I talked to my brother tonight to wish him a happy birthday, and after a rehash of the State of the Union address and a lengthy analysis of the Democratic primary race (what I can say? we're both political nerds and progressive activists) he was telling me about his latest efforts to promote his band. They're not on a label, just struggling (and, I fear, often starving) artists hoping to make a life doing what they love.
His latest strategy is to do a mass-marketing campaign via myspace (along with a new digital download program for his music). The whole idea is just fascinating to me, because he could literally reach thousands of people a day, inviting them to check out his site, and if even a fraction of them are willing to pay a buck to buy one of his songs, he might actually start making a livable wage, not to mention building the exposure and fan base that could land him better venues and better-paying gigs. Another illustration, I guess, of the kind of grassroots moblization that is possible via the internet and these social networking sites.
If you want to help him out and join the revolution, check out Mongoo Music and have a listen, or, if you're in the Twin Cities, go to one of his shows. The digital download stuff isn't fully functional yet (in part, he needs to get some cleaner recordings), but if you like any of his songs in particular, either let me know or let him know directly through myspace, so he knows which songs to get up and running first.
Peace,
Catrina
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Our Newest Member
Normally when I get a phone call in the wee hours of the morning, it's bad news. Normally it means I have the span of three rings to
a) wake up, and
b) pull myself together enough mentally to care for a person in crisis.
But this morning I got woken up to some incredibly awesome news: our newest member made her long-awaited entrance in the middle of the night. She is already gifted with impeccable timing, arriving exactly on her due date. I got a chance to hold her tonight at the hospital, and she is ADORABLE.
So please join me in saying, Welcome to the world, Molly Elizabeth! We are so glad you are here!
a) wake up, and
b) pull myself together enough mentally to care for a person in crisis.
But this morning I got woken up to some incredibly awesome news: our newest member made her long-awaited entrance in the middle of the night. She is already gifted with impeccable timing, arriving exactly on her due date. I got a chance to hold her tonight at the hospital, and she is ADORABLE.
So please join me in saying, Welcome to the world, Molly Elizabeth! We are so glad you are here!
Friday, January 25, 2008
Immersive Story Worlds
Text study, the week before Christmas, last year. My colleagues and I were discussing how people generally seem to be more open to the idea of miracles around this time of year, and I make a passing comment about everybody needing a Father Clarence at some point in their life.
Andy's eyes go wide in dawning realization, he snaps his fingers, points at me and says "You watch All My Children!"
Busted!
Wayne's eyes go wide in disbelief as he blurts out "YOU watch a soap?" This information apparently rocked his world, as every time he saw me over the next month, he would shake his head and chuckle and mutter something about not being able to believe it, still.
But yes, I watch All My Children, a fact I don't quickly reveal about myself because it tends to solicit responses like Wayne's. Apparently, many find it a quirk in my character that goes against type.
But I watch for many reasons. I watch because, growing up, I watched All My Children with my mother and/or grandmother every lunch hour that I was home sick or on vacation from school. I watch because my grandmother still watches All My Children every day, and it's a area of conversation in which this amazing woman who claims she "don't know much of nothin" is still the expert and can school her overeducated grandaughter.
I watch because, by its very name (and the poem that used to be in the opening credits), All My Children presumes God as an omnipresent (if unseen) character, and it even occasionally engages the God stuff directly (usually around Christmastime, with the help of Father Clarence).
I watch because soaps get human sin and dysfunction. Certainly, they kick it up a notch. But honestly, after three years in the parish, it's only a notch or two beyond the kind of stuff that shakes down in real life. So it's - weirdly - kind of a relief and somewhat normalizing to watch and realize, this is just how people are. And oddly cathartic to see lives that are messy or melting down that I am no way responsible to help sort out.
I watch because soaps get tragedy and comedy, fall and redemption. I watch because All My Children, at its best, is true to its genre - it is operatic, dealing in archetypes, telling an epic story that is far greater than the sum of its parts. In the end, then, I love All My Children for the same reasons I love Harry Potter, the same reasons I love Star Wars - because I am a literary nerd and a well-told epic tale sucks me in every time.
Turns out, I am not the only one. Thanks to Mary's blog, I found out there is an MIT doctoral student actually writing their PhD dissertation on soaps, claiming they are one of the few "immersive story worlds" in our media culture right now (the other main two being DC or Marvel comics, and professional wrestling). Immersive story worlds, the author explains, are "narratives that are developed over time with a large volume of characters and text. Many of the reasons why people are attracted to these narratives deal with the depth and breadth of these stories and the feeling that these narratives are immortal."
