Hope Blog Relay: Ordinary Hope

Michael Altman has invited me, along with some other friends and colleagues, to take the baton and write about hope.

Reflecting on the charge has brought many things to mind. I could talk about the first book of my advisor and mentor which delicately constructs a responsible Christian theology of hope.

Or I could write about the persistent hope of pastor and social activist Desmond Tutu, a constant thorn in my side during my more “realistic” and “pessimistic” moments, who has consistently reminded the world that hope is a virtue with roots that go much deeper than optimism.

Or I could talk about the pained faces of the Russian women’s gymnastics team I watched last night as the chance at Olympic gold fell through their fingers and the hope of the last four years vanished.

Or I could talk about the way hope (and love) kept my wife’s dear Abuelita alive, through years of cancer, long enough to see her youngest grandchild married.

Or … well, this list could go on forever.

I write about hope this morning as my mother-in-law heads into surgery. I write about hope this morning as my wife and I are in the middle of a cross-country move, during which she has started a new job and I have started writing a dissertation, by moving into a house for the first time in our five years of marriage. I write about hope this morning as my nephews and nieces have begun looking toward a new school year (for some their first!) with all of its promise and possibilities. I write about hope as each and every person on earth has entered today with hopes worth having, and therefore feeling alive, or having lost hope (and therefore maybe even life).

I have a feeling that we often think of hope as that thing which comes to us in our moments of greatest distress or despair. Or we think of it as some disposition reserved to the greatest exemplars of our highest aspirations as humans. Or we think of it as something that is idealistic and naive in a profit-driven and “dog-eat-dog” world.

But hope is the stuff of everyday life. It is, at its best, rather … ordinary. It is that which greets us with every sunrise and calms us as we lay our heads down at night. It is learned as our hopes are met everyday in little and mundane ways – like when the recipe turns out just right, the hug offered is greeted with open arms, and we make it through a day safe and having smiled. And this training deepens the well of hope so that we may be able to draw upon its life-giving water when our hopes are delayed or dashed.

One cannot love without hope. One cannot raise a child without hope. One cannot pray without hope. And one cannot write a dissertation without hope!

Hope isn’t grand or extraordinary. Rather, it is radically ordinary. It is the stuff that a life worth living is made of. And this is why, whether “this worldly” or “otherworldly,” it is such a central theme in so many of the religions in our world.

As Christians like to say, “It may be Friday, but Sunday’s a-coming!”

May you have hope today and every day.

I now pass the baton to some of my favorite bloggers:

Brad East, for a thoroughly theological perspective.

And Rahiel Tesfamariam, Candice Marie Benbow, and Mark Jefferson over at Urban Cusp.

I defended my dissertation proposal!

Today I successfully defended my dissertation proposal on the ethics of transitional justice. After nine years in higher education (four as an undergraduate, two in seminary, and now three in graduate school) studying religion and ethics I have finally reached the last phase of my formal education. Below is a wordle of that proposal. Thanks to everyone who has supported me up until this point.

Must I Commit Cultural Suicide?

I am, in the words of Michael Walzer, a divided self. I am bi-racial (my mother is a Korean immigrant, my father a white man from middle Tennessee). I come from a blue-collar background (father a soldier, mother a janitor/waitress) and live in a white-collar world (Ph.D. student). I am a member and have been a minister in a “Bible-believing,” what most folks would call a “fundamentalist,” Christian tradition (the churches of Christ, the conservative wing of the American Restoration/Stone-Campbell movement) who is immersed in the world of contemporary American liberal theology. I am a doctoral student but neither my parents nor their parents have college degrees. I live in a constant liminal – or hybrid, borderlands, in-between, gray, etc. (choose your adjective) – space. Living in this space is wonderful as it is a space of diversity, mutuality, and continuous learning. However, living in this space is difficult, confusing, and potentially self-destructive.

We humans long for stability and sameness. We enjoy comfort even if it often leads to stagnation. We dislike discomfort even if it often leads to growth and maturity. And life as a divided self is an intrinsically uncomfortable life. It provides many benefits that I would not give up or trade in, but this requires a constant negotiation of my own self-identity and the multiple identities various people ascribe to me. I have no choice but to be more than one person in a world that is more comfortable with black-white dichotomies than with gray (or brown or yellow) realities. I have no choice but to be a divided self in a world that divides me into pieces and refuses to interact with me except on the terms of those divisions.

