What Learning To Code Has Taught Me About Teaching

Courtesy Stuart Miles. FreeDigitalPhotos.

I've been teaching myself to code.

Don't be too impressed. All I've done so far is teach myself the basics of HTML. I can create headings, new paragraphs, and, if I'm really lucky, add an image to text. 

That said, trying out a wholly new skill has taught me some things about what makes learning fun. I may be taking baby steps, but every step is a celebration for me. And that's got me wondering, What is it about the way one learns to code that makes it fun, and how can I duplicate this experience in the English classroom? 

Here's what I've concluded is important: 

Clear, easy-to-follow models. When I'm adding code to my text editor, I'm usually closely following the sample code in the tutorial. If I want to add a link to my code, I look up the tutorial section on links, then make my code look like the tutorial's code. If I want to add an image, same thing. HTML is at least straightforward, since there's no doubt what the code should look like. 

Students depend on models for positive learning experiences. If they're going to produce something, whether it be HTML code or a reflective essay, they need to have some sense of what the final product turns out looking like. While I'm not always able to provide the exact models my students need (I cannot provide a model for a summary my students are writing on a particular essay, for instance, lest I give away the answer!), the more models I can provide, the better my students will perform, and the happier they will be. 

Discrete, easy-to-master tasks. One thing I've noticed about learning HTML is that I don't have to learn everything all at once. Rather, I learn things just a little bit at a time. I learned first to add a paragraph. Then I learned to add emphasis to text. Then I learned to write a table. I'm still working on adding images and links to text, but that's okay, because meanwhile, I've learned to change the link color. I'm accomplishing one thing, even if I haven't figured out everything yet. 

Especially with something like writing, when many things happen at once and not always in the same order (for instance, drafting and research are not always completely finished before revision begins!), it can be difficult to break the holistic task of writing a paper down into smaller tasks, but insofar as this is possible, it needs to happen. Students need to be asked not to write an essay but to add a quotation, or even better to add a block quotation and then to add a paraphrase; the hope is that even if they haven't altogether figured out block quotations, they can pat themselves on the back for figuring out paraphrase, and feel as though they're making progress in the larger task of mastering essay writing. 

Visible results. When I practice HTML, I practice on a document created through my computer's text editor; this document is saved as an .html file and can be opened in a web browser. I make a change to the document, refresh the web browser, and immediately I see the results of whatever changes I've made. This makes me feel as though I'm accomplishing something. I may not be able to do much in HTML, but when words show up in Google Chrome and links change colour because of code I added to my document, I feel very skilled! 

Students need to feel equally accomplished when they write something. They need their writing to have immediate, observable, real-world results. This can be difficult to achieve in the English Composition classroom, since I am nearly always the only one who reads student papers. (I am aware that some colleges manage to publish student work - say, as a collection of English papers, and while this is a step in the right direction, because students are unaware of who reads their papers, observable results are still limited.) 

Yet one way that I can supply real-world results is by leaving feedback which comments not only on students' writing skills but also on the way their writing affects my thought. If they a particularly apt quotation makes me think, I should say that. If their introduction really grabs my attention, I should say that. The other way to supply visible results is within the classroom itself. When we learn a new skill, the learning opportunity should be crafted so that students can clearly see what they are accomplishing through learning. If they can walk away from class with something they created, even if it's as small as a single Works Cited entry that they know they are correct, they will have evidence of their learning. Having something you've created through the learning experience is an excellent, visible way to make learning fun.

Ample, clear feedback. The other benefit of having immediately obvious results when I am learning HTML is that I know when I've got something wrong, and when I've got something right. When my heading shows up as ordinary text, which happened last night, I know without a shadow of a doubt that I've made a mistake in my code. I can also go back through the code, find the error, correct it, and when I reload the page, know without a shadow of a doubt that my code is correct. 

Having sufficient feedback is actually the one place where I would say teaching myself HTML is lacking, since when I get something wrong, and then wrong again, and still wrong, it's clear to me that I have something wrong, but I don't always know how to correct the problem. For instance, I haven't altogether figured out how to add links to my HTML code; I can link to tutorial websites such as HTML Dog and W3Schools, but not to Google. I'm not sure why; I think it has something to do with the sites themselves, but without someone to ask, I can't be sure.

Students need plenty of feedback. They need to know, as soon as possible and as specifically as possible, when they've made an error, they need to be able to locate the specific error, and they need to have coaching to correct that error. If they are left to flounder on their own, without knowing whether they're headed in the right direction or not, their work will suffer.

Mistakes are okay. In writing the previous section, I decided to test out my skills in adding links via HTML. I switched the blog from "Compose" to "HTML" and added the code which I thought would make the words "HTML Dog" a link to www.htmldog.com.

Here's what I got:

and 

If you click on that word "and", it will take you to HTML Dog. In other words, I added the link, but I got the display text wrong, somehow. My reaction was to celebrating adding the link. Who cares that the word displayed is "and"? Eventually I'll figure out how to get the display text correct, but adding links is one of the more difficult parts of HTML for me, and I'm thrilled that I added any link whatsoever without looking at a tutorial.

Students will make a lot of mistakes when they write a paper. This is natural: A well-written research paper is an incredibly complex thing, demanding multiple academic and critical moves to come off without a hitch. While, as a teacher, I do need to clearly point out students' errors so they can correct them, it's really important not to let the pointing out of errors take over the experience. Every step forward, every sign of progress, even if it's only partial progress or a little bit of progress, is worth celebrating. If we waited for everything to be perfect before we started celebrating, we'd be waiting a long time.

To conclude, the last thing I've learned is that to be a good teacher, it's important to be a learner as well. Learning something so completely new for me has given me an insight into the learning process, which I haven't had for a long while. It takes humility to become a student again, but the narrow and difficult way is the way that leads to abundance, and this holds as true in the classroom as it does in our spiritual lives.

On Wendell Berry and the Logic of This World

I've been reading Wendell Berry's essay collection: Sex, Economy, Freedom, and Community. While this is my first time reading Berry, many of the essays were actually published in the early 90s.

Over PBJ toast this morning, I started "Peaceableness Towards Enemies," Berry's thoughts on the Iraq War to free Kuwait. What struck me was Berry's assertion that while the powers-that-be claimed the war was to retain America's supremacy, America was by the time of the war already in decline:

Our wealth is great, but our economy has been seriously damaged by the greed, selfishness, and shortsightedness that have become its ruling principles. Our power is great, but in spite of its vaunted precision, it is applied more and more ruthlessly and clumsily. We are increasingly making this a nation of peace, security, and freedom for the rich. We have almost done away with the private ownership of usable property and with small, private economic enterprises of all kinds. Our professions have become greedy, unscrupulous, and unaffordable. Our factory products are shoddy and overpriced.

He continues:

If we are the most wealthy and powerful country in  the world, we are also the most wasteful, both of nature and of humanity. This society is making life extremely difficult for the unwealthy and the unpowerful: children, old people, women (especially wives and the mothers), country people, the poor, the unemployed, the homeless. 

And one more thought:

And none of these problems can be corrected merely by wealth, power, and technology. The world's most powerful military force cannot help at all. 

What strikes me about this observation of Berry's is that he made it in the early 90s, nearly twenty years before the 2008 recession forced everyone to recognize income inequality as a problem. When Berry was writing about income inequality in America, America was still dreaming of endless, growing wealth. America celebrated its stability at the same time as Berry, like an Old Testament prophet, mourned its destruction.

This leads me to several conclusions.

One, wealth which is rooted in the logic of this world is, ultimately, a sham. It appears substantial enough, but the system by which it is built and sustained is flawed, and so it is only a matter of time before those flaws become apparent. This is why Berry was able to recognize the poverty of the American Dream, because he recognized the flawed logic of American consumerism: the belief that immediate gratification and endless profit could be indulged without cost to the individuals or the self. No action is without its cost (divine logic teaches us this), and so Berry foresaw the steep cost to American consumerism, long before Americans woke from dreaming of their riches to the ugly reality of a community whose citizens and countryside were alike impoverished.

