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.

Japan: Day Two

Finishing my presentation, preparing to take questions, with the conference scarf on display as a visual aid


The rhythm of a conference is the same everywhere you go, but at international conferences, even more so. Plenary sessions feature lengthy presentations by the most distinguished invited scholars, printed in full in the conference proceedings so that attendees can follow along. Sessions last two and a half hours, or three forty-five minute talks. Today parallel sessions start, with three rooms on the same schedule, each presenting three papers in each session.


A few of the Chinese scholars at my presentation, impressed by the conference scarf


The thinking process of a conference is always the same, too. As you listen to the presentations and make notes -- and make no mistake, I derived unusual benefit from yesterday's six papers -- you tend at the same time to be strategizing about your activities during the next break: where you can grab a drink or a bite, where the nearest restrooms are located, whether you will make it to the optional activities after the day's sessions or whether you are too tired or hungry to contemplate another room with chairs and speakers.


The presenters and audience at my parallel session, one of the most congenial of the week


Chances to break free and be a tourist are few but precious. Last night after being horrified by the price of food at my hotel's restaurants, I walked back to the main road and ducked into the first little restaurant I saw on the first alley I walked down. It was dark by the time we got out of the day's work, and the beautiful gardens and grounds that I glimpsed as I hurried by that morning on my way to the conference were already obscured by darkness.


University students at lacrosse practice as evening falls


Today my paper is scheduled to be presented at the last of the day's three sessions, an unenviable position. But once it is done, the celebration of the evening begins. The mother of one of my dear students is taking me to dinner tonight, and I look forward to my first guided experience into Tokyo proper.

Success!

It's been a long, long day, but a very successful one. I'm heading into the lost hour of Daylight Savings Time thinking that almost everything that might have caused me stress is behind me, and went well.

It all began with a breakfast meeting of the Southwest Commission on Religious Studies (SWCRS) board of directors. I was writing about arcane organizations last night for a reason; this one is comprised of officers from all the regional officers that the commission brings together, and has to do things like approve budgets and give awards.

Then I was a panelist in a session on post-Enlightenment theodicies -- just as academic as it sounds -- but unexpectedly (to me, having read the other two panelists' presentations ahead of time), I was not the clearly most unprepared and out-of-her-depth person in the room, and we ended up having a vigorous discussion with maybe even a hint of controversy.

Following a working lunch (catered by the conference, and during which I had a long conversation with the incoming president of the commission, I co-presided over a lengthy (six paper) session, fulfilling my moderator duties -- keeping presenters on time, introducing them, opening the floor to discussion -- quite admirably, if I do say so myself.

Then came the nerve-wracking part of the day. Would enough people show up for the plenary session, for which we had flown a high-ranking officer in our organization and major scholar out from the West Coast? They did, much to my relief. Would her talk be engaging and important? Yes, as I should never have doubted. Would those in attendance engage in lively conversation afterward? Indeed, some of the best I've ever heard at a session of its kind.

After that it was all gravy. Reception, socializing, dinner with the society's executives and our plenary speaker, gossip, heartfelt conversation, a good time was had by all.

I'm ready to do it all again, crammed into a slightly shorter period of time before I leave for the airport in the early afternoon, in about eight hours. Time to set the clocks forward and go to bed. Only a few more official duties, and I can put this one in the record books.

Oh, is it the weekend?

I can finally take a breath after twenty-four hours of a conference I helped organize (three sessions, a reception, and a keynote address) and an overlapping sophomore matriculation session at which I was pressed into emergency service to moderate a session after two alumni went missing. Suddenly it's Saturday at 4 pm, and I've been engaged in academics more intensely since Friday at 3 pm than I am most workdays.

The Interdisciplinary Colloquium on Theology and Energy, I can now say with some confidence, was a huge success. The session room, which was set up for 52 attendees plus four presenters, was nicely filled for all three sessions -- even this morning, when a cold rain descended on our locale; over 70 people came to the keynote address at our sister college across town; and 20 people stayed for a post-conference discussion on further energy issues.

