Boundaries, Elves and Writing

Today a colleague of mine shared with me that he had seen a medieval Christian incantation to ward off elves. Besides the fact that I didn't realize that elves were something that someone would want or need to ward off (aren't they benevolent and beautiful?), I'm still tickled when I run across something that patently challenges our notions about what is "Christian" or "Pagan." The ways that individuals and communities blend, bend and borrow seemingly disparate and immutable categories, beliefs and practices is simply fascinating to me. Maybe this is one of the reasons I enjoy studying religion. I find the mixing of kinds and the breaking of boundaries enjoyable in my scholarship as well.

While I was trained as a New Testament scholar, which is a field known for its sometimes strict boundaries, I entered the field (my doctoral studies) with a pretty broad range of interests. Unlike some of my colleagues, I didn't follow a neat trajectory from college to grad work in NT. After dong an undergraduate degree in philosophy (even though what I really wanted to study was art) and spending some time working for an urban community organizing, faith-based non profit, I graduated with little sense of a specific career path. Yet, a love of literature and existential philosophy pushed me to think about grad schools. When I applied to masters degree programs, however, I applied to a variety of programs ranging from philosophy programs to masters in divinity. I went where the money was (i.e. a full ride fellowship)--divinity school. Even there I didn't entirely focus on NT or biblical texts, even though a NT professor I had the first semester began serving as an unofficial mentor. I continued my affair with the melancholy Dane, worked on my art, did some congregational analysis, along with studying Greek and Hebrew. As I thought about Ph. D. programs, I decided to do NT since I thought it would tether me to a single era/ set of literature from which I could then explore a variety of questions, methods, interpretations, ideas, images, etc, etc.

But, as is typically the case, grad school meant focus, even though I was also encouraged by some of my mentors to push on the boundaries of the field. (At least to some extent.) I embraced conceptual metaphor theory and cognitive linguistics as methodological tools and I sought to engage not only ancient, but also medieval and modern feminist interpretations of the text in my work. Still, for the sake "finishing" my dissertation I ended up with a fairly traditional piece of work. Since then my scholarship largely has been confined to more traditional NT work. It's been focused on the ancient world and employs the theoretical primarily as a tool for explicating the text. It's fine, but not the creative blend of interests that followed me into graduate school.

More recently, however, I've been trying to recapture the fun that I had when I first entered academia. I used to enjoy odd pairings, crossing disciplinary boundaries, employing the theoretical as I engaged the concrete. I want to recapture those impulses--as long as my fears don't get the best of me. I've written one essay that should come out shortly that really does push these sorts of boundaries, as I engage Revelation's image of the Whore, ancient and modern understandings of prostitution and queer theory. And now I'm working on the book that I wanted my dissertation to be, which is an exploration of how real readers have envisioned Revelation's city-bride imagery, the image of the New Jerusalem. This requires, obviously, engaging the works of interpreters who are not necessarily within my field of expertise (NT). In fact, I'm engaging the writings of two medieval women and the multi-media works of two modern women. This definitely requires me to do a lot of work in areas that push the boundaries of my knowledge, but it is, quite simply, fun and invigorating work. Still, there are times when I worry that I'm pushing too far. How will my colleagues in other disciplines feel? Am I stepping on any toes? Will anyone understand what I'm trying to do? I try to approach my work with humility. I realize that I'm not a medieval historian, art historian, church historian, theorist on modern American hermeneutics, etc, etc, etc. I'm not and I'm not trying to be. Still, I would like to be in conversations with other disciplines and scholars. I think these conversations can help me be a better New Testament scholar, a better reader of texts. Engaging a variety of conversations and media can, hopefully, make me a better interpreter of the subtle ways that texts challenge and inspire. So, as I move forward with my work, I resolve to embrace the challenge of working across disciplines, the possibility of engaging multiple intellectual senses. I want to be a little like the elvish incantation--breaking boundaries and challenging people's perceptions. I'll try not to worry too much . . .

Writing Project Runway

Last night I was sad to see Mondo not win Project Runway. Earlier in the season I had actually liked some of Gretchen's designs and I always pull for folks from Portland, OR, but Mondo one me over with his personal quirkiness, his feelings of insecurity and, well, his designs. (Besides Gretchen, as she was portrayed, seemed so pretentious.)

As I was watching the season finale and not working on one of my various writing projects, I couldn't help but think about the similarities between the writing process and Project Runway. The different challenges parallel the different types of writing projects we do: We have the "team challenge," which involves working with collaborators and all that entails; the "making a couture gown out of garbage challenge," which might parallel revising a chapter from the dissertation into an article; we have the "design a cocktail dress for a regular gal" challenge, which might be like writing a piece for a popular audience or an audience outside of your field; there is always "design a garment for a celebrity," which reminds me of writing a piece for that eminent scholar or journal . . . even when the project might be a bit out of your league at the moment. Rarely, do the contestants get to design something completely on their own terms. The closest they probably come is at the end, when they design their own line . . . but even then there are expectations set by others. Likewise, those of us at the beginning of our careers often have projects that respond to the needs and conform to the rules of others. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, of course. At least for me, it's how it has been.

Watching the show, I also thought about how the contestants evolve and grow over the show. It takes them time to get used to working under pressure and in their new surroundings--"the workroom." Similarly, I guess I should have anticipated that moving from grad school into a full time job might also take some adjustment, but I'm not sure if really could have anticipated how much time it has taken to start getting used to "the challenges." In other words, some of my early writing pieces or projects have been hits and some have probably been misses, although I can definitely see my work evolve. Also, I can also tell that I'm starting to develop a style. Not only do my writing projects revolve around similar themes and questions (kind of like designing for a particular "type" of client), but I'm getting a sense of my voice . . . the colors and patterns that I'm most comfortable working with. In fact, putting together my tenure file last fall helped me see some of this progress and development--a good thing to see within the midst of the tenure process. (Thankfully, it was a successful process.)

Returning to Gretchen's win and Mondo's "not-win" (I can't call it a loss), I was struck by the fact that even though Mondo didn't come out on top the judges were still confident about him being a successful designer. The same with Andy and even Michael C. Wow. What a novel concept, winning isn't everything. Hopefully, I can translate that into my writing/ academic life!

Lessons from the Midpoint

So, I'm just over half way through the sabbatical. Here are some of the things I've learned so far about sabbatical, my work and Satan.

1. Change can be difficult. Even if the change is positive in nature, like having time to work and reflect, adjusting to different work patterns, different work expectations, different surroundings, etc. can be unsettling. When things change, I need to allow myself some time to adjust or even some time to flail about resisting the change before I can move forward.

2. Personally, I am happiest with my work if I have more than one project going at a time. If I get frustrated with one project or am simply tired with reading one set of materials, it's nice to be able to change pace without having to stop work all together. That's where Satan comes in: Picking up a project on Satan (an annotated online bibliography) this month has allowed me to have something to focus upon besides Revelation's bridal imagery. Thank God, or Satan, or whoever (esp. the person who recommended me to the OUP editor) . . . because I needed a diversion.

3. Sometimes we just need to give ourselves a break, literally and figuratively. Literally, sometimes we just need a little time to relax and to let work sit for awhile. If we focus on anything too long, we have a distorted perspective on it. I had a colleague a number of years ago who used to take a mental health day once a semester. She could tell when she was pushing herself too hard and so, before she started biting heads off students and pushing colleagues out of windows, she took a day off of work just to catch up on stuff she needed to do and to relax. She was really one of the most well adjusted people I've met. Figuratively, we need to quit being so hard on ourselves. OK, I need to quit being so hard on myself. I need to give myself a break from the constant criticism and unattainable expectations. I'm not perfect and I never will be and it's not really fair that I demand that of myself at work, at home, with my friends, with my family, etc. No one else is perfect, even if they may have perfected the art of performing perfection.

4. I have some good ideas and I know some things about the Book of Revelation.

5. Writing can be hard work. Of course I knew this before sabbatical, but I'm being reminded again. I told a friend yesterday that writing, at times, is like pulling bags of wet laundry out of my brain. It takes effort and some persistence.

6. I'm who I need to be right now. The things I'm experiencing today, whether I'm struggling with feelings of inadequacy or happy about a line or two that I've written, are part of my lesson for the moment. Yes, I know that sounds like something out of a Hazelden self-help book, but . . . oh well. "It is what it is," as the chef-testants on Top Chef often say.

Personal Apocalypse: On Sabbatical

The school year is starting, but I'm not. I'm on sabbatical. Sigh.

As I hear my friends talk about their first days back--the carefully selected teaching outfits (tie or no tie? sexy heels or "I mean business" boots?), the last minute syllabus preparation, the pre-year meetings that delay the actual beginning--I feel a sense of sadness. I miss the adrenaline rush of that first day. I miss the first day discussion about how my Intro to New Testament class is NOT a Sunday School class. I miss the students who I've taught before expressing their enthusiasm about being in my class again. I miss getting my students (and myself) excited about the material I teach--it's inherent interest and significance. Instead, I'm feeling detached and depressed.

