The first moments of any new experience are always accompanied by a certain measure of awkwardness: this first blog has all the hesitation of a first date, all the insecurity of a first day at work, all the promise of a new home. I'm a novice blogger, I will admit, but I'm terribly excited about this new space (more to come later on the mental gymnastics that have enabled my generation to conceive of mass-less bursts of electricity that drift between computers as "cyberspace"). I don't quite know what to tell you to expect from it--I hope to include interesting anecdotes from my life (after all, the blog is replacing my weekly update email), reflections on passages from the Bible, and thoughts on literature, philosophy, history, aesthetics, politics, and anything else that catches my attention. Some (if not most) posts will bore all but a few; I hope that a good many will seize on something within you.
I sense that I should begin this journey with a somewhat tasteless (at least, unfashionable) move--by explaining why I'm bothering with a blog at all. I say unfashionable only because I have a general sense writers and artists no longer explain their actions in terms of definite motives or established purposes. I rarely act on a whim: whether that puts me on a rock in the stream, or at the crest of the wave, I leave for you to decide. IfJesus could tell a parable to explain the reason for his parables (Matt. 13, "the sower"), and if Socrates could give his Apology, then I can spend a few bytes on my own purposes.
The most superficial reason for writing, I stated above--to enlighten the interested few as to my comings and goings. However, I have deeper reasons, which bear mentioning only so that you (the reader) will know what you're getting into. Very often, vanity is why I write (I am indebted for this insight to George Orwell's clever essay, "Why I Write"). Writing involves the public mastery of difficult ideas and unruly language--in terms of showiness, this blog is little different than a juggler's act.
Even when vanity has lain down to rest, another motive squeezes words out of my thoughts onto paper (or 0's and 1's): the itch. Plato would have called it eros, the longing for completion, for fulfillment. I am ceaselessly questioning things around me, sounding the depths of every thought, making connections among seemingly unrelated ideas--I could as well decide not to breathe as keep all of that bottled within me. For those of you who surf, it's that urgent whisper to go faster, to drop in deeper, to take the biggest wave of the set.
Well, as always, this has gone on longer than I expected (take that as a given for every post, I guess). I'll close with a couple interesting stories from the last couple weeks.
The missional community (I shamelessly steal, and misapply, the clever names that Jon and Co. think up for Origins elements) that we are forming has begun to come together. We are a ragtag bunch: many of us were strangers a couple weeks ago, and many more have spent eight months scattered across the country. It will be wonderful to grow in intimacy, as we seek to cultivate the values of truly authentic community in our midst (more on how that looks, and why we should bother, later).
Work is going well--I haven't made it to a roof, yet, but I had a good time last week hanging out with McKee's resident handyman, George, helping him to remodel the Von Herbulis' (who own the company, and are some of my oldest friends) beach house. By the end of the week, I felt like Maverick's butler--I knew something was seriously wrong when George asked me to put their garbage out by the side of the road. I enjoyed painting and pressure washing, but I'll be thankful not to mix business and pleasure this week.
That should do for now--look out tomorrow for (I think) a discussion of Leviticus. Cultic laws, covenant, and narrative theology--it doesn't get any better.
Christ is risen!
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