In other words, in the face of our own fragility and finitude, we like to immerse ourselves in and yoke ourselves to stories that are bigger than ourselves, meta-narratives whose apparent immortality give us some sense of assurance that our story will carry on, even after we ourselves have returned to the dust from which we came.
I think this doctoral student is right on, and I think there are clear implications for the gospel in this line of thinking. After all, the great history of God's people, of God's desire to bring life and salvation to "all my children," is another immortal meta-narrative to which many of us yoke ourselves. But I'm not so sure we Christians, at least, immerse ourselves in that narrative in the same way.
I think our Jewish brothers and sisters do a much better job of this. I have admittedly limited experiences of observing Shabbat, but every time I have been overwhelmed by how alive the Scriptures seeemed to be within the worshipping community. It's not ancient history, it's immersive story world, it's ongoing meta-narrative of which they are very much a part.
By contrast, in much of the Christian worship I have experienced, the Scriptures feel like dead words on a page. Not that we don't take them seriously, not that we don't treat them reverently and read them with our slow, sober NPR voices. But they're just not alive in the same way among the body of worshippers. I'd like to blame it on the Joel Osteens and Joyce Meyers of the world, with their prosperity gospel and self-help sermons, turning the Bible into a glorified reference and rule book. But I think the problem predates them.
And while I'm not totally sure how to convince others to do this, how to get them to "get" it, I have a feeling in my gut that says re-immersing ourselves in the great story, reclaiming the living Word in our worship, is what we who call ourselves the Christian people of God ought to be up to. I have a feeling in my gut that says seeing ourselves as interconnected players in a story much bigger than our own might just change the way we live out our interactions with all of God's children today.
Peace,
Catrina
PS - I saw Juno tonight at The Campus. Some of the dialogue felt like it was trying a little too hard to be clever, but other than that, it was a well-done dark comedy. Bonus points for apparently taking place in Minnesota (never tells you where Juno actually lives, but based on the contextual references, I'm guessing the town is a stand-in for Elk River). Thumbs up.
Andy's eyes go wide in dawning realization, he snaps his fingers, points at me and says "You watch All My Children!"
Busted!
Wayne's eyes go wide in disbelief as he blurts out "YOU watch a soap?" This information apparently rocked his world, as every time he saw me over the next month, he would shake his head and chuckle and mutter something about not being able to believe it, still.
But yes, I watch All My Children, a fact I don't quickly reveal about myself because it tends to solicit responses like Wayne's. Apparently, many find it a quirk in my character that goes against type.
But I watch for many reasons. I watch because, growing up, I watched All My Children with my mother and/or grandmother every lunch hour that I was home sick or on vacation from school. I watch because my grandmother still watches All My Children every day, and it's a area of conversation in which this amazing woman who claims she "don't know much of nothin" is still the expert and can school her overeducated grandaughter.
I watch because, by its very name (and the poem that used to be in the opening credits), All My Children presumes God as an omnipresent (if unseen) character, and it even occasionally engages the God stuff directly (usually around Christmastime, with the help of Father Clarence).
I watch because soaps get human sin and dysfunction. Certainly, they kick it up a notch. But honestly, after three years in the parish, it's only a notch or two beyond the kind of stuff that shakes down in real life. So it's - weirdly - kind of a relief and somewhat normalizing to watch and realize, this is just how people are. And oddly cathartic to see lives that are messy or melting down that I am no way responsible to help sort out.
I watch because soaps get tragedy and comedy, fall and redemption. I watch because All My Children, at its best, is true to its genre - it is operatic, dealing in archetypes, telling an epic story that is far greater than the sum of its parts. In the end, then, I love All My Children for the same reasons I love Harry Potter, the same reasons I love Star Wars - because I am a literary nerd and a well-told epic tale sucks me in every time.
Turns out, I am not the only one. Thanks to Mary's blog, I found out there is an MIT doctoral student actually writing their PhD dissertation on soaps, claiming they are one of the few "immersive story worlds" in our media culture right now (the other main two being DC or Marvel comics, and professional wrestling). Immersive story worlds, the author explains, are "narratives that are developed over time with a large volume of characters and text. Many of the reasons why people are attracted to these narratives deal with the depth and breadth of these stories and the feeling that these narratives are immortal."
In other words, in the face of our own fragility and finitude, we like to immerse ourselves in and yoke ourselves to stories that are bigger than ourselves, meta-narratives whose apparent immortality give us some sense of assurance that our story will carry on, even after we ourselves have returned to the dust from which we came.
I think this doctoral student is right on, and I think there are clear implications for the gospel in this line of thinking. After all, the great history of God's people, of God's desire to bring life and salvation to "all my children," is another immortal meta-narrative to which many of us yoke ourselves. But I'm not so sure we Christians, at least, immerse ourselves in that narrative in the same way.