Roughly a century ago America’s greatest sociologist, W.E.B. Du Bois, described such an existence as “double-consciousness.” Writing as a black man in early twentieth-century America, he found this double-consciousness so unbearable he eventually became a citizen of Ghana. Du Bois described double-consciousness in this way:

After the Egyptian and Indian, the Greek and Roman, the Teuton and Mongolian, the Negro is a sort of seventh son, born with a veil, and gifted with second-sight in this American world, – a world which yields him no true self-consciousness, but only lets him see himself through the revelation of the other world. It is a peculiar sensation, this double-consciousness, this sense of always looking at one’s self through the eyes of others, of measuring one’s soul by the tape of a world that looks on in amused contempt and pity. One ever feels his two-ness,- an American, a Negro; two souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings; two warring ideals in one dark body, whose dogged strength alone keeps it from being torn asunder. – The Souls of Black Folk, Ch. 1

Now, I am by no means equating my status as a graduate student from a working-class background with the state of being black in America in 1900 (or 2012). As a bi-racial 1.5/second generation Asian-American, I’ve experienced my share of racial prejudice and seeing myself through “the revelation of the other world,” even if that world has no place for people like me in its dichotomies. And life as an “outsider” in the academy is not the same as life as a non-white person in America. However, the world of the academy does require folks like me (working-class, first generation college, conservative Christian heritage, etc.) to always be “looking at one’s self through the eyes of others.”

Adam Kotsko has done a wonderful job explaining some of the angst felt by those making the shift from wearing blue-collars to white ones. A former teacher of mine (Laurie Patton) described this experience as committing “cultural suicide.” At one of the several sessions on “professionalization” I’ve attended at Emory, she described a phenomenon she’d seen numerous times over her years of training graduate students. Those students who were first-generation college graduates or come from overwhelmingly working-class family backgrounds, she said, often feel that they have to abandon, reject, or even come to overtly “hate” said background to be fully accepted and integrated into their new social class and milieu. Or else they must be ready for a life of continual discomfort and feeling like an impostor.

This, it seems to me, is the easy way out. It accepts those black-white dichotomies that the embodied experiences of working-class graduate students (let alone multiracial people!) prove is blatantly false. In fact, even those who would like to make this move often find their “embarrassing” backgrounds creeping up to haunt them at the worst possible times. It is futile to try and be something you weren’t raised to be; you will always be, to a lesser or greater extent, your parents’ child and a product of your neighborhood.

However, living in double-consciousness as a divided-self is not easy to do. It is a lot of exhausting work. It hurts. It seems unfair. But it is. And that is okay. Most folks, in my experience, don’t actually want to give up their background to make a move up social classes and enter the academy and the privileged life of the mind. No one likes to feel like a sell-out. No one wants to lose relationships with people who have nurtured them and helped to make them who they are. Look, I’m a product of a conservative Christian home, the dreams of an immigrant mother, the work ethic of a father from rural Tennessee, and a neighborhood with a high school that hovered around a 50% graduation rate last year. In other words, I was raised by good, hard-working people with limited opportunities. In the past I have hurt some of these people with my dismissal and biting critiques of their theology, politics, or personal habits. And I’ve done it by drawing on the education that is reserved to certain classes. And I hate myself every time I do it. (But, like a good conservative Christian should, I know that the truth can hurt, and that such pain is better than living in falsehood. And so I try and balance truth-telling with sensitivity and often fail miserably.)

A simple, and humorous, example of this division in my life occurred when Kentucky Fried Chicken released its double-down sandwich. The level of commentary on my facebook timeline was a visual representation of the class divisions warring within my own soul. Friends I grew up with lined up to try it on the first day of its release, commented on its visual beauty, and preached its deliciousness with evangelical zeal. Friends from my current social circle decried KFC’s contribution to our growing obesity problem, lambasted them for their inhumane treatment of chickens, and gasped in disbelief that they could ever sell one of those disgusting balls of fat, with an even greater amount of zeal. (I assume they ate kale, quinoa, and organic sushi for dinner.) The thing was: I fully agreed with both groups of friends.

