I answered the phone at work today with my usual "This is Donna Bowman." "Is this the eminent professor and theologian Donna Bowman?" I heard, and midway through the sentence I started laughing out loud. That's the way my mentor and adviser at the University of Georgia, Dr. Will Power, always addresses me on the phone, and it couldn't be more charming.
Will wanted to ask about some new books in the field, hash over whether God should be viewed as a series of temporal occasions or as a single non-temporal instance (an evergreen discussion), and chat about mutual acquaintances. I was thrilled to hear him so full of life and energy, just as if twenty years hadn't passed since he taught my classes, or a couple of years since our last conversation. He's still teaching even though he could have retired with forty years' service four years ago, and if it keeps him that young, I say more power to him.
We have so many great tools for keeping in touch with old friends and colleagues now. And "in touch" is just the right metaphor; Facebook and other social networks let me observe them at an arm's length, making a closer move if I like but otherwise just watching the flow of what they choose to share.
But with members of an older generation, or those who for personal reasons have opted out of those sites, we have the joy that comes from regaining contact after extended silences. I couldn't be happier to find that my wonderful professor, who inspired me so much, is still thinking of me and still inspiring others. A moment of pure grace and joy.
Showing posts with label theology. Show all posts
Showing posts with label theology. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Monday, May 16, 2011
On assignment
One of the categories I'm supposed to list for my year-end faculty activity report is "community service for which your professional training is essential." The idea is to show what you do outside of your job that enriches the lives of others through the kind of expertise you bring to the inside of your job.
I always think about that phrase "for which your professional training is essential" when I'm asked to contribute a piece to an online magazine or speak to a Sunday school class. Those invitations come with a fair amount of regularity, probably due to a combination of the expertise I have to contribute and the avocations and extracurricular interests for which I'm known.
Consider the latest few examples -- two pieces for the recently-launched site Jesus, Jazz, Buddhism and one that will be appearing at the end of the week on Arkansas: Abroad. The topics I was asked to cover were movies (The King's Speech in particular), the internet (and its relation to a philosophy of the material world in particular), and religious tolerance (stemming from a visit by the Dalai Lama to the area), all from the perspective of a theologian. That list extends to the sites of my research interests, draws upon non-theological expertise I've developed, and stakes a position in an area where anyone in my field would be expected to be able to speak cogently.
I like being asked to write these pieces, although they're not always easy. It seems to me that academics ought to contribute to the public conversation in areas where our training has led us to think deeply. The most rewarding part, though, is being able to make connections between the skills I've developed in various aspects of my work and the kinds of cultural conversations in which a broad array of people want to be involved.
I always think about that phrase "for which your professional training is essential" when I'm asked to contribute a piece to an online magazine or speak to a Sunday school class. Those invitations come with a fair amount of regularity, probably due to a combination of the expertise I have to contribute and the avocations and extracurricular interests for which I'm known.
Consider the latest few examples -- two pieces for the recently-launched site Jesus, Jazz, Buddhism and one that will be appearing at the end of the week on Arkansas: Abroad. The topics I was asked to cover were movies (The King's Speech in particular), the internet (and its relation to a philosophy of the material world in particular), and religious tolerance (stemming from a visit by the Dalai Lama to the area), all from the perspective of a theologian. That list extends to the sites of my research interests, draws upon non-theological expertise I've developed, and stakes a position in an area where anyone in my field would be expected to be able to speak cogently.
I like being asked to write these pieces, although they're not always easy. It seems to me that academics ought to contribute to the public conversation in areas where our training has led us to think deeply. The most rewarding part, though, is being able to make connections between the skills I've developed in various aspects of my work and the kinds of cultural conversations in which a broad array of people want to be involved.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
And chose a servant's part
I agreed to preach a Maundy Thursday sermon a couple of weeks ago, and that night has arrived. "Maundy Thursday" is one of those phrases I read occasionally in British books during my upbringing, but as a Southern Baptist never thought would become a part of my life.
Maundy Thursday is so called because it is the day of Holy Week when Jesus gives a new mandate -- a new commandment -- to his disciples. Actually, a number of different mandates are piled together on this day. It's the night of the Passover meal that we now commemorate in the Eucharist, Communion or Last Supper, and Christians understand there to be a mandate to "do this in remembrance of me." The author of John adds another institution, portraying Jesus as leading a foot-washing ceremony, which was presumably something regularly practiced by the community for which he wrote. (Mainline churches that celebrate Maundy Thursday typically wash feet only on that night; a few Christian communities, like Seventh-Day Adventists, understand the ritual to be mandated more regularly and broadly, and therefore schedule it as a prominent worship ordinance.)
But the most important mandate of this night is Jesus' statement in the gospel of John that he is giving a new commandment to his disciples to love each other in service, just as he has made himself a servant to show his love to them.
If you'd like to read my sermon -- it's short and contains no jokes or anecdotes! -- it's available here.
