Welcome, religious solicitors!

I'm regretting a conversation I had last week. I got a knock at the front door, and Zeke started barking. (What a vicious little dog. What does he really think he's gonna do?) I picked him up and opened to the door to find a young Jehovah's Witness looking for someone to talk to.

I have a policy about this. If somebody comes to my door and wants to talk about knowing God, I'm in. The last time it happened, it was an older lady, and a roommate and I (This was a few years ago) invited her in. She opened her Bible to Exodus 3:14 and showed us that God had actually revealed his name to be Jehovah.

Jehovah's Witnesses have a slightly different Bible from the one you might have (unless, of course, you're a Jehovah's Witness). Most biblical translation is done with the intention of faithfully translating the plain meaning of the original Greek, Hebrew, and Aramaic texts. The Jehovah's Witnesses also rely on direct revelation through their prophets, as God tells them how the Bible should really be translated. So theirs reads a little differently sometimes.

I grabbed my own Bible and pointed out the distinction. She really wasn't interested. I shared a theory about the origin of the name Jehovah that I'll share with you as well.

In Hebrew, that text in Exodus 3:14 says God's name is YHWH. We transliterate that as Yahweh sometimes, but that's just a guess at the pronunciation. It's difficult to translate it in English. Most often we translate it as "I Am," but it says more than that. It's "I Am Who I Am," or "I Will Be Who I Will Be." But if you're reading Hebrew, you'll see something funny there. See, the Hebrew language didn't have vowels. But in later years, rabbis added in vowels underneath the text, so you'd know how to pronounce the words. This was an exception.

The true name of God, as revealed in Exodus 3:14 was spoken only once a year, by the High Priest. And there hasn't been one of those for about 2,000 years. So now we really have no idea how to pronounce YHWH. If you look at the word in the ancient Masoretic text, YHWH has the vowels "AOA" below it. That's short for "Adonai," which is what Jews will say instead of uttering God's true name, which they would deem sacrilegious.

Now watch this...

If for whatever reason, no one ever told you that, and you just tried to read the Masoretic text with no knowledge of all that, you might read it as "Yahowah," unless, of course, you were German. So much theological work was done in Germany over the past 1,000 years that German is now a required language for Ph.D. students in theology. You don't really have to know Hebrew or Greek, but you do have to know German (and probably French).

If you're German, and you see before you the word "Yahowah," you're gonna read the Y as a J and the W as a V, cause that's what you do in German. And all of a sudden, bam. There you are with "Jahovah" (or "Jehovah?"). It's just a theory, but do you think that might possibly be where that came from?

Back to my story...

So there I was, with a barking dog in my hands, looking at a young Jehovah's Witness through a screen door, and I just wasn't feeling up to the conversation. I said something like, "I'd be glad to talk to you, but I don't think you're gonna want to talk to me. I've had some training in theology, and usually you guys don't like to hear me out. I appreciate you coming by though."

I was nice, but the kid left. Fine. I've tried to justify it, but really I was just being lazy, as is so often the problem. So let me try and make up for it by saying that if there are any JW's out there reading this blog, or Mormons, or...I don't know...atheists, agnostics, whatever, let me just say I'd be glad to talk. And for everybody else, I hope you at least appreciated the etymology lesson.

-Solid

Waiting, waiting

I realize it's been a while since I've made an update, but there's just been nothing to tell lately. The main thing I'm doing in life right now is waiting for the phone to ring or an e-mail or letter to come through telling me I'm accepted into a Ph.D./Th.D. program. (Incidentally, did you know that Chicago/Turabian style specifies spelling e-mail with a dash? Small price to pay for entry into the ranks of the grammatically elite.)

I'm at the point where every time the phone rings I take a deep breath before looking at the screen and answering. I have the ringer at maximum volume, and I have my email set to make a loud noise whenever something new comes in. Once a day Julie and I go to the mailbox together hoping to see a big manila envelope and dreading a little white one. I could hear something today, or it might not be until mid-March.

Rest assured, friends, that you'll know as soon as I do.

-Solid

Some people have no imagination.

I'm going to see Avatar today for the second time. I'm sure you've heard about these people who are depressed leaving the movie because they can't go live on that planet with the blue guys. I sorta get that. But why Avatar?

My theory is that for many people, this is the first time they've ever felt like they disappeared into a fantasy. I felt like that too, but I feel that way often. I have ever since I was a kid.

