Buffalo comes alive the moment the snow begins to thaw. True, snowstorms also bring people out to the streets to shovel snow, but the is nothing like the release of cabin fever when the sun finally begins to shine after the eternity of winter. People come outside and stretch in the sun. They gather in courtyards to eat, and walk the streets and smile and wave at passersby. Spring has come.
The church survey goes well. In fact, the preliminary survey is ending. It is weird to read Mark Goldman's book on the city or indeed any history of Buffalo and recognize all of the churches being mentioned. It gives a strange gleam of familiarity to a place that has been home away from home for a mere seven weeks. And yet these structures have become friends, signs of the mystic sweet communion my fellow Christians partake in every Sunday. For this, I am glad of the survey.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Monday, March 12, 2012
New Week
It was a long weekend at Houghton. Fun, relaxing, but long, like a cool drink of water.
I got back to my internship this morning to find that politics was finally working. Before, I had seen transitions begin to go very wrong. People were snipping at each other, disliking the change in routine. But now everyone was crowded around a table, talking and laughing and joking. How does this come about?
First of all, gentle guidance goes a long way. It is one thing to storm in and say how much everything is going to change. In a way, this is necessary. The parameters must be clearly set. However, once the parameters are stated, the new executive director, Tom Yots, went to careful lengths to learn how everyone's job worked. He wanted to know how to set up tours, and write grants, and organize the office. He is a master at delegating and respectfully enhancing the skills of his workers.
Second of all, honesty is the only policy. If you don't like something, say so but say it gently. Don't pretend everything is ok, because people can sense when it is not. And they are afraid when they don't know, because the unknown thing is frightening.
Finally, unify everyone around a legitimate but surmountable challenge at the very beginning. A good example is the current Trico plant reuse plan, which involves a polite fight between the preservation board and the medical campus. This unifies the organization and creates a new sense of teamwork and identity within the new power structure.
This is how to lead a transition.
I got back to my internship this morning to find that politics was finally working. Before, I had seen transitions begin to go very wrong. People were snipping at each other, disliking the change in routine. But now everyone was crowded around a table, talking and laughing and joking. How does this come about?
First of all, gentle guidance goes a long way. It is one thing to storm in and say how much everything is going to change. In a way, this is necessary. The parameters must be clearly set. However, once the parameters are stated, the new executive director, Tom Yots, went to careful lengths to learn how everyone's job worked. He wanted to know how to set up tours, and write grants, and organize the office. He is a master at delegating and respectfully enhancing the skills of his workers.
Second of all, honesty is the only policy. If you don't like something, say so but say it gently. Don't pretend everything is ok, because people can sense when it is not. And they are afraid when they don't know, because the unknown thing is frightening.
Finally, unify everyone around a legitimate but surmountable challenge at the very beginning. A good example is the current Trico plant reuse plan, which involves a polite fight between the preservation board and the medical campus. This unifies the organization and creates a new sense of teamwork and identity within the new power structure.
This is how to lead a transition.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Flashpoint
There are some moments in time that are more important than others. The moment when you realize that a puzzle that has been particularly challenging has finally been solved is one such moment. I imagine getting married is a similar moment, but I have never had the experience. Then there are the other times, when one knows by instinct that something should not happen. Do not turn down that street, do not say what you are thinking, do not forget your keys in the car.
PBN is in the middle of a major transformation. Executive directors are being replaced, new staff are coming on board, new projects are being started. Similarly, Houghton is in a time of transformation, with attendant administrative mix-up. The world seems topsy-turvy. So how do we handle times of change?
The first step is to stay calm. The world will not end if a certain project is abandoned, or a different person is heading up a department. Policy can be rewritten and the sun will not magically turn off. A relationship can end, or start, or grow apart, or grow together and the world keeps on ticking away.
But that being said, do not stop believing and caring. Transition is hard, but cynicism is worse. The world will not end, but that should not mean you should stop caring about it. Just because you are not god does not mean you are not important to the world. Hang in there, fellow traveler.
PBN is in the middle of a major transformation. Executive directors are being replaced, new staff are coming on board, new projects are being started. Similarly, Houghton is in a time of transformation, with attendant administrative mix-up. The world seems topsy-turvy. So how do we handle times of change?