Maundy Thursday is so called because it is the day of Holy Week when Jesus gives a new mandate -- a new commandment -- to his disciples. Actually, a number of different mandates are piled together on this day. It's the night of the Passover meal that we now commemorate in the Eucharist, Communion or Last Supper, and Christians understand there to be a mandate to "do this in remembrance of me." The author of John adds another institution, portraying Jesus as leading a foot-washing ceremony, which was presumably something regularly practiced by the community for which he wrote. (Mainline churches that celebrate Maundy Thursday typically wash feet only on that night; a few Christian communities, like Seventh-Day Adventists, understand the ritual to be mandated more regularly and broadly, and therefore schedule it as a prominent worship ordinance.)
But the most important mandate of this night is Jesus' statement in the gospel of John that he is giving a new commandment to his disciples to love each other in service, just as he has made himself a servant to show his love to them.
If you'd like to read my sermon -- it's short and contains no jokes or anecdotes! -- it's available here.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
All together now
What a day for a sports fan! We barely had time to register the US national teams' stoppage-time goal, miraculously lifting them out of the Group C doldrums into the round of 16, before it was time to switch over to Wimbledon where two relative unknowns were slogging out a 118-game fifth set that by itself was longer than the previous longest tennis match in the championship.
I love moments that bring the nation together in breathless anticipation of an unscripted result And today's examples are stellar. Anything could have happened -- and that made what did happen supremely unbelievable. More than anything, we simply marveled at the unpredictability of it all, so striking in the moment and so difficult to recover in hindsight.
It's instructive to compare those moments with the other cultural event recently that brought millions of Americans to their TV sets at the same time: the Lost finale. Whether you thought it was a hit or a miss, the conversation afterwards is about what should have happened. Control of the outcome by the little gods of Lost is presumed. What makes sporting moments like today's matches so mind-boggling is that they can only be about what happened. Praise or blame, even if apportioned liberally to players and coaches, can't be absolute, because a sports event is so supremely contingent. I've argued theologically that only in the presence of the contingent is a true response of faith and wonder elicited from human beings. The awe of these moments and the gratitude of those privileged to witness them speaks to that point.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
The meaning of it all
We human beings are cursed with the inescapable need to assign meaning to events. Whenever a major tragedy happens in the world -- as with yesterday's immensely destructive earthquake in Haiti -- we wonder what it means, what it signifies, the ultimate "why" of it all. And some people with microphones and followings aren't too shy to tell us their conclusions. Pat Robertson, for example, declares that the earthquake is the result of a curse placed on the Haitian people after "they" (he doesn't specify who among the population or leadership) made a deal with Satan to serve him if he would drive out the French colonialists.
It's not just the big tragedies that lead us to assign responsibility and infer divine significance. What does it mean that we didn't get into the classes we need to graduate on time? What about that bank error in your favor? The second budget cut in the current fiscal year? The leak in your dishwasher supply line? An opportunity for extra credit? A pop quiz?
Figuring out how to maximize good fortune and buffer yourself against bad is an appropriate response to the vicissitudes of life. Assigning the responsibility for outrageous good fortune to God's favor (and therefore our righteousness) and the blame for unimaginable suffering on God's judgment (and therefore our sinfulness) -- although tempting for those in charge of mediating God's ways to man -- is theological hubris.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Teach and be taught
Today I convened the last meeting of my process theology seminar. It was a momentous semester and a momentous course for me -- my first time teaching in what some might consider my natural department here at the university. My appointment is in the Honors College, which teaches interdisciplinary classes. But my training, and the discipline where I do most of my scholarly work, is religious studies.
This semester I exchanged places with a professor from the Department of Philosophy and Religion. He taught an interdisciplinary seminar for the Honors College. And I taught a 4000-level seminar called Readings in Process Theology.
My dissertation works within the field of process theology. Most of my publications are in that field. But I had never taught a full course on the subject before this semester.
The course was a challenge in many ways. I was working with students who weren't necessarily well versed in theology in general, or Christian theology in particular. They were students in the religious studies minor in a public university; theology was not in their purview. From our initial conversations, I gathered that half or more of those enrolled were skeptical about the relevance of Christianity and/or the rigor of theology as a discipline. In fact, as I ended up conceiving it, major objectives of the class dealt with simply appreciating the task of religious people facing the contemporary situation and trying to find some way to continue living out traditions they believed were valuable.
Today I told my students that I was grateful to have spent this semester with them. If not for this course, I wouldn't have spent so much time this semester thinking and reading in process theology week after week. And I discovered some nuances and some ideas that surprised me. I learned. I don't know if my movement from understanding to deeper and broader understanding is as large as the movement I asked the students to make, but I know that it was more significant for me than they could imagine.
I've worked steadily and published regularly in this field for a decade. But this semester re-energized my theological muscles. I think it's probably important that I teach a disciplinary class outside my home department periodically. Meanwhile my scholarship has acquired a new momentum, and my confidence and determination has notched up accordingly.
This semester I exchanged places with a professor from the Department of Philosophy and Religion. He taught an interdisciplinary seminar for the Honors College. And I taught a 4000-level seminar called Readings in Process Theology.
My dissertation works within the field of process theology. Most of my publications are in that field. But I had never taught a full course on the subject before this semester.
