A city that the damned call home

This year I've cut way back on my conference travel. Ordinarily this time of year I'd be juggling presentations and meetings at the national Honors education meeting, followed closely by the American Academy of Religion. But following my exit from most official posts at these organizations, I'm strangely passive about their yearly demands to gather in vibrant cities at big hotels and attend multiple parties. Back in the distant spring, before I made the decision to step down from administration, my boss included me as co-presenter on a session for this year's National Collegiate Honors Society meeting in New Orleans, so I've known for quite some time I would attend. But I've been otherwise content just to let it happen, and hope someone would tell me where to show up. (That's almost too much to expect, it seems; I somehow got left off the list of recipients when the big conference agenda was shared, so I didn't even know when our group dinner was until my boss happened to mention it earlier that day.)

The lack of business suits my mood -- and the mood of the city. I attend some sessions, do some thinking, grab a couple of hours off site to sample the city's food (from beignets to po'boys to gumbo), and try not to add to the self-important bustle of the conference. I support my colleagues and get a little work done and have the football game playing in my shared hotel room by 8:30 pm. And occasionally I wonder: Do I miss being at the center of the action? Having a bunch of special ribbons on my nametag? (The NCHC is crazy for one-off ribbons; there are at least a dozen that I've seen that only one attendee is entitled to wear.) I note that some of the decisions and work are quite important, not only to the organization and its members, but quite literally in the sphere of life and death. But of course, removed from that context as I am, it is undeniably pleasant to leave the worrying and the detail-obsessions to someone else.

This will be the first time I haven't been at the American Academy of Religion annual meeting in many, many years. I believe the last one I missed was probably 1997. I went when my children were babes in arms, I went when I had interviews, I went when I had papers to give, and for the last six years, I went as a member of the board of directors. This year I have no committees to staff and I have no papers to give, so there was no rationale for me to ask for my department's support with travel expenses. I let it go. I'll miss it when my friends post to Facebook or tweet about the meeting, but I doubt I will spend a lot of time feeling left out. I have plenty on my plate.

But I confess that sitting in a business meeting here at NCHC this morning, my mind wandered to the AAR office I told many people I might run for in the future. I thought I might do it sooner rather than later. A year out of the trenches and away from the social whirl feels like a vacation. Two years, a well-earned sabbatical. When it starts getting to be a habit, though, you might start feeling sidelined. Irrelevent. Give me a chance to recuperate a bit longer, and then if you have a committee that needs a member or an office that needs a candidate, call me. I don't want to need that kind of status; I hope I'm beyond ever needing to feel important. And I'm way past wanting to have people pile responsibilities on me just so I can stay at the center of things. But on my own terms? I could see it happening again. And I'm betting it will feel as different as night and day, after having climbed the ladder once and been truly grateful to step off the rungs back to solid ground.

The next big thing

I've been going non-stop ever since I got to The Annual Meetings Hosted by AAR & SBL (their official tightrope walking title between the former "joint meetings" model and the less-integrated "concurrent meetings" model). My meetings started only an hour or so after I checked in, and didn't stop except for sleep and an early-morning workout until 2:30 pm today. Even my meals were meetings; an egg salad sandwich I wolfed down before my last two meetings today was the first food I'd eaten since arriving that wasn't connected with some work that needed to be done or some people I needed to meet with.

But I've finally reached the point where I have some breathing room. And with time to stop and reflect, I can recognize how much all that activity has accomplished. On the recommendation of the finance committee, which I chair, the board of directors voted to move forward with a socially responsible investing program. I presented my research on the annual meeting program, for only the second time in a competitive format (I've been on the program on other occasions as an invited participant). And the positive notices for that research presentation included interest from a publisher.

At this point in my career, I'm thinking a lot about what I want to do with the next few years. Because I'm on an administrative track, I can't sustain a research program indefinitely; administrative duties will take over that work time if I continue to move in that direction. So the research that I'm doing now is probably my last chance to make a scholarly contribution to my field in a sustained way.