I think our Jewish brothers and sisters do a much better job of this. I have admittedly limited experiences of observing Shabbat, but every time I have been overwhelmed by how alive the Scriptures seeemed to be within the worshipping community. It's not ancient history, it's immersive story world, it's ongoing meta-narrative of which they are very much a part.
By contrast, in much of the Christian worship I have experienced, the Scriptures feel like dead words on a page. Not that we don't take them seriously, not that we don't treat them reverently and read them with our slow, sober NPR voices. But they're just not alive in the same way among the body of worshippers. I'd like to blame it on the Joel Osteens and Joyce Meyers of the world, with their prosperity gospel and self-help sermons, turning the Bible into a glorified reference and rule book. But I think the problem predates them.
And while I'm not totally sure how to convince others to do this, how to get them to "get" it, I have a feeling in my gut that says re-immersing ourselves in the great story, reclaiming the living Word in our worship, is what we who call ourselves the Christian people of God ought to be up to. I have a feeling in my gut that says seeing ourselves as interconnected players in a story much bigger than our own might just change the way we live out our interactions with all of God's children today.
Peace,
Catrina
PS - I saw Juno tonight at The Campus. Some of the dialogue felt like it was trying a little too hard to be clever, but other than that, it was a well-done dark comedy. Bonus points for apparently taking place in Minnesota (never tells you where Juno actually lives, but based on the contextual references, I'm guessing the town is a stand-in for Elk River). Thumbs up.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Sola, Sola, Sola
The latest unsolicited installment of the Word Alone "Network News" came sometime back between Thanksgiving and Christmas, which meant I didn't have time to look at it until more recently, which at least spared our secretary from my usual post-reading rant for a while.
What I found most interesting in this one was the announcement that Word Alone is launching its own publishing house, called Sola Publishing. I don't know why this surprises me, they've already held their own youth gatherings, started their own House of Studies, have their own call process that circumvents the ELCA's - clearly, Augsburg Fortress is too enmeshed in the ELCA's "liberal agenda" to produce decent resources, so why not start a Word Alone publishing house as well?
The name is taken from the Reformation battle cries: Sola Fide, Sola Gratia, Sola Scriptura (Faith Alone, Grace Alone, Scripture Alone), which is all well and good and clever, except that when you remove Fide, Gratia, and Scriptura, all you're left with is ALONE.
Which is a crummy (not to mention, anti-body of Christ) thing to be.
And yet, it seems what the Word Alone folks are inevtiably heading for. Because already they are factioning off even further - there's Word Alone (allegedly a reform movement within the ELCA), there's Lutheran Churches in Mission for Christ (churches that have already left the ELCA and formed their own national body), and according to the seniors I was talking to last spring, there's some new fangled Augustana synod for those who are ticked at Word Alone. And that's just the ones I know about. Who knows how many other fractions and factions are out there.
But that's the thing about being so terribly convinced of your own rightness and righteousness, is that you have to keep backing up and drawing another line in the sand to separate yourself from those who would compromise your dogma or your conscience. Live like that and it doesn't take long to find yourself boxed into a corner, utterly alone.
And the whole thing just makes me sad, because that's not at all what we as children of God are created or called or envisioned to be; it makes me sad because there are people within this movement, good people, people I once considered mentors and friends, who keep backing themselves away.
Sigh. . .
Sola Pax,
Catrina
What I found most interesting in this one was the announcement that Word Alone is launching its own publishing house, called Sola Publishing. I don't know why this surprises me, they've already held their own youth gatherings, started their own House of Studies, have their own call process that circumvents the ELCA's - clearly, Augsburg Fortress is too enmeshed in the ELCA's "liberal agenda" to produce decent resources, so why not start a Word Alone publishing house as well?
The name is taken from the Reformation battle cries: Sola Fide, Sola Gratia, Sola Scriptura (Faith Alone, Grace Alone, Scripture Alone), which is all well and good and clever, except that when you remove Fide, Gratia, and Scriptura, all you're left with is ALONE.
Which is a crummy (not to mention, anti-body of Christ) thing to be.
And yet, it seems what the Word Alone folks are inevtiably heading for. Because already they are factioning off even further - there's Word Alone (allegedly a reform movement within the ELCA), there's Lutheran Churches in Mission for Christ (churches that have already left the ELCA and formed their own national body), and according to the seniors I was talking to last spring, there's some new fangled Augustana synod for those who are ticked at Word Alone. And that's just the ones I know about. Who knows how many other fractions and factions are out there.
