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Posts from the ‘Durham’ Category

ALH on NC Amendment 1

I was very honored that David Crabtree asked me again to weigh in as an LGBTQ ally.  I had read over some of Rev. Wooden’s previous interviews, and I decided ahead of time not to enter a theological or scriptural debate on the issue.  It seemed to me that we were likely to end up with a Bible Boy/Gospel Girl face-off, and Gospel Girls rarely win that way.  Some readers may be disappointed with this decision, but, well . . . remember the gender and race dynamics of even the supposedly “New South” and think through how you would have had me engage instead.  This is all just really, really tricky, dear people, and what we truly need is the kind of sustained, long term solidarity-building conversations that come only with effort, patience, trust, tacos, and pecan pie.  On a totally frivolous note, I am wearing the blouse I bought for my (failed, thank God) interview for the senior ethics post at Yale.  Only it used to be white, and I wore it then with a boring, blue pinstripe suit (snore, but, hey, it was Yale, after all).  I accidentally spilled food down it at some point, and decided this summer to dye it bright fuchsia.  I think it looks much better this way!

Dirty Deeds: The Occupy Movement and the Rhetoric of Disgust

The Durham Resurrection Community, an incipient Nazarene house church that sometimes meets here on Green Street, may meet tonight with the Occupy Durham people downtown, near an iconic civic sculpture of a very well-endowed bull.  I have not written yet about the Occupy movement – for several reasons.  First, I have been busy mothering my two girls, exploring Durham with the bear (see “My Encounter with a Mountain Lion”), and planning upcoming courses.  Second, I am much more comfortable with the form of activism in the IAF model, and I have been waiting to see whether our local IAF is going to become involved.  But it seems time to say something.

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Why I went ON and then OFF and then ON and then OFF of Facebook

Empires rarely learn in time because power tends to dull people’s capacity for critical self-reflection.

– Robert Jensen (School of Journalism, University of Texas), “The Imperial Delusions of the United States,” Al Jazeera

The royal consciousness with its program of achievable satiation has redefined our notions of humanness…It has created a subjective consciousness concerned only with self-satisfaction…It has so enthroned the present that a promised future, delayed but certain, is unthinkable.

– Walter Brueggemann, The Prophetic Imagination

In the busy, teeming crowd, which as community is both too much and too little, man becomes weary of society, but the cure is not in making the discovery that God’s thought was incorrect.  No, the cure is precisely to learn all over again the most important thing, to understand oneself in one’s longing for community.

– Søren Kierkegaard, Works of Love

I am writing this on Søren Kierkegaard’s feast day in the calendar of the Episcopal Church.  He died childless, having written in the language of an obscure little country.  He could’ve written in German, but he wrote in Danish.  He chose to write locally, for the people he both loathed and loved.  His neighbors drove him crazy, for their provincial views and their lack of appreciation of truly real, reflective life.  But they were also his neighbors, his kin, and he wanted to write for their confusion and edification. Read more

Don’t stop believing

I had never been to a Big Rock Concert before in my life. Really. Not one. In high school I saw George Strait at the San Angelo Rodeo Hall, or rather I had been to dance with cute cowboys at George Strait concerts, but we didn’t really “see” George Strait so much as appreciate him while two-stepping. I don’t even like Journey or Foreigner, but when a friend offered me a “VIP” ticket to the concert in Raleigh and a pass for the “Meet and Greet” event beforehand, I jumped at the chance. And, dear people, it was loud. Transcendently loud. I stood in the fourth-row seating with my mouth wide open, not even daring to dance for a long while. I stood for at least fifteen minutes with my hand holding onto my sternum, feeling how my chest had music going through it, and down to my fingers and toes. (Yes, people looked at me then like I was weird.)

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