If an agreement with a publisher comes about, if this research is validated in that way, then I will be making a plan to bring it off and put it to bed. Even though I'm at the beginning stages of the research now, and have much to learn to be able to accomplish what needs to be done, I'm thinking about it in terms of an end. Imagining the final deliverable as a book manuscript means that there would be a last chapter and a concluded process.

That would be fitting and satisfying. I'm surprised that I'm possibly on that path already; I've been proceeding with the thought that I'd need to get farther before searching for publishing partners. But that's troubling in the career sense, because I don't want this project to grow without guidance and possibly spiral unproductively -- or to succumb to the kind of perfectionism I see in my students sometimes, where if you don't finish things because they're never good enough to satisfy you, you never have to face anyone's judgment, including your own. You can pretend forever that it will be great once it's done. I've never been that way; it's why I've been able to get a lot accomplished in my career so far. I don't want to start now.

Appified

I'm off to the annual meetings of the American Academy of Religion and the Society for Biblical Literature (together again, just like in the old days!) in San Francisco on Thursday.  The report today was that there will be over 10,000 people in combined attendance.

With hundreds of simultaneous sessions in dozens of groups under the aegises of two huge learned societies, figuring out how to spend your time is one of the most difficult tasks of the pre-conference period.  Add to that the bewildering array of options available when you need to make a judgment on the fly, and a lot of people just give up and duck into the nearest open room.

This year for the first time the AAR and SBL have provided a smartphone app (Android and iPhone) that cuts admirably through the clutter.  Search for people or keywords, and get a list of sessions and presenters for both societies. Select and get abstracts of the session; select a participant and get an abstract of her paper.  Add the session to your schedule and the app builds a calendar of your choices for all four days of the conference plus the two days of pre-conference workshops and additional meetings.

That works great for planning your days before you get there, but what about on site?  That's where the app really shines.  It senses your location and will tell you what sessions are taking place at that moment nearby.  Maps of the massive convention center and hotel meeting spaces turn interactive with pins dropped at your location and at the session you've selected.  Updates are constantly pushed to the app with no need to download the changes; just restart to get the new information.  And of course, sharing to social media is all integrated.

This is one of the biggest upgrades to the annual meeting experience that has happened in my lifetime -- during which a multitude of changes, tweaks, and strategies for the program books, abstracts, and planners have been tried.  Everybody going to the meeting should download it (search for AM11AAR&SBL -- it's free!) and get started building a schedule and agonizing over those conflicts.  And be sure to follow @AARWeb on Twitter!

One weekend in November

At the NCHC business meeting bright and early this morning, my boss -- who is also, as the incoming president-elect, the chair of next year's conference -- stood up to give a preview of the 2012 annual meeting in Boston. He painted a glowing picture of an uncrowned schedule that would allow the city to be a key "program" at the conference; of the prestigious and compelling plenary speaker; of the gorgeous venue and attractive amenities. And then he mentioned, almost offhand, that the conference would be held almost a month later than this year -- November 14-18, 2012.

I got a sinking feeling. That sounded suspiciously like the weekend before Thanksgiving, which is when the American Academy of Religion holds its annual meeting. I mentioned the confluence to a fellow religion scholar whose Honors half-time duties brought him to Phoenix to attend this meeting; "isn't the AAR in Boston, too?" he suggested. For a moment I was full of hope. Perhaps I would just be shuttling from hotel to hotel, attending some sessions at each conference and discharging various board and committee responsibilities by swapping lanyards and badges several times a day.

Then I checked the website. Yep, the NCHC conference dates were the weekend before Thanksgiving. And nope, the AAR was not meeting in the same city; we'd be in Chicago while my boss executes the signature event of his tenure in Honors national leadership for 1800 of his closest friends.

I ended up in the same position earlier this year when our instiitution hosted a regional conference on a weekend when I was already committed to be In Atlanta for an AAR board meeting. It's a terrible conflict. On the one hand, I have longstanding commitments and specific offices to fulfill in the AAR for the next year or two, and my role in NCHC is much less formal. But on the other hand, my institution and my closest colleagues are taking on huge organizational tasks, and just when I could be of the most help, I disappear.