The course was a challenge in many ways. I was working with students who weren't necessarily well versed in theology in general, or Christian theology in particular. They were students in the religious studies minor in a public university; theology was not in their purview. From our initial conversations, I gathered that half or more of those enrolled were skeptical about the relevance of Christianity and/or the rigor of theology as a discipline. In fact, as I ended up conceiving it, major objectives of the class dealt with simply appreciating the task of religious people facing the contemporary situation and trying to find some way to continue living out traditions they believed were valuable.
Today I told my students that I was grateful to have spent this semester with them. If not for this course, I wouldn't have spent so much time this semester thinking and reading in process theology week after week. And I discovered some nuances and some ideas that surprised me. I learned. I don't know if my movement from understanding to deeper and broader understanding is as large as the movement I asked the students to make, but I know that it was more significant for me than they could imagine.
I've worked steadily and published regularly in this field for a decade. But this semester re-energized my theological muscles. I think it's probably important that I teach a disciplinary class outside my home department periodically. Meanwhile my scholarship has acquired a new momentum, and my confidence and determination has notched up accordingly.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Man on the moon
I confess that I arrived at last night's videoconference full of doubt. The plan had been hatched last spring in Montreal at the AAR's board of directors meeting. John O'Keefe, a professor at Creighton University, had bonded with me over the past couple of years; we were fellow technophiles and enthusiastic about taking our pedagogy into the twenty-first century. Over breakfast in Montreal we came up with a way to combine our classes. He would be teaching ecological theology; I would be teaching process theology. His syllabus would have a unit on process thought; mine would have a unit on ecology. If we could just make those units coincide, then we had the perfect opportunity to get our students together.
And so this semester we contacted the appropriate technical people on our campuses to make use of the videoconferencing facilities available to us. It was a lengthy and worrisome process, with personnel out for long periods of time or not as communicative as we might have liked But finally we had confirmation -- the test call had gone fine, and we were set to go.
I showed up last night convinced that something would go wrong. (After all, my babysitter had canceled that morning, and I'd spent the day fretting about just making to to the session.) Fifteen minutes before class was due to start, and I was kicking myself for not calling that day to confirm plans with the IT department. But ten minutes before class was due to start, the technician showed up and opened the door -- and voila, we could already hear chatter through the speakers. The call had already come in and been connected, and all that was left on our end was to turn on the cameras. The technician showed me how to control the cameras and audio, and then left me in charge. I was shocked; far from being a monumental undertaking requiring intensive cooperation and expertise, the whole thing was ... routine.
We enjoyed a spirited hour of conversation -- nine or ten people on their end, a similar number on ours, and a guest speaker to get us started. My students enjoyed answering the Creighton contingent's questions about process theology; I think it surprised and delighted them to be the experts in the discussion. The differences between the two groups became clear in a way that led to much comment, especially in the level of religiosity (my students being all over the map from atheist/materialist to Hindu to evangelical Christian, and O'Keefe's group being mostly Catholics and theology majors).
We ran fifteen minues over before I felt like I had to shut things down, and afterwards everyone left our room still talking and arguing. O'Keefe sent me an e-mail to tell me that he and his students had retired to the campus pub (there's another difference right there) and talked theology for ninety minutes.
And it was easy. The equipment was all there waiting to be used; all we had to do was come up with a time that worked for both of us. I'm already scheming ways to connect up my classes with others every semester.
And so this semester we contacted the appropriate technical people on our campuses to make use of the videoconferencing facilities available to us. It was a lengthy and worrisome process, with personnel out for long periods of time or not as communicative as we might have liked But finally we had confirmation -- the test call had gone fine, and we were set to go.
I showed up last night convinced that something would go wrong. (After all, my babysitter had canceled that morning, and I'd spent the day fretting about just making to to the session.) Fifteen minutes before class was due to start, and I was kicking myself for not calling that day to confirm plans with the IT department. But ten minutes before class was due to start, the technician showed up and opened the door -- and voila, we could already hear chatter through the speakers. The call had already come in and been connected, and all that was left on our end was to turn on the cameras. The technician showed me how to control the cameras and audio, and then left me in charge. I was shocked; far from being a monumental undertaking requiring intensive cooperation and expertise, the whole thing was ... routine.
We enjoyed a spirited hour of conversation -- nine or ten people on their end, a similar number on ours, and a guest speaker to get us started. My students enjoyed answering the Creighton contingent's questions about process theology; I think it surprised and delighted them to be the experts in the discussion. The differences between the two groups became clear in a way that led to much comment, especially in the level of religiosity (my students being all over the map from atheist/materialist to Hindu to evangelical Christian, and O'Keefe's group being mostly Catholics and theology majors).
We ran fifteen minues over before I felt like I had to shut things down, and afterwards everyone left our room still talking and arguing. O'Keefe sent me an e-mail to tell me that he and his students had retired to the campus pub (there's another difference right there) and talked theology for ninety minutes.
And it was easy. The equipment was all there waiting to be used; all we had to do was come up with a time that worked for both of us. I'm already scheming ways to connect up my classes with others every semester.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Teach the controversy
I've had a full day at Hendrix College, across the railroad tracks, teaching Reformation theology to part-time lay pastors. It was an especially good class today, to an especially good group -- smaller than most I've had, and maybe therefore more active.
