Catherine Crouch

I am the furthest thing from a scientist. I am quite happy in the humanities. That’s why I was surprised to find myself identifying deeply with some of the sentiments in this article, written by Andy Crouch. In it, Crouch describes his wife Catherine, an experimental physicist (that means about as much to me as “Hebrew Bible scholar” means to most people); not only her work, but her personhood, her vocation, her struggles and joys. Crouch sensitively portrays her journey in the academic and scientific spheres. And I was surprised at how much commonality I found between her journey and my own.

Additionally, I was struck by Crouch’s gentle yet pointed critique of the apparent inability of most of the sermons or church activities they attend to minister deeply to his wife particularly–to speak into the unique challenges she faces on a day-to-day basis. And Crouch suggests that it’s not because of her esoteric line of work; this is true of most people:

“Does the gospel really have nothing to say to our sense of wonder and delight in the world? Is it silent on how to manage competition and risk? Does it give us no guidance on the qualities that make for real, fruitful collaboration? To the contrary, all these are the soil where discipleship can grow, where grace can be discovered, and where real faith can be nourished. What other opportunities are we missing to name the ways that every vocation in our congregation points us toward, and indeed requires, the death to self and trust in God that are the essence of trust in Jesus?”

I can imagine that it must be very difficult for pastors, who are under constant pressure to deliver relevant, impactful messages every week to people with very different day-to-day challenges and situations. There must be the constant temptation to stay in the safe, bland territory of generalities; the mushy, easily digestible self-help sermon diet that so often becomes the default position. But is there a danger in becoming too abstract; too metaphorical? Crouch goes on to say:

Many people who end up in academic vocations are comfortable with abstraction. There is real intellectual leverage that can be gained by abstracting away from particular persons to talk about, for example, “personality”; to abstract away from a set of methods, practices, discoveries, and theories to talk about “science”; to abstract away from a set of beliefs and rituals to talk about “religion.” Yet ministry is one human vocation that dare not be abstract. The most fruitful ministry always is engaged with very concrete communities and persons.

Have a look at the article yourself. Think about the amount of time we Christians tend to spend defending abstract arguments, staking out turf, battling with competing ideologies. How many opportunities are we missing; opportunities to discover the infinite mysteries in one another? How much time are we wasting? It’s something to think about.

If there is one critique I have of this article, it is that Crouch perhaps too quickly sets the academic worlds of science and theology at odds with one another–in fact, I found myself surprised at how much the world he describes and the world I inhabit are not altogether that different. And perhaps in a way, that supports his ultimate point…

My thanks to Dr. John Byron of Ashland Theological Seminary for posting a blog entry about a new discovery of Jewish documents that may be as much as 1,000 years old. While they likely date to after the biblical period, they can shed light on medieval Judaism, perhaps coming from a group of Jews called the Karaites. Read more here…

I came across this article and it really made me chuckle; now that I’m in my second semester of teaching undergraduates, I can recall instances when students were deeply distraught at the B grade I gave them, the odd review that came back saying I graded too hard (oh honey, if you only knew!)…this little gem really crystallizes what I suspect most college instructors might like to say to their students if given the opportunity. We’re not out to get you, honest! Help us help you!

“Dear Student: I Don’t Lie Awake at Night Thinking of Ways to Ruin Your Life”

I never thought I would say that. Ever.

In my line of work, I spend a lot of time “in my head.” I dissect ancient texts, ponder esoteric theories, formulate intellectual arguments. A lot of it is very abstract. I love it. But on occasion, it is helpful to come home to a dirty little bottom that needs wiping.

I have a son who is four and a half. Of course we have the potty training thing down by now, but you know, some things take time to learn. I am still called upon on occasion to offer assistance. But not as much anymore. And I’m beginning to see how I’m going to miss that. As he grows older and becomes more self-sufficient, I’ll become less necessary, on a moment-to-moment basis. That’s as it should be. But I’ll need to find other things to ground me; things that need cleaning or folding, quotidian tasks that get me blessedly out of the world of ideas for a little while.

What about you? What brings you back to reality?

