Oh, for a thousand tongues to sing

A glorious day of worship today! I played for both the contemporary service (piano) and the regular old service (organ). The Permanent Deacon preached a wonderful, stern, thoughtful, convicting sermon about sacrifice (the OT lesson was the abortive sacrifice of Isaac). Both celebrants presided with dignity and grace. The congregational singing at the late service was particularly wonderful, with confident four-part harmony a capella on a couple of stanzas and some interesting if unplanned free accompaniments from the Organist (me). We even had incense. It was like being in church again!

Some miscellaneous observations:

(1) I was a minute or two into the prelude when I thought, with some relief, "Hey, this is going pretty well." My fingers immediately got tangled up.

(2) One parishioner said of my organ playing today, "I thought for a moment that Bob was back with us." Bob was our previous organist, and one of the best service-players I've ever heard. It was an extravagant compliment, but no less gratifying for that.

(3) You really can't go wrong with "Oh, for a thousand tongues to sing" (to Azmon, of course). I did things that would have got me kicked out of any reputable music school, and it still sounded great. And what a great combination of text and tune!

If I could preach tomorrow

For those who are using the Revised Common Lectionary, tomorrow's readings offer a wonderful opportunity. The Gospel is extremely brief, so it would make more sense to preach on the Epistle:

Do not let sin exercise dominion in your mortal bodies, to make you obey their passions. No longer present your members to sin as instruments of wickedness, but present yourselves to God as those who have been brought from death to life, and present your members to God as instruments of righteousness. For sin will have no dominion over you, since you are not under law but under grace.

What then? Should we sin because we are not under law but under grace? By no means! Do you not know that if you present yourselves to anyone as obedient slaves, you are slaves of the one whom you obey, either of sin, which leads to death, or of obedience, which leads to righteousness? But thanks be to God that you, having once been slaves of sin, have become obedient from the heart to the form of teaching to which you were entrusted, and that you, having been set free from sin, have become slaves of righteousness. I am speaking in human terms because of your natural limitations. For just as you once presented your members as slaves to impurity and to greater and greater iniquity, so now present your members as slaves to righteousness for sanctification.

When you were slaves of sin, you were free in regard to righteousness. So what advantage did you then get from the things of which you now are ashamed? The end of those things is death. But now that you have been freed from sin and enslaved to God, the advantage you get is sanctification. The end is eternal life. For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Here's an invitation to do something new and actually talk about sin. Here St Paul talks about how we volunteer for enslavement, and to get what? Only death: the death of relationships, of joy, of purpose, and ultimately of our very selves. And while a free person can volunteer for slavery, as we have done, a slave cannot volunteer for freedom. So we must be set free by someone else, a Liberator who must also be Lord, because allegiance is the only proper response to so great a deliverance. But though we have been redeemed from one service only to be pressed into another, there is no comparison between the two, for this new service brings holiness, joy, purpose, and life everlasting.

If we don't talk about sin, we can't talk about redemption. But our bland, innocuous preachers, too timid to remind us of our true state for fear that someone might be offended -- for how could we live with the idea of a demanding, holy, awesome God? -- have thrown out the Baby of Bethlehem with the baptismal bathwater.

OK, that last bit was over the top. Sometimes my Southern Baptist heritage kicks in and I just have to try some alliteration. In any event, I can guarantee you that I won't be hearing about sin in church tomorrow.

More time at the organ

This Sunday's music is incomparably easier than last Sunday's. Practicing this morning was a pleasure. The only difficulty is that a couple of the hymns positively demand creative harmonizations, and I can't find any, and you certainly don't want me making up my own. But I'm introducing the Communion hymn with a nice Baroque choral prelude on the relevant tune, which I suppose counts for something. My prelude and postlude are already sounding better than last week's. I suspect I play the postlude considerably faster than I'm supposed to, but I figure if you can't make a piece exciting by exceptionally fine playing, speed is a handy substitute.

What is postulancy?

Canon III.8.2 (a) says that "Postulancy is a time, no less than six months in length, for exploration of and decision on the Postulant's call to the Priesthood." If all goes well, postulancy is followed by candidacy, which must also last at least six months, and ordination to the diaconate, which can be followed by ordination to the priesthood after no less than six months. My period of postulancy is probably going to last a year. During that time I'll be on a research fellowship at a university located in the see city of another diocese. The Bishop hopes that I will be able to do field education at the Cathedral there, and I may also try to do a quarter of Clinical Pastoral Education during that time as well.

Churches are spooky at night

When I was a graduate student, I was the organist for my small parish. I had a key to the church and often practiced at night. The darkness, the creaking noises of an old building settling, the strange lights of passing traffic filtered through stained glass: these make for a certain spookiness, which is only enhanced by playing Baroque music in D minor (which, as we all know, is the spookiest of all keys).