Two, by extension, any attempt to live by the logic of this world rather than by divine logic will ultimately fail. When we think of worldly lusts, we often think of specific behaviours, anything from extramarital sex to overeating. Yet the world's grip on our lives runs deeper than specific behaviours, touching even the heart and mind. This present world has its own logic, a system of interlocking assumptions and values by which the world is to be run, and it is possible (indeed, it is very easy!) to accept this logic without behaving in a worldly way. One may remain a virgin sexually and yet accept the assumptions this world makes about marriage, that it represents the pinnacle of human experience and is primarily about self-fulfillment for both partners.

Three, and finally, given that we are prone to organize our lives according to the logic of this world and that and any such ordering will end in failure, we must take care to order our lives according to divine logic. I use the word logic here purposefully, since it implies that our values must be interdependent; what we value in one area of life will affect what we value and how we act in other areas of live. To give an example which has been in the news a great deal lately: If we value the life of the unborn, as a child created by God, then we must also value that life when it is born, and we must act on that value by taking steps not only to prevent abortion but to support single mothers. It's worth noting here that most crisis pregnancy centers I know of do just this.

To live according to divine logic is to order our lives, individual and corporate, according to the structures by which the Lord has established this world. These structures are found in Scripture, but we must not confuse them with the commands of Scripture. This is not to say that Scripture is insufficient, only that some of the structures which God has established are not directly stated, but inferred from Scripture. For instance, we know that the Lord created humankind for mutual dependance, each individual relying on the support of others and of the environment, and in her turn, providing that support. In no one verse does God explicitly spell this out, but in countless verses and principles, from the story of Adam and Even to Paul's insistence that the church live in unity with one another, the Lord indicates that the world is meant to be run through mutual dependance. By this logic, and by other logics known through reliance on God and on his Word, are our lives to be ordered.

If we are to accomplish this, we must ask ourselves hard questions. In the passage above, Berry targets "greed, selfishness, and short-sightedness": problems which (among many others) have crept into the church. We must ask ourselves how we have absorbed the logic of the world around us, and we must commit to reordering our lives so that we may live not by the lusts of this world by by love for our Lord and His Creation.

One final example: Last year, a few friends and I read Jen Hatmaker's 7, an indictment (albeit humorous) of the consumerism which has crept into the American church. Who among us has not justified purchasing new food, Hatmaker asks, simply because we do not like the food which is already in our fridge? We waste food in this way despite the fact that food waste contributes directly to the problem of hunger around the world. Who among us, Hatmaker asks, has not spent accumulated unnecessary clothing, while the poor in our city go cold in the winter? By spelling out our wasteful materialism in the areas of food and clothing, Hatmaker clearly indicates that though we (seem to) obey God's commandments, we nonetheless have absorbed the logic of the world around us. It is time, Hatmaker suggests, to put this logic aside and return to the Lord.

In Matthew 7, Jesus instructs his followers to search for the narrow way:

Enter by the narrow gate; for wide is the gate and broad is the way that leads to destruction, and there are many who go in by it. Because narrow is the gate and difficult is the way which leads to life, and there are few who find it. 

We usually assume that Jesus is speaking of salvation here. Indeed he is. But he is not only speaking of salvation; set in the context of the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus's point is broadly applicable to the whole life of discipleship.

Living like everyone else, Jesus says, is easy. The way of this world is wide. At first glance, the logic of this world seems easy, natural, sensible. It even, at times, appears virtuous. Yet in this end, those who take the easy way will be destroyed. All the wealth and pleasures which have been built up will fall like a house of cards. We are witnessing this now, in the ongoing economic struggles of the United States, after decades of financial indulgence and profiteering.

Living according to divine logic is not easy. It does not make sense. It even seems wrong. But this is because we were born and raised in this world; the radical surrender of worldly logic to which Jesus calls us will (almost always) rub us wrong. But in the end, only there we will find abundance and joy.

What Every American Christian Should Know, Part 2

Recently, inspired by Eric Liu's project to list ten key things to know about American culture, I listed ten things to know about American Christian culture, ten events and ideas and people and phrases which explain why we act the way we do.

But I want to go one step further, and make a second list: ten things that American Christians should know, with the stress on the Christian part this time. In other words, what do we need to know about our culture, less as Americans and more as participants in a long tradition stretching back to the Apostles?

We American evangelicals have largely forgotten church tradition. In part this is because we (like our country) are a young and upstart bunch. We tend to focus on the present moment, not the past, but in doing so, we remain ignorant of very powerful pieces of our religious heritage.

Here's the thing: In Liu's article, he assumes that knowing about culture confers power, helps us participate in that culture. And I agree, but I would add that knowing about a culture doesn't simply help us participate in it, it can help us change it.

But to change Christian culture, there is an entirely different set of things we need to know. A list of things pointing towards who we are is not the same thing as a list pointing towards who we are meant to be. Put another way, there is a difference in what we need to know about a culture in order to participate in it (as is Liu's goal, and mine in my last post) and changing it. As believers, striving to be more like Christ and encouraging one another in godliness, it is our responsibility to change our culture, and in fact to change ourselves, when we have strayed from the narrow path.

And for us American Christians, to do that, we ought to draw on our rich Christian tradition, the tradition that has risen over two thousand years. My goal in this post is to list ten people and events and ideas and books from Christian tradition which can help each of us on the way to God.

A few notes before I begin:

When I say that it is our responsibility to change culture, I don't mean that we should change American culture. We are not a Christian nation; in general, the choices that non-believers make are not our concern. More importantly, pushing to transform the culture can blind us to where we personally need to change; it is possible to get so caught up in "taking back America for God" that we forget to take back ourselves for God.

Also, you'll notice that I've included neither Scripture nor doctrine in this list. Obviously, both of these are very important to know. My hope in this post is to list things which are less obvious, but still valuable as stepping-stones towards Christ.

So here's the list, with items listed roughly in historical order:

The Apostles' Creed. Yes, this item showed up on my previous list, of things which are important to understanding evangelical culture. It shows up again here because I think knowing the Creed, and reciting it regularly in church, is crucial to reminding ourselves where the center of our faith lies, and to maintaining unity in the body of Christ.

It's easy to get swept up in the various culture wars of our day. Yet the Creed begins, "I believe in God the Father Almighty, and in Jesus Christ His only Son our Lord," emphasizing that this is the heart of who we are as believers: Christ-followers, before anything else.

And when we recognize that Christ, we can enjoy fellowship with our fellow believers. "I believe in the holy catholic church," the Creed ends, "[and] the communion of saints." When we put Christ first in our faith, then differences over minor doctrine and cultural positions fade into the background, and we are able to be kind to one another, urging each other on in the Faith.

Augustine's Confessions. Perhaps the best-known Christian text, Augustine's conversion story is important for a number of reasons.

One, and most importantly, Augustine's conversion story teaches us to rejoice over the inexorable grace of God. Augustine is a stubborn sinner indeed, but even he is eventually caught by God's grace, and brought into the fold. To read of God intervening in Augustine's life, though Augustine was so resistant, gives me joy in God's grace, and it gives me hope that, even when I disobey, God will faithfully love me and draw me back towards Him.

Two, reading the Confessions reminds us what is and what is not important in our faith. Given that Augustine's story is the heart of Confessions, the immeasurable forgiveness of God in Christ, for all our sins, is most important. Pretty much everything else is less important by comparison. When I first read Confessions, I was startled to find that Augustine did not read Genesis literally, but allegorically. Since then I've come to see that a literal reading of Genesis is not actually a defining trait of the Christian life; being forgiven by Christ is. As with knowing the Creed, reading Confessions puts our attention back where it should have been all along: the Lord Jesus Christ.

Gnosticism. If you know about no other heresy, know about Gnosticism.

With Gnosticism, there's an intricate theology in which God is pictured approaching the world through a cascading, endless series of "emanations," but what the heresy boils down to is this: Body, bad. Spirit, good.

And this idea continues to corrupt the church and the society we live in, everywhere you turn. I see Gnosticism in some of the moral grandstanding of Christian fundamentalist churches. Rod Dreher sees Gnosticism in Caitlyn Jenner's transgenderism, which prioritizes internal feelings over the physical evidence of the body. Ross Douthat sees Gnosticism in the continual emphasis in American culture on finding the "God within," a la Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat Pray Love, among other things.