These collisions of conferences will be less frequent once I rotate off the AAR board -- at that 2012 meeting in Chicago. I'm ready at that point to assume more formal roles in NCHC. It's sickening and heart-wrenching, though, to see the involvement requested and reasonably expected of me peak at the same time in two organizations whose calendars have in no way been aligned for my benefit..

A few BART stops down

Tonight my old online friend Jeff met up with me for the first time in person, and was kind enough to spend a few hours escorting me through the Mission District, his home.  I was a bleating, squealing fangirl when he mentioned that the bar we were visiting often welcomed Mark Eitzel, or that the storefront across the street houses Craig Baldwin when he's working on a new film, or that the archway over there is where the Believer and Chris Ware got their start.

One of the most wonderful things about visiting a new city on business is having old friends welcome you to their turf.  I am experienced in many things, but not in the ways of whatever city I'm visiting.  There's no substitute for a guide who will take joy in the way you see everything through the eyes of a newcomer -- even a tourist.  My walk down a street-art-plastered alley with Jeff is something I'll always remember, and for which I'll be grateful to him, even with the recognition that the experience must be rather ironic or at least multi-layered for him.

Today at work was a mix; I find it hard to know what should be evaluated valiant effort, what as failure, what as unqualified success.  My recent history at home has made me hypersensitive to the way I am perceived, so my question is always about the new colleagues I have just met, with whom I am working -- how do they perceive me?  Does my perspective have weight with them?  Do they feel as they do because of factors specific to who they are, or is it because of something about me and my presentation of information that nudges them into that position? Tomorrow that work resumes, and I try to find the affirmations I need, even as I prepare to go home, a place where affirmations from this organization aren't going to carry as much weight as I would like (even if they were unequivocal).

How pleasant, then, to spend an evening with a friend whose sympathetic ear and patient support allowed me to unload some of that baggage, and with whose life and trajectory I equally enjoyed becoming acquainted.  May the experience often be repeated.

Where I left my heart

I'm in San Francisco this weekend for a meeting of the AAR's board of directors.  This is a group I've belonged to since 2007.  I've seen a lot of changes come and go.

Yet in many ways, the board that is meeting this weekend is a brand new organization.  Last time we met, we were a bloated, unwieldy group of 27.  Now we are a lean dozen.  The agenda looks much the same as those from the last four years, yet the meeting is bound to feel quite different.

I know about three-quarters of the people on the current board well, having served with them over the last several cycles.  In contrast to the way turnover used to happen in the big group -- change swallowed up by size and continuity, novelty discouraged in favor of wrestling two dozen people through a huge chunk of business -- those three or four people who are new to the board are likely to have a major role in setting the tone.

Our work began with a meeting of the Executive Committee at 4 pm, just 45 minutes after I arrived at the hotel, and continued with a lengthy dinner tonight.  Tomorrow we'll be on task from 9 to 5, taking lunch together, and on Sunday from 9 to 12.  It was once hard for me to imagine what kind of business might be so massive and complex as to take a full-day meeting to complete; no longer.  Now I only wonder how we'll find the time to get through it all in the short day and a half allotted to us.

At home it's midnight, my children are asleep, and I hope my husband soon will be.  I hope their Saturday is smashing, and I wish I were there with them, even though I wouldn't want to miss out on being here, either.

By the numbers

Plane trips since Oct. 20: 6
Hours of delay: 2
Hours of task force, board, and committee meetings since October 28: 10
Ribbons attached to my name badge: 2
Knitters met in Atlanta: 5
New Ravelry friends: 1
MARTA trips: 6
Business cards collected: 8
People I have to say hi to from people at the meeting: 2
Classes missed: 4
Handouts collected: 3
Keynote presentations witnessed: 3
People in my family who were happy to see me come home: 3

Membership has its privileges

I've always enjoyed being on the inside.  Being one of the people who is in the know.  In another setting, that appetite might have made me a gossip-monger.  In academia, it's made me an administrator and an officer of associations.

