Blog Blues

I dreamed of virtual symposiums when I first created this blog, not the symposiums of academia but those of ancient Greece. I envisioned a social gathering where virtual speeches would be filled with beauty, comedy and drama building to a joy in conversation and in one another. My dream was too grandiose (a failing that often finds me). In fact, it was impossible.

My early journeys in the blogosphere gave birth to my dream. I discovered many stimulating posts. I joined in comment threads hammering out ideas amongst strangers. I met some magnificent people that I would never have met any other way. All that was needed, I thought, was a little bit of tinkering with what I saw on other blogs and I would have virtual symposiums. I would begin each conversation with a post which would serve as a definition of the topic and as the first speech. The comments would consist of speeches growing out of the post. We would discuss, debate, think, feel and grow as we focused on topics like love, life, faith and meaning. My dream seemed so easy to implement and yet it was impossible.

To begin with I discovered a problem with the wine. Virtual wine can’t measure up to real wine. Those ancient Greeks, the creators of the kind of community for which I longed, knew that wine was a part of the experience. Real wine can make the heart glad and the speeches flow. Virtual wine doesn’t do anything at all. I suppose we could, as an experiment, agree to read a blog with some real wine. We might agree that after reading each comment we would raise a glass and toast the moment. Sadly, it doesn’t take too much reflection to see that this would serve better as a picture of loneliness and despair than of conversation and joy. It’s not the wine itself that makes the difference; it’s the wine in the context of speeches, laughter, passion and simply being with one another.

Worse yet, a comments section is at best a poor conversation. I’ve found some rich comments in my explorations of the blogosphere and some exciting threads. In a real conversation, however, we stand exposed before one another and risk at least our reputation when we speak. On a blog we are hidden from one another and risk little. In being virtual our accountability is diminished. Comments can even go unnoticed or become too numerous to follow.

Blogging also seems to entail a view of time that isn’t compatible with a symposium. A blog lives in a multi tasking environment. Time is measured in CPU cycles which are distributed amongst a host of activities. In a symposium all attention is on the topic, the speeches and being with one another. Time is measured by the conversation.

In a symposium, as I imagine it, a topic is approached in hope and expectation. It is believed that the speeches will lead not only to a better understanding of life but to better lives.  There is the sense that something new and alive is being created out of conversation. On the Internet, more than most places, there’s nothing new under the sun. The significance of the dialog on a single blog is crushed by the vast volume of dialogs and blogs. Why even try to make a point when the odds are that the same point is being expounded with more proficiency on some other blog? Why write at all when we can search and read?

My dream began to fade. I remained active reading and commenting on various blogs, but I became less and less inclined to contribute something to my own. To write anything at all I must believe that I am part of a real community participating in a real conversation. My dream was almost dead until I made a simple decision. I will write and dream on my blog even though I know it’s impossible. I will dream my symposiums into existence so that I can write and discuss with you my dear readers. For better or for worse, more content is on the way. Like Camus’ Sisyphus, I will write to my blog with a smile.

 

A Song for Roger

I love musicals. My collection of DVDs includes a whole shelf of musicals and old monster movies (I’ll have more to say about the monster movies in a future post). I’m embarrassed to admit that I have several DVDs that I’ve only played once. This isn’t the case with my musicals. I watch them over and over.

At times it is fashionable to proclaim that the musical is dead. We are told that musicals are simply a flight from the very harsh realities of life. In real life, people don’t break out into song. Films should tell the truth rather than provide escapist fare.

I recall a Candid Camera episode that took up this theme. The crew set up a coffee shop with singers, dancers and hidden cameras. When an unsuspecting customer placed an order the whole place burst into a song and dance number. The scene gave rise to laughter because normal people don’t really know what to do in a musical. It was very funny. I noticed something else, however. The customers rather enjoyed the experience. In real life we don’t burst into song and dance. Maybe we should!

In high school I was in several school musicals. I was Baby John from West Side Story, an understudy in Oklahoma and The King and I, as well as the mayor of Munchkin city in the county of the Land of Oz. When I watch these musicals I’m flooded with wonderful memories. My passion for musicals, however, isn’t simply nostalgic. Musicals, even some of the silly ones, express what is for me a profound truth. I live in a world full of song. I hear music all around me. When I sing, I join a chorus. Many will say I’m delusional. Perhaps I am. Then again perhaps I hear something they don’t or can’t.

Roger, a friend and brother in the Lord, died last week. Like me, Roger loved musicals. He loved to sing. He would often walk into a room singing or break out into a song suggested by our conversation. Even while approaching death he sang. A few weeks ago at the hospital he sang The Sound of Music with so much joy that a nurse joined in.

Roger, you gave much to me and to everyone that knew you. We will miss you. Your life was full of grace. Concerning music, you were right. The hills really are alive with the sound of music.

 

I John 5:21

The last verse of I John has raised more than a few eyebrows. “Little children, keep yourselves from idols.” (ESV) These words seem abrupt, and don’t seem connected to anything in the immediate context or even connected to any of the teachings of the book as a whole. What does John mean by ‘idols’? Why does he end his book with this warning?

 

A Salute

In August of 2005 I received the terrible news that a young boy, who had been one of my Sunday School students, was killed in a road side bombing in Iraq. As I remembered his joy of life I couldn’t help but weep. I complained to God about what was to me an unthinkable waste. I found no peace in the matter. I had been for the war. I couldn’t even begin to imagine the pain and sorrow that his parents went through.

 

I later found a small bit of solace in a most unexpected place. Last year I read, for the first time, Don Quixote. I had never read it before because I looked at it as a comedy and I have never been all that enthusiastic about comedies. I was in for many surprises. There’s a place in the book where Don Quixote, in one of his lucid moments, gives a discourse on the topic: which is better, the life of a scholar or the life of a soldier? As I read this it became clear that I had a very different standard for evaluating a life than that of Cervantes. Cervantes’ standard was that the better life is the one that gives the most for the community. My standard was that the better life is the one that has the richest experiences. Don Quixote concludes that the life of the soldier is better because the soldier sacrifices the most and without the soldier there could be no scholars. After reading this I will never again think of the life of a soldier as wasted. It’s a precious gift. Even if the gift is wasted by politicians and policies, the life itself still stands as a life well spent.