The first step is to stay calm. The world will not end if a certain project is abandoned, or a different person is heading up a department. Policy can be rewritten and the sun will not magically turn off. A relationship can end, or start, or grow apart, or grow together and the world keeps on ticking away.
But that being said, do not stop believing and caring. Transition is hard, but cynicism is worse. The world will not end, but that should not mean you should stop caring about it. Just because you are not god does not mean you are not important to the world. Hang in there, fellow traveler.
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Routine
There is something comforting about routine. It is familiar, and everything is expected. We are such creatures of comfort, this human race. By this, I prove I am human. I get up each day at the same time, eat breakfast at the same time, go to work (either data entry or site visits) at the same time, eat lunch at the same time and go to class. World without end.
And then something happens that stirs us out of routine. I find a beautiful church that isn't on my lists, and break routine and procedure to go visit it. Or I meet a friendly person and talk for fifteen minutes. Or, for some strange reason, I get almost nothing done but have a great time talking about religion and architecture with my boss. Variation in the midst of routine is what makes life interesting. If my life had no routine, I would panic. But if it had only routine, I would stultify. It is balance that keeps me alive.
And so, on Monday I went to Niagara Falls to visit churches. The depopulation has reached advanced stages in that former boomtown. Whole streets are deserted. Almost every house for blocks on end is boarded up. In some neighborhoods, all I could hear were the birds singing in their nests in the roofs. What had once been a thriving city was now a ghost town with a casino and a national park.
That was a sobering visit. Unlike Buffalo, where people are increasingly not going to church, in Niagara Falls there are not enough people for the churches that exist. Even if everyone went, the churches would still be half empty. It is a desolate place. Was this what the fall of Rome was like?
This is a different type of depressed area. Niagara Falls is not a slum town. It is hard to believe, but squalor is a sign of a healthy city. The city is alive and thriving enough for plenty of people to visit, and decide to stay, despite the squalor. It conjures up the thought that home is worse, so stay in the squalor.
But Niagara Falls is empty. It is wilderness despite the presence of roads and buildings. There is no such thing as a slum in Niagara Falle because no one is willing to pay them price to live there. And why should they? Supposedly, they had a job once in Niagara Falls, but I think the position has been filled.
There is of course some light in the darkness. It is not all bad. Tourism keeps a few restaurants open and a few kitschy businesses running. From the ashes, a village or a town will arise. But the boom days are gone. Forever.
And then something happens that stirs us out of routine. I find a beautiful church that isn't on my lists, and break routine and procedure to go visit it. Or I meet a friendly person and talk for fifteen minutes. Or, for some strange reason, I get almost nothing done but have a great time talking about religion and architecture with my boss. Variation in the midst of routine is what makes life interesting. If my life had no routine, I would panic. But if it had only routine, I would stultify. It is balance that keeps me alive.
And so, on Monday I went to Niagara Falls to visit churches. The depopulation has reached advanced stages in that former boomtown. Whole streets are deserted. Almost every house for blocks on end is boarded up. In some neighborhoods, all I could hear were the birds singing in their nests in the roofs. What had once been a thriving city was now a ghost town with a casino and a national park.
That was a sobering visit. Unlike Buffalo, where people are increasingly not going to church, in Niagara Falls there are not enough people for the churches that exist. Even if everyone went, the churches would still be half empty. It is a desolate place. Was this what the fall of Rome was like?
This is a different type of depressed area. Niagara Falls is not a slum town. It is hard to believe, but squalor is a sign of a healthy city. The city is alive and thriving enough for plenty of people to visit, and decide to stay, despite the squalor. It conjures up the thought that home is worse, so stay in the squalor.
But Niagara Falls is empty. It is wilderness despite the presence of roads and buildings. There is no such thing as a slum in Niagara Falle because no one is willing to pay them price to live there. And why should they? Supposedly, they had a job once in Niagara Falls, but I think the position has been filled.