Regardless of where Gnosticism is found, the point is that it is alive and dangerous. A sound knowledge of Gnosticism can help us avoid it, remembering that "every creature of God is good, and nothing is to be refused if it is received with thanksgiving, for it is sanctified by the word of God and prayer" (1 Timothy 4:5).

Martyr stories. I get the impression, talking with my students, that many believers know Christians were martyred (usually they cite the martyrdoms under Nero), but few know particular stories. Every story is worth knowing, but three stand out to me:

Ignatius, one of the Church Fathers, when arrested by the soldiers who carried him to Rome for martyrdom, invited the soldiers in and fed them a sumptuous meal.

Polycarp, another Church Father, when given a chance to escape by denying Christ, is said to have responded, "86 years I have served Him, and He has done me no wrong. How can I blaspheme my King and my Saviour?"

Hugh Latimer, a church official in England during the reign of "Bloody" Queen Mary, encouraged his fellow martyr Ridley when they were burned at the stake, saying, "Play the man, Master Ridley, and we shall this day light such a candle, by God's grace, in England, as I trust shall never be put out."

In these stories I see men so wholly sustained by the lovingkindness of Christ that they can face terrible death with peace. Their stories remind us that the same divine love will touch our lives, and the lives of modern-day martyrs around the world. In the story of Latimer and Ridley, I also see men committed to a faith with real-world ramifications, who hope that their obedience to Christ will bear real fruit, though they themselves are not around to see it.

Dante's Divine Comedy. Dante's work goes largely untouched, with the exception of a few short passages from Inferno. This is a shame.

I find it hard to clearly explain the value of reading the Divine Comedy without being so general that I reduce what is a powerful story to a moral fable. The truth is, while the Dante gets important theological concepts across in his epic, that he does so by introducing us to spirit after spirit who either turned away from God or towards him makes the story memorable and compelling, enriching our own journey heavenwards.

Among other things, here's what I recall: the story of Francesca and Paola, who wind up in Hell simply by putting emotion ahead of reason; the heretic Farinata, strong and prideful and (scarily enough) admirable even in Hell; the demons in the lower level of Hell, who find tormenting sinners absolutely hilarious; the sense of peace which pervades Purgatory, despite its suffering, after the torment of Hell, simply because God is near.

Incidentally, reading The Divine Comedy also makes a bunch of other Christian texts make sense. Lewis, for instance, draws heavily on Dante in his own novel, The Great Divorce. When you're familiar with Dante, you're equipped to understand and benefit from other Christian literature.

Since reading The Divine Comedy can be daunting, I recommend finding a good translation. I recommend the Esolen translation, which uses down-to-earth language (of the kind that Dante himself, writing in Italian instead of Latin, would have used) and has detailed notes about who's who in heaven and hell.

Martin Luther. I realize that Martin Luther is already well-known, but my impression is that he's primarily known as an anti-Catholic.

Yet there's so much more to the story than a rejection of Catholicism. Luther was not (at least not at first) rejecting Catholicism, only corruptions within it, notably Indulgences. Thus, Luther's story is not so much about how Catholicism is a false, works-based religion; it's about how only through divine grace can we draw near to God, and it's about how legalism and pride and greediness have no place in a life of true faith. Protestants today stand in need of these stories as much as Catholics do.

It's also worth knowing Luther's defiant, "Here I am, I cannot do otherwise," his refusal to back down on his religious convictions in the face of death (Spoiler alert: He didn't die.) Luther's commitment reminds us, on the one hand, that few things besides God's grace are of true importance to our faith, but on the other, that Christ deserves our total, sacrificial commitment.

Great Awakenings. Yes, this also figured into my earlier list. But given that the Great Awakenings were key in shaping the practice of religion in America, I think it's important for American believers to be familiar with them, in order that we may distinguish between what is truly part of our faith and what is simply cultural.

Among the practices normalized by the Great Awakenings were

• Dramatic, about-face conversions 
• An emphasis on the role of emotion, over the intellect, in faith
• An emphasis on the individual, over the community or denomination, in faith
• A rejection (or at least skepticism) of ritual and tradition as a sign of spiritual deadness
• Celebrity preachers
• Evangelistic campaigns
• An altar call
• Total abstinence from alcohol  

Obviously, some of these practices are a part of legitimate Christianity; Augustine had a dramatic, about-face conversion.

But some of them are not, and it's worth knowing which is which, so we don't conflate our faith with our patriotism. Separating what is American from what is Christian helps us know what is essential for moving closer to God and to our brethren around the world. 

A good missionary biography. At first, I was going actually pick a particular missionary, someone who was influential in the development of modern missions. But there are so many inspiring missionary stories, I couldn't choose.

I've really enjoyed A Passion for the Impossible, a biography of Lilias Trotter. Trotter was one of the first missionaries to the Muslim world. Out of her deep love for Christ she made great personal sacrifices in order to live among Muslims in the Algerian desert and bring the Gospel to them. She also pioneered modern missionary methods. Her artwork and devotionals are also excellent, thoughtful reflections on our dependence on Christ.

My mother has really enjoyed this two-volume biography of Hudson Taylor.

The point is, the whole Gospel is about us leaving all behind to follow Christ. In one sense, then, missionaries are a living embodiment of the Gospel.

I'm not saying that to follow Christ we have to be a missionary, nor that missionaries are spiritually stronger than the rest of us. But reading about the men and women who truly did leave everything behind out of love for Christ is good for us. It reminds us that we too are called to the narrow way, to uncomfortableness and difficulty and life everlasting.

Textual criticism of the Bible. By textual criticism, I mean the study of manuscripts in order to locate transmission errors, determine the original wording, and determine the reliability of the Scriptures. 

The Bible is the scaffolding of our faith, supporting how we live out our faith as individuals and in community. It makes sense, then, that we should know how the Bible came to be and why it is reliable.

The best textual criticism of the Bible shows (among other things) that the early manuscripts have literally thousands of surviving copies from early in the church's history, remarkable compared to other important documents (the Iliad, for instance), which have just a handful; that consensus developed very early that God inspired the New Testament as well as the Old; that the canonical texts are by far more reliable than non-canonical texts such as the Gospel of Thomas. All of this assures us that Scripture is trustworthy, and gives us the confidence we need to obey Christ's Word.

If you're not sure where to start in this field, here are two books I'd recommend:

• Fabricating Jesus: How Modern Scholars Distort the Gospels, by Craig A. Evans. This book compares the canonical Gospels to the non-canonical ones (the Gospel of Thomas, etc), ultimately showing that the canonical books are a far more reliable record of Jesus's life than the non-canonical ones.
• The Heresy of Orthodoxy, by Andreas Kostenberger and Michael Kruger. A bit scholarly in tone, this book debunks the idea that there was no right way to believe until at least AD 400. As proof that early Christianity coalesced around common, orthodox beliefs, it shows that the first manuscripts of Scripture, which assert the importance of right doctrine, are far more reliable than popular culture teaches.

C.S. Lewis. American Christianity is saturated with Lewis, so I almost didn't put him on this list. Still, when most people think Lewis, they think Narnia, and there's so much more to Lewis than Narnia. And Lewis is excellent at explaining how the ancient, longstanding essentials of our faith play out in modern culture. 

Of his oeuvre, here's what I recommend:

• The Great Divorce. This book changed my life. Modeled on Dante's epic, Lewis's story teaches that if we "insist on keeping earth, we shall not see Heaven": or, as Christ put it, that "you cannot serve God and mammon". In a world where ads urge us to Have it your way! and when faith demands very little of us, Lewis's story is a good reminder that following Christ means real sacrifice, and offers real reward. 
• Out of the Silent Planet. Really, the whole science fiction trilogy is worth it, but this one happens to be my favourite, just because it's a great story. It also gets across Lewis's view of sin as not utterly distinct from goodness but simply bent goodness, a view which warns us against letting the good things we love be corrupted.  
• The Four Loves. "Love" these days is largely defined as romantic attachment. Lewis's description of the four kinds of love calls us to reconsider how we accept and give love to our friends, and how we accept love from our Lord.