But that's the thing about being so terribly convinced of your own rightness and righteousness, is that you have to keep backing up and drawing another line in the sand to separate yourself from those who would compromise your dogma or your conscience. Live like that and it doesn't take long to find yourself boxed into a corner, utterly alone.
And the whole thing just makes me sad, because that's not at all what we as children of God are created or called or envisioned to be; it makes me sad because there are people within this movement, good people, people I once considered mentors and friends, who keep backing themselves away.
Sigh. . .
Sola Pax,
Catrina
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Happy Epiphany
This all started a month or so ago, as we were planning last weeks youth service/nativity play, and one of the guys made a passing comment about coming in as the three kings. Epiphany landing on a Sunday, we were actually celebrating it this year, so the passing comment snowballed into Balthazar, Melchior, and Caspar (Kyle, Brandon, and Robert) and their camel (Kelsey and Krista in a costume borrowed from camp) making a surprise visit to the children's sermon this morning to tell their story in person.
It was a riot - big kids and little kids alike had fun with this. It was funny how secretive the teenagers were about it - they wanted it to be a big surprise, so they kept insisting their families and friends be there today, but wouldn't tell them why, just that "it's never been done before, and it's going to be good!"
The camel costume was rigged with a water bottle so it could "spit" and I told the girls they could spit on the kings or the kids a couple times for comic effect. Unfortunately, they had some difficulties manipulating the head, so I'm in the middle of interviewing the three wise guys and young Dalton points and says "Pastor Catrina, the camel is drooling!" Great comedic effect, just not quite the one we were aiming for!
Friday, January 4, 2008
A Vast Hymn Sing Conspiracy
So I was talking to a friend the other day, who happened to have spent Christmas with people rather well-placed in the music department at St. Olaf. And these good folks mentioned over dinner that Olaf had received some complaints about the Christmas Festival this year. These complainers were all folks who had watched the Festival on TV (so, likely have no other affiliation to or knowledge of the college), and they made it clear that the music was fantastic, but they didn't think it was appropriate for the choirs to be decked in red, white, and blue - that is a violation of the separation of church and state.
Now, I'll be the first to admit that the current administration is blurring the lines between church and state in many instances, AND that there are a number of private, church-affiliated institutions of higher learning that would intentionally paint themselves patriotic for an event like that. So, there is good reason to be sensitive to and vigilant about abuses of the First Amendment.
But Olaf is not such a place. And anybody with an inkling of knowledge about the school would know that. If nothing else, you'd think the big PURPLE mass of the St. Olaf Choir right up front would cause the complainers to second-guess their theory. Yes, other choirs involved have red (actually, cranberry) and white or blue and white robes (Cantorei's can be green and white, but they set their reversible stole to blue because that is the liturgically appropriate color for Advent) - but not to give some wink-wink, nudge-nudge nod to patriotism - those have been the colors and styles of robe for those choirs for as long as I can remember, long before the "you're either with us or against us" mentality took hold of the nation, long before color-coded threat levels made us all wary of our neighbors.
I mean, I get it - there's a lot of subtle meaning-making and symbolism that goes on in the world, and some of the most subtle and unquestioned stuff is what entrenches some of our worst systemic evils. So I don't begrudge folks for raising the issue and asking the questions.
I do get annoyed, however, when people presume that their worldview is 100% correct and untainted, and all they are really interested in is letting people they disagree with know why and how, exactly, they are wrong. Such folks tend to lob reactionary judgments and then run away, refusing to engage in actual dialogue that might lead to better understanding on all sides.
Because sometimes, a robe is just a robe.
But you won't know that if you presume to know what the wearing of robes and their various colors mean. You won't know that if you don't bother to talk with the robe-wearer, but instead choose to talk at them, only telling them why they are wrong to wear the color of robe that they do.
The whole situation reminds me of a few years ago, when I was verbally accosted by a man at the corner of Hendon and Fulham (the heart of Luther Seminary's campus). He was a middle-aged white man, presumably a resident of the neighborhood. He asked me if I was a student at Luther, and when I said yes, launched into this tirade against us for being anti-Islamic. He came to this conclusion thanks to the banners for the new "Called and Sent" development campaign, which depicted a stylized triptych of fire, a cross inside a heart, and a hand. In his mind, these images were clearly invoking the crusades (he saw the heart and cross as a shield, and the hand as a reference to Islamic law allowing the chopping off of a hand for punishment), and the banners slyly indicating we were called and sent to destroy Islam.