There is of course some light in the darkness. It is not all bad. Tourism keeps a few restaurants open and a few kitschy businesses running. From the ashes, a village or a town will arise. But the boom days are gone. Forever.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Inspiration
I have never claimed to be inspired, and have never really considered what it would be like to be divinely inspired. However, there are moments when i wonder what it would be like to be God and wander around seeing the city through His eyes. What would He see?
How would He view the obviously homeless guy who asks for money when you only have enough for parking? How would He view the struggling congregation with the gorgeous building and no money? In other words, what would Jesus build? Would Jesus feel disoriented with the vast historical and cultural distance, or, being God, would He somehow find it strangely human? Would He love this world we inhabit, and enjoy 2012?
I often wonder this as I look at the bygone memorials to the faith of long departed parishes. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, the faithful built reminders of home. The churches in the German, Polish and Italian neighborhood, especially, were copied from the parishes back in the Old World. But over the course of the twentieth century, the people moved out. Now the churches stand deserted, among the silent neighborhoods, still pointing towards heaven but hollowed out from the inside.
Where are the people? Why are they gone? Or are we walking the apocalypse, the death of religion in the West? How can you have universal, or even majority, but individually chosen religion in a post Christian West?
How would He view the obviously homeless guy who asks for money when you only have enough for parking? How would He view the struggling congregation with the gorgeous building and no money? In other words, what would Jesus build? Would Jesus feel disoriented with the vast historical and cultural distance, or, being God, would He somehow find it strangely human? Would He love this world we inhabit, and enjoy 2012?
I often wonder this as I look at the bygone memorials to the faith of long departed parishes. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, the faithful built reminders of home. The churches in the German, Polish and Italian neighborhood, especially, were copied from the parishes back in the Old World. But over the course of the twentieth century, the people moved out. Now the churches stand deserted, among the silent neighborhoods, still pointing towards heaven but hollowed out from the inside.
Where are the people? Why are they gone? Or are we walking the apocalypse, the death of religion in the West? How can you have universal, or even majority, but individually chosen religion in a post Christian West?
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Long Way Back
It has been a crazy week. The first two days were sort of blah, almost boring, I just went about the same old routine, to the point where I was becoming complacent. My paper was finished, my internship was progressing, and life seemed strangely normal. I was even acclimating to a new city and getting used to living in a place my father avoided like the plague becaue of the snow drifts.
On Sunday, I had even gone to a liberal Presbyterian church that was openly affirming of gay couples. That called upon the presbytery to ordain gay couples. And I did not run out of the room screaming and making the sign of the cross. I didn't even sneer. I was simply perturbed walking out, not sure if I bought the biblicist arguments put forward by the church, but amazed by biblicism reaching a very different conclusion from that which I adhered to. I was that cosmopolitan and sophisticated and diverse.
Then Wednesday came, like a plague from the Orient. It started normally. I drove in to my internship like a normal adult. I came into the office, greeted everyone, made rational decisions. I was a capable, functioning adult.
Then I got in the car to go to Houghton. Maybe some stars crossed. Maybe some was doing voodoo on me. Certainly, I was about to learn about humility and embarrassment and grace. I got on campus without incident. Then I parked, met someone I had never met before...actually, I stared at her because I had a headache from driving until a mutual friend introduced us.
Things only got worse. I went to my office on campus, only to find my friend whom I was supposed to meet had gone charging up the hill by another path. Ten minutes of tense phone communication and cartoon-like crossing of the paths ensued. Once that was cleared up, i had to get food.
Instead, I walked into a pingpong table. In front of Dr Meilaender, a friend and mentor who was really enjoying watching me walk into the table. He was doubled over in laughter, which is very rare for him.
Things only got worse until, at nine forty, I ended up with three people mad at me for various reasons. I also was supposed to pick up a package, but it was missing. Which I realized in Arcade, halfway back to Buffalo.
So the next day I went through the routine again, including an internship day, a visit with a pastor and some home rebuilding. Then I got in my car and drove back to Houghton, and frantically tore the campus apart trying to locate it. Meanwhile, it started to snow. And I ended up not finding the package until the next day, in the campus post office of all places. I was up to three in the morning talking about anabaptism, I don't know why.