It was hard limiting this list to only ten things. I wanted to include the novels of Marilynne Robinson (an excellent modern story of Christian commitment), Milton's Paradise Lost and Areopagitica (a Christian defense of freedom of the press), Thomas Aquinas and the seven deadly sins and the seven virtues, but I had no space. Christianity has two thousand years' worth of tradition, and if I were to list everything from that tradition which is helpful, I'd be writing the blog forever.

So here is where I end. I'd love to hear what you would add, though: What else from Christian tradition is worth knowing, as we seek to follow Jesus in our lives and communities?

Is Jurassic World Sexist? I Don't Think So, and I'm a Feminist.

Right now I'm between posts on religious literacy in America (and behind on planning for Composition next semester), but let's take five minutes and talk about whether there is sexism in Jurassic World. 

On Sunday, I went to the film with a couple of friends. I thoroughly enjoyed it, and as usual when I really enjoy a film, I looked it up on iMDB when I got home, to see what other people were saying about it.

I was shocked out of my socks to learn how many people are up in arms about what they believe is its 70s era sexism. And as a feminist myself, I'm truly bothered by such criticism. (Witness the fact that I just spent ninety minutes on my day off to write this post).

It appears the whole hullabaloo got started when Joss Whedon complained about sexism in the trailer. Then the film came out, and everybody saw sexism in the film.

From what I can tell, looking into the complaints online, accusations of sexism generally center around primary character Claire's change of heart: She starts the film off wrapped up in her job and generally insensitive to her nephews, but ends it feeling maternal towards them, and feeling something entirely different for Chris Pratt's character. This, people say, is evidence that the filmmakers buy into the assumption that a woman's role is certainly not at the helm of a major business; it's in the home, feeling maternal towards her husband and two-point-six children.

And as a self-identified feminist, I get this concern. Watching the film, I noticed a few places that might "push the buttons" of people like me, who don't have a husband or children and yet hear frequently that our lives would be so much richer with them. There's a scene in which Claire's sister tells her, "Having children is worth it!" and part of me cringed. No, I don't have children. At this point, I'm unlikely ever to have children. And yet my life is full and rich without them.

But a single cringe-worthy scene, which in fact only echoes conventional wisdom among the film's target audience, does not make this a sexist film.

A few thoughts:

One, those who say the film is sexist are ignoring actual evidence from the film. Viewers argue that the film, in showing Claire changing from being in love with her job to being in love with her nephews and Chris Pratt, suggests that women are out of place in the workforce. This ignores what the film tells us about Claire's sister, played by Amanda Seyfried. Seyfried's character joshes her two sons, calls frequently to check up on them, and tries hard to promote family bonding. And yet Claire's sister clearly has a successful career: When she tells Claire children are "worth it," she's standing outside a boardroom, dressed in a business suit. She's a successful mom, the film implies, and a successful career woman.

In fact, I would argue that the film does not portray Claire's main problem as being a successful career woman, only as being a woman with her priorities out of balance. When her nephews arrive, she's clearly let herself get swept up in work duties, such as taking executives on a tour of the Jurassic World lab and checking on the I. Rex with the theme park's financial backer. The problem is not that she has a job; the problem is that she has let her job control her, instead of the other way around. 

And this is not a problem exclusive to women. In fact, Hollywood is as likely to call men out as women for spending too much time caught up in their work (even if it's good work!), too little time with the ones they love.

Think The Incredibles. Or The Santa Clause. or Die Hard. or Taken. In each case, the main character is a man, and in each case, that man's problems come about in part because he hasn't spent enough time with his family.

So when Jurassic World calls out Claire for her indifference to her nephews, it's not following a sexist script; it's following the standard Hollywood script, that family is top priority.

Which brings me to my second point:

Two, accusations of sexism in Jurassic World assume a conflict between "work" and "family" that need not exist. 

When people complain that the film is sexist simply because Claire, who previously loved her job, now loves the idea of having a family, they imply that women shouldn't love the idea of having a family. They imply that nowadays, since women have the freedom to be in the workforce, they should be in the workforce.

But this is not every woman's idea of happiness. So what if Claire wants a family by the end of the film? Many, many women do.

If feminism means support for women, then we have no business policing what makes a particular woman happy or not. Yes, I am happy in my job, without a husband or children. I have friends who had a job, but now have a husband and children, and are much happier in the home.

A job is a good thing, but a family is a good thing too, and it's time we feminists stopped seeing the two as engaged in some kind of zero-sum game.

(Incidentally, as Christians it's time we stopped seeing the family as the be-all-and-end-all of a meaningful, godly life, but that's another post.)

Women can get a job now, and find happiness in their career; but this needn't stop other women from staying with their family, and finding happiness there. Let's focus on what actually brings an individual happiness, not on our assumptions about what will bring someone happiness.

And this brings me to my last point:

Third, getting your panties in a bunch over perceived sexism in Jurassic World ignores the much greater real problems that stand in the way of women's happiness around the globe. 

I don't call myself a feminist because I'm upset that a movie, which is mainly about dinosaurs, shows a woman who decides she wants a family.

I call myself a feminist because I think women, married and single, deserve respect.

Yes, I get frustrated when people assume that women's lives revolve around family, or when people assume that I'm nurturing (I'm not!) simply because I'm a woman. But ultimately, whether I'm asked about a recent date or a recent race is not that big a deal, in the great scheme of things.

This is a big deal:

Around the globe, women struggle to get an education. They are married off and have children very young. They are subjected to horrifying physical procedures in the name of protecting their purity. They are, by far, the primary victims of human trafficking.

In the United States, women are sexually objectified in ad after ad to sell products; when the ads are actually aimed at women, they often work so that women are conditioned by advertising to like pink and frills and purchase Disney Princess items. Women are often unwelcome in higher education, assumed to be poorer scientists and poorer teachers.

Honestly, who cares if Claire wants a family? A family is a great thing! We should be far less worried (by which I mean, not worried at all) about her desire for this good thing, then we are about the very bad things which women encounter every day, in the United States and elsewhere.

You call yourself a feminist? Fine, standing up for women is important.

But complaining about sexism in Jurassic World is not standing up for women. 

Don Quixote was laughed at for tilting at windmills. If we feminists are not careful, we'll wind up doing the exact same thing.

What Every American Christian Should Know

Last week Eric Liu at the Atlantic asked, In light of increasing diversity in the United States, what does one need to know in order to participate fully in American culture?

Riffing off a fifty-year-old project by academic E.D. Hirsch, Liu tries to list at least ten things which he thinks Americans have in common culturally, which any of us should know. And because the Internet has made knowledge fluid and quick to change, he invites his readers to "crowd-source" the list, with everyone contributing ten things which they think every American should know.

I tried my hand at making a list, which included items like the New Deal and Manifest Destiny and even the film Dr. Strangelove.

But interesting as this project was, I thought the idea of trying to capture the knowledge essential for cultural literacy was even more interesting, because of course it raises the question:

What is necessary to understand Christian culture? 

I don't mean doctrine here, which has been established by two thousand years' worth of theologians. Rather, I'm referring to the events and people and ideas and phrases that make us who we American Christians are as a culture. (Asian and African and South American Christianity are their own separate cultures.)

Put another way, given increasing religious diversity in the United States, given the fact that fewer and fewer people even identify as Christians, what does one need to know about Christianity in the United States in order to understand it?

If Eric Liu is right (and I believe he is), then knowing about a culture, even one that you don't personally identify with, is key to knowing how to act within that culture. Thus, even people who do not identify as Christians benefit from knowing about Christianity, in that (hopefully) knowing why we act the way we do will help them relate to us from a place of respect and genuine understanding, rather than stereotypes. And people who do identify as Christians will recognize where certain practices and beliefs which we feel are central to our faith actually come from, whether it be Scripture or a politician forty years ago.

So here's my list. Along with each item on the list, I've included a sentence or two about how that item has shaped the practice of Christianity.

1. the Apostles' Creed. Sadly, the Apostles' Creed is little-known in American Christianity. But it articulates the key beliefs which draw all Christians together,. If you want to understand what Christianity is, this is the place to start; it is, quite literally, the place where Christianity started.

2. Martin Luther. Not only did Martin Luther champion a faith based on grace, not works, he championed a faith independent of the pope and accountable to God and Scripture alone (Witness his "Here I am" speech at the Council of Worms.)