The longer I am in the academy, and live in university neighborhoods, the more comfortable I grow in being physically present in such circles. The feeling of being out of place is gradually drifting away, but it still shows up quite forcefully from time to time. I’ve decided that I am not going to commit cultural suicide, even if it is tempting at times. I still attend a church in my ecclesial tradition, and I try, as much as I am able, to stay “connected to my (immigrant, working-class, urban) roots.” I’ve chosen a life in a profession and vocation traditionally reserved for a social class “higher” than that of my parents, grandparents, and the majority of the peers of my youth. However, I strive to use the gifts, opportunities, and skills I’ve gained from being in such a place in service of those very people who nurtured me when the majority of those in my current class ignored the virtue, and even the existence, of said nurturers. And I try never to forget the lessons I learned from those people even as I learn the lessons of “great minds and important thinkers.”

Ten Years Later: Personal Reflections on the Decade Since 9/11

Ten years ago I was in my car driving to work at Puget Sound Naval Shipyard in the early hours of the morning when I heard on the radio that planes had crashed into the World Trade Center. I arrived at the shipyard to extra security and a workday in which we watched the news for hours as we tried to make sense of what had happened. I was eighteen years old, a recent high school graduate. I had not pursued college and was a painting/sandblasting apprentice learning how to maintain the coatings on naval submarines and ships. This began what has become quite a long journey and a dramatic transformation in my life.

I am the child of a United States soldier and a Korean immigrant. My father is from a small town in middle Tennesse and my mother from the southern part of South Korea. My dad raised me on John Wayne movies, professional wrestling, SEC football, and Bible Belt-Church of Christ Christianity. My mother raised me on Korean food and immigrant dreams. As a youth I fell in love with hip hop music, my Korean-American identity, and the Church. I grew up imitating the Fresh Prince and idolizing Tupac Shakur. This was my existence. I came from a working class, immigrant family in a neighborhood where I could pretend I was Tupac when I wanted and still grow up in the safety of a loving church. This was my experience.

Part of that experience meant I was consistently conflicted: my conservative Christianity taught me a certain form of theology (and politics) that emphasized the individual, Puritan morality, and a romanticized American history; but my minority position in America and deep connection to the African-American community (through friends and culture) taught me a radical politics that exposed the contradictions and hypocrisies of my country and, sometimes, my faith. The result of being raised by a soldier who loved John Wayne movies and my deep love of hip hop music was that I embraced a deep belief in what Walter Wink has called “redemptive violence.” I firmly believed in an “eye for an eye” approach to the world.

Then two things happened: 9/11 and, a few months later, a call from God to enter the ministry. At this point my entire life and world began to change. I questioned the response to 9/11 I saw from my political and religious leaders. I heard questionable uses of Christian scripture and theology in the rhetoric of politicians and preachers. As I studied and meditated on the Bible to discern my call to the ministry I began to experience some cognitive dissonance with what I had always accepted as “just the way things are.” As we prepared for war I wondered if I could, as a Christian, participate in the preparation of weapons of war and remain faithful. As I went through my parents divorce and other hard times with family, the emptiness I felt making more money than I needed, and God’s constant pull on my heart I spent entire nights in prayer exploring what my future should be.

I eventually wound up at Pepperdine University where I studied Religion and went through a true faith transformation. I met some of the best friends I’ve ever had (they are truly my family) and studied with professors who challenged and transformed my faith. I studied scripture, theology, and history in a way that transformed my faith. I spent summers in slums in India and East Africa and was a minister at a church in inner-city Los Angeles. I learned about God’s special concern for the poor, the place of justice in Christian theology, and the call of God for Christians to be peacemakers. I studied the lives of Martin Luther King, Jr. and Mohandas Gandhi and became an ardent advocate of nonviolence and steadily grew to reject the conservative politics I grew up accepting as “appropriate” for Christians even though they didn’t mesh with my experience. My time at Pepperdine opened up a new understanding of Christian theology and ministry that also transformed my politics.

From there I married my best friend; a woman who has seen me through many hard times and been a faithful representation of God’s grace and love for me throughout the years. We are quite the funny little couple: she is Black, Puerto Rican, and German, and I am White and Korean. We both grew up in the churches of Christ (we can make Baptists look liberal!) and as multi-racial people in a world that doesn’t know what to do with us. She grew up in a home with a loving marriage and went to private school her whole life. I grew up in a home where the marriage eventually imploded and went to public schools with, um, “reputations.” She never watched Fat Albert and I never watched The Princess Bride. But we make it do what it do and we love doing it together.

