I’m supposed to hate Zuckerberg, I think, because of all of this. But I don’t. The whole way through The Social Network (which I reviewed), I thought I was probably [...]]]> It was, apparently, the year of Mark Zuckerberg, between Sorkin/Fincher andTime and the Newark public schools donation and such. Oh yeah, and that website.

I’m supposed to hate Zuckerberg, I think, because of all of this. But I don’t. The whole way through The Social Network (which I reviewed), I thought I was probably supposed to hate him. But I couldn’t, and not just because it was actually Jesse Eisenberg, who I kind of adore.

On the contrary: I kind of get him, or at least the Hollywood/media version of him. We’re about the same age, we studied similar things in college (peering over “his” shoulder in the movie, I could read the code as if it were just plain old prose), we were in college at the same time, and we both seem to have the inability or perhaps underdeveloped ability to read social cues, though I think, or hope, that I’m better at it than him.

But, uneasily, I identify with him a bit. Mark, or his movie version and probably at least a good portion of his real version, really is just driven toward success by his desire to belong to something, to be accepted by someone, to be on the inside.

Oh, how I recognize that desire. I know its contours intimately. I’m neither old nor particularly wise, but when I peer uneasily backwards I can see how many of my choices have been determined by that same need. Some of those choices turned out to be good. Others probably should have been left alone. Sometimes it’s just been a hunt to be branded properly, accepted, fit into the slot that would let me be understood and known by the right people.

Earlier this year we published a piece by Vincent Bacote in Comment that I have returned to at least a half dozen times since. He starts out by talking about John Piper’s hiatus this year from the public eye, and its reasons:

One of the most interesting things he stated as he addressed his congregation was that in stepping completely away from ministry, he was not only refraining from preaching, blogging, Twittering, and writing, but also refusing to pridefully sip from “the poisonous cup of international fame and notoriety.” I found this quite fascinating and illuminating, because it displayed an understanding of the perils involved in a life of public prominence. Of course, this poison cup is not only available to public figures; it is a great temptation for any of us when we find ourselves admired by others.

What is it about the pursuit of our ambition, our legitimate and godly desires for success in vocation, that can become poisonous when it meets that admiration and recognition of others? I’m reminded of a conversation that I had with the late Stan Grenz at a conference in Nashville nearly a decade ago. I told Stan about my desire for an increase in public speaking opportunities as part of my vocational goals, and the first words out of his mouth were, “It’s seductive.” I was a bit stunned by this, because I thought he would give me some tips about how to accomplish my goals, yet the first words were a warning. As someone who did a lot of traveling and speaking, Stan was keenly aware of the pitfalls that ride along with those who travel the road of success. Stan never explicitly named the siren song with the sweetly dangerous tune, but my guess would be that he and John Piper had the same thing in mind: pride that can take root unnoticed and grow into a ravenous beast.

I don’t know what really drives Mark Zuckerberg. I only know the public version of him, and frankly, he doesn’t say a whole lot (probably wisely). I do know what drives me, though. I know how I’ve struggled against God these last few years as he’s shown me that the people and world I am called to is different than the one I might hope for – that the Venn diagram overlap between “those from whom I most desire admiration” and “those among whom I am actually called to be” seems to be smaller than I might like. And that this work is actually a joy and a blessing to me, not pain.

It’s a humbling recognition, one I couldn’t see clearly for long and am only glimpsing through shadows now. In his goodness, God has placed a few people in my life who know me instinctively (better, at times, than I know myself) and love me anyhow, and help me recognize that his yoke is easy and his burden, indeed, is light, and that admiration is worth very little if there is not love.

So that [...]]]> I say it quietly, lest some papers sneak up on me that I missed: it is finished! I graded the last paper (of about 540, total, this semester) just after lunch and have been quietly rejoicing since then. Sure, there will be much, much more next semester, but that’s a whole month away.

So that means the end of my first semester as a full-time college professor. And at the end of it, and even in the middle of it, when the hamster wheel kept turning faster and faster and faster, I couldn’t be more grateful.

I was considering this on one of my morning commutes this week. I’ve given up reading, most of the time, on my morning commute, because it’s a fabulous thinking- and people-watching-time. And I got to thinking about this time last year. I had just finished my first semester as an adjunct – teaching the same class I just taught – and was fighting a small amount of despair over the “knowledge” that I loved teaching but it’s impossible to get a job teaching full-time in the humanities these days, especially without a terminal degree. Because I’d just finished and submitted my M.A. thesis and couldn’t see my way forward, I assumed my education was probably finished. I loved my work and was happy in it, but I could see what I was best suited for and sad that it wouldn’t happen.

In the space of the next eight weeks, my life changed so much, through conversations that were supposed to be about one thing but turned out to be about something else, chance encounters, books I read, things I heard. And so: here I am, almost by accident, grateful, tired, and blessed.

—-

Also, hey: I’ve gone back to Tumblr to assemble the strange bits and pieces that come across my desktop.