3. 'City upon a hill'. John Winthrop used this phrase to capture his hope that the Puritan establishment in New England would be a shining example of authentic Christian community for the rest of the world. Winthrop's view persists in modern American Christianity, in that we tend to see ourselves as standing on a kind of pedestal, with the rest of the world looking on.

4. 'Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God'. Jonathan Edwards was key in the development of American Christianity, and this is his most famous sermon; many second- and third-generation Christians (like me!) read this sermon growing up. Edwards's theology is quite complex, even in this sermon; nevertheless, this sermon figures large in the popular conception of God waiting expectantly to damn sinners.

5. Great Awakenings. It's probably thanks to the two Great Awakenings that America held onto a Christian culture as long as it did. Also, the Great Awakenings gave birth to some of America's most influential preachers (George Whitefield and Charles Finney), as well as American habits of faith such as the idea of a conversion experience, revival meetings, and an altar call.

6. Fundamentalism. Dismayed by modernist tendencies to reduce faith to a system of ethics, void of the miraculous, evangelical leaders in the 1920s doubled down on what they felt was the core of Christianity, emphasizing the inerrancy of Scripture, the deity of Christ, the premillenial return of Christ, and the separation of church from the world. Depending on which circle of fundamentalism you move in, that last belief is particularly strong, leading some Christians (think Bob Jones University) to imagine the Christian life as one lived in obedience to a restrictive moral code.

7. 'A personal relationship with Jesus'. Whether liberal or conservative, most churches in America put less stress on communal faith than traditional churches do, more on individual experience and beliefs.

8. the Romans Road. While the essential beliefs in the Romans Road (the depravity of humankind, the necessity of faith in Christ) are standard doctrine, the stringing together of these beliefs with single verses from Romans is unique to American Christianity, testifying to our love for simplicity and clarity, and our traditional emphasis on evangelism.

9. Billy Graham. The most recent revivalist, Graham spearheaded the mixing of politics and faith, helping first Eisenhower and then Nixon articulate Christianity as a central part of their governing styles. (See Kevin Kruse's One Nation Under God for more information.) Graham also experimented with new evangelism methods, among them using film to reach non-believers.

10. Ralph Waldo Emerson. Emerson's Transcendentalism is grandfather to much of what is considered Christianity in the United States today, including the idea that we each have a divine spark within us and that Jesus was a great moral teacher but not God. The idea that each of us has a "true self", which if we obey we will be happy, also finds its origins in Emerson.

Importantly, this is not a list of things that Christians need to know about their own faith in order to live as Christ intended. I'm working on putting that list together, and will have it up soon.

Till then, I'm curious what you would add to this list, or what you would take off of it. What do you think is necessary, to get what makes us American Christians tick? If I get enough feedback, I'll put up a separate post with your contributions.

What to Read Besides the Lord of the Rings

Here's what I want to know: When did the Lord of the Rings become the official favourite book of American Christians?

Seriously: When a book is mentioned in a sermon, or in another book, or when an evangelical shares their favourite book title, it's nearly always the Lord of the Rings. If it's not the Lord of the Rings, it's the Chronicles of Narnia. 

And this bothers me.

Look, I love the Lord of the Rings as much as the next person. That trilogy was what pulled me out of the Christian romance novels I loved as a teen (my mom called them "marshmallow" fiction) towards meatier stuff.

Marshmallow fiction.
This stuff will rot your mind.

But seriously, do we read anything else? Is there nothing else on our bookshelf?

From the way we talk about Lewis and Tolkien, one could imagine we read their novels in an endless, alternating cycle, switching back and forth and back and forth between the worlds of Narnia and Middle Earth.

It's time to break the cycle.

When I was a child, I was bemused by a particular habit of my father's: Whenever we went to an ice cream shop, no matter what flavours were available, he ordered chocolate almond. Always chocolate almond. 

As an adult, I've come to understand this; I regularly order Mackinac Island Fudge at my local ice cream shop. But I do this recognizing that when I order always the same flavor of ice cream, I miss out on other excellent flavors.

And when we read the same books, or the same kind of books, we miss out on other excellent stories. And Story is a terrible thing to miss out on.

Partly this is true for the same reason it's a terrible thing for a child to never eat her veggies. Take beets for example: If you never eat beets, you'll never discover (as I recently did) that you actually like them. If you never try new books, you'll deprive yourself of deep new pleasures.

And partly it's true because stories are good for us, not like medicine is good for us but like fresh air is good for us. Like fresh, cold air, a good book breathes new life into our world. In its pages we meet new people, see truth in a new way, exercise our imagination and our intellect in a new way. If we never read new books, however good the old books are that we read, the air in our mind will grow stale.

So if you love Narnia or Middle Earth, great! But there are other worlds out there to love, other books which can be equally delightful, equally refreshing to our mind and soul.

Here are my suggestions on how to find them:

One place to start is reading other books by authors you already enjoy.

This works particularly well with Lewis: Most people have read the Narnia books, the Screwtape Letters, and Mere Christianity. Fewer people have read The Great Divorce, Till We Have Faces, and Out of the Silent Planet. His essays are also worthwhile: I recommend the literary collection, Of Stories, and his thoughts on the Psalms.

Alan Jacobs suggests finding new favorite books by "reading backwards," by which he means reading the books which inspired the writers you already enjoy. 

If you like Tolkien, this may mean reading Beowulf and Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, which shaped Tolkien's writing.

If you like Lewis, this means reading George MacDonald's fantasy novels, particularly The Princess and the Goblin, which is practically the template for Narnia, but also Lilith and Phantastes.

It means reading Dante's Divine Comedy, which shaped Lewis's theology and writing, especially The Great Divorce (I recommend the Esolen translation, which is one of the most accessible copies around, with its thoughtful footnotes.)

It means reading early science fiction novels, which Lewis just plain loved. Here I recommend H.G. Wells's The War of the Worlds, remarkable for the sense of Otherness which Wells builds around his aliens. I personally enjoyed A Princess of Mars, by Edgar Rice Burroughs - hardly high literature, but fascinating as one of the earliest examples of the science fiction genre.

Of course, Lewis was not inspired only by science fiction and fantasy novels. Anthony Trollope was one of Lewis's favourite novelists; I've enjoyed Can You Forgive Her? and Barchester Towers, both long, well-characterized and thoughtful British novels after the fashion of Jane Austen. G.K. Chesterton was one of Lewis's favourite essayists; Orthodoxy and Heretics are particularly worthwhile.

Another trick is to look for writers who were connected with the writers you already enjoy.

Here I'd recommend Dorothy Sayers, who was a sometime participant in the Inklings. Her Lord Peter Wimsey mysteries are classics; start Whose Body?, and go from there.
with the first,

On a similar note, you can try reading around in the same genre as the books you love.

If you like science fiction, A Canticle for Leibowitz, by Walter Miller, is worth a try; the novel, set after a nuclear holocaust, explores the tensions between knowledge and faith. Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, by Philip Dick, is an equally thoughtful exploration of faith and reality. I like Mary Doria Russell's The Sparrow; though not as much "high literature" as some of these other recommendations, it's a good first-contact novel and thought-provoking.

If you prefer fantasy, try the Redwall series, by Brian Jacques. It's essentially Narnia, loaded with feasting and fighting, but with all animals. You can start anywhere in the series, though I'd recommend something like Marlfox or Mossflower to get underway. Try Howl's Moving Castle, by Diana Wynne Jones, in which Sophie (the oldest of three girls) is turned into an old woman by a witch and has to seek the help of the devious Wizard Howl; it's not a thought-provoking book, but a delightful and hilarious one.

Seek out recommendations. 

People are always sending me book lists.

Relevant magazine's list of novels that "will shape your theology" was sent to me by my boss. The one off this list I recommend is Gilead, by Marilynne Robinson. Her main character, pastor John Ames, is a gentle and thoughtful model of faith, positive in a way that few people of faith are in modern fiction. One of my colleagues, an elderly theology teacher, also enjoys Robinson's novels; we meet in the library or the copy room and swap notes on whichever Robinson novel we're reading currently.

A few years back, a friend of mine pointed out The Gospel Coalition's list of books every Christian should read. I'm currently working through Wendell Berry's A Place on Earth; Berry's more famous Jayber Crow is on the suggested book list.