I also went to seminary and ran a homeless shelter in southern California, and I am now a doctoral student in social ethics and theology at Emory University. My commitment to nonviolence has become more nuanced, and I am no longer in traditional ministry. However, God has taken me on a journey that is more than I could have ever imagined on that day ten years ago:

1. My understanding of ministry has become more holistic. I believe I have remained faithful to God’s call on my life in my ministries at churches, in American and international slums, in my nonprofit work, and in my scholarship and teaching. In all that I do I still understand myself as one called by God to do ministry, but it doesn’t always have to look like I once thought it did.

2. My commitment to racial justice has become even stronger than it was as a youth. I’ve never been fooled by the “post-racial” rhetoric. As a child of an immigrant I know first hand what it means to encounter blatant and not-so-blatant racism. I’ve been called “gook” and seen the ways in which society dehumanizes those whose skin is not so light as mine. Fortunately, my theological journey has opened up even more resources for me to challenge such structures, in both society and church.

3. I now have a “theology of justice.” The personal evangelical theology of my youth has been replaced with a robust social theology that emphasizes justice-seeking. Coming to understand the biblical call for justice was a conversion experience for me. It changed my understanding of God’s will in the world, Christian ministry, and politics. In many ways this was a response to the theology of my youth that failed to help me make sense of the blatant injustice and suffering I saw in the places God let me to.

4. I also now have a “theology of peacemaking.” This was a direct response to 9/11 and those Christian leaders I saw who had no ability to question America’s militaristic response to 9/11. I heard sermons that told us the Christian thing to do was to be patriotic and support American wars without any question. This didn’t sit well with me for some reason and I now know why: it wasn’t Christian. The examples of Jesus and MLK have forever changed my life. While the world has continued its violent ways since 9/11, I have tried very hard to live my life as a peacemaker. I have succeeded at this in some instances and have failed miserably in others, but I am working towards this every day.

5. I like to tell people I once said, “Two things I’ll never do: go to college and be in ministry.” God has since led me through college and two graduate schools, and has taken me all over the world doing ministry. My experiences in third world slums and America’s ghettoes have forever changed me. I’ve encountered many people and done many things I never imagined I could, let alone would, growing up in the home of an at one time unemployed soldier and a fast food service worker. I now find myself among the world’s elite talking about things I used to care nothing for. I’m just a cat from Tacoma, WA. I graduated from Spanaway Lake High School. My mother is a janitor and waitress. My father is a career soldier. I’m not supposed to be here. But this is where God has taken me. I’m excited to see where the next ten years will lead.

My First Time at the SCE

This past weekend The Society of Christian Ethics had their annual meeting in New Orleans. Not only was this my first time attending the conference, it was also the first time I have presented a paper at one of the major academic societies that I am a part of. I thoroughly enjoyed my time at the conference – who can complain about catching up with old friends and making new ones, eating lots of cajun food, introducing my wife to the beignets at Cafe du Monde, and hours and hours of conversation about Christian theology, ethics and academic life – and plan on attending for many years to come.

My paper, which I wrote and presented with K. Christine Pae (who is a wonderful scholar and has done extensive research on the moral agency of military prostitutes in Korea and the implications of military prostitution for Christian social ethics) and was responded to by Irene Oh (a scholar of both Christian and Muslim ethics), was entitled “The Unavoidable Burden of Race: In Search of Justice-Oriented Asian American Christian Public Discourse.” The paper was presented during the Asian/Asian American Working Group session of the meeting. It was a well-attended paper and Christine and I received nothing but good and constructive feedback on the paper. Hopefully, we will find a forum in which we can publish the paper.

I must say, I enjoyed this meeting more than I did the annual meeting of the American Academy of Religion this year; primarily because of the way the conference is structured. The paper sessions are devoted to one paper. This means that authors present about a 20-25 page paper rather than a 10-12 page paper, and also means that there is a more extended time for Q&A. With this format you get to hear a more extended account of people’s research and arguments, and have a much more fruitful Q&A session.

I heard multiple papers that were engaging and led to wonderful conversations afterwards. John Kiess, a doctoral student at Duke, presented a theology of moral agency of victims in violent conflict that drew on ethnographic research he conducted in a village in Congo; Karen Guth, a doctoral candidate at the University of Virginia, presented a feminist reappropriation of Martin Luther King’s understanding of agape as mutuality and creativity (which I think she nailed right on the head!); and my friend and advisor Ellen Ott Marshall presented a paper dealing with the question of responsibility in pacifist conviction by drawing on interviews she conducted with four women in historic peace churches, to name a few. In addition to the papers presented, James Gustafson was honored with the first ever lifetime achievement award in a moving presentation that included his dedication to his wife and a kiss on the cheek from longtime friend and antagonist Stanley Hauerwas, Hauerwas was inducted as the new president of the SCE, Stacey Floyd-Thomas was introduced as the new exective director, and Miguel De La Torre was elected as the new vice president (which means he will be the next president after Hauerwas). The intriguing grouping of Hauerwas, Floyd-Thomas and De La Torre as the society’s leadership as a wonderful embodiment of the diversity (theological and otherwise) present in the society.

