Reflections and connections I didn't intend to make

When I created this blog, it was my intent to leave such weighty things as solving the problems of the Anglican Communion to other, wiser, heads. I was not going to get 'theological.' Unfortunately, 'getting theological' is what I do, both by my nature and by my employment, and so my advance apologies to those friends (known and unknown, seen and unseen) who will find this tedious.

I've just finished reading Azar Nafisi's Reading Lolita in Tehran. A good friend recommended it shortly after its publication in 2004, and it took me almost a year to obtain it, and another to finish it. My slow reading is not because it is a dull or difficult book. On the contrary, it is a memoir of a courageous woman academic, her passion for literature and her dedication to her students, under conditions which most of us would find intolerable.

My slow reading, turning away from the book and turning back, was because I was mentally drawing too many parallels between the experience of the women who met secretly to read and discuss Western literature during the reign of Ayatollah Khomeini, and the difficulty of studying, teaching, and using Anglican theology in the midst of the ruptures the Communion is currently experiencing.

It certainly deserves more analysis than I can give at the moment, but it raises the question for me of whether what these women were finding in fiction is exactly what we should be finding in theology. As she teaches her students, both in the University of Tehran, and in the private class in her home, Nafisi teaches what a truly great novel does. It 'heightens your senses and sensitivity to the complexities of life and individuals, and prevents you from the self-righteousness that sees morality in fixed formulas of good and evil' (p.133). A novel is 'moral' when it 'shakes us out of our stupor and makes us confront the absolutes we believe in' (p. 129).

Should not theology do exactly these things? Has not the breadth of Anglican theology done exactly these things for more than four centuries?

But also, Nafisi notes that as the Islamic Republic ascends in power and control, it became a situation in which the governing powers no longer ruled with the spirit of the Prophet Mohammed--they believed that they were indeed the Prophet's direct voice on earth.

The parallels to the current state of Anglicanism may be tenuous, but there do seem to be those who believe their dictates cannot be debated, as they wish to return the 'true church' to the divine rule of God, which is not open to interpretation or discussion--let alone contextualisation.

Western literature--Nabokov, Fitzgerald, Austen, James--are obvious transplants to Iran. But Anglicanism--Jewel, Hooker, Butler, Maurice--are equally transplants to every corner of the world where Anglican Christianity is practiced.

Perhaps those of us who wish to be 'continuing Anglicans'--continuing Anglican Christianity's grand experiment and adventure of exploration, contextualisation, and provisionality--should think of ourselves as those who are 'Reading Temple in Pittsburgh', or 'Reading Maurice in Lagos'. Perhaps we need to read these things for ourselves, rather than allowing vocal 'leaders' who often seem not to know these authors well, tell us what the pillars of the tradition did and did not say (as they are so ready and happy to do). Perhaps we need to meet in small groups, treating these great works of our tradition as precious lenses for finding meaning in our individual and corporate spiritual lives.

It may not bring us back together as a Communion, but perhaps it could provide oases of personal and corporate of sanity in a church seemingly bent on madness.

A place to leave good wishes

If you look at the comments from the last post I made, you'll notice that a lady called OM left a message. I 'know' her from the BBCAmerica discussion forums.

This post from me is minimal--it's just an invitation for anyone to leave her a note of good wishes on a site she seems to be able to access.

Very best wishes to all!

Living more simply (life adjustments, new installment)

This isn't so much about my particular circumstances, but a bit of reflection on the aftermath of the foiled terrorist plot and the disruptions at British airports.

On this evening's BBC news, there was a report saying that over 10,000 checked bags had been lost or misdirected in all the kerfuffle. Worse still, thieves were targeting the lost baggage, and taking electronic devices. That means people with airport security clearances are exploiting the misfortunes of passengers for their own gain. I won't get into what that means about the vetting processes for people with security clearances, but it doesn't make me feel any safer.

At any rate, it got me thinking: I moved here with only 12 lbs. beyond the luggage allocation, even with the new restrictions. Yes, I did send a few packages via postal service, and I'm still waiting for an ocean shipment of household and personal goods. But with three small boxes and two suitcases, plus the adequate but not lavish equipment supplied with my flat, I've been living just fine for about 8 weeks.

I'm surviving, even thriving, without a car, a microwave, a dishwasher. There's a VCR, but no instruction book on how to hook it up (and no place to rent movies anyplace close by). I have six channels of television. And yet, somehow, I'm not really lacking in things to do, and ways to keep my mind occupied.

So, the question is, what can we live without for a two week holiday? I've seen people at the airports leaving for vacations, worried about whether their overstuffed cases will still come under the weight limits. I've seen kids with backpacks so full of electronic games and personal entertainment devices that they can barely stand upright. Do we really need to take everything in our closets, and do we really need to bring 'all the comforts of home'? If so, why travel?

I'll admit to having gotten a little prickly over the restrictions on hand luggage that I was hearing about--I'm glad they've lifted the book ban, and I'm still hoping that they'll allow me to take a chapstick on board the next time I fly. Maybe some hand lotion if I'm really lucky.

But maybe there's a lesson to be learned in all of this about traveling a little more lightly.

New Year!

Today, 9 August, 2006, is my 45th birthday. I always consider my birthday to be my real 'new year's day'. It's been a while since I've had a birthday when I wasn't surrounded by family and friends--five years, to be exact.