When I was young, I wanted to be a superhero when I grew up. I haven't quite gotten over that. I spent an entire summer making superhero costumes out of paper bags. I used one for each foot, cut holes in one to make a shirt, cut holes in another to make pants, and improvised the rest. I had one for every member of the Super Friends.

I know I've been through this before, but I still can't shake the feeling that I'm just one industrial accident away from my dream! Consider this guy....



One day he's just your average teenager with average problems. The next...BLAMMO!




He's the amazing Spiderman! Or what about this joker?




One day he's your average working stiff. The next...BAZOOM!!



He's the incredible Hulk! (Oh, poor me! I'm doomed to walk the Earth with this totally awesome thing inside me!")

I could go on. The Fantastic Four - right place, right time. Captain America? Genetic experiment gone RIGHT. Then there's always the natural route. You know this guy, right?



Batman has no super powers. He has a few high tech gadgets, sure, but mostly he's just got skillz. And sadly, this is probably the route I'm gonna have to go. It's not like you can count on a meteor landing on you, or rogue gamma rays hitting you, or anything like that. I've got a ways to go. But hey, I lost four pounds this week. I'm on my way!

Update

I've been putting this off, cause there's a lot of raw emotion surrounding it right now...

The main thing going on in my life right now is waiting to hear from schools. I've applied to four, and they each have their strong points.

1. Baylor University

Located way out in the middle of nowhere in Waco, TX, Baylor offers a university-based Ph.D. in religion. That's good, because it opens a lot of doors that a seminary degree wouldn't. But what sets this program apart is that it's the only one I know where most of the faculty are Christians with generally conservative, orthodox theology. It would be really nice to not spend the next 5-7 years debating the literal resurrection of Christ. Then again, I'm not afraid of a little debate. If you've been reading this blog for more than a week, you already know that.

2. Boston University

This is the only seminary-based program to which I'm applying, for reasons stated above. It's a Th.D. program, which is the same thing as a Ph.D. except that it's intended to prepare people to do scholarly work that will benefit the Church, as opposed to scholarly work that primarily benefits people that like to read long theoretical papers about the theoretical existence of God. Now you'd think there'd be more demand for the former than the latter. Not so! But I digress.

3. Fordham University

Located right in the heart of The Bronx, Fordham is a Jesuit school that has a professor who has really impressed me. It's a great school too. Please note that I've decided The Bronx should have a capitalized "The." I visited there a few months ago, and what I saw was exactly what you'd expect to see. If I woke up on a street corner there with no memory of the previous day, I think I'd recognize it even if I'd never been there before. Does that make sense? It does to me.

4. Marquette University

Marquette University is NOT located in Marquette, Wisconsin, as one might expect. It's in Milwaukee. Realizing that most people never get a chance to see the great metropolis that is Milwaukee, let me describe it for you. It's cold. Very cold. As I write this post, the temperature in Milwaukee is 19 degrees, and the wind chill is 8. And that's normal. You'd have to go South a little to get to Vancouver. That being said, it's kind of a nice town, as long as you have a parka and a dog sled team. Marquette is another Roman Catholic school, which you'd think would be a turn-off for me. Actually, to me that means their theology can't get too weird because they're under ecclesiastic authority. Marquette would be fun. Like any of these schools, it'd be a wonderful place to study.

So where are we now? We're waiting. Hopefully we'll hear from all of these schools in the next few weeks, or at least by March. We've already sort of heard from one. Last week Baylor sent out interview invitations to twenty candidates from across the country and the world. I didn't get one. That leaves three schools, and to be honest, any one of them would be great. For some reason, I'm feeling Boston right now. But I don't know. Marquette would be great. Fordham would be great.

So if you want to pray for me, pray that God will guide me to the right school, and that God will guide the right school to my application. I'd appreciate it.

Err

I've been taking a little break from blogging, but I've got a few minutes right now, and I thought I'd share a little story from over the Christmas break.

We spent the week before Christmas in Hawaii this year. (I know. Poor me.) The last day of the trip, everyone was going down this huge zip line down the side of a mountain. Fun, huh? But they had a strict weight limit of 250 lbs.

Now....that shouldn't have been a problem, but...well... I'm just about 250 if I skip a couple meals the day before, and hey, I was on vacation. I opted for eating poorly and not doing the zip line. Sad, I know.

All this was fine with Julie, because it gave her the opportunity to do what she really wanted: go to a day spa. An I was fortunate enough to come along. Just consider that a moment. Me at a day spa. You'll be both disappointed and completely unsurprised that I passed on the massage, aroma therapy, the rain shower thingy, the steam rooms (they has several varieties), and the salt water infinity pool. I pretty much just sat in a chair, read my book, and waited for Julie.