A gem from

PhD Comics.com

Thanks to encouragement from some of my loyal readers, I’ve decided to let my blog meander as my life does; I will at times write about my experiences with ARVD, at times I’ll focus on my research, at times perhaps family and faith. As things strike me, I’ll share them here. We’ll try that for a while and see how it goes.

One of the more disconcerting aspects of living with my new diagnosis is that it has caused me to listen to music differently. I never realized how many song lyrics talk about hearts: broken hearts, heavy hearts, happy hearts, etc. Today I heard the song “This is How a Heart Breaks” by Rob Thomas. I know that this is a metaphorical phrase. But my heart literally is broken. So for me those words take on a new significance.

This is also true for worship songs. A fairly recent favorite of mine is “I Will Rise” by Chris Tomlin. You know how it starts?

There’s a peace I’ve come to know

Though my heart and flesh may fail

There’s an anchor for my soul

I can say ‘It is Well’

A few months after I was diagnosed with ARVD, it turned out that I was singing this on a Sunday morning with our worship team. And I had to consider; did I still believe this? Was I at peace, even though my heart had failed me; though my flesh was weaker than I had realized? Could I really sing these words honestly now? Is it well with my soul, really?

I sang it, and I meant it; but not because I am perpetually at peace or even because I feel like “It is Well.” I can’t always say that. But I trust that the grave has been overcome, and that, ultimately, life will win over death somehow. So I guess I’ll keep on singing those songs, broken heart and all.

So, apparently somebody is reading my blog! I have taken a break to reflect on the events of the past months, consider whether or not to continue the blog, and if so, those things about which I might spending time blogging. And it seems that, even though I haven’t posted anything since November, there are still some folks reading it. So, I’m considering starting up again, but I want to think through my focus. And I’d love your opinion. There are really three things I find myself motivated to write about:

1. My research interests; The Psalms (and other early Jewish prayer texts), the Hebrew Bible and Second Temple literature (if you don’t know what some of these are, don’t worry. Most people don’t, especially that last one).

2. Living with ARVD, my recently diagnosed heart condition. For more on that see here.

3. The more general topic of managing and balancing family, research and teaching from day to day.

I have heard that most people don’t blog on more than one topic on a blog site; and that personal and professional stuff should be kept separate. But I don’t have time to maintain more than one blog. And so, I will either focus on just one of the above, or buck tradition and blog the way I live, with everything jumbled together and all the disparate pieces vying for attention.

I’m curious; what would you want to read? I really want to know, and I won’t be offended, I promise. Thanks!

I doubt this is going to mean a whole lot to a whole lot of people…but recent events have let me to believe that a little retooling is needed, particularly as it relates to my blog. There will be no earth-shattering changes; I’ll still be working on my Ph.D., teaching, and doing all the other things I’ve been doing. But I think the blog will undergo something of a metamorphosis as I become a bit more, ehm, intentional about the kinds of things about which I choose to write.

So, I’ll give this ol’ blog a rest for a while (not that I’ve been particularly active), and when the time is right, I’ll jump back on with a new focus. Happy holidays everyone, see you on the flipside…

On October 3rd I went to see a new doctor. We moved to our new-ish home a little over a year ago, and I’d been putting it off. As I went through the usual narrative with him–family history, allergies, number of alcoholic drinks I consume in a week, that sort of stuff–the doctor asked very nonchalantly, “Have you ever had palpitations?”

Well, now that he mentioned it, I had noticed something…no big deal, just a bit of a racing heartbeat when I exercised. I hadn’t even thought about it, I’d gotten so used to it. As he began furiously scribbling notes in my chart, it dawned on me that my life was going to get a bit more inconvenient. I was scheduled for a battery of tests, all of which seemed to take me away from the really important things; teaching and research. So I sighed and accepted it. A week went by.

On October 10th, I got a call from my doctor. The cardiologist had read my chart and wanted to see me–today. I was teaching that day. So right after I finished class, I rushed  to meet him. After the usual handshake and hello, his first words to me were; “You’re a mess. And I don’t know why.”

And just like that I was carried away to another world like Enoch or Ezekiel. Except this world wasn’t full of angelic beings and bejeweled thrones. It was full of beige walls with hard right angles; wires and beeping noises and needles in my arm; the smells of sterilized surfaces and the crunch of plastic pillows. My husband, the only connection to my former world, stayed close by.