Our grants made it possible for us to subsidize the registration for about 30 students from both institutions, and a few more came on their own or were sponsored by other organizations. I experienced a surprising warmth when the speakers -- including the keynote speaker, a woman of charismatic brilliance and charm -- praised my scholarship and expressed appreciation for my work in co-hosting the conference. I was keenly aware that my students were hearing me being described as a prominent thinker in the fields in question. At those moments, I felt the spheres of my relationships with students and my relationships with theological colleagues around the globe colliding, and it wasn't something I was prepared for. For a while, at least, the Honors students in attendence at those events will see me in a new light.

My own paper, "'One More Stitch': Relational Productivity and Creative Energy," was very well received and sparked much discussion. I was thoroughly pleased, and relieved in a sense to have ideas that have been consuming me for the past several months released into the academic environment. It's possible that the conference papers will form the basis of a book, and if so, I'll look forward to the response from a wider public.

For now, I look forward to an evening of relaxation at last. The effort was worth it. And I hadn't expected it, but bringing people I know and interact with on a national level to my campus was immensely satisfying. My pride in my college, my university, and my students filled me with an energy I had not anticipated. I think I can ride on that feeling of achievement at least until it's time to undertake the next gargantuan act of creation.

Energized

Organizing an event is an anxious high wire act. After all the details, all the plans, all the money, all the publicity, all the anticipation, the moment arrives, and you teeter between success and failure. The whole event is nothing, literally no thing, until it begins.

So watching people fill our conference room, name tags dangling from their necks, programs in front of them, and greeting the eight invited presenters as they arrive, and then to have it all begin -- it's an astounding transformation. Possibility suddenly, inexplicably becomes reality. Out of nothing, seemingly -- because all the work has produced nothing but a promise and a opening -- something appears, something that is actually happening.

In short, the first session of the conference came off. The keynote address at Hendrix College was everything we could have hoped for. And no matter what happens tomorrow in the final two sessions, a conference exists. The ICTE is real.

Tomorrow I'll talk about an unexpected benefit of bringing prominent people to talk to your students. For now, I'm going to relax and bask in the success -- which is to say, the reality here now that was not here at 2:30 pm this afternoon.

Large and in charge

After almost a full year of planning, a colleague and I are finally on the brink of our very own conference. The Interdisciplinary Colloquium on Theology and Energy (ICTE) starts tomorrow at 3 pm, at the conference center on our campus.

This all started when Clayton Crockett, a professor in the Department of Religion and Philosophy and an old acquaintance from my graduate school days at the University of Virginia, asked me to help him mount a conference that would inspire theological and theoretical reflection on the issue of energy. My role was to provide some expertise in conference planning (since I had participated in the organization of our National Collegiate Honors Council-sponsored technology workshop in the summer of '07) and in grant-getting (specifically from the American Academy of Religion's regional development grants program).

I think I've delivered on those promises. We acquired a $4000 grant from AAR and almost $6000 in funds from departments, institutes, colleges, and centers on our campus and at Hendrix College. Clayton identified several speakers to invite from around the country from his fields of interest, and I added a few from the process theological side. We subsized their travel through our grant funds. Everyone submitted their papers several weeks ahead, and we made them available to registrants through a website download as password-protected PDFs. Tomorrow at 3 pm, the first three speakers will briefly summarize (not read!) their papers, followed by discussion with everyone in attendance. Afterwards, everyone will go across town on a chartered bus to the location of the keynote address by Catherine Keller of Drew University. And on Saturday, there will be six more invited presentations, with most of the time reserved for everyone to participate.

It's been a huge undertaking, but I feel good about having delivered the funds and know-how for which I was brought on board. I'm looking forward to hearing what the attendees think of my paper, "'One More Stitch': Relational Productivity and Creative Energy." As of this afternoon, there were 54 registrations, with the bulk of them students. We're expecting a few walk-up registrations tomorrow. But the best thing about it? The whole endeavor is one big 24-hour push. I actually have to miss one of the three sessions because the weekend coincides with our sophomore matriculation event. By 3 pm Saturday, it will be all over, and I'll be leading anyone who wants to hang around and talk about local energy issues to our student lounge. And then I'll come home and collapse.

We hope that with some editing and rewriting, the conference papers could become a book aimed at a general audience, or at least with some traction outside the scholarly realm. So I can't point you to the papers, much as I'd like to know what you think of mine. When the whirlwind is over, I'll write a report to the agencies that gave us money, and I'll share any successes, failures, and lessons learned with you, too.