I did get up at one point. There was a scale in the locker room, and just for kicks, I wanted to see if that morning I actually was under 250.

I stepped on the scale on looked down to the digital readout.

"Err."

I stepped off and tried again.

"Err."

A third time.

"Err."

Then I just let it sink in. I weigh Err. The scale didn't go high enough to measure my weight. You can imagine how that added to my overwhelming feeling that I didn't belong there. I could tell all the metrosexual men in that locker room were watching me, thinking, "What's he playing at? That scale will never measure his weight!" Guess I need one of those scales that trucks drive over, huh?

So a week ago I started a diet. A real one. A serious one. As it turns out, my weight is getting to be a real health issue. I've had high blood pressure during my last three doctor's visits, and I have high levels of some such thing in my liver.

Over the past few weeks, that Err has really sunk in. I'm marking it at my "before" weight. So far, so good on the diet. If there's anyone out there trying to think of the appropriate joke or insult, trust me - you'll never come up with anything better than that bathroom scale.

Not ok.

For whatever reason, we need a new bathroom trash can. I don't really know what happened to put the old one out of service, but Julie tells me we need a new one, so we need a new one. Today Julie ordered one online and noticed something disturbing. Somebody tell me what's wrong with this picture...

Did you see it?? Right down at the bottom? Two USED from $12.99!! Foul!!! Yes, I'd like a used trash can. Please empty it of your used bathroom products first. It reminded me of something that happened about a year ago though.

My last job was with a large industrial manufacturer, and they had an on-site cafeteria. The highlight of the cafeteria was the grill. Any time of day you could go in there and get the guy to make you a burger, quesadilla, or whatever. And it was always good...until I learned that the secret ingredient was E-COLI!

I actually saw the grill chef wipe the spatula on the side of the trash can and go right back to flipping burgers. Yes, there was a fairly clean trash bag in it, but c'mon! So I've got a question.

Would you ever eat there again? Cause I didn't.

Age is just a number?

I CALL BS!*

I don't know why 36 has been such a big deal to me. I keep thinking of things like how eighteen years ago I was eighteen, how I grew up in a world where people smoked in clothing stores, and how I keep ending sentences with "of course, that was twenty years ago!" But today I really felt my age.

For those of you that are just tuning in, my mother-in-law passed away very unexpectedly and way too young this summer. We've been spending a lot of time with Julie's dad and brother lately, and they came down to San Diego to spend the day with us yesterday. Seriously, they're so much fun. It's a shame it took a tragedy for all of us to realize that, but I really enjoy their company.

Anyway, last night Julie mentioned how for years we've been thinking about upgrading from the 27" old school TV she got when she went to college, but haven't ever gotten around to it. My father-in-law responded, "Let's go buy one." We protested. A little. But how do you say no to a grieving man with an American Express card?

Last night we got this:




I realize it's hard to tell from that little picture, but that's 37" of 1080 pixel HD awesomeness there! You may be able to see how the TV is turned slightly in the armoire. It was about 1/16 of an inch too wide. Ask me if I care. And in case you're wondering, it's Juno.

Anyway, there was the matter of the old TV. We didn't want to just throw it away, so we put up an ad in the free section of Craigslist and decided to leave it outside by the dumpster. By this time I was tired and sweaty from moving furniture around, and there was no way I was getting dressed to walk downstairs and across a small parking lot. I asked Julie, and she said it was ok.

You're thinking I dropped off the TV outside in my pajamas, aren't you? 'Fraid not.




Boxers?? You're getting closer.




I rocked the boxer briefs. In my defense, I was wearing a white t-shirt too.




To some of you, this may not seem like a big deal. You are the people that have never met me. I got down the stairs just fine. No one was around. It was very quiet. I made it across the little parking lot and set the old TV down by the recycling bin for pick-up by whoever saw the Craigslist ad first. I think that's when it hit me that I was standing outside in broad daylight in my underwear.

I have that happen in dreams all the time. And every time, it's like, "Crap! I can't believe I forgot my pants again!!" But this was real life. My modesty caught up with me, and I ran back for the stairs. I tried to take two stairs at a time, and my body cried out in oldness! (Yeah, I know. I need to hit the gym sometime. But didn't we used to all be able to do that? When we were 22 or something?)

I made it inside and crashed to the floor in exhaustion. Then the puppy came and started biting my nose. I didn't even try to push him away. Too tired. Too old.



*BS=Bible Study (c.f. Prov. 20:29)