I've been meaning to throw something up here recently, just for the discipline of keeping the blog alive. This morning seems as good a time as any to vent my spleen.
Things are ticking over nicely here. There's not much to report in terms of activity. We've started pumpkin season, which is something new for the guys here. I think that they prefer watermelons, but they wouldn't have said that a few weeks ago.
I feel like one of the things that I need to be aware of and fight is stagnation. I'm talking spiritually, of course. Once you get over the excitement and stress and change, it's so very easy to settle into routine and habit and begin to get by on autopilot. I need to make sure that I'm challenging myself to keeping growing. I'm still thinking about what that might look like.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Men's Convention
It's Sunday afternoon and I'm sitting here in my study writing this blog to the backdrop of another torrential rain shower. It seems like we've had a considerable amount of rain this summer, which the farmers appreciate but would prefer in the winter. I've had to move stuff around in my office to prevent losing things to water damage like I did a few weeks ago.
On Friday evening a few of us took the male students to Katoomba to attend the annual men's convention that runs there. It was a good weekend, though - as usual for me - not without its share of angst, frustration and challenges.
On the way down, a few of us were talking about what constituted acceptable humour (oh yes, we live life in the fast lane down here) and a fellow staff member, Phil, shared some thoughts from The Screwtape Letters. He was talking about how Lewis (in the persona of the demonic author of the letters) categorises humour according to how easily it can be used for evil purposes. The worst type, according to what Phil was saying, is the cynicism that turns everything into a joke; the humour that prevents people from sharing anything honest about themself for fear of ridicule and turns a cowardly act into a heroic one by making a joke of it. It was interesting to think about, as I can so easily use humour in such a destructive way.
At the convention they have a Q&A session. As it was a men's convention, there was talk of relationships with the family, women and sex. Many of the questions asked reflected the topics that we had been thinking about. One of the original panel members had to drop out due to ill health, so he was replaced at short notice by the MC of the weekend. Jokes were made about his understandable reluctance to sit in the hot seat at such short notice, and how the hard questions would be given to him. Sure enough, a tricky question came up; a question about a difficult situation concerning sexual relations with a wife. It touched on a variety of challenging and raw issues. Sure enough, the question was handed to the reluctant stand-in, to the greatest amusement of us in the crowd. It got one of the biggest laughs of the weekend.
A part of me died inside. This wasn't a hypothetical situation, this was real-life. Reading between the lines (which wasn't hard to do) this seemed to be a heart-breaking situation for the people involved and we turned it into a joke. I don't doubt that prayer had been said and tears shed in that relationship. If ever there was a cynical, twisted use of humour that illustrated Lewis' point exactly, that was it.
I don't even remember the answer given to the question. What is even the point of men's conventions if we can't bear the burdens of our weakest brothers and weep with them?
On Friday evening a few of us took the male students to Katoomba to attend the annual men's convention that runs there. It was a good weekend, though - as usual for me - not without its share of angst, frustration and challenges.
On the way down, a few of us were talking about what constituted acceptable humour (oh yes, we live life in the fast lane down here) and a fellow staff member, Phil, shared some thoughts from The Screwtape Letters. He was talking about how Lewis (in the persona of the demonic author of the letters) categorises humour according to how easily it can be used for evil purposes. The worst type, according to what Phil was saying, is the cynicism that turns everything into a joke; the humour that prevents people from sharing anything honest about themself for fear of ridicule and turns a cowardly act into a heroic one by making a joke of it. It was interesting to think about, as I can so easily use humour in such a destructive way.
At the convention they have a Q&A session. As it was a men's convention, there was talk of relationships with the family, women and sex. Many of the questions asked reflected the topics that we had been thinking about. One of the original panel members had to drop out due to ill health, so he was replaced at short notice by the MC of the weekend. Jokes were made about his understandable reluctance to sit in the hot seat at such short notice, and how the hard questions would be given to him. Sure enough, a tricky question came up; a question about a difficult situation concerning sexual relations with a wife. It touched on a variety of challenging and raw issues. Sure enough, the question was handed to the reluctant stand-in, to the greatest amusement of us in the crowd. It got one of the biggest laughs of the weekend.
A part of me died inside. This wasn't a hypothetical situation, this was real-life. Reading between the lines (which wasn't hard to do) this seemed to be a heart-breaking situation for the people involved and we turned it into a joke. I don't doubt that prayer had been said and tears shed in that relationship. If ever there was a cynical, twisted use of humour that illustrated Lewis' point exactly, that was it.
I don't even remember the answer given to the question. What is even the point of men's conventions if we can't bear the burdens of our weakest brothers and weep with them?
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