Anybody who watches me in class knows that I love to teach and I love my subject. And almost any period of Christian history gives me a chance to get into what about it I love -- the complexities and relativities of theology in time. We started the day with a vigorous application of existentialism to the kinds of certainty and absolutism displayed by both reformers and Catholic authorities, and we ended with a vigorous defense of Calvin's worldview. No two discussions could be more different, and yet what united them is a delight in wrestling with the ideas that meant everything to people at that time.
Can we think along with people in history? I think we can, and nothing gets me more excited than when I see someone assuming that posture and defending a worldview that is quite different from their own. That's necessary if we are going to be able to assume good faith on the part of those who currently think differently from us. I find it invigorating to think that both the Catholics and the reformers (and the reformers and the spiritualists, and the Inquisitors and their victims, and so on) were trying to defend and promote what they felt to be the essential elements of the tradition they received and the faith that will save. How their commitments then issue into wildly opposed action becomes a study not in right and wrong, but in conflict and compromise.
Anybody who watches me in class knows that I love to teach and I love my subject. And almost any period of Christian history gives me a chance to get into what about it I love -- the complexities and relativities of theology in time. We started the day with a vigorous application of existentialism to the kinds of certainty and absolutism displayed by both reformers and Catholic authorities, and we ended with a vigorous defense of Calvin's worldview. No two discussions could be more different, and yet what united them is a delight in wrestling with the ideas that meant everything to people at that time.
Can we think along with people in history? I think we can, and nothing gets me more excited than when I see someone assuming that posture and defending a worldview that is quite different from their own. That's necessary if we are going to be able to assume good faith on the part of those who currently think differently from us. I find it invigorating to think that both the Catholics and the reformers (and the reformers and the spiritualists, and the Inquisitors and their victims, and so on) were trying to defend and promote what they felt to be the essential elements of the tradition they received and the faith that will save. How their commitments then issue into wildly opposed action becomes a study not in right and wrong, but in conflict and compromise.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
New beginnings
I taught my first class of the year today, and it was one that was especially fraught with danger. For the second time in two years I'm teaching outside my department -- this time in the Department of Philosophy and Religious Studies.
Happily the students in my seminar on process theology were very kind. They nodded with understanding as I went over the syllabus, even the requirements which are probably less common in their classes than in the ones I usually teach, like shared notetaking, podcasting, and blogging. They contributed energetically to the brief discussion after we got done with the logistics. I left feeling like the class had a chance of working.
While we were taking a stroll around the neighborhood after dinner, Noel asked me whether I hoped to open eyes or change lives with this class. I really don't want to present the students with any kind of crisis, I answered. If the class has any goals for what I want the students to be (as opposed to what I want them to know or do), it's simply this. I want them to appreciate the honest struggle of some thoughtful religious people to find ways to be faithful in the twenty-first century -- ways to integrate understandings of the world that they can't easily deny with a belief in the transcendent that they have no desire to abandon.
There are a variety of attitudes toward religion in the class; that I can see from my informal first day survey. I have a student who leans toward Hinduism, another that leans toward Buddhism. I have two who cited interests in Christian apologetics, plus a couple of Catholics. There are a few students who didn't mention any religious belief, and one who stated that he's an atheist.
I think all those students will need to take some kind of journey to empathize with the impulses, desires, and needs that lead some religious thinkers to embrace process thought. It's hard to tell on the first day if they want to go there. But at least the friendly faces and open discussion give me hope that my goals aren't completely unrealistic. And at least we all know where we stand; it remains to be seen if we want to move.
Happily the students in my seminar on process theology were very kind. They nodded with understanding as I went over the syllabus, even the requirements which are probably less common in their classes than in the ones I usually teach, like shared notetaking, podcasting, and blogging. They contributed energetically to the brief discussion after we got done with the logistics. I left feeling like the class had a chance of working.
While we were taking a stroll around the neighborhood after dinner, Noel asked me whether I hoped to open eyes or change lives with this class. I really don't want to present the students with any kind of crisis, I answered. If the class has any goals for what I want the students to be (as opposed to what I want them to know or do), it's simply this. I want them to appreciate the honest struggle of some thoughtful religious people to find ways to be faithful in the twenty-first century -- ways to integrate understandings of the world that they can't easily deny with a belief in the transcendent that they have no desire to abandon.
There are a variety of attitudes toward religion in the class; that I can see from my informal first day survey. I have a student who leans toward Hinduism, another that leans toward Buddhism. I have two who cited interests in Christian apologetics, plus a couple of Catholics. There are a few students who didn't mention any religious belief, and one who stated that he's an atheist.
I think all those students will need to take some kind of journey to empathize with the impulses, desires, and needs that lead some religious thinkers to embrace process thought. It's hard to tell on the first day if they want to go there. But at least the friendly faces and open discussion give me hope that my goals aren't completely unrealistic. And at least we all know where we stand; it remains to be seen if we want to move.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
I'm in ur iPod
A few weeks ago I had the pleasure of spending a fruitful hour with Tripp Fuller recording a podcast for the Homebrewed Christianity site. Now that conversation is online, and an invigorating listen, if I do say so myself. Ever wondered about the theological implications of the internet? Even if you haven't (like most normal people), you might find something to pique your interest or spark passionate disagreement in the ideas Tripp and I bandied about. Download and enjoy!