As an officer of the association whose meeting I am currently attending, I feel emboldened to introduce myself and shake hands with famous scholars whose work I admire.  Just this evening I made the acquaintance of Margaret Miles, whose book Seeing and Believing is one of the seminal texts in religion and film.  I tapped Diana Eck on the shoulder at a session earlier today and shared pleasantries.  For a person who still thinks of herself as a young scholar sitting at the feet of various masters, this is huge.  I am starstruck, yet the ribbon on my name badge identifying me as an officer of the organization provides the entree.  I make the overture and convey my appreciation for their work.  We communicate as colleagues.  I feel for the moment at least that I inhabit the same space as scholars whose work I admire, emulate, and have made use of.

I find myself in a bit of a different position than many of the meeting attendees I pass in the hallways.  There are undoubtedly hundreds or thousands who attend the conferences year after year, sitting in the room with folks whose work they have read and taught, and never feeling they attain the stature to cross that gap between the unsung toiler and the celebrated author.

From the moment I joined the organization and began to approach people whose writings I'd studied and analyzed, at the urging of my teachers, to ask questions and get advice, I was struck by the extraordinary collegiality of this branch of the academy.  My students probably wouldn't think of e-mailing a scholar whose article they might have read in class to get more insight; I urge them to make the move.  Nine times out of ten, the response is positive, generous, and helpful.  No matter how famous or anonymous, we are all part of the same academy.  The fact that we live that out so explicitly in this meeting is one of the wonders and miracles that give me hope for my discipline, my profession, my community, my country.

Gains and losses

I do love coming to professional meetings.  I connect with fascinating people, learn more than I thought possible, indulge in the mutual admiration society that is the academy (at least this branch of it), and usually find time for a little sightseeing in the vibrant cities where we meet.

But I hate what I miss at home.  This year, like the last couple, it's Halloween (and Election Day).  I've early voted already, but missing Halloween hurts like the dickens.  I worked hard on Cady Gray's costume (can't claim to have done the same on Archer's, which was far more forgiving of a less-than-all-out effort), and I want to be there to see her flaunt it on the streets of our neighborhood.  Plus, candy.  You only get a limited number of Halloweens when the kids are small enough to really get into dressing up and trick-or-treating, and I've now missed three running.

Today I spent all day meeting and doing business, then celebrated this evening at a lovely dinner in our Executive Director's home.  It was a long day of intense effort and intimate socializing.  Tomorrow begins the conference proper: sessions, plenaries, receptions.  I have a few obligations, but there's also a lot of choice and options in my schedule.  There will be time, at last, to think.

And some of what I'll be thinking about is my family going about their weekend rounds without me.

Last week I was just as busy -- more so, actually -- and for all I missed at home, my university actually paused for that trip; classes were out for a fall break holiday while I was gone.  Today, just like that, I've missed two days of classes, and by the time I'm home I'll miss two more.  Meanwhile on the weekend, as I try to catch up when I can with the work my students are doing, that's when my children are most active in home life and when I miss the most time and experience with them.  It feels like I can't win -- attend to duties here, and I miss class; attend to class when duties here wane, and I miss family.

All I can do, I suppose, is keep up with what's actually possible at a distance, which is the work of this meeting and the classwork that I can read and return online.  Family contact isn't possible beyond a few minutes of phone conversation, so it's pointless to feel like I could be doing more or should be able to participate.  Yet that's the one area where the loss of ordinary time and effort -- what I'd be doing without having to make any special arrangements, if I were just home -- seems most damning.

Georgia on my mind

I'm traveling again tomorrow, only four days after arriving home from the last trip.  This time it's the American Academy of Religion annual meeting in Atlanta, and I am really looking forward to this one.  It marks the end of a very productive period where I've been able to participate in the leadership of the organization.  I've been on hand for some huge decisions and helped shape the present direction of the group.  And I'm transitioning into what looks like a brief interim period in another role that should teach me a lot in a short amount of time.  I'll be able to use what I learn in seeking offices in other organizations.