That said, [...]]]> I’ve been keeping very busy traveling back and forth from various places, mostly all over the states from here to Virginia and back, for family things: weddings, funerals, holidays, and the occasional fine craft beer tasting with cousins-in-law. And the semester, which ends next week. And writing and editing. You get the idea.

That said, through the wonders of modern technology we can now do such things without wildly disrupting our work, and so, I’ve been working busily. The latest bit – co-authored with my good friend and colleague, Rob – was published in the Globe & Mail yesterday: Not their parents’ conservatism.

–

What I’ve learned this semester about teaching, and writing, and myself, is manifold. For instance, I do have a breaking point, and my eyes are bigger than my proverbial stomach: I often, as Linford Detweiler put it, grab this life and wring its neck with joy, but sometimes it turns around and fights back. Also, I revert into my college-era unhealthy habits when I am stressed out, eating poorly or forgetting altogether, not exercising, sleeping a little here and there.

Also, Bach is very helpful for concentration.

Also, there’s a reason we were created for community.

–

Last week I accepted an offer (with support of my department) to teach a class at NYCAMS next semester as an adjunct, as my course load at King’s will be four sections of a class I’ve taught twice already and therefore (hopefully manageable). It’s a departure from teaching writing, which is mostly a workshop-based endeavor. The class is a history of Christianity and the visual arts, and I’m still sorting out what exactly I’ll teach but it will be something in the crossroads between philosophical theology and aesthetics, read against (mostly Western) art history. It is in fact what I dwell in and work with and think about, but it’s the first time I’ve put it together in a formal way. I’m nerdily excited. But wow, the spring semester is coming fast, isn’t it?

–

That all said, Advent is here. The new church calendar started on Sunday. Though it wasn’t actually acknowledged where I was on Sunday, I still felt the newness of it, the anticipation. It’s no accident, I don’t think, that the darkness stretches wider and wider across the day until just about Christmas. So much to wait for. So much to yearn for, and anticipate. So much rejoicing to come.

—

I’ve been taken aback by how much I’ve been soaking up poetry these last couple weeks as I prepared for class. I didn’t teach poetry in last year’s [...]]]> Also, from a student today: “Well, poetry’s really like when you pour Coke into the glass, and fills in between the ice cubes. That’s the poetry.”

—

I’ve been taken aback by how much I’ve been soaking up poetry these last couple weeks as I prepared for class. I didn’t teach poetry in last year’s class – it is, after all, a nonfiction class – but, inspired by Caring for Words in a Culture of Lies, I built two weeks’ worth into my syllabus and as it turned out, it hit right in the perfect time for both my students (who have been wearily slogging through midterms) and me. October was good, but not easy, and very wearying in body and soul and spirit in a way I don’t think I’ve ever experienced. In the past when I was weary, I shut down, but this month I’ve felt the exact opposite happening inside of me. I’m beginning to understand things I haven’t in a long time, if I ever did.

And so I’ve been inhaling poetry, more than anything else.

—

On Friday I went down to First Things to hear Christian Wiman – eminent poet and essayist and editor of Poetry magazine. He read some old work and new. I admit, shamefacedly, that I’m familiar with his name and reputation but not his actual poetry. It was a rather august crowd, including some King’s students (some mine!) and a colleague on the faculty as well as a number of other familiar faces – including, believe it or not, Mark Strand.

Wiman’s poetry is dark in a not hopeless way. There seemed to me to be a lot of spareness and trees in his work, probably something borne of his youth in far-west Texas. He found his way toward faith through poetry. His work seems like it’s a curtain between the eternal and me, fluttering and letting me see beyond it just a little, once in a while.

Later that night we were at the Nuyorican Poets’ Cafe, where about half my students and some of their friends and roommates piled into a corner for their Friday night slam, which was (at times literally) hopping. The poet who won is an NYU student and a pastor’s kid, something I wasn’t expecting and something I was glad of, for their sakes.

—

After these few weeks of teaching, experiencing, and observing poetry, I’ve been gratified to have several students approach me and say they want to start writing and maybe even performing their own work. Nothing could delight me more.

But I don’t write poetry. Sometimes I think  I could, but I’m not sure you can force that sort of thing, and I’ve chosen my genre for the next few years. And yet. And yet.

Good things, though –

I [...]]]> It is cold, grey, rainy, and wet in New York, and because this is New York and not England, it feels as if it’s been this way forever, even though it’s only been a week, or maybe less. So we bundle up and drink coffee and other warming things and pray for autumn sunshine.

I just noticed that my piece on “little magazines” for the Center for Public Justice was broadcast on Dordt College’s radio station (and I recorded it myself, so if you’re itching to hear what I sound like, now’s your chance). You can read it here or click next to it on this page to listen – though you’ll need Windows Media Player (grumble).

Also, have you read Lorrie Moore’s piece on the (objectively) best television show ever to hit the small screen, The Wire? (I haven’t, but it’s coming home with me tonight.)

Ask an academic about procrastination.

After class on Thursday I catch a plane in Newark bound for Toronto for almost a week of work on Comment mixed with visits with friends and many late nights of good conversation – balm for this weary soul.

And now it’s time for this academic to stop procrastinating and get back to work.