You can, of course, simply ask friends for recommendations. Curious what my fellow believers read besides the Lord of the Rings, I asked on Facebook. Ironically, one suggested Lord of the Rings; when pressed, he admitted that suggesting Tolkien's epic was rather like saying one's favourite book was the Bible. Besides Lord of the Rings, here's a sampling of what was on the list:

• Adam Bede, George Eliot 
• The Power and the Glory, Graham Greene. 
• The Poisonwood Bible, Barbara Kingsolver
• Dickens, especially Bleak House

Among these, The Power and the Glory is among my personal favorites. I haven't read Adam Bede, but Eliot's Middlemarch was well worth it. 

Alan Jacobs, in The Pleasures of Reading in an Age of Distraction, urges his readers to "read at whim", by which he means to read chiefly what is pleasurable, not what other people tell you to read. So take my recommendations with a grain of salt: This is what I enjoy, not necessarily what you will enjoy.

But I would encourage you to take someone's recommendation, whether mine or your friend's or the recommendation of one of your favourite authors, and read something that is not set in Narnia or Middle Earth. 

Clear the cobwebs out of your head. You might just discover you like all that fresh air!

Asparagus & Potato Pour-Over Soup

When I left for work today, I was planning to make a chicken salad sandwich for supper. It tastes good, it's healthy, it uses up some chicken I have in the fridge - and best of all, it's quick, which is really important since I don't get off work till 8.00 PM and don't sit down to supper till 8.30 or 8.45 PM.

But then it rained all day. 

I managed to stay out of the rain, mostly because people took pity on me when they saw my fingernails turning blue and gave me indoor jobs like pricing diamond-shaped tomato cages and breaking down old cardboard boxes. But when you're working at a nursery, indoor is code for under a roof, and it's not a heck of a lot warmer than outdoors. 

So about halfway through my shift, I found myself wondering whether I could make a quick soup. 

And I recalled a "pour-over soup" recipe I'd seen on Buzzfeed months back, which basically involved pouring hot soup stock over veggies to quickly cook the veggies. Then, I was doubtful it would work well. Today, I was mostly cold and pouring stock over vegetables sounded like a fast and delicious supper.

One problem: When I got home, I discovered the can of chicken stock which I thought was sitting in my pantry was not in fact sitting in my pantry; I had no can of chicken stock. Besides this, I was out of grocery money for the week, so there was to be no running out to the store for another can. I did what any self-respecting Millennial would do: I Googled the problem. Turns out, beef broth can be substituted with a tablespoon of soy sauce in a cup of water, or with red wine. I had both.

So here's what I did:

Since I was using ersatz beef broth, I wanted to make it the best ersatz broth possible. I sautéed some red onions and garlic in sesame oil. Then I mixed water with a tablespoon and a half of soy sauce to make a cup of and a half of liquid, total, and added about a sixth of a cup of red wine for good measure. Then I let it simmer for twenty minutes.

While it was simmering, I got the ingredients ready. For these, I riffed on a recipe for Asparagus & Potato Soup with Leeks that's turned out well. I boiled half a red potato (with its skin), and I chopped up one green onion, one asparagus, and a little cilantro. I mixed all this spices, then added the potato when it was soft.

I poured the broth over the veggies, and then, the best part - I ate it. 

It was delicious. 

It was rather salty, largely because soy sauce is pretty salty. But the asparagus had a bright tang and the potatoes were soft and rich in the broth. Even the broth was yummy, good enough to dip my whole-wheat toast into. 

Ultimately, meals that serve just one person are hard to come by. I'm not the kind to eat cereal for dinner, and my usual blended soups get old after a while. It's really nice to have a good broth-based soup which cooks quickly and serves just one. 

Here's the actual recipe, if you want it:

• 1 1/2 cups broth (beef broth, or the substitute I describe above)
• 1 TBSP red onion, finely chopped
• 1/4 tsp garlic
• 1 green onion, chopped
• 3 stalks asparagus, chopped
• Spices (I recommend dried red pepper and a Chinese blend).
• 1/2 potato, chopped
• Cilantro for garnish

This photo is a tad blurry, but see all the yummy ingredients?

Saute the onion and garlic in a little sesame oil. When the onion is translucent, add the broth; bring it to a boil, then let it simmer till the rest of your ingredients are ready.

Chop up half the red potato. Add the potato to boiling water and boil till just soft, a little more than five minutes.

Chop three stalks of asparagus into small pieces (1/4 inch or so); chop the green onion into small pieces. Combine in a bowl with spices. When the potato is cooked, add the potato. 

Pour the broth over all. Garnish with cilantro and serve.

What's the Point of Singleness?

Credit Skyly Photographer. Flikr.

An op-ed in the New York Times on finding meaning in life caught my eye, as an example of a problem with where we Americans think we can find happiness in life and what single people's lives often look like.

David Brooks, who fancies himself a philosopher but mostly produces fluff, observes that however many graduation speeches there are about having big ambitions, reaching for the stars, changing the world, people find as much contentment (more even!) in simply living everyday life well: being kind, tending a garden, spending time with family.

That last one was the one that caught my attention. Brooks quotes at length from several people who wrote to him, describing how they find meaning in life. One says this:

I have a terrific wife, 5 kids, friends from grade school and high school, college, army, friends locally, and sometimes, best of all, horses, dogs, and cats.

Leaving aside the horses and the dogs (and we won't even mention the cats!), I find it interesting that heading this list of what gives meaning to life is a wife and kids, the immediate family. It's interesting because it's so ubiquitous: Watch any film, read any book produced lately in the United States, and someone is bound to say that our family is what gives life meaning.

Seriously, I watched Looper last night. Even that film, of all things, locates the source of happiness (indeed, the very forces that keep us from going bad!) in a mother's love. The message that family is what makes life meaningful is everywhere.

Orson Scott Card, in one of the many additions to Ender's Game, put it this way:

Here is the meaning of life: for a man to find a woman, for a woman to find a man, the creature most unlike you, and then to make babies with her, with him, or to find them some other way, but then to raise them up, and watch them do the same thing, generation after generation, so that when you die you know you are permanently a part of the great web of life. That you are not a loose thread, snipped off. 

While there's been some politically correct huffing and puffing over the fact that Card, a Mormon, describes the family in terms of a man and a woman, most of America shares his essential idea about the meaning of life: You find someone you care about, you make a family with them, you spend time with them, and voila! Your life has meaning. 

(As an aside, even the fact that, according to Card, part of the reason that having children makes life meaningful is that it carries on our genes is common enough. No one wants to be snuffed out; everyone wants to leave a piece of themselves behind; what better way to do that than a child, who carries your genes and your values forward for the rest of the human race? This is what makes apocalyptic movies particularly distressing, the idea that no one's progeny will survive.)

But here's the problem:

We singles don't have this. 

Sure, we have family. I am very thankful for my parents. And we have friends.

But parents and friends are not at the head of that list in Brooks's essay. Wife and kids are. Cut it anyway you like, when our society says that we find meaning in life by spending time with the people we love, what our society usually means is that we find meaning in life by spending time with our significant other. Example: Almost every single Disney Princess movie ever.

At this point, I could complain about the American vision of happiness. I could say, "Let's talk about a vision of happiness that singles can have."

But maybe the point isn't that we develop a more inclusive vision of where we find meaning in life.

Maybe the point is that we adjust our vision, that we stop looking at this life and start looking at the next. 

Here's the thing: As a single woman, I'm probably lonelier than most of my married friends. My new favourite novelist Marilynne Robinson says the delights of loneliness are underrated. Indeed, the pleasures of singleness in general are underrated. I love stocking my pantry with peanut butter without worrying about a husband's allergies, deciding to watch Firefly for the third time without hearing any complaints, and (very occasionally) just having ice cream for dinner.

But the fact remains that my life is less well-stocked with important people, the people that our modern society says are essential to a meaningful life, than our married friends' lives are. My closest family member (an elderly grandmother) lives three hours' drive by car away; the rest live two or three times that. I don't see my family for months at a time.

And I'm not alone. A single friend of mine recently confided in me how much she misses her family, living five hours to the south of here. Other single friends have told me similar things, that there are fewer (or at least fewer obvious) human connections in our lives than in the lives of married people.