I was also apparently hysterical and talking about all sorts of nonsense. I told a friend some things, which I don't remember, but they shocked her. Embarrassed, humiliated, weirded out are all equally valid ways of describing that experience.
But God was good. I found everything I had to, in the end, and got back in time for class and everything was fine. Dandy. But I learned that my rushing about and being frantic does nothing, I learned that I am an ant, carrying more than I should, but unlike ants it is not always for the common good. I learned that God can be relied on when I cannot. It was a verg important, life-forming week,
On Sunday, I had even gone to a liberal Presbyterian church that was openly affirming of gay couples. That called upon the presbytery to ordain gay couples. And I did not run out of the room screaming and making the sign of the cross. I didn't even sneer. I was simply perturbed walking out, not sure if I bought the biblicist arguments put forward by the church, but amazed by biblicism reaching a very different conclusion from that which I adhered to. I was that cosmopolitan and sophisticated and diverse.
Then Wednesday came, like a plague from the Orient. It started normally. I drove in to my internship like a normal adult. I came into the office, greeted everyone, made rational decisions. I was a capable, functioning adult.
Then I got in the car to go to Houghton. Maybe some stars crossed. Maybe some was doing voodoo on me. Certainly, I was about to learn about humility and embarrassment and grace. I got on campus without incident. Then I parked, met someone I had never met before...actually, I stared at her because I had a headache from driving until a mutual friend introduced us.
Things only got worse. I went to my office on campus, only to find my friend whom I was supposed to meet had gone charging up the hill by another path. Ten minutes of tense phone communication and cartoon-like crossing of the paths ensued. Once that was cleared up, i had to get food.
Instead, I walked into a pingpong table. In front of Dr Meilaender, a friend and mentor who was really enjoying watching me walk into the table. He was doubled over in laughter, which is very rare for him.
Things only got worse until, at nine forty, I ended up with three people mad at me for various reasons. I also was supposed to pick up a package, but it was missing. Which I realized in Arcade, halfway back to Buffalo.
So the next day I went through the routine again, including an internship day, a visit with a pastor and some home rebuilding. Then I got in my car and drove back to Houghton, and frantically tore the campus apart trying to locate it. Meanwhile, it started to snow. And I ended up not finding the package until the next day, in the campus post office of all places. I was up to three in the morning talking about anabaptism, I don't know why.
I was also apparently hysterical and talking about all sorts of nonsense. I told a friend some things, which I don't remember, but they shocked her. Embarrassed, humiliated, weirded out are all equally valid ways of describing that experience.
But God was good. I found everything I had to, in the end, and got back in time for class and everything was fine. Dandy. But I learned that my rushing about and being frantic does nothing, I learned that I am an ant, carrying more than I should, but unlike ants it is not always for the common good. I learned that God can be relied on when I cannot. It was a verg important, life-forming week,
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Progress Meeting
Yesterday, I had a progress meeting. It was terrifying, to be honest. I had invested a lot of time in the project, and now it was subject to review. In the end, I was congratulated and advised and told to widen my scope. It was too easy, to be honest, since they let me have discretion and then didn't take it away after my review. I think this is usually called growing up.
But other things develop. There were inevitable tensions in the group, between the Niagara Falls people and the Buffalo people, the architects and the preservationists and the historians, so many people with so many view points. I felt like look up a good computer program and forcing it to analyze all of this complexity.
But that is what we humans are best at. Complexity and making sense out of chaos. Perhaps this is what is meant by "the image of God"? That somehow, the production of order out of chaos mimics the operation of God in creation. Or, perhaps, the redemption of order from disorder mimics His salvific role. Is it possible to create a theology of complexity?
But other things develop. There were inevitable tensions in the group, between the Niagara Falls people and the Buffalo people, the architects and the preservationists and the historians, so many people with so many view points. I felt like look up a good computer program and forcing it to analyze all of this complexity.
But that is what we humans are best at. Complexity and making sense out of chaos. Perhaps this is what is meant by "the image of God"? That somehow, the production of order out of chaos mimics the operation of God in creation. Or, perhaps, the redemption of order from disorder mimics His salvific role. Is it possible to create a theology of complexity?
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