So while I'm on the road, let me direct you to the Craft Wisely podcast.  My students have recorded six episodes, and I am pleased and proud to say that they've been learning avidly as they go, and have put together some very credible packages, especially the most recent episodes.  If you have a yen to peek into the class I'm teaching on handmaking's philosophical, historical, and social aspects -- or if you just want to see what a group of smart twenty-year-olds will do with some rudimentary podcasting instruction -- please check it out, and leave a comment on their blog if you have have feedback!

17 days of glory

I just got off the phone with Marly's Yarn Thing podcast. With my fellow Ravelympic moderators Chris and Jenny, I talked all things Ravelympics for about an hour.

It was a laughter-filled, chaotic conversation marked by much information and many anecdotes. We were even joined by Jess and Casey, Ravelry's founders.

At the end, some of us talked about what makes the Ravelympics special: its spirit of teamwork, its lighthearted competition. My answer would be a bit more about me (so I kept quiet). For the Ravelympics I am part of a small team managing an organization with more than 10,000 members. That's roughly the same membership as the American Academy of Religion, on whose board of directors I sit as part of a much, much larger management team.

Yet if one were to measure the involvement of the membership in the organization -- their productivity as empowered by the organization -- their identification with the organization -- the Ravelympics would knock the AAR out of the park. Yes, it's short-term. But it's also stunning. Very few of those affiliated with the Ravelympics will fail to participate actively. Most will produce multiple works in their affiliated disciplines. Hundreds have taken on leadership roles in ad hoc suborganizations.

If my real-world academy could approach half this level of engagement, we'd be the envy of every scholarly organization in the world. It's something to ponder as the AAR moves into its second century: how to be a resource to its members, spark their creativity, and earn their loyalty.

I'm at the airport in Montreal waiting for my flight to Chicago, which will be followed, if all goes well, by the flight to Little Rock. I should be home by 11 pm local time, as long as there are no delays or cancellations. [There were delays. --Ed.]

What an interesting trip it has been. While I was looking forward to the interesting and potentially productive work that the board was to take up, my recent positive experiences with a couple of excellent committees was imparting a rosy tint to the whole. I had forgotten about the various issues that tended to hamper the effectiveness of other groups. Some breakthroughs were made on those front, yet I'm inclined to believe that structural problems remain that will continue to block us until they are dealt with directly.

On the other hand, Montreal -- cold, rainy, windy, snowy Montreal in early April -- won my heart. I was head over heels for the city and its people, and I can't wait to return for the AAR's annual meeting in November. To give just a single example, I was warmly welcomed and grandly feted by one of our valued commenters on the A.V. Club, a lovely and lively young woman who goes by the online sobriquet of Phel. When she learned through my Twitter feed that I was visiting the city, she immediately issued a friendly invitation to meet her for drinks and conversation, and as a fellow knitter (yet another pleasant surprise), she passed along invaluable information on downtown yarn shops that I will spend a happy half-day exploring in toto when I return.

I have learned much from some of the wise people that our director so frequently invites to advise us and thus brings so fortuitously into our acquaintance. And as you may have already surmised from the style of this entry, somewhat more verbose and elaborate than usual, I finished Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.

Au revoir, Montreal!

Function and its dyscontents

Things are getting pretty bad when you have to hire a consultant to come in and tell the governors what's wrong with their governing structure, don't you think?

Actually, maybe that should be a more regular occurrence. Sure, the organization for which I'm currently serving as director, the board of which made a decision a few years ago that profoundly alienated the membership, needs help with its administrative culture, shall we say. There's no doubt about that.

Since I've been involved in the leadership, though -- just after this decision was made and as the fallout was raining down -- there's been a lot of introspection. And outside consultants have been brought in to talk about vision and governance, and all the stuff you'd imagine would fatten the pockets of business parasites.

It's been nothing short of amazing, though, what these people have brought to our attention. The problems you can't solve are the ones you can't name. And what these people do is say: "I've observed you govern for the past six hours, and you only acknowledged each other's points in discussion twice."

Every organization thinks it's unique. We have a culture that nobody could understand except from the inside. But it's almost never true. There are groups facing similar tasks and structured in similar ways. What can we learn from them? It's criminally easy to think of reasons why their example doesn't apply to us. It's a lot harder to admit that our particular dysfunction may be typical -- and therefore tractable.

Maybe it all comes down to the sad fact that we prefer our problems to be singular and chronic. It prevents us from having to take responsibility to fix them. At least someone has stood up in front and pointed them out. Now to see whether we've really heard them -- or whether, in the best academic tradition, we will compliment the messenger on his presentation and return to our comfortable complaints.

Hard labor

Anybody who is a member of a board of directors or occupies an administrative position in almost any organization these days is in the same boat. It's time to face fiscal realities but at the same time try to move forward into the future.

This weekend, that's what we'll be trying to do in Montreal. In this opulent hotel, surrounded by a beautiful city and an attentive staff, we're looking at very difficult decisions.

Yet at the same time, they're very easy. Because first, there are really no alternatives to them, besides mortgaging our future and crippling our mission. We're in the fortunate situation, actually, of having a few places to go where making changes means enhancing the long-term health of the organization, because they are changes that are going to be made at some point anyway -- and the sooner the better.

And second, they're easy because without them, we're spending money on plugging a hole rather than investing to meet the needs of the new reality. Each decision, considered by itself, is painful. Each decision, though, considered in terms of our responsibility to the organization's viability, is easy. And as soon as people see that, the unanimity is quite remarkable.

I'm no financial wizard. I'm indifferent at balancing my own checkbook (now that online banking does it for me). I wouldn't know a net unrealized gain or loss from a hole in the ground. So I'm so fortunate to have the opportunity to be tutored by people not only of great expertise, but of uncommon wisdom. My confidence in the plan we on the Finance Committee are recommending tomorrow is solid. Best of all, it seems to be a way, at least in some areas, to turn a crisis into an opening for needed change -- and exciting opportunity. So even though there might be some fireworks when people are brought face to face with the stark numbers (especially the ones in parentheses), I'm looking forward to seeing the nods around the table as what we can see -- ten and twenty years down the road, that is, not just the roadkill at our feet -- becomes visible to everyone.

In the air again

Last night I dreamed that I got up nice and early, drove to the airport in plenty of time to make my 10 am flight, and was strolling toward security when I suddenly realized: I had forgotten to pack my suitcase. I had put my pashmina in it, but nothing else. So there I was approaching the security line and thinking: It's okay, I'll just buy everything when I get there. But I have nothing! I realized. No shoes, no underwear, nothing. I can't go to California with absolutely nothing. I don't have the time or money to buy a whole wardrobe for five days. I have to go back home and get clothes, even though it's going to make it really hard to make the flight.

So I went back out to the parking lot, but my car didn't seem to be where I had left it. I'm walking around in the parking lot looking for my car, getting more and more frantic as I realize there's no way this is going to work out. And I wake up.

This dream has a simple meaning. I'm going to San Diego in the morning, and I'm anxious about it. Will I leave in time, will I remember everything, what will go wrong? Traveling stress-free, for me, is getting all that anxiety out in the open ahead of time. That makes me over-prepare and triple-check everything. When I actually leave, so the theory goes, I have no worries because I've got a big built-in safety net.

Well, not exactly. But I'm usually able to let go of my need to control everything once I get to the airport. After that, it's all out of my hands, and I'm just along for the ride. In this case, I'm along for the ride to the American Academy of Religion annual meeting, preceded by the day-long Board of Directors meeting (my first), highlighted by a presentation to the Society of Biblical Literature on recent portrayals of biblical women on film, and culminating in a visit to the Dead Sea Scrolls at the San Diego Natural History Museum. If I prepare correctly and keep the stress under control, it's going to be an excellent trip.

Tomorrow I'll return to your questions, so if you've got any more, fire away. See you on the West Coast.