So yeah, sometimes we single people are lonely. Sometimes that hurts.

But honestly, what did we expect?

Here on earth you will have trials and sorrows, Jesus says. If we have hope only in this life, Paul says, we are of all men most to be pitied. 

All of Christianity comes back to this idea, that this world is broken and we have to hang on for the next. This is an idea that we single people are living testaments to. In us the world is so obviously broken; we are not part of the great web of life; we are a loose thread, snipped off; and when we die, everything that we are dies with us.

The world says this is reason for despair. All the more reason to put our hope in Jesus. We may not have a happy life in the way the world imagines it. We have something better: the One who is Life Himself.

The truth is, in the end there is nothing but Jesus for any of us. Family fades away; friends disappear. Only Jesus remains. You can simply see this a little bit more clearly in the lives of us single people, who are literally right now without the family, without the husband or wife, that modern society says we need to be happy.

So essentially, the purpose of singleness is to be a reminder. To ourselves, singleness (and its loneliness) is a reminder to go back to Jesus, to rest in Him. To the church, and the world, the reminder is the same: Go back to Jesus. Find your hope in Him.

On Dante (Canto 7)

When Dante crosses from the circle of the gluttonous to that of the avaricious, his way is barred by Plutus. Virgil comes to the rescue, saying to Plutus,

Shut up, you cursed wolf of Hell!
Swallow your rage and let it gnaw your guts!
His passage to the hollows has its cause.
It is willed from on high, whence Michael brought
Vengeance against  the arrogant revolt.

The thing is, this has happened before:

When Dante tried to enter the circle of the gluttonous, his way was barred by Cerberus, and Virgil came to the rescue.

Before that, when Dante tried to enter the circle of the Lustful, Minos blocked his way, and was reprimanded by Virgil.

Before that, when Dante first entered Hell, Charon blocked his way, and was reprimanded by Virgil.

At every stage of Dante's journey, he is checked by the forces of evil.

This suggests two things to me, on an allegorical level. One, Satan stands in opposition to our spiritual growth. You say, Duh. But this bears repeating because we are not likely to persevere in our walk with God, unless we realize that Satan is putting rocks in our way to trip us up and turn us back. Were Dante not with Virgil, he would have been turned back four times already in his journey towards God; if we are not connected to God ourselves, vigilant and seeking the help of others, we too will be hindered in our walk with God.

Two, Satan defends his territory. Again, duh. But what surprised me about Charon and Minos and Cerberus and Plutus is that their territory is terrible; there's nothing pleasant or good about Hell to make it worth protecting; yet protect it they do, against any inroad that goodness, in the form of Dante and Virgil, wish to make. This made me think of the territory that Satan has staked out in this present world: widespread human trafficking, religious violence in the Middle East, even the consumerism and narcissism of American culture. He has also tried to stake out territory in the lives of individual believers: addictions and besetting sins. When we seek to make inroads into the territory which Satan has claimed in our world and in our lives, he resists us.

But thankfully, Satan loses.

When Dante passes Plutus, Virgil tells Plutus that Dante's trip is "willed from on high," an echo of Virgil's comment to Charon and Minos that in Heaven "power is power to do whatever it will." In other words, Dante goes forward because Dante going forward pleases God. Satan objects, but God's will simply steamrolls him. All Virgil has to do is speak of God's will, and forward Dante goes, no matter what Satan thinks of it. God's desires trump all.

This is encouraging, for God desires us to walk closer with Him, and to overturn the strongholds Satan has built in this world and in our lives. We may feel that we have the fight against evil harder than Dante does; after all, we have no Virgil to simply command that we be let go. We are living in a world under Satan's sway, and so we will feel as though we have to fight harder than he does, to see victory. Yet see victory we will. That is assured, on the basis of God's will and power and provision for us in Christ.

On Dante (Canto 5)

I've been re-reading Dante, and right now I'm in Inferno. Tonight I came to Canto 5, when Dante and Virgil, having passed through Hell's vestibule and through Limbo, approach the entryway to Hell. There they meet Minos:

Horrible Minos grunts there [in Hell] like a bull,
weighs all the sins and sends the wicked down
according to how far he winds his tail.
I meant that when one born in evil hour
appears before him, he confesses all,
and then judge Minos, the sin-connoisseur,
Discerns what place in Hell is fit for him.

What struck me about this passage was that Minos is described as a connoisseur of sin. The temptation is to read this simply as a fancy way of saying that Minos knows about sin. 

But the reality is more complicated. When I think of a connoisseur, I think of someone who really knows their wines, someone who appreciates tiny details, who makes a careful study of the subject, who appreciates it deeply. This is Minos with sin: Dante is not saying that Minos knows about sin; he's saying that Minos gets it. Minos knows sin inside and out; he pays attention to the little details which make one evil different from another; he loves evil.  

When humankind fell in the Garden of Eden, we fell (at least in part) for the sake of the Knowledge of Evil. Surely we already knew Goodness, at least a little. After all, Adam and Eve lived in the Garden and were visited regularly by God; it was because the tree was promised to bestow knowledge of good and evil together that we ate its fruit. 

Some people, me included, have a hard time seeing how this was such a bad decision. Don't get me wrong: That our first parents disobeyed God and destroyed the whole human race was obviously not good at all. But still, imagining the human race stuck in a naive, childlike innocence in the Garden of Eden, in perpetuity, is hardly an inspiring vision. In general we consider that knowledge, any knowledge, is better than blind ignorance. 

And yet Minos is in Hell. All his knowledge of evil gives him nothing good; in fact, given that Minos's whole purpose in Hell is to judge sinners' misdeeds, his knowledge of evil is a punishment itself. 

Perhaps this is why our Father, through Paul, urges us to focus on that which is good, and true, and holy. Whenever we turn back to contemplate the intricacies of sin, we are turning back into Hell. But when we think about that which is Good, we turn towards Heaven. For what it's worth, I rather doubt that the Knowledge of Good will be as dull and uninspiring as we imagine, when we imagine Adam sinless in the Garden. I've been reading The Great Divorce with my Literature class right now, and again and again we come back to the idea that evil is but a twisted form of good; that which is good is the real thing, bigger and stronger. When we contemplate goodness, then, we are thinking about something that is worth thinking about, that can stand up to deep thoughts and hard questions. 

Obviously, this doesn't mean that we should never think about evil, or about sad things. When Dante meets Minos, he has another twenty-eight cantos of Hell to travel through. And Purgatory, after that, is no picnic. But his progress through Hell brings him into heaven, which suggests that when we think about evil things, those thoughts should be redemptive. Minos is a connoisseur of sin; sin is where his thoughts start and end. Our thoughts may start with evil, yes, but they should not end there. They should end with goodness. 

Why I Call Myself a Feminist

I have called myself a feminist for nearly ten years.

Yet no one in my family calls themselves feminist. Very few of my friends do. They nod in understanding when I explain what I mean by the term, but then they explain to me that they consider the term too loaded with negative connotations to use themselves.

So why do I use this term? This post is an attempt to answer that question, not in terms of justifying my use of it but in terms of describing where my use of this term came from in the first place.

I first called myself feminist at college. This was not because I was exposed to a strong liberal curriculum. Exactly the opposite. I attended a fundamentalist Christian university. There, feminism was seen as one of Satan's lies, just another example of how postmodernism blurs clear morals and gender roles.

But it was also there, at my fundamentalist Christian university, that I noticed something interesting: Women's lives revolved around men: in particular, around finding one to marry. When, at the start of my freshmen year, I attended the university-wide required revival service, I had my freshmen roommate point out that the boy sitting next to us couldn't keep his eyes off me. Once a year campus "societies", mandatory student groups with Greek names, hosted a dating event for its members, to promote romance. I went to one, with a friend, and found myself trapped in a kind of kissing game, a relay race which involved passing a Lifesaver from person to person using toothpicks held between our lips.

Nor were these two events the only ones. Scattered throughout every semester were regular prayer services, concerts, operas, and plays, all of which we were encouraged to attend with a date. The idea that women could attend on their own, or with a friend, was not talked about, much the same way scandalous or uncomfortable topics (Did Jane and John actually break up? Is Jesus the only way to God?) are never brought up in polite company. The whole school simply assumed that women were looking for a man, and refused to look in the eye the truth that some of us were doing just fine without one. 