I had forgotten about that feeling, at once comfortable and unsettling, until tonight. Having missed practice earlier in the day because of a meeting at the diocesan office, I went in tonight so that I could at least figure out what my prelude and postlude will be in time to get them in Sunday's bulletin. It was an eerie walk down memory lane, and as I played through the Ciaconna of Pachelbel's Prelude, Fugue, and Ciaconna in -- you guessed it -- D minor, I worked myself up into a most gratifying state of nervous nostalgia.

Ten days into postulancy

Today I received a letter from the Diocese informing me that I was admitted to postulancy on June 11. The Bishop and Commission on Ministry want to find a seminary professor to work with me on evaluating my preparation for ordination; the Bishop "is exploring possibilities and will help facilitate that contact." The letter also notes that it is "customary" to write a letter to the Bishop on the quarterly Ember Days about my "continued journey."

Well, "customary" rather understates the case. It's required by canon law. Canon III.8.2 (d) (1) states:

Each Postulant or Candidate for ordination to the Priesthood shall communicate with the Bishop in person or by letter, four times a year, during the Ember Weeks, reflecting on the individual's academic experience and personal and
spiritual development.

Hence, of course, the name of this blog. In the Episcopal Church the Ember Days are the Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday after the First Sunday in Lent, the Day of Pentecost, Holy Cross Day (September 14), and December 13. So I don't have a letter to write for nearly three months.

More later!

In which the Aspirant pretends to be the Organist

I used to play the organ pretty regularly. I was never terribly good -- I'm a good pianist, but I never worked hard enough to become a good organist -- but I was good enough to play for Sunday services in a small parish. I even managed to supplement my income throughout graduate school by playing for weddings and funerals. By the time I got my Ph.D., I was making more money playing the organ than I made from my teaching assistantship.

But since that time I've been in parishes with real musicians. My current parish has not only a full-time musician on staff but several parishioners who are members of the American Guild of Organists, including the wonderfully talented organ professor at the University. So there hasn't been much call for my meager skills. Today, however, I'm on deck. Our organist is on a much-deserved vacation, and somehow I ended up being his sub. When I started practicing in earnest over a week ago, I was startled by how much my skills had degraded. The big Bach piece I had chosen as a prelude, which used to be comfortably in my fingers, showed a tendency to fall apart in several places. A couple of the hymns had rather acrobatic pedal lines that utterly defeated me, so that I was producing random honks and wincing uncontrollably.

Thankfully, things are much better now. If I play as well today as I did in practice yesterday, I'll be pleased. It's not perfection, but it's far from embarrassing. Today is the last Sunday for our much-loved assistant, and I would at least like to do a creditable job for his sake.

Meeting with my COM liaison

I don't know if this is standard practice everywhere, but in my diocese the Commission on Ministry appoints a liaison to check in with the aspirant once a month or so. I had my first meeting with him on Friday. He's the rector of a small parish about an hour away from here. I'll call him Fr Steve.

When I met with the COM, I didn't know who was ordained and who wasn't. Somehow Fr Steve struck me as a layman; he certainly struck me as gay. So when I returned his phone message to set up our meeting, I was surprised when the secretary answered "Saint Dunstan's Church." I was still more surprised when I looked up the Saint Dunstan's website and saw a picture of Fr Steve and his wife.

It turns out that my intuitions were in decent working order after all. Although Fr Steve is indeed a priest of long standing, he turned away from the church early on and returned to ministry only a few years ago. And he volunteered the information that he is in fact gay; his wife has known it all along. It was clearly a relief for him to be able to talk to another gay man. No one in this diocese knows about his situation, except for the Bishop. I can't imagine what it would be like to be in his shoes -- or hers, for that matter.

In any event, our meeting was quite enjoyable. We talked for a couple of hours about his history, my history, the challenges of parish ministry in different contexts, and suchlike topics. He invited me to come to his parish and preach if I would like. I think I'll take him up on that invitation if I can find a Sunday that I'm in town and not otherwise committed.

On the phone with the IRS

I so wish I were Mr Lileks: I could make a hilarious story out of this.

My state's department of revenue just noticed a discrepancy between my federal return and my state return from 2002, and they wanted me to explain myself. The discrepancy came about because the IRS made some changes to my federal return. At the time I couldn't actually find the mistakes the IRS claimed I had made, but when the IRS tells you you owe money, you just write a check, right? But in order to figure out how to revise the state return, I needed to determine what exactly had gone wrong with my 2002 federal return. So I head off to a tax preparer's office and happened to catch them during the eight hours a week they're open at present. Tax Lady and I fought our way back through the cobwebs to her office, where she looked over my return and said she couldn't figure out where I had gone wrong. Could I go home and get all my receipts and W-2s and things? Sure. Twenty minutes later I'm back, she's entering numbers in software, and still, no go. The IRS has me with $5000 of income that neither of us can locate. The cryptic letter I had received from the IRS merely said I had made mistakes on Schedules A and D, but we couldn't find any such mistakes. You're going to have to call the IRS, Tax Lady said.