Thursday, July 23, 2009
God and the net
Tomorrow I am looking forward to spending time with Tripp Fuller, an energetic graduate student at the Claremont School of Theology. Earlier this spring I was out in Claremont at the Transforming Theology conference, and Tripp filmed a bunch of us answering questions that had been submitted by interested parties around the country. Now he's invited me to be a guest on his popular podcast Homebrewed Christianity -- quite an honor considering the company I'll be keeping: Phillis Tickle, John Dominic Crossan, Richard Rohr ... Tripp gets the big ones.
The topic is theology and the internet, and Tripp was kind enough to post a copy of the paper I presented on the subject at the Interdisciplinary Colloquium on Theology and Energy this past February.
If you'd like to read the paper, ask a question, or both, hop on over to the announcement post and leave a comment. Podcasts need fuel, and your ideas are our energy source!
The topic is theology and the internet, and Tripp was kind enough to post a copy of the paper I presented on the subject at the Interdisciplinary Colloquium on Theology and Energy this past February.
If you'd like to read the paper, ask a question, or both, hop on over to the announcement post and leave a comment. Podcasts need fuel, and your ideas are our energy source!
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Education and enterprise
Since I got back home Sunday night from the Transforming Theology kickoff weekend, I've been doing a lot of thinking about the public forum held Saturday night. It was the second event of the weekend that was open to anyone who wanted to come and join the conversation. But it couldn't have been more different from the first one. Friday night five of the theologians who had been invited to Claremont gave brief presentations, and then the floor was opened for questions from the audience. The energy was low, the questions were few, and in general it felt like we had invited people in for a conversation we hadn't quite started ourselves.
Saturday night, however, Marjorie Suchocki -- in what can only be described as a stroke of genius that took real courage -- changed up the format. She asked everyone in the audience to write questions and pass them forward, and she read them aloud. Themes began to develop, and the ten members of the theology panel that night chose which questions they wanted to address -- two for each question, a call and response.
And what a response! Theologian after theologian took the podium and preached. They spoke out of their passion for the issues raised by the audience members. They provided specific resources through which the attendees could get involved. They showed that theology is a way to think through things that are important to us -- a method, a field in which reflection can be done about anything that's worth reflecting on. In contrast to the first night, where the subject matter was theology itself (and the church that presumably, according to the event's premise, needs it), on Saturday the subject was the deepest concerns of the people in the seats. And the theologians responded by showing how theology informs and motivates the way they care about injustice, poverty, AIDS, discrimination, pluralism, and other issues.
The difference between the two evenings reflected a division we struggled with all weekend. Is theology a product or a resource? For generations in the academic world, we have offered our accomplishments to those who want to come and buy. People planning to enter academia or the ministry were our customers. We wanted to equip them to do what we do, and we were secure in the knowledge that they needed us.
But I couldn't escape the feeling, all weekend long, that a different approach was needed. Do people need a finished product from us, something intended for a single use? Or do they need a pool of resources, a context carefully and complexly delineated and provided, something they can take for their own purposes? Do they need a theological world and a theological way of thinking that they apply to their own projects and passions?
To me, the two public forums made the point. We should be finding new ways to do our theology with anyone who wants to come and join us -- and being creative about how and where to gather, and whom to invite (new media, anyone?). If they come and find something they can take away, great. If not, we're doing what we have to do, anyway. But when we make the connection in a spirit of trust -- what do you care about? Here's what we have to offer -- and make a gift of our theology as the raw material for building meaningful lives and actions, we really have the possibility of transforming ourselves, our discipline, our institutions, and our communities.
Saturday night, however, Marjorie Suchocki -- in what can only be described as a stroke of genius that took real courage -- changed up the format. She asked everyone in the audience to write questions and pass them forward, and she read them aloud. Themes began to develop, and the ten members of the theology panel that night chose which questions they wanted to address -- two for each question, a call and response.
And what a response! Theologian after theologian took the podium and preached. They spoke out of their passion for the issues raised by the audience members. They provided specific resources through which the attendees could get involved. They showed that theology is a way to think through things that are important to us -- a method, a field in which reflection can be done about anything that's worth reflecting on. In contrast to the first night, where the subject matter was theology itself (and the church that presumably, according to the event's premise, needs it), on Saturday the subject was the deepest concerns of the people in the seats. And the theologians responded by showing how theology informs and motivates the way they care about injustice, poverty, AIDS, discrimination, pluralism, and other issues.
The difference between the two evenings reflected a division we struggled with all weekend. Is theology a product or a resource? For generations in the academic world, we have offered our accomplishments to those who want to come and buy. People planning to enter academia or the ministry were our customers. We wanted to equip them to do what we do, and we were secure in the knowledge that they needed us.
But I couldn't escape the feeling, all weekend long, that a different approach was needed. Do people need a finished product from us, something intended for a single use? Or do they need a pool of resources, a context carefully and complexly delineated and provided, something they can take for their own purposes? Do they need a theological world and a theological way of thinking that they apply to their own projects and passions?