But as with any uncomfortable topic, ignoring this one simply made everything more uncomfortable still: At my fundamentalist university, set around with dating couples but dateless myself, and wanting to make it somewhere in life besides just the altar, I felt pretty uncomfortable. Don't get me wrong: I wasn't miserable. I had good friends. I enjoyed the plays. I really enjoyed going to the plays without going through the hullabaloo of dressing up for a date. But I definitely felt like an outsider. And I started calling myself a feminist.

For what it's worth, the culture in which women's lives revolve around men goes far beyond the walls of my fundamentalist alma mater. This happens in the secular world, just as much as in the religious world. But as my experience is nearly entirely from the religious perspective (I was homeschooled), and as this is my story I'm telling, I want to stick to the religious world.

After college, of course many people are married, and the pressure to marry becomes somewhat less intense. But I still notice that in evangelical Christianity at least, women are frequently seen in the context of the men in their lives.

During prayer every Sunday at church, the prayer asks that God will bless the expectant mothers and those raising children. Then the prayer stops. No mention is made of those whose children are out of the house, or those who, like me, have neither husband nor children.

When women stand up in church, to read Scripture or lead the congregation in prayer, their husband stands at their side.

We talk about Ruth who married Boaz and Esther who was the king's wife. We talk about Eve, and some people point out she sinned because she left her husband's guidance. We talk about Mary, the mother of Jesus.

We celebrate marriages with wedding showers and births with baby showers, as we should. But where are the celebrations for those of us who have had no wedding, and no child?

Even when we do talk about women who have no man in their lives, we talk about waiting for a man. Whenever singleness is addressed, it's seen as a short-term trial to purify us before marriage. People pretend they are "older singles" when they really got married at 25 or 26. Celibacy is talked about, but it's talked about as something to be endured prior to the full delights of married sex, not as something good in itself.

But what these prayers and celebrations and Bible studies all assume is that women's lives include men, that a woman's greatest needs and joys and spiritual journeys involve the man whom God has brought into her life. I acknowledge that for many women, this is true; God has brought a man into their lives, and for them joy and heartache and spiritual growth often, in some way, involve that man. I also acknowledge that I can learn a great deal from Ruth's story, and Esther's.

But I have no husband, nor am I likely to have one soon. Again, I feel like an outsider, someone the church doesn't understand and doesn't say much about. I feel like evangelicalism, focused as it is on marriage, is missing part of the picture:

Here's what I see:

I see my own life: I started running a few years back, I publish on Christ & University, I get to teach students to love and learn from "books that are not about Jesus", as a student of mine once put it. I cook good food and have good friends. I have no husband, and yet I am very happy.

I see my single friends leading godly, satisfying lives. One of my friends recently purchased a house. Another serves Muslims in a large European city. A third is pursuing a lifelong dream, a PhD. We are accomplished, and enjoying God's blessings, apart from any man.

I see the stories of Deborah, who led an army, and Jael, who killed the Philistine Sisera as inspiring.

I see other women, unmarried women, as inspiring: Lilias Trotter, who in the 1800s brought the Gospel to Algerian Muslims; Dorothy Sayers, who hobnobbed with C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien and published the Lord Peter Wimsey mysteries.

I see the young women in my classes, dateless like I was in college but making progress towards fantastic dreams: teaching the Bible, starting a farm, translating Scripture, working as a computer scientist. Are these not dreams worth celebrating?

With those in the evangelical world, I feel like an outsider. With all these women, though, I identify. Single women are my people.

And so, I call myself a feminist: not because I want to put down men, but because I want the world to see what I see, and celebrate women. Not all of us have a husband, or are interested in one, but we are nonetheless accomplished and blessed.

Will I keep calling myself a feminist?

I don't know.

Someone whose opinion is worth considering recently suggested I rethink my use of the term. I'm reluctant to drop it, but I know that it has problems.

One is that when I use it, people don't assume that I'm celebrating women. They assume that I hate men, or worse. This is not true, but no matter how much I explain myself, some people still believe this.

Another is that while I've come to see single women as my people, I recognize that my people, my tribe, is much larger: the body of Christ. In identifying with single women, am I (however unintentionally) pulling back from my brothers in Christ? Am I pulling back from the community and interdependency which the Christ-life demands?

There are no easy answers to these questions. The problem is further complicated by the fact that I like controversy. As a child, I stood on desks and waved my fingers at people to emphasize a point; argumentation and debate and disagreement are not uncomfortable things for me. I may prolong a controversy, simply because I like it, without realizing that people around me, including my students, are uncomfortable with it.

Yet regardless of whether I keep the term or jettison it, the fact remains that I started using it because my experiences taught me that single women have a very small place in the Christian world. Yet God made women as well as men. He made them in His glorious image. Can we then celebrate women, regardless of whether they are married or not?

Lent, Part 2

Back in February, I mentioned that I was going to try Lent: I was going to give up humor websites (such as Buzzfeed), and I was going to read The Prodigal God.  

Lent wrapped up last Sunday, and since then, I've visited most (not all) of the websites I avoided. I've finished and reviewed The Prodigal God. With Lent behind me, and a return to "normal" life, I have a few thoughts:

Like many people who fast from something besides eating, or who give something up, I was surprised how little I missed what I was giving up. Putting Buzzfeed and similar websites aside made me really feel how shallow, how superficial they are - and so, on what shallow things I was spending my life. Sure, they're fun; who wouldn't want to peruse a list of sea salt & dark chocolate desserts, or read about why having a cat is better than a boyfriend? 

But when Lent was up, I was reluctant to go back to Buzzfeed, and humor websites in general. The web sucks down attention, energy, and time and doesn't give it back. During Lent I finished a book on nuclear warfare, started one on injustice in America, and read three books by Marilynne Robinson. Maybe I would have read just as much, even if I weren't avoiding humor websites. Certainly, however, I wouldn't have devoted as much mental energy to those books. If the purpose of Lent is to retrain our mind on God, then certainly I learned more about His truth and beauty, and about how we have broken the world he gave us, by reading these books. Reading Housekeeping is an activity much closer to the divine life within us than reading about housecats.

During Lent I moved. I filed my taxes. I graded perhaps a hundred papers. With no humor websites to distract me, I felt more productive. I felt like I not only got more done, but I did it better, than I would have if I checked Buzzfeed after every third paper. We are made to work, and to rest, in cycles, and avoiding humor websites helped me do both, better. 

I also noticed how much I enjoyed a regular time set aside to read a devotional book, something besides Scripture (though I read more Scripture than usual during Lent, and thoroughly enjoyed that as well.) While The Prodigal God was not as good as I hoped it would be, it was nonetheless worthwhile. It reminded me of God's spendthrift love for me, and urge me to build a healthy, working relationship with God. 

Also, I think regularly, steadily making progress through a book about faith nourishes meditation in a way that other spiritual encounters may not. When I read a devotional online or in a magazine such as WORLD, what I learn may be just a little nugget of truth. Like a tray of hor d'oeuvres, these bite-size chunks of truth are good enough, but don't leave a chance for real appreciation. For real appreciation, you need a full meal, and reading a book, over a long period of time, gives me the chance for rumination and meditation that I would not have otherwise.

So where do we go from here?

I've noticed that even when I forbid myself from visiting humor websites, I can easily spend a great deal of time on the Web. I may consider other rules limiting my web usage, not meant to improve my spiritual life, just my life in general. For instance, I'm toying with a "No Web after 10.00 PM" rule or a "No Web in bed" rule (Yes, I do read The Atlantic at 10.30 before I go to bed. Yes, I am a bit geeky. Why do you ask?)

I've also thought that next year for Lent, I may "up the ante". I'd like to give up something more costly. Not sure yet.

This Easter, Christ impressed upon me what the Resurrection means: His triumph over death and sin in our lives. We tend to interpret this as a promise of physical resurrection and of sanctification, at the end of all things. But it's more than that. His Resurrection is for here and now; He is in us, with power, to undo the spell that sin casts over our lives. When I feel new after laying aside humor websites, when I am able to think and meditate again, I like to think I taste His Resurrection power.