Student Blogs

This morning I sat in my New Testament Canonization class and, aside from freaking out about my presentation, felt a pang of sadness as my time at TWU as an undergraduate comes to a close. I simply cannot believe that four years have gone by. It has been four years of TWU's people pouring into me and me pouring myself into TWU.

 A week later...

 I just had my last undergraduate class. My classes definitely petered out at the end, instead of finishing with a "bang". Am I not supposed to feel inspired to go change the world? Commissioned to spread the gospel news? Equipped with four years of knowledge? Renewed by the transforming of my mind? At the very least, am I not supposed to feel a sense of accomplishment or achievement? A sense of closure? Maybe those things will come after the commencement ceremony, or maybe they will not come at all.

Lent is the most ambivalent part of the liturgical calendar. Each year I give up things to bring me closer to God, which is good, and each time I end the lent season I am usually more eager to resume whatever I gave up than I was to give it up. Nevertheless, lent is valuable, just as making one’s bed is, because it teaches us to do things (even perfunctory ones) for their own sake rather than our own. Last year I gave up listening to personal music. For over a month I read, wrote and prayed in silence. Well, that was the hope; living in dorms precludes any chance of silence. It was a valuable thing to do though, as it helped me see (as I had suspected) that I, as well as many others, are afraid of silence. Perhaps it’s because I’m anxious of what the quiet whispering voice of God will say or that in the silence I see myself, uncoloured and unobstructed. The voices that are heard in the silence speak more poignantly than the din which so often drowns them out.

This year I decided to divest myself of two personal pleasures: alcohol and my pipe (an honourable habit I picked up in Oxford). I try to treat these as I would anything else: with sensibility and propriety. It’s not unusual to hear me quoting Pascal on the subject, “Too much wine, too little wine: too much and you can’t find truth, too little the same thing.” Having said that, I fault no one who abstains, but I respectfully abstain from abstaining. When it comes to alcohol, I am concerned with quality as well as virtuous consumption. What I avoid is drunkenness and dependency. Case in point: champagne accompanies special occasions well, but it would not be well to have to have it in order for an occasion to be special. So I gave up all alcohol and my pipe (which I use once a week and no more), and have decided to do so every lent for the rest of my life. It’s been great. Things retain their value when they aren’t over indulged in. I also hoped my wallet would retain more of its money as a result, but it seems that like always, one habit replaces another: books instead of beer. Every dollar saved from not buying pints has equated in another penguin classic bought. In my freshman year I recall spending so much on books that when I ran out of money on my food card, with two weeks still left in the term, I had to forgo a number of meals because I had already spent what capital I had on good books. I would sit in my room, next to my overflowing book shelf, thinking that though I had plenty of food for thought, I had little food to eat.

On things other than lent, this semester I have been spending my Sunday evenings at the local senior citizen’s home, and to great surprise, have had a lot of fun doing it. Like lent though, I have ambivalent feelings regarding it. Sometimes I leave in a fit of laughter because old people can be a riot. Just last week I heard an elderly women (emphasis on elderly) elaborate on the merits of her lover and another woman whose moustache bettered half the guys growing theirs at TWU under the aegis of ‘moustache march’. During the prior week, in response to a variety of questions such as ‘what’s your favourite food, holiday destination, memory and occupation?’ a seasoned old dame memorably responded ‘my dog in Manitoba’ to all the above. There are other times however when I depart on a more pensive note. Their age reminds me that everything which blooms will one day wilt. I am not worried about growing old, nor I am concerned about dying young (and probably not as concerned about either as much as I should be), instead I am wary of doing very little with very much. Just as no man is to be an island unto himself, so nothing I have is to remain my own. Though tempests may disorient, it is on tranquil seas that one goes no where, and so I feel it necessary to keep a purpose ever before me. I have no desire for an idle life. Rest is important, and can be moral, but idleness is immoral. When I see the elderly, I am not afraid of how little time is left, for as Seneca points out, “It is not that we have a short time to live, but that we waste a lot of it.” I simply think and pray that I will use it well. It also prompts me to acknowledge that each day could not only be my last, but is also an extravagant gift from God. Saint Francis of Assisi gets it right when he wrote that, “this is the day which the Lord has made; let is exult and rejoice in it!” As each new day’s sun rises so the risen Son grants us the gift of making good our life and death. Rather than existential dread there is extravagant joy. That’s at least how St. Francis saw it, that’s how I would like to see it, that isn’t how I see it 8am every Friday morning waking up for class. I’m still young enough that anything before 930 am gives me at least a modicum of existential dread.

Till next time,

Pax

After this I promise not to write anymore about my time in England. As far as being back at Trinity Western in concerned, I am loving it. And I intend to elaborate on that another time, but for now, please indulge me these final thoughts on Oxford.

About seven weeks have come and gone since I arrived back in Canada. It’s novel to think that mere weeks ago I was hopping from Oxford to Venice, Venice to Florence and then finishing in Rome. Novel in that now that I am back at TWU it is easy to forget that I ever left it.

It’s true that I talk of my travels, I have many pictures to show and have brought some new habits back, but to remember it, to savour with my mind what I once did with my senses, that is hard. On my way back from England I read Earnest Hemingway’s memoirs of his time in Paris after the First World War. He said of the city, that it was for anyone who had lived there, “a movable feast.” Every day since my departure I have picnicked on the memory of my term in Oxford. It has become for me what Paris was for Hemingway. Its cobbled streets, dreaming spires, dusty books and charming pubs have all endeared themselves to me; they shall forever go with me in the locker of my mind.