Again, if he'd had an inkling of knowledge about the school, he would've known Luther offers a Master of Arts in Islamic Studies, and even has a few Islamic students enrolled. As it was, I patiently tried to explain to him that the campaign was about calling and sending ministers out into a needy world - that fire is a symbol of Pentecost, of being called and anointed by the Holy Spirit, that the "shield" was actually a heart, meant to be an intense close-up of Luther's seal, the symbolism of which was sin redeemed by love, and that the hand represented service to the world.
But he would hear none of it, just kept going on and on about the crusades and the whole institution and every individual associated therewith being anti-Islamic. Exasperated, I finally suggested he provide this feedback to the development office and pointed him in the right direction, but of course, he didn't have time for that. He was satisfied to have told me what for, having assumed he knew all about me and my worldview based on his interpretation of a banner hanging on my school's property.
You know, that old adage about what happens when one assumes is an old adage for a reason. And right here you've got two cases that prove it.
And now for something completely different: how cool is it that over 300,000 people turned out to caucus in Iowa last night? That's not just show up to a poll and cast a ballot - that's democracy in action, that's 300,000 people engaging each other, discussing and discerning who will best lead us through the next four years. Oh, be still my populist heart!
Peace,
Catrina
Now, I'll be the first to admit that the current administration is blurring the lines between church and state in many instances, AND that there are a number of private, church-affiliated institutions of higher learning that would intentionally paint themselves patriotic for an event like that. So, there is good reason to be sensitive to and vigilant about abuses of the First Amendment.
But Olaf is not such a place. And anybody with an inkling of knowledge about the school would know that. If nothing else, you'd think the big PURPLE mass of the St. Olaf Choir right up front would cause the complainers to second-guess their theory. Yes, other choirs involved have red (actually, cranberry) and white or blue and white robes (Cantorei's can be green and white, but they set their reversible stole to blue because that is the liturgically appropriate color for Advent) - but not to give some wink-wink, nudge-nudge nod to patriotism - those have been the colors and styles of robe for those choirs for as long as I can remember, long before the "you're either with us or against us" mentality took hold of the nation, long before color-coded threat levels made us all wary of our neighbors.
I mean, I get it - there's a lot of subtle meaning-making and symbolism that goes on in the world, and some of the most subtle and unquestioned stuff is what entrenches some of our worst systemic evils. So I don't begrudge folks for raising the issue and asking the questions.
I do get annoyed, however, when people presume that their worldview is 100% correct and untainted, and all they are really interested in is letting people they disagree with know why and how, exactly, they are wrong. Such folks tend to lob reactionary judgments and then run away, refusing to engage in actual dialogue that might lead to better understanding on all sides.
Because sometimes, a robe is just a robe.
But you won't know that if you presume to know what the wearing of robes and their various colors mean. You won't know that if you don't bother to talk with the robe-wearer, but instead choose to talk at them, only telling them why they are wrong to wear the color of robe that they do.
The whole situation reminds me of a few years ago, when I was verbally accosted by a man at the corner of Hendon and Fulham (the heart of Luther Seminary's campus). He was a middle-aged white man, presumably a resident of the neighborhood. He asked me if I was a student at Luther, and when I said yes, launched into this tirade against us for being anti-Islamic. He came to this conclusion thanks to the banners for the new "Called and Sent" development campaign, which depicted a stylized triptych of fire, a cross inside a heart, and a hand. In his mind, these images were clearly invoking the crusades (he saw the heart and cross as a shield, and the hand as a reference to Islamic law allowing the chopping off of a hand for punishment), and the banners slyly indicating we were called and sent to destroy Islam.
Again, if he'd had an inkling of knowledge about the school, he would've known Luther offers a Master of Arts in Islamic Studies, and even has a few Islamic students enrolled. As it was, I patiently tried to explain to him that the campaign was about calling and sending ministers out into a needy world - that fire is a symbol of Pentecost, of being called and anointed by the Holy Spirit, that the "shield" was actually a heart, meant to be an intense close-up of Luther's seal, the symbolism of which was sin redeemed by love, and that the hand represented service to the world.
But he would hear none of it, just kept going on and on about the crusades and the whole institution and every individual associated therewith being anti-Islamic. Exasperated, I finally suggested he provide this feedback to the development office and pointed him in the right direction, but of course, he didn't have time for that. He was satisfied to have told me what for, having assumed he knew all about me and my worldview based on his interpretation of a banner hanging on my school's property.
You know, that old adage about what happens when one assumes is an old adage for a reason. And right here you've got two cases that prove it.
And now for something completely different: how cool is it that over 300,000 people turned out to caucus in Iowa last night? That's not just show up to a poll and cast a ballot - that's democracy in action, that's 300,000 people engaging each other, discussing and discerning who will best lead us through the next four years. Oh, be still my populist heart!
Peace,
Catrina
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