To me, the two public forums made the point. We should be finding new ways to do our theology with anyone who wants to come and join us -- and being creative about how and where to gather, and whom to invite (new media, anyone?). If they come and find something they can take away, great. If not, we're doing what we have to do, anyway. But when we make the connection in a spirit of trust -- what do you care about? Here's what we have to offer -- and make a gift of our theology as the raw material for building meaningful lives and actions, we really have the possibility of transforming ourselves, our discipline, our institutions, and our communities.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Theological snapshot
I spent 29 hours this weekend listening to and talking with the leading liberal theologians of our time – and some darn smart up-and-comers. Here's what I learned:
- We hate the status quo, but we're suspicious that new pathways won't lead to the change we want.
- Our undeniable complicity in the suffering caused by the status quo prevents us from believing we can be an essential part of the change that's needed.
- An excess of caution on our part is leaving the field open for people who are interested in movements first, ideas second.
- We believe in nuance and complexity, but suspect that communication in those terms is doomed.
- Although we are believers, it's easier for us to talk about theology than God, hermeneutics than scripture.
- We know too much to speak in simple ways. Questions posed to us exist to be subverted rather than answered.
- Yet our resources are far richer than those of our rivals, if we had the courage to use them.
- It is hard to challenge the orthodoxy of our side that capitalism and individualism are evil through and through.
- The academic guild makes it difficult to bring together in an egalitarian fashion established senior scholars whose work is well known and young promising scholars who, to the former, are unknown quantities. It's not that the older generation are unwilling to listen to the younger; it's that we are engaged in a new conversation, and it's easy for the older folks to simply pick up with each other's ongoing and familiar work.
- Among the finest people on earth (not an exhaustive list) are Harvey Cox, Marjorie Suchocki, Tom Reynolds, Victor Anderson, John Thataminal, Dwight Hopkins, and Darby Ray.
- The reason I am so enthusiastic about the American academy in the field of religious studies is its unceasing generosity and openness. This quality has only become more evident in the last twenty years, and it will never cease to amaze me.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Transforming Theology day 3 liveblog
For those of you who wonder what happens at a gathering of progressive theologians, here's a blow-by-blow of the first panel of the last day -- quite a powerhouse group. The topic is "transforming theology for society."
Emilie Townes: Are we built to transform anything? We need to remember to live not in the old scars of history and the past, but in the freedom we deserve.
My take: Everything we do is transformative -- in the permutation of the past into the present, and the present into the future. We are the ones we've been waiting for. Our besetting sin is to think that it's the job of another, or that our actions somehow have to be special to have transforming power.
William Dean: Reinhold Niebuhr opposed the word "progressive" because it implies that we can make the world better and better through the exercise of our own inherent capacity. We've been too receptive of the secular proposals of our conversation partners, and not aggressive enough in telling them what we know: the sacred dimension.
My take: Is liberal (Dean's preferred word) any better? It doesn't imply improving the world, but it implies that exercising our own inherent capacity of free will and its results is not a means, but an end. And given that theology takes its reflective on culture and context of religious life, I'm not sure it's inappropriate for us to listen more than we dictate. It is religious people, not the theological enterprise, that are in a position to make proposals to secular people as equal partners in the conversation. (Of course, the spheres of religious people and theologians overlap, but it would be important to know what hat one has on at any given moment.)
Jack Fitzmier: Find the missing conversation partners as soon as possible. Academic theologians presume to speak for all theology. Practical theology is the antidote to functionalist theological curricula -- they're not here! The conversation will advance faster if we reflect on our questions in light of our practice in the church (as preachers, teachers, in the pew). We should make a pact never again to laugh at Sarah, the young woman who said at the public meeting that she was getting a Ph.D. in theology and would soon be unemployed.
My take: Wow. I knew Jack was frustrated at the character and task of this gathering. I wish this talk had been at the end of the day. Although I'm sure we will discuss Jack's criticisms in the next hour, they're going to be swallowed up by the rest of the day. Will they ring in our ears as they should?
Glenn Stassen: Where is Reinhold Niebuhr when we need him? An expression of rage against the last eight years of removing regulations, extra-judicial detentions and torture, war, and emboldening of terrorism, withdrawal from treaties designed to provide international checks and balances. What is the meaning of our naive trust in the structures of power to be righteous, as Protestants? On second thought, it's not Niebuhr with his 19th century Jesus and poor Christology we need; we should take his robust understanding of sin and marry it to Dietrich Bonhoeffer's understanding of Jesus.
My take: Were those of us in this room naive about the last eight years? And right after Emilie asked us to look forward, too. The atmosphere of confession, of naming our own sins, is beginning to be overwhelming. How is this going to give the heads of seminaries and divinity schools and the heads of denominations anything to work with? Is this the moment for liberal guilt run amok?
Glenn's presentation does make a point that gives me pause. The question is what Christian vision has the power to transform thise particular society with all its ills and promise. Glenn answers that the Jesus we need is Bonhoeffer's -- an excellent prescription, in my view. So the relationship between theology and transformation is this: theological elaboration of a Christian vision originated in the religious culture (Bonhoeffer did not invent that Jesus, but painted a particularly full and powerful portrait of him), imagined in response to the experiences and context of a particular religious way of life. That reflection can be rekindled, but there's no prior guartantee that it will transform. For that, we wait (as Barth says) for God to miraculously transform our words into God's Word.