The city’s footing in my memory is such that at any time I can snack upon it, glean some succour or fondly admire some quality, but its footing is also such that these meals are always fleeting, forever transitory. It’s a feast that can only tantalize, never satisfy. To gorge on the feast of memory is to waste away. I may claim each moment as my own when it is present, but I may not do so with what is past; I cannot marshal memories like Shakespeare could words or Napoleon could men. Memories are much akin to shadows, though they may follow us, they are not us.

Any lingering felicity to be had, as garnered through memory, is gratuitous; I cannot claim it by right. Twenty years of my life have come and gone, and how odd a thing it is to be separated from years of your self; how natural it is too. An allegorical example would be the experience I had last weekend when a friend took me up in his helicopter. He flew us to the lakes and mountains north of Chilliwack, revealing a world that was simultaneously home and hostile. I saw the tops of mountains as birds do, but I am no bird. I hovered over peaks and precipices as clouds do in the sky, but I am no cloud. All the time I felt the visitor, that I was allowed to see but not to stay. So too with memory: by it I see what was once present now as past, in such a fashion as was incapable before, but one must avoid becoming reclusive. I shall keep me helicopter memories for a long time, hopefully gain profitable moral lessons from it, but I could not live suspended in the sky anymore than I can live in the caverns of my mind – in memory.

Pax

Tom

I have a lot of free time.

I’m not complaining, but it means I have to find ways to occupy my spare hours. Lately, I have been watching and reading all the year-end reviews. It seems like every themed TV channel and/or website is offering a retrospective on 2009.[1] And every magazine cover is oriented towards reflecting on the past 12 months.[2] While we reflect on 2009 and look forward to 2010, we are considering the very best of the year.[3] This annual reflection is heightened with the first decade of a new millennia coming to a close. Regardless of the medium, there is an emphasis on the great things within a 365-day span. A quick sampling of current headlines and magazine covers is revealing. As I survey the media landscape, I cannot help but reflect on those around me. I am amazed by their accomplishments. How did they do it?

How can a missionary kid from Florida become a three-time Heisman finalist?[4]

How does an inner city kid graduate with distinction from Harvard?

How does a college dropout become the wealthiest man in the world?

But there is another side to the closing days of 2009. It provides us with an opportunity to anticipate the months ahead. My questioning of the grand achievements of others quickly translates into more personal queries.

How can I, with my mediocre GPA, get into law school?

How can a private liberal arts university thrive amidst rising tuition costs and a floundering global economy?

How can my church be filled to capacity on Sunday mornings?

How can I make a difference?

As I reflect on 2009, I cannot help but anticipate 2010. The past successes of others inspire our future accomplishments. So, without further ado, here are my 2010 New Year’s Resolutions:

Act. Learn. Choose. Love. Unite. Provide. Imagine. Make. Enable. Expect. Accomplish. Believe. Think. Dream. Express. Motivate. Teach. Achieve. Fight. Talk. Manage. Invest. Decide. Change. Hope. Belong. Serve. Commit. Play. Encourage. Uncover. Inspire. Lead. Give. Practice. Doubt. Explain. Participate. Gain. Fix. Confess. Disagree. Receive. Admire. Tell. Stimulate. Interact. Pioneer. Reward. Connect. Thank. Admit. Engage. Follow. Realize. Value. Agree. Partner. Move. Educate. Amuse. Liberate. Rebuild. Inform. Rely. Complete. Plan. Evaluate. Volunteer. Deserve. Answer. Identify. Withstand. Rejoice. Sing. Perfect. Counsel. Involve. Anticipate. Improve. Direct. Link. Pretend. Apologize. Rescue. Mentor. Explore. Rally. Applaud. Determine. Search. Validate. Persuade. Facilitate. Apply. Critique. Question. Happen. Cooperate. Influence. Approve. Reach. Argue. Donate. Relate. Assist. Cherish. Forgive. Promote. Attain. Test. Balance. Offer. Strengthen. Boost. Care. Urge. Graduate. Want. Charge. Include. Refuse. Debate. Earn. Allow. Discover. Abide. Raise. Employ. Tolerate. Prepare. Excite. Find. Further. Go. Build. Help. Increase. Launch. Advise. Champion. Maintain. Bolster. Multiply. Observe. Clarify. Open. Permit. Experiment. Advocate. Communicate. Preach. Cause. Read. Save. Join. Share. Empower. Prove. Define. Create. Escape. Design. Shock. Invite. Focus. Coach. Dare. Accept. Pray. Instruct. Speak. Prevail. Challenge. Examine. Reflect. Ignite. Become. Overcome. Ask. Enjoy. Laugh. Succeed. Write. Live. Do.

An Admittedly Lacking Postscript

If you cannot observe the common theme, it is because of my shortcomings as a writer. It's not you, it's me. So here’s my second try.

The answer to the above questions is relatively simple. In fact, I would even go a step further. The answer to each and every one of these questions is the same.

How can I/you/we achieve greatness? The answer is found in my list of resolutions. Each of these resolutions is united by a common theme, and this theme is the answer to our riddle.

That is because the path to greatness starts with action. It is not the start but to start. It is not a plan but it means to plan. Pick a verb and put it to use. Start with any one of the above, or find your own. If you desire greatness, and you must simply begin.

[1] For example.

[2] For example.

[3] Undoubtedly there is also the worst, but for once in my life I am going to focus exclusively on the positive.

[4] I’m not sure if I am a Tebow fan. I am less certain of his ability at the pro-level. But there is no denying his success thus far.