So, in the end, I give two cheers to my first experience of the main event of life in the SCE!

Spotlight On: Made in the Streets

Nairobi is home to the world’s largest slum (Kibera). It is also the home of several other slums (like Mathare and Eastleigh). These slums are home to the world’s poorest people. Extreme poverty, disease (including rampant HIV/AIDS), violence (including rape), crime, homelessness, alcoholism and drug addiction, hunger/malnutrition and broken families, unfortunately, define more of life in these “neighborhoods” than they should. (Watch this 22 minute video by Al-Jazeera to get a feel for life in these slums.) For many in these slums there is no hope. However, there is at least one organization making a real difference, and providing real hope, in these hells on earth: Made in the Streets.

MITS is an organization with a center in the Eastleigh slum, and a boarding/schooling program outside of Nairobi in a town called Kamulu. MITS serves teenage boys and girls who are often homeless or without family, and teenage single mothers with young children. The center in Eastleigh provides a space for child care and parenting lessons, Bible studies, food, water, showering facilities and relationships. Those who are consistent in coming to the center and demonstrate a desire and commitment to getting off the streets (most of these children are either addicted to drugs, involved in crime, or both) are then considered to join the boarding program in Kamulu when space is available. In Kamulu the children are provided an education (math, English, Bible, etc.), trade skills (carpentry, tailoring, hair dressing, catering, farming, mechanics, computer skills, etc.), housing, clothes, food and a community that does everything from birthday parties to soccer tournaments to church together. Kids usually stay at Kamulu for between three and five years. After graduating from the program they move on to the next phase in life with the assistance of the MITS staff. The most successful have well-paying, full-time jobs, homes and even families of their own. Many have even joined the MITS staff and are continuing the cycle of bringing children from the brink of despair.

I have now spent two summers working with MITS and have sponsored several children in the program. I believe deeply in the people who work at MITS and the ministry. They are truly a city on a hill and the salt of the earth. In their own way, both large and small, they are living the Kingdom of God as best they can while on this earth. Please check out their website and consider partnering with this amazing organization.

For more on life in Nairobi’s slums check out these links:

Life of Street Teens
Reality of Rape
Slum Survivors
No Country for Women
Horror and Hope
PeePoo Project

My First Teaching Job

Yesterday I signed a contract for my first “official” teaching job. I will be teaching at Emory University’s Oxford College campus. My official title will be Visiting Instructor in the Humanities. Each semester I will teach an ethics and leadership course. I’ll also be the Director for a new Ethics and Servant Leadership Forum program – through the Pierce Institute for Leadership and Community Engagement – on campus that will be modeled after the EASL Forum program on the Emory College campus in Atlanta (of which I am working with the internship program this summer.)

I’m very excited for this opportunity, and think that in many ways it is a perfect fit for where I am now in my career and for preparing me for where I would like to be in the future. I’m sure my first time being the sole teacher of a college course will provide much fodder for blog-worthy insights – so stay tuned!

Still the Old Boys Club: Race, Gender, Churches of Christ, and the Academy

I am a life-long member of the churches of Christ and a current doctoral student in religion (Christian social ethics) hoping for a future as a professor and scholar. A couple of weekends ago I attended the Christian Scholars’ Conference at Lipscomb University in Nashville, TN. I think highly of the conference and think it is a jewel in the world of CofC higher education. The annual conference is, generally, focused on different issues regarding the intersection of faith and culture. This year focused on faith and the arts, next year focuses on religion and science, and two years ago (the last CSC I attended) the focus was on faith and politics. The conference draws scholars, ministers, students and laypersons from around the country. Often CofC sponsored events are rather exclusive, meaning only people affiliated with the CofC attend, but this conference is different. Every year there are plenary speakers from outside the tradition, but the event still has a profoundly CofC ethos. It is, in my opinion, a shining example of one way people can be ecumenical, show hospitality to “outsiders,” have a true willingness to learn from others and still be true to one’s own tradition and identity. I was happy to attend and plan to attend many more in the future.