Home. IRS. Long wait. Finally, an answer. A polite and helpful woman doesn't quite understand my problem. When I finally get her to understand it, she puts me on hold. Five minutes later: "There were problems with Schedules A and D." Me: "Yes, I know that. But what were the problems?" Her: "I can't tell you that, but I'll transfer you to someone who knows about Schedule D."

Really long wait. Mrs Chung comes on the line (her real name -- she has a thick accent that does occasionally impede understanding, and I'm rather good with accents). Explain it all again. Oddly, she can pull up my 1040 but not my Schedule D. But man, is she unpleasant -- easily exasperated, short-tempered, belligerent, obviously convinced even before I open my mouth that I'm an idiot and very likely a tax cheat. She tells me I can't claim a capital loss on my 1040, that you can't enter anything less than 0. Tells me so repeatedly, though I know perfectly well that's not true. Sample dialogue:

Mrs Chung: "Look on page 42."
Me: "It's not on page 42."
Mrs Chung: "Page 42! Page 42! Look on page 42!"
Me: "It's not on page 42 in the 2002 book."
Mrs Chung: "You didn't tell me it was 2002."
Me: "Yes, I did."
Mrs Chung: "I didn't hear you."

But here's the thing. About half an hour into this most unpleasant discussion, it dawned on her what had happened. The IRS had for some reason counted the $3000 gross proceeds from a stock sale as a $3000 capital gain, when in fact it represented a $2000 capital loss. Voila! That's where that extra $5000 income came from. And it became evident that I had in fact filled out my Schedule D correctly, and the IRS had screwed it up. And do you know, she instantly became polite, helpful, almost obsequious. Where before she had snapped at me if I didn't have an instant answer to a complicated question ("Is line 14 greater than, but not in excess of, the difference between the sum of lines 26 and 73 and the product of line 7a and your mother's high-school graduation year?"), she now patiently instructed me on where to send the letter that you'd better believe I'll be sending.

Incidentally, I never did get to ask about my Schedule A. That's a different department. But Mrs Chung was very helpful in suggesting a time I could call back when they were not very busy, because "I know you're probably tired of talking on the phone right now." Thanks, Mrs Chung. Your Dr Jekyll personality has been a pleasure to deal with.

A good morning with the Commission on Ministry

After blogging and praying yesterday morning, I ironed a shirt, put on my most comfortable (and dressiest) suit, and hit the road at 6:00 am. (A suit clearly wasn't necessary, but I wore a suit the first time I visited the Diocesan office, and now I can't stop myself.) I arrived at 8:15 and chatted with a few members of the COM before we had Eucharist around a long table. When the celebrant announced that we would be using Prayer C, the woman next to me groaned and muttered.

After the Eucharist the Commission split into two groups. My understanding was that one group was to talk about the more spiritual side of things and the other about the nuts-and-bolts, practical issues. But in practice there was a fair bit of overlap, and I actually got the same opening question from each. I went to the spiritual group first, and I thought that part went extremely well. They asked good questions, and not in the Inquisition-like way I had expected. It felt much like the meetings of my parish discernment group, more like a conversation than an interview. We talked about my prayer life, what moves me to tears (I got in both tears of joy and tears of sorrow), my sources of spiritual support, how I came to be interested in parish ministry, what my strengths and challenges would be in such a role, and so forth. I felt none of the awkwardness that I often feel in meetings with strangers, and I credit them with establishing a really cooperative and comfortable atmosphere. I was actually funny and even borderline charming.

I felt less comfortable with the nuts-and-bolts group, for some reason, and so I didn't present myself as effectively. I wasn't dreadful, though, and I think I acquitted myself fairly well. They were especially interested in how I understood the challenges of being an openly gay priest in the Church as it is now wrestling with such issues, and they seemed to respond well as I explained that I was a traditionalist at heart and found it challenging to be on the liberal side of any dispute whatsoever. Since I recapitulate in my own life the struggles of the Church at large, I do have an unusual and (I hope) profitable perspective on all that stuff.

At the end of the second session the chair of the COM (who, incidentally, made it clear in the most gracious and oblique way possible that she is on the conservative side on Topic H) said that the Commission would write a report and get it to me as soon as possible. It could still be a while, though, since apparently there are often delays in getting materials through the Bishop's office. So for a while yet I will still be The Aspirant. I'm hopeful, though, that before too long I can upgrade my name to The Postulant.

My take on the notion of "call"

What follows is something I wrote during the parish discernment process when I was asked to talk about how I understand what it is to be "called."

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It’s an occupational hazard of philosophers to get caught up on a word. Instructed to write about my sense of call, I started thinking about what a call is. It is not (it occurs to me) something one feels. We so often talk about what we "feel" called to do or to be — I used that language in my spiritual autobiography — but calls are not the right sorts of things to be felt. Calls are not sensations or emotions; they are not divinely ordered shivers running down the Christian’s spine. A call is a divine summons; it is not felt but received. And when I look at Scriptural discussions of calling, I notice that the means by which they are received is some divine activity in the recipient. In 1 Peter 1, God calls his people by acting mercifully in their lives:

But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light. Once you were not a people, but now you are the people of God; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy.

In 1 Corinthians 1, God acts by incorporating the Corinthians into Christ, who becomes for them the variety of gifts that (Paul says rather undiplomatically) they had lacked before they were called:

For consider your calling, brethren, that there were not many wise according to the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble; but God has chosen the foolish things of the world to shame the wise, and God has chosen the weak things of the world to shame the things which are strong, and the base things of the world and
the despised God has chosen, the things that are not, so that he may nullify the things that are, so that no man may boast before God. But by his doing you are in Christ Jesus, who became to us wisdom from God, and righteousness and sanctification, and redemption, so that, just as it is written, "Let him who boasts, boast in the Lord."

Both these passages, and many others like them in the New Testament, speak of call chiefly as a matter of God’s activity in all Christians. It is not only a select few in whom God acts; it is not only a specially privileged elite whom God summons for his service. The writer to the Ephesians connects this general call, made in baptism, with the specific and diverse graces offered for different roles within the Church:

There is one body and one Spirit, just as you were also called to one hope of your calling; one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all. But to each one of us grace has been given as Christ apportioned it. This is why it says, "When he ascended on high, he led captives in his train, and gave gifts to human beings." (What does "he ascended" mean except that he also descended to the lower, earthly regions? He who descended is the very one who ascended higher than all the heavens, in order to fill the whole universe.) It was he who gave some as apostles, some as prophets, some as evangelists, and some as pastors and teachers, to equip the saints for works of service, for the building up of the body of Christ, until we all reach unity in the faith and in the knowledge of the Son of God and become mature, attaining to the whole measure of the fullness of Christ.

Thus the call that is upon all Christians in virtue of their baptism is God’s work within them. And although this work has the same end for all — that of building up the one body of Christ — it encompasses a variety of means. Christ apportions grace to each of us, giving the gifts that are his to give as the ascended King and High Priest who fills the whole universe. As Christopher Cocksworth puts it, what emerges in these passages is a "definition of the people of God as a priestly community, within which certain members of that community are called to exercise different ministries . . . with certain people called from within the community to shape and to form its life."

It is explicitly within this context, having identified his whole audience as "a chosen race, a royal priesthood," that the writer of 1 Peter goes on to address a charge specifically to those within the community who are presbyters (or, as we would say now, priests):

I exhort the presbyters among you — I who am also a presbyter, and a witness to the sufferings of Christ, and one who has a share in the glory that is going to be revealed: Shepherd the flock of God that is among you, exercising oversight, not because you are forced to, but because you want to, in accordance with God’s will; not for sordid gain, but eagerly; not lording it over those allotted to your charge, but proving to be examples to the flock.

Just about every word of this little passage bears reflection (again getting hung up on words!), but I will concentrate on four: shepherd, oversight, want, and example.

To shepherd is to provide good pasture, nourishing food. For the presbyter, I think this encompasses teaching, preaching, and the Eucharist. We think of the Scriptures as food ("Grant us so to hear them, to read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them"), and certainly nothing is more central to priestly ministry than making available the "Food to pilgrims given." In speaking with another member of Trinity who is discerning a call to the priesthood, I came to realize even more emphatically how inseparable these two are for me. "Your teaching ministry cannot be complete," she said, "unless you can call people to the altar." Words to that effect, anyway: the idea is that the kind of teaching that God is calling me to offer will seem stunted and truncated if it cannot find its culmination in the spiritual feast that is the Eucharist.

When we think of shepherding, of course we think of the Good Shepherd. It is clear that the writer had that association in mind as well, since he goes on to say, "And when the Chief Shepherd appears, you will receive the crown of glory that will never fade away." All Christians are called to be the image of Christ; presbyters are specially called to image Christ as "pastor and teacher" (‘pastor’ being the Latin word for ‘shepherd’). I suspect this is part of what 