The vision thing

Spending 11 hours in the company of a "strategic planning consultant" who differentiates between "driving" and "inspiring" and uses the acronym BHAG (Big Hairy Audacious Goal) without shame doesn't sound like fun to this corporate-averse, jargon-allergic academic. But you know what? It's been great. We've learned stuff about ourselves as an organization, and we've thought together about where we want to go. And to my delight, it's got a lot to do with that complexity hangup I have. (Turns out I'm not the only one.) So I couldn't be happier.

Plus, as Sonny noted in the comments to the last post, this is a beautiful weekend to be in Atlanta, and a gorgeous place in Atlanta to land -- the Emory Conference Center and Hotel. Our meeting room even has a window-wall that opens onto a balcony; we kept the doors open most of the afternoon and enjoyed the fresh air. You can't ask for more from a committee meeting.

One rather facetious idea that bubbled up from our discussion of public understanding of religion, a part of the AAR mission that is so contentious and yet so tenaciously advocated by some leaders that it has its own acronym (PUR), is the creation of a religion-in-media list that could be widely disseminated, like Blackwell's worst dressed or the Darwin Awards. The list would be "______ Most Clueless Statements About Religion Made in the Public Media."

Two came up right away.

1. "The Bible teaches that marriage is a permanent relationship between one man and one woman."
2. "The Bible was the foundation and blueprint for our Constitution, Declaration of Independence, our educational system, and our entire history until the last 20 to 30 years."

I love the idea of this list, and I decided then and there that even if the Academy didn't compile it, I would. What would you add to the list?

Atlanta nights

I've been too busy being busy to pay much attention to it, much less let you readers in on it, but I have a professional meeting this weekend in Atlanta. My first official duty as a member of the AAR Board of Directors is to serve on a team that will spend the weekend brainstorming about the organization's vision for the next several years. Now doesn't that sound like something that will change the world?

Actually, it might be a step in that direction. Today I listened to one of my colleagues give a brilliant introduction to our freshman class on the topic of why Darwin matters. He pleaded with them not to allow fear to reduce their sense of the universe and their environment to a simple moral tale, or a Noah's Ark of friendly creatures. He spoke eloquently about the story told by nature, a story of change and utter strangeness -- and about the God for whom so many of his listeners wanted to call nature as witness, a God who (according to the picture painted by nature) achieves his mysterious ends through massive amounts of death and suffering and wastefulness to lavish his care on a tiny fraction of the tiny remnant of the totality of all living things that have ever existed on this earth.

As we were walking back to the office after class, I told my colleague and friend that he shouldn't have to bear the burden of awakening these students to the awe-inspiring beauty of complex explanations by himself. "My field," I said, "bears some responsibility here. We have to do a better job teaching people that religion is complex, strange, contingent, historical, and about as far away from the kind of simple message that can be conveyed through a Jack Chick tract or an Archie comic as the human eye is from the light-sensing cells of a flatworm."

Because it's not evolution that we fear. It's complexity. It's the loss of the simple answers that we can teach to everyone. It's the unavoidable consequence of a historical consciousness that reveals change and development and human motives, in all their venality and sincerity, in the message that has come down to us. Without the simplicity and finality and totalizing power of "God says it, I believe it, that settles it," we fear, how will we ever come to rest on solid ground?

Maybe the AAR can help. If scholars of religion can't do a better job of telling the world about its immeasurable richness and strangeness and awe-inspiring testimony to millennia of human effort to understand, motivate, control, and bear witness, then eighteen-year-olds will continue to show up at our doorstep clinging for dear life to their conviction that the ultimate answers are simple. Every semester I lay my cards on the table, telling students that I am making a key assumption in the way I look at the world and the way I'm asking them to try out looking at the world. Anything worth knowing, I say, is complex. Any question worth asking has a complex answer. I allow that I could be wrong about this -- that I might show up at the pearly gates and find out I was barking up the wrong tree all along. But the simple answers that have been given to me over the years have all decayed and fertilized the fascinating, developing, fractal richness of the complexity that now appears in their place. So here I stand -- I can do no other. And here I hope to act, with the combined power of my fellow scholars, to make the world safe for complexity.