However, it is also a reminder of much of what is wrong within the CofC world – especially its circles of higher education. Due to professional responsibilities I was only able to attend the last day of the conference. During that one morning/afternoon I was involved in two events. The first was a breakfast for CofC graduate students in theological/religious studies. The second was a panel presentation. As I looked around the room of future CofC theology, Bible, and ministry professors during the breafast I couldn’t help but notice that I was the only person who was not, um, white. And I’m only halfway there! (Perhaps there was another barely noticeable multi-racial person in the room, but I couldn’t tell.) Also, among the 30 or so attendees there was only, if I remember correctly, four women. The room was as white and male as any room in contemporary America can be. Clearly, something (some-bodies) was missing. (As an important sidenote, I attended the conference free of charge because of an initiative the CSC has of providing $500 for ethnic minorities/graduate students attending the conference to encouarage diversity and future scholars.)

In my second event, the panel discussion, there was only one person who was not white (not including myself) in the entire room. He was of Asian descent. Oh, and there were exactly zero women present in the room. Zero. So, let’s count the number of black persons present at events I attended: 0. Number of Hispanic persons: 0. Number of Asian persons: 1 1/2. Number of women: 4. The CofC still has a problem with the “old boys club” if you ask me.

Now, these, obviously, aren’t the only experiences people had. So, what experiences did others have? Well, I heard one story of a luncheon held in an esteemed scholar’s honor in which a joke was made about the lack of women present, though there was at least one present, with some inappropriate reference to strippers. I’ve also read about an incident where an offensive joke about multi-racial marriages was made (as the product of, and current partner in, one, I wish I was there to show some, ahem, “righteous indignation”). Finally, in the panel session I attended one of the presenters referred to a group of people, literally, as “A-rabs.” So, while displays of overt racism were far from the CSC, ingrained bigotry and prejudice were more than present. In many ways, the CofC is decades behind the rest of the nation as far as the presence, and influence, of minority scholars of theology/religion is concerned.

I’ve been affiliated with two Methodist seminaries in my life. At both places concerns about racial/gender justice and inclusivity were the norm. They are consciously addressing the legacy of racism and patriarchy in American Christianity. Unfortunately, the CofC lags far behind. Take a look at the theology/Bible/ministry faculty at OCU, Harding, Harding University Graduate School of Religion, Lipscomb University, ACU, and Pepperdine University. Notice any racial and/or gender patterns there? (Special shout-out to Pepperdine and ACU for actually having TWO ethnic minorities on their faculty and to Pepperdine for having the FIRST woman Bible prof ever at a CofC school.)

In multiple ways the world of CofC theological studies is very much still an old boys club. Justice has yet to reach our version of the ivory tower. I have hope that the future will be different, but if the breakfast I attended at the CSC is any indication that hope is very dim. And if the attitudes represented in off-hand comments are any indication, many of those currently holding academic positions are blind to, or don’t care about, the problem.

It makes me sad, and angry, that this is the case in the ecclesial fellowship I am a part of. This experience is a stark reminder of how much work I have to do, and far we have to go, in the CofC. As a Christian I understand it to be my duty to seek justice in any context I find myself in. As one who has chosen to place myself in the context of higher education, one form of that pursuit is to work to open the doors of our institutions of higher education, specifically those doors in theological/biblical/ministerial studies, to those who have not been able to teach and lead the future generations of CofC’ers for far too long – women and ethnic minorities.

Will you join me in that pursuit?

17 Degrees Aint Nothing

My friend and colleague Carlton Mackey has made a documentary about the lives of several homeless men in Atlanta entitled 17 Degrees Aint Nothing. There will be several screenings happening over the summer – and from what I’ve heard it’s well worth the watch. If you’re in the Atlanta area I highly recommend checking it out. There’s a list of the screenings on the site. Go check it out!

New Issue of Practical Matters: Ethnography and Theology

Practical Matters, the journal I will soon join the staff of, has just published their third issue focusing on ethnography and theology. It includes articles by Emory colleagues like John Senior and Lerone Martin (students), and Dianne Diakite and Don Seeman (professors). There are articles on ethnography and feminism, African Diasporic Religions, children and art, and Christian moral formation. This journal is an exercise in interdisciplinarity and multiple technologies in doing religious scholarship, and I highly recommend checking it out!