blue Horse (Be-Good Tanyas)
Illinois (Sufjan Stevens)
O Brother Where art Thou? (Various)
Why should the fire die? (Nickel Creek)
Toe-tapping good!
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Bebbington visit
If you're in or around Melbourne next week, you might like to come along to this mini-conference that I'm organising, which kicks off with a paper from David Bebbington, godfather of British evangelical history:
'Fanaticism and Sound Learning: Primitive Methodist Revival in County Durham in 1851'
David Bebbington, University of Stirling
1-2pm, Tuesday, 29th August
Jessie Webb Library, Dept of History, University of Melbourne
Followed by a seminar on 'Religion in the Modern World', 2 - 5.30pm.
Members of the Department will present papers on their own research into the historical place of religion in the modern world. After the seminar, all are invited to dinner at a restaurant on Lygon St.
Organising this seminar (and writing a paper for it) is one of the things keeping me too busy to blog!
'Fanaticism and Sound Learning: Primitive Methodist Revival in County Durham in 1851'
David Bebbington, University of Stirling
1-2pm, Tuesday, 29th August
Jessie Webb Library, Dept of History, University of Melbourne
Followed by a seminar on 'Religion in the Modern World', 2 - 5.30pm.
Members of the Department will present papers on their own research into the historical place of religion in the modern world. After the seminar, all are invited to dinner at a restaurant on Lygon St.
Organising this seminar (and writing a paper for it) is one of the things keeping me too busy to blog!
Thursday, August 10, 2006
worse and worse
I certainly don't think there are any simple answers to what's going on in the Middle East at the moment, but one thing I'm sure of: this doesn't help at all.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
synopsis
So, anyway, I wrote this thesis and submitted it, but I'm still trying to figure out exactly what it was about. Is that a bad sign? (Can I just note that after I handed in my thesis, Andrew gave me a card, in which he congratulated me and added 'In this regard, I have always thought it important that my wife submit.') I've written a synopsis for the purpose of applying for postdocs, which goes like this:
This thesis examines the construction of suffering in early English Methodism, with particular reference to the hymns of Charles Wesley, co-founder of the movement. Wesley wrote thousands of hymns, many of which focus on the experience of overwhelming pain. As eighteenth-century men and women sang or read these hymns, they were encouraged to adopt a distinctive approach to suffering, one which drew upon long-standing elements in Christian tradition, as well as new patterns in English culture. Identifying the construction of suffering in the hymns illuminates the culture of early Methodism and its complex relationship to its eighteenth-century English context.
My analysis places the hymns within the broader 'narrative culture' of early Methodism, which encouraged individuals to interpret their lives and experiences as part of a story of great spiritual significance. The hymns engaged men and women with a spiritual drama of conviction, conversion, sanctification and heavenly reward. Suffering was central to Wesley's depiction of this drama. I examine his construction of the suffering of Christ, the suffering of Christians, and Christian responses to the suffering of others, demonstrating that each of these had an important place in his portrayal of the normative Christian experience. Those who read or sang the hymns were encouraged to embrace suffering as an experience that offered opportunities for intimacy with, and imitation of, Christ.
Recognising Wesley's construction of suffering does not explain exactly how Methodist men and women responded to affliction, but it does illuminate these responses. The letters and journals of Methodist men and women reveal that not all early Methodists adopted Wesley's construction of suffering. The broad contours of his construction are, however, reflected in early Methodist attitudes to affliction. This construction of suffering helps explain some distinctive aspects of early Methodist culture, in particular the role of women in the movement, the intensity of early Methodist fellowship and the involvement of Methodists in social reform.
Does that make any kind of sense to the general reader?
This thesis examines the construction of suffering in early English Methodism, with particular reference to the hymns of Charles Wesley, co-founder of the movement. Wesley wrote thousands of hymns, many of which focus on the experience of overwhelming pain. As eighteenth-century men and women sang or read these hymns, they were encouraged to adopt a distinctive approach to suffering, one which drew upon long-standing elements in Christian tradition, as well as new patterns in English culture. Identifying the construction of suffering in the hymns illuminates the culture of early Methodism and its complex relationship to its eighteenth-century English context.
My analysis places the hymns within the broader 'narrative culture' of early Methodism, which encouraged individuals to interpret their lives and experiences as part of a story of great spiritual significance. The hymns engaged men and women with a spiritual drama of conviction, conversion, sanctification and heavenly reward. Suffering was central to Wesley's depiction of this drama. I examine his construction of the suffering of Christ, the suffering of Christians, and Christian responses to the suffering of others, demonstrating that each of these had an important place in his portrayal of the normative Christian experience. Those who read or sang the hymns were encouraged to embrace suffering as an experience that offered opportunities for intimacy with, and imitation of, Christ.
Recognising Wesley's construction of suffering does not explain exactly how Methodist men and women responded to affliction, but it does illuminate these responses. The letters and journals of Methodist men and women reveal that not all early Methodists adopted Wesley's construction of suffering. The broad contours of his construction are, however, reflected in early Methodist attitudes to affliction. This construction of suffering helps explain some distinctive aspects of early Methodist culture, in particular the role of women in the movement, the intensity of early Methodist fellowship and the involvement of Methodists in social reform.
Does that make any kind of sense to the general reader?
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