Don't get me wrong, I am (or have been) excited about sabbatical. In fact, all spring and summer I reveled in the idea of having a chance to do writing. However, the reality of a wide swath of time to myself--to be with myself, to be with my "work," is now daunting. I'm realizing, on one hand, that I like my teacher self. I'm comfortable with her and her abilities. (Of course, at the beginning of next semester, as I re-enter the classroom, I'll have to be reminded of that.) Not going into the classroom this fall reminds me that I like being in there. On the other hand, as I face an ongoing writing project and a couple of papers, I'm realizing that I'm not as sure of the scholar/ writer self. I did not expect that the so-called imposter syndrome would hit me like a ton of bricks.

Armed with the luxury of time to look at my past work, the few publications I've done, all I can see are the mistakes, the inconsistencies, the short-comings. Sitting in my re-done home office, I'm compelled to reach out to people for reassurance: "Other people make mistakes, right?" I offer myself advice on how I should have done things: "When that esteemed individual asked you to contribute an essay the first semester of your first year teaching, you should have held off until you had time to really work out the details." Instead of telling the Lynn of 20/20 hindsight to shut the hell up, I allow her the last say. Ouch.

So why share all this? It's so revealing (hence, labeling it "apocalypse"). Well, I think that revelation can lead to gaining some kind of perspective on the issue. By looking at what I am doing, thinking, saying, I see that while there are parts of me in my academic work, my writing, my work is not me. I am more than the book, the essay, the review. My sense of sadness about the semester, for instance, reminds me that I am also a teacher and a colleague. Looking at my work, I see that I am also more than what any critic or academic conversation partner, negative OR positive, says or thinks about me. (Not that this reflection was occasioned by some external criticism--it wasn't.) Luke Johnson, who was an important mentor to me in grad school, once told me that I shouldn't dwell on what others think, regardless of whether their feedback was positive or negative, since it was putting my self worth in the hands of others. I think he was right. Of course I knew all of this before sabbatical, but now I need to learn to believe it and to find strategies for living it. I need to find ways of being comfortable with putting my ideas out into the world without the paralysis that comes with perfectionism, without worrying about what others think. I need to find ways of being comfortable with my role as scholar, as someone who lends her voice to intellectual investigations and inquiries. If you have any great strategies, feel free to share of course.

I'm also sharing this because of the hype around sabbatical. It is a great thing, mind you; however, as any other stage of the profession, it has its difficulties and times for growth. I hate growth, because, damn, it hurts some times.

Now, on to sabbatical . . .

exploring the apocalypse one puppy at a time

I enjoy reading blogs. I think they are an interesting way for both author and audience to think about different ideas. I've never kept a personal blog myself, although I've used blogs for teaching. I was afraid a personal blog might make me appear self-absorbed. However, I never think others who have blogs are self-absorbed. It makes me think that my assumption that others would interpret a blog as self-absorbed is actually a self-important assumption. Oh my. So, here I am starting my own blog. And, yes, I am probably self-absorbed. So what?

I hope this will be a place for me to record and possibly share my thoughts on teaching, writing, researching and working within the field of biblical studies. I approach these activities from the perspective of a newly tenured, feminist professor at a mid-size university that values both teaching and scholarship. (Of course, I should include the caveat that nothing I say reflects the opinions of my university: My ideas, in theory, are my own.)

My academic interests are anchored by the Book of Revelation, a book with which I have a long and somewhat ambivalent relationship. (More on that later, I'm sure.) I am especially interested in the ways that Revelation's imagery captures the imaginations of audiences across time and my current research/ writing project examines how certain late-medieval and modern visionary women appropriate the text's bridal imagery. I also have done work on the ways that Revelation participates with Roman social discourse about family, sexuality and gender and I'd love to work this into a book length project. However, I have to remember, "One major project at a time."

My teaching is much more broad than my research. I teach introductory courses on religious studies and the New Testament, both of which I truly enjoy. I love introducing students to the critical study of religion and religious texts. I also have the opportunity to teach a number of more specialized courses, including courses on ancient apocalyptic literature and its interpretations, ancient messianic/ martyr traditions, gender and sexuality in the New Testament and early Christianity, contemporary biblical hermeneutics (e.g. feminist and queer criticism, postcolonial interpretation) and the like. I also regularly co-teach a course in Italy on the ways that Italy's ancient traditions (including religious and artistic traditions) continue to shape the present. I've had the opportunity to write quite a bit about teaching and enjoy thinking about pedagogy. I'm especially interested in using images to engage students in critical thinking about biblical texts and ancient traditions.

I know none of this relates directly to puppies, but I can't imagine not referencing dogs. I'm sure I'll find some way of tying them into the conversation--I'm good at that.