Break for videotaping interview responding to questions posed by readers of the conference blog ... whoa, those were some tough questions. "Is God as arbitrary as life?" It's energizing and humbling to try to think in those terms. I think the plan is to put together everyone's best answers and throw it all up on YouTube.
I come back in as the session is ending, but in time to hear a participant once again call us to support the 9/11 truth movement. And they ask why progressive theology is irrelevant ...
Emilie Townes: Are we built to transform anything? We need to remember to live not in the old scars of history and the past, but in the freedom we deserve.
My take: Everything we do is transformative -- in the permutation of the past into the present, and the present into the future. We are the ones we've been waiting for. Our besetting sin is to think that it's the job of another, or that our actions somehow have to be special to have transforming power.
William Dean: Reinhold Niebuhr opposed the word "progressive" because it implies that we can make the world better and better through the exercise of our own inherent capacity. We've been too receptive of the secular proposals of our conversation partners, and not aggressive enough in telling them what we know: the sacred dimension.
My take: Is liberal (Dean's preferred word) any better? It doesn't imply improving the world, but it implies that exercising our own inherent capacity of free will and its results is not a means, but an end. And given that theology takes its reflective on culture and context of religious life, I'm not sure it's inappropriate for us to listen more than we dictate. It is religious people, not the theological enterprise, that are in a position to make proposals to secular people as equal partners in the conversation. (Of course, the spheres of religious people and theologians overlap, but it would be important to know what hat one has on at any given moment.)
Jack Fitzmier: Find the missing conversation partners as soon as possible. Academic theologians presume to speak for all theology. Practical theology is the antidote to functionalist theological curricula -- they're not here! The conversation will advance faster if we reflect on our questions in light of our practice in the church (as preachers, teachers, in the pew). We should make a pact never again to laugh at Sarah, the young woman who said at the public meeting that she was getting a Ph.D. in theology and would soon be unemployed.
My take: Wow. I knew Jack was frustrated at the character and task of this gathering. I wish this talk had been at the end of the day. Although I'm sure we will discuss Jack's criticisms in the next hour, they're going to be swallowed up by the rest of the day. Will they ring in our ears as they should?
Glenn Stassen: Where is Reinhold Niebuhr when we need him? An expression of rage against the last eight years of removing regulations, extra-judicial detentions and torture, war, and emboldening of terrorism, withdrawal from treaties designed to provide international checks and balances. What is the meaning of our naive trust in the structures of power to be righteous, as Protestants? On second thought, it's not Niebuhr with his 19th century Jesus and poor Christology we need; we should take his robust understanding of sin and marry it to Dietrich Bonhoeffer's understanding of Jesus.
My take: Were those of us in this room naive about the last eight years? And right after Emilie asked us to look forward, too. The atmosphere of confession, of naming our own sins, is beginning to be overwhelming. How is this going to give the heads of seminaries and divinity schools and the heads of denominations anything to work with? Is this the moment for liberal guilt run amok?
Glenn's presentation does make a point that gives me pause. The question is what Christian vision has the power to transform thise particular society with all its ills and promise. Glenn answers that the Jesus we need is Bonhoeffer's -- an excellent prescription, in my view. So the relationship between theology and transformation is this: theological elaboration of a Christian vision originated in the religious culture (Bonhoeffer did not invent that Jesus, but painted a particularly full and powerful portrait of him), imagined in response to the experiences and context of a particular religious way of life. That reflection can be rekindled, but there's no prior guartantee that it will transform. For that, we wait (as Barth says) for God to miraculously transform our words into God's Word.
Break for videotaping interview responding to questions posed by readers of the conference blog ... whoa, those were some tough questions. "Is God as arbitrary as life?" It's energizing and humbling to try to think in those terms. I think the plan is to put together everyone's best answers and throw it all up on YouTube.
I come back in as the session is ending, but in time to hear a participant once again call us to support the 9/11 truth movement. And they ask why progressive theology is irrelevant ...
Friday, March 13, 2009
Of lava and tabernacles
I don't know how to describe this event that has left me wrung out and empty another day. We are speaking in shifts of four and five, with a strict time limit of five minutes apiece, followed by an hour or more of group discussion. Four of these sessions occurred today after one that started us off last night (to a bleary audience of jetlagged theologians, at least one of which slept through most of it). Eating, drinking, more talking (always more talking -- what else are we good at?), and then to cap it all off, a public presentation/"dialogue" tonight with about 150 people who came to visit.
At various times during yesterday and today, I've wondered whether anything productive can come of this. I know that I'm writing down theological thoughts furiously, and I suspect I'll get something out of it in terms of an impetus for my own work. Does that contribute to "transforming theology for the church"? I don't know.
It's certainly exciting to sit next to Harvey Cox or Kirk Wegter-McNelly and carry on a whispered side conversation during a session. I've actually been a lot more active than I expected to be, making at least one comment (and sometimes more than one) at every meeting. But the utility and the outcome are cloudy. You can get more perspective from the liveblogging being done by Tony Jones and Tripp Fuller, from the perspectives of the emerging church and theological student body respectively.