But that, too, was the start of a new adventure. On my 40th, I rolled into Winfield, Kansas, to take a one-year teaching position at Southwestern College. Apart from their website, I had never seen the place prior to arriving. Everything had been done via phone and e-mail, including arranging my house for the year. It was a good year, lots of great professional experience, and the opportunity to make some lasting friendships. My wish for this adventure is the same.

I spent my day by going into central Oxford. I'd never seen Oxford Castle before, and so I went on their tour. Up until 10 years ago, the Castle functioned as the county gaol. Parts of the building predate the Norman Conquest, so they are a thousand years old. It still amazes me that something so ancient is a half-hour's bus ride away from me. But of course, the church here in the village is almost 900 years old, and that's a three minute walk. Anyway, around the castle, there are (for good or ill) a number of upscale restaurants taking advantage of being on what has become a popular tourist site (including Krispy Kreme!). And a portion of the castle/gaol is now a posh hotel. Who would have thought?

I found the Wednesday Open Market in Gloucester Green to be a little disappointing. I was hoping for a real, old-time market of crafts, interesting foodstuffs, unusual items. It isn't much more than some sad looking stalls, and a lot of junk. But it's crowded, so there must be something to it that I just wasn't getting.

There's always some interesting live music on the streets here, from a guy who plays tunes on beer bottles to someone else doing traditional Indian music, and a really fine harpist. A few weeks ago there was a violin trio in the Cornmarket Street (which is now an all-pedestrian area, unlike it was in 1998, when I first stayed in Oxford). So, I heard some music as well.

At any rate, it was a good way to spend my day. The greatest gift of all, of course, is to be here in such fine surroundings, with interesting work and good colleagues.

Life Adjustments: First of what may be many installments

I moved here most directly from western New York State, the area around Buffalo. Prior to that, I lived just north of Chicago, and in Milwaukee. Okay, there was a break for a year when I lived in southeastern Kansas; the point is, I'm mostly an urban/suburban girl, both by temperament and long experience.

So, life in rural England is an adjustment, especially as I do not have a car, and don't plan to acquire one. There is a college car that I could use, but I've yet to get up the courage to drive on the opposite side of the road--I'm just past the point where it doesn't terrify me to be a passenger on the left side! There's a bus that runs between Garsington to the south of here, and Wheatley, to the north. They are both slightly bigger places than Cuddesdon, and there are connecting buses from both places to the centre of Oxford. Still, it means that I am in Cuddesdon evenings and Sundays, as the buses don't get you to or from here at those times.

That's fine, though. My biggest quandary was grocery shopping--who really wants to carry bulky packages with bottled water, tinned vegetables or toilet rolls on the bus? Especially when you'd rather be burdened with the more interesting things the shops have to offer. And have you ever stood out for the bus on a hot day with fish in your shopping? It's not so fresh by the time you get it home.

I've solved that difficulty by making a generational retrogression: grocery delivery. If it was good enough for my grandmother, it's good enough for me. Sainsbury's delivers to this postcode; not all the supermarkets do. I've had one delivery, and another on the way tomorrow. I like their service, and their quality. I like that I can just add something to my order as I think about it, up to the day prior to my delivery slot, and it just gets put in my box. It's a £25 minimum order, with a £5 delivery charge. But I don't have to go through the aisles, or 'queue' at the checkout. It's like hiring staff to do that for me. And I don't have to carry it further than my front door.

Apart from that (which was a pretty easy fix), I really like that I live where I work. It's quiet and peaceful here, conducive to thinking and writing. And although the students (mostly) aren't here just now, it seems like there's always someone around to have an interesting conversation with. Although our admin staff don't live in college, most of the teaching staff do--and some of them bring their dogs to the office, or their children and spouses are also in evidence.

Oddly enough, I also like not having a car. It's a constraint on being able to just pick up and go someplace at a moment's notice--but it also means you think about each trip, and what you want to accomplish when you carve out several hours from your day to go into the city to shop or use the library. Having to think about what you mean to do when you leave the premises, rather than the impulsiveness that having a car sometimes allows, has something to recommend it.

There's a certain intentionality about living here, and it sits well with me.

A Journey North

I've been away for a couple of days, visiting the Bakewell Show in Derbyshire. It's a two-day agricultural fair, always on the first Wednesday/Thursday of August. I'm kind of genetically urban, with both parents born and raised in New York City. The Show looks like this:

www.bakewellshow.org

I got the traditional Bakewell Show rain on Wednesday afternoon, but it was okay. I also had a bit of glorious (if cool) sunshine--a welcome change from the heat wave that had the road surfaces in Oxford melting. But it meant that much of the dog show was on muddy ground.

I'm fascinated by the way people turn the most necessary activities--growing food, moving goods--into competitions of the biggest onion (about the size of a children's bowling ball), and the most beautifully decorated team of brewery horses. It doesn't matter that beer is now transported by lorry; they still train and ornament teams of horses. There's a certain charm in that.

Like almost any fair, however, the commercial element has crept in, and people who want to have a taste of 'country life' can also buy enormous gas grills and BMWs at the show.

I was staying in Duffield, in the southern part of the county, just north of the City of Derby. On the way back, my companion drove us past Chatsworth, the stately home that features in Pride and Prejudice. I hope I will have a chance to tour it sometime.

I'll be spending a lot of time in Derbyshire in the next year. This was a wonderful introduction to the scenery and local culture of the area.

p.s. I didn't get to eat a Bakewell tart. Maybe on another adventure.