In that world I saw signs and wonders; the chambers and vessels of my own beating heart, and the sound of my blood as it coursed through my body. I followed along powerless, led by my cardiologist through the dark corridors of more and more tests and finally, diagnosis; arrhythmogenic right ventricular dysplasia (ARVD). It’s a rare heart disease that afflicts young people who are otherwise healthy. It causes the right ventricle to turn, over time, into fat and scar tissue, causing heart arrythmias like the ones I had been not noticing for years. It could have killed me several times over by now.

So while I lay on an operating table, my cardiologist fixed whatever arrhythmia he could surgically, then he implanted a defibrillator just a bit below my left collarbone. I’ll have this for the rest of my life. It and medicine will keep my heart going from now on. For how long, I don’t know. But certainly longer than it would have on its own.

Dr. John Byron recently mentioned a book in his blog called In the Valley of the Shadow, written by James L. Kugel, a highly regarded Hebrew Bible scholar who also happens to have battled an aggressive cancer and, like Jacob who fought the angel, was changed forever in the process. He summed up his experience after diagnosis this way;

“…you don’t stop being the person you were before the diagnosis–in fact, you end up doing a lot of the things you used to do–but you are not even remotely the same.”

On the morning of the 13th day after I walked into my new doctor’s office, I sat waiting to leave the hospital. My room had been on the fourth floor of Grant Medical Center in Columbus, OH. On that floor, just down the hall, was a waiting room filled with windows that reached from floor to ceiling, offering a beautiful panoramic view of the streets and skyline. It happened to be the morning of the Columbus Marathon. And as I looked down, I saw the runners make their way just past the hospital and down the street. These weren’t the really good runners, they had already gone. These were the joggers, the walkers, the stragglers. In one moment cheers erupted from a group of supporters that was so loud I could hear every word four floors up behind tons of glass and concrete. Then, not five minutes later, I watched as a gurney cut through the crowd, occupied by a man in an oxygen mask on the way to the E.R. Everything seemed so random.

Kugel talks in his book about “smallness;” about these rare, unrequested, untimely reminders of just how little and vulnerable we are, really. As he says, it’s like the background music stops; “the music of infinite time and possibilities; and now suddenly it [is] gone, replaced by nothing..there you are, one little person, sitting in the late summer sun, with only a few things left to do.”

I’ve long been acquainted, even at my age, with loss, suffering, pain, death. But it’s a different thing when it’s my own body that’s unwell. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful, and yet…

I am glad to be alive. But still…I’ll never be well again; really well. I’m always going to need help. The scar is getting better, and my strength is coming back. I’m alive, thank God. My son has his mommy for a while longer, hopefully a long while. But that thing will always be there, just a bit below my left collarbone. There it is. It will take time to get used to that.

Of all the deeply profound, blessedly unsentimental things Kugel says in his book, there is one that perhaps gives me the most comfort. And he didn’t even say it; it’s a quote from Ludwig Wittgenstein; “To believe in God means to see that the facts of the world are not the end of the matter.”

Yeah, so, I haven’t been around here in a while!

It is been a whirlwind, cacophonous, absolute roller coaster of a spring and summer; but now fall, and a new school year, is upon us all. For me, a new chapter begins as I have been hired on as an adjunct professor at Ashland University, teaching their Exploring the Bible class. I like to call it their “dip your toes in the Bible” course. I am lucky; I have a good time slot, a nice bright room and a good group of students.

Teaching these younger folks has reminded me of when I started my own journey at university; granted, I was in my early twenties, not my late teens, and I did my undergrad in England, not Ohio. But for all new college students, no matter where or when, there is one constant which, like death and student loans, looms over all–syllabus shock.

It’s that sinking feeling in the pit of the stomach, the sweaty palms, the anxiety, the eating Doritos and chocolate for dinner while watching Friends reruns because you can’t bear to look at that pile of obligations lurking in your backpack.

As I thought about my students and the inevitable jolt of reality about to set in, a little song came to mind, which has, as silly as it is, become a sort of anthem for me in challenging times. Here it is; if life is getting you down as well right now, maybe it will help: