As you know, Gentle Reader, the reverendhousehold is in discernment mode. We’re pretty relaxed about it—no deadline, no urgency. However, it’s amazing how things can start happening just by setting an intent. I’ve read, heard and seen stuff over the last few days that has really struck me as interesting, significant, amusing, etc., in light of the “what’s next” question we’re wrestling with. There’s nothing magical about this—it’s like when you learn a new word, and then you start to see it everywhere. That’s why setting intent seems to be a good first step in these things, whether you’re down with God or not.

No conclusions here, just tidbits, clippings in the mental scrapbook.

Somewhere I ran across a blog of a professor who talked about the perception of academic writing being fun—a perception he (or she? I have no idea who this was now) rejected. That gives me an inner “bleah,” because I can see how that might be true. I remember now how sick I got of writing papers in undergrad and seminary. Do I want to write to make a living? Do I want that pressure? I just like writing stuff. See Anne Morrow Lindbergh quote at the top of this page.

I’ve had a ball reading and commenting on the blog of a woman who’s currently in seminary—she’s raising great theological questions. I know those types of discussions feel like a total waste of time to some people, like navel-gazing. I find them fascinating and vital. Of course the discussion’s gotta be connected to real life, but I love talking theology. Gives me energy.

There was a great column in the Washington Post this weekend: “We’re Only Human: And None of Us Are Made to Run Like Machines”. Recommended. It’s all about our tendency to be slaves to our technology—to feel like we have to be ever more productive, get by with less sleep, poor nutrition, less connected to loved ones. Nothing new, just well articulated. And I crave another rhythm to living. One of the pastors on the panel I was on two weeks ago (a pastor of a small rural church in Minnesota) said his goal in life is to do as little as possible. I could tell, he’s a contemplative, not a slacker. And the irony is that his life is quite fruitful for all its inactivity.

I am totally captivated by Poppa Neutrino, the 74-year old wanderer who’s building a raft to cross the Pacific Ocean, Thor Heyerdahl-style. He did the North Atlantic some years ago. I read a long New Yorker article about him last week. (Read this interview with the author of the article if you don’t know who I’m talking about.)

Poppa’s the big clipping this week. Big, both in terms of how much he’s on my mind (I even had a dream about his upcoming journey), and big as in big, giant puzzle, an unexpected visitor—like, what is this about? I get this strange feeling that Poppa’s hanging around to teach me something. On the one hand, here is this guy who lives so differently from me that I’m just boggled and perplexed at the variety of human experiences out there. We are of the same species! But so unlike one another. On the other hand, he takes incredible risks in a very calculated, thoughtful way. You should see the raft he’s building; it’s not some Huck Finn thing. And the author of the article talks about this guy’s amazing presence: “Neutrino is an extraordinarily vital man. At times, the force of life running through him is so powerful that being with him is thrilling.” Now, I think this is something you’re just born with, or not. But a zest for life can also be cultivated to some extent. Maybe that’s the appeal. Insert some platitude about living out loud, or dancing like nobody’s watching, blah blah blah.

Like I said, no conclusions. No burning bush. Doesn't work that way in my experience. But man is the journey fun!

There were other little things this week, but I’ll stop there. I’ll probably be pretty scarce this holiday weekend. Feel free to stop by and post any clippings of your own. And be safe and have fun, wherever your little raft takes you this weekend.