Practice Resurrection

A few weeks ago, Lauren blogged on how theologians tend to have mission statements or stories that define their theology. Indeed, these mission statements define the way in which we participate in the world. Sometimes we choose these statements or stories. More often, I've found, these statements choose us.

I have a few, some from scripture (John 21:7), but I find that I am more frequently influenced by the work of poets I admire. Mary Oliver's first line to Thirst is often on my lips when I wake in the morning. If I'm in an unusually good mood, it may be the final line to Why I Wake Early.

Practice Resurrection. This is the final exhortation of Wendell Berry in his fine poem Manifesto: The Mad Farmer's Liberation Front. It is also among the lines of poetry that runs through my head most often. It is, one might say, my theological, personal, and poetic manifesto. During the last weeks, spring has been creeping into central Minnesota, and I have been preparing with increasing anxiety for my comprehensive exams. I'm proud to say that I passed both the written and oral exams last week with honors.

This has been one of the most emotionally intense periods of my life. This spring I was rejected from Ph.D. programs, read twenty-six systematic theology and scripture books, took a mind-bending written exam, and theologized off-the-cuff with the three of the smartest men I have met in my life for an hour.

Out of necessity, I spent many hours locked in my study carrel in Alcuin library. I also neglected many of the things I love to do (cooking, eating, spending time with roommates, reading fiction, doodling, visiting friends in Minneapolis, and heading to art museums.) While I am pleased with the outcome of those many hours in the library, I do not think it is an exaggeration to say that I boxed up some parts of my life and put them on the shelf. Last Thursday, I took that box down, dusted it off, and took a look at what was inside.

I went to the Minneapolis Institute of Art with my Western Christian Art class. We were supposed to be off looking at sacred art, but truth be told, I spent most of my time looking at the Chihuly chandelier they had hanging in the atrium. I love Chihuly's glasswork, and this one was magnificent. It reminded me of all of the interests that have been in that box on the shelf for the past four months. The chance to again read novels, see friends, spend half an hour examining a sculpture without worrying that I should be studying was such a gift. Moreso it was a reminder of the line from the Wendell Berry poem--an opportunity to practice a small resurrection in my own life.