At various times during yesterday and today, I've wondered whether anything productive can come of this. I know that I'm writing down theological thoughts furiously, and I suspect I'll get something out of it in terms of an impetus for my own work. Does that contribute to "transforming theology for the church"? I don't know.
It's certainly exciting to sit next to Harvey Cox or Kirk Wegter-McNelly and carry on a whispered side conversation during a session. I've actually been a lot more active than I expected to be, making at least one comment (and sometimes more than one) at every meeting. But the utility and the outcome are cloudy. You can get more perspective from the liveblogging being done by Tony Jones and Tripp Fuller, from the perspectives of the emerging church and theological student body respectively.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Dinnertime but not dinnertime
Greetings from California, where even though the student who drove us from the airport described the weather as "a little cool," at sixty-some-odd degrees it's a sight better than the frigid rain I left behind in Arkansas.
In about 90 minutes, I'll be heading over to Claremont Theological School for the start of the conference for which I was brought here. And then we'll just go and go and go. Until 9 pm tonight, and then 9 am to 9 pm tomorrow and Saturday.
That doesn't leave much spare time for other work or relaxation, and I guess that's just the way it's going to have to be. At some point I need to watch the second episode of Breaking Bad (which I brought with me on AMC's preview disc). At some point I need to read student work. Heck, at some point I need to actually write the short panel presentation I'm supposed to give tomorrow. But it's hard to tell when that will occur.
And blogging? Probably not in the cards. I'll try to check in daily with a brief update, but whatever substance occasionally leaks into this site probably will be taking a hiatus along with everything else.
Now to get down to business ...
In about 90 minutes, I'll be heading over to Claremont Theological School for the start of the conference for which I was brought here. And then we'll just go and go and go. Until 9 pm tonight, and then 9 am to 9 pm tomorrow and Saturday.
That doesn't leave much spare time for other work or relaxation, and I guess that's just the way it's going to have to be. At some point I need to watch the second episode of Breaking Bad (which I brought with me on AMC's preview disc). At some point I need to read student work. Heck, at some point I need to actually write the short panel presentation I'm supposed to give tomorrow. But it's hard to tell when that will occur.
And blogging? Probably not in the cards. I'll try to check in daily with a brief update, but whatever substance occasionally leaks into this site probably will be taking a hiatus along with everything else.
Now to get down to business ...
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
And the sky is gray
Yesterday it was 80 degrees. This afternoon sleet was bouncing off my car. A bout of wintry weather -- including frozen precipitation -- is coming through Arkansas today and tonight, but temperatures are supposed to stay above freezing. It's doubtful that my drive to the airport tomorrow morning will be affected.
For yes, I am off once again, this time to California, which I may reasonably expect to be sunnier than the currently soggy state of my burg. (Speaking of which: It was strangely exciting to see a few quick scenes from Conway on last night's American Idol, in the package for Kris Allen who is a student at my university. You know, for Arkansas we're a pretty major town, but boy did the place ever look dinky on TV.)
This will be the second time in less than a week that I'm on the 9:35 am LIT to DFW flight. But this time I won't be staying (sorry, Texas!). Instead I'll hop a flight for the Ontario, California airportnorth east of LA, a place I've been a couple of times in the last few years. I'm bound for the Rekindling Theological Reflection kickoff summit at Claremont School of Theology. This is one of a series of events launching a program funded by the Ford Foundation to rethink theological education. It's quite an honor to be invited, and I'm sure I'll learn much more than I'll contribute.
Our schedule has us booked from 9 am to 9 pm both Friday and Saturday, with an opening reception Thursday night. Not much time to relax and enjoy the California stars, much less see family and friends who happen to be in the area. But I'm looking forward to catching up on some work, blogging the second episode of Breaking Bad, reading, and knitting -- at least during my two days of travel. I anticipate a more solitary, less social trip; there are a few friends and acquaintances among the participants, but nothing like the folks I know and see yearly in Dallas. But solitude can be nourishing. We'll see what comes of it.
For yes, I am off once again, this time to California, which I may reasonably expect to be sunnier than the currently soggy state of my burg. (Speaking of which: It was strangely exciting to see a few quick scenes from Conway on last night's American Idol, in the package for Kris Allen who is a student at my university. You know, for Arkansas we're a pretty major town, but boy did the place ever look dinky on TV.)
This will be the second time in less than a week that I'm on the 9:35 am LIT to DFW flight. But this time I won't be staying (sorry, Texas!). Instead I'll hop a flight for the Ontario, California airport
Our schedule has us booked from 9 am to 9 pm both Friday and Saturday, with an opening reception Thursday night. Not much time to relax and enjoy the California stars, much less see family and friends who happen to be in the area. But I'm looking forward to catching up on some work, blogging the second episode of Breaking Bad, reading, and knitting -- at least during my two days of travel. I anticipate a more solitary, less social trip; there are a few friends and acquaintances among the participants, but nothing like the folks I know and see yearly in Dallas. But solitude can be nourishing. We'll see what comes of it.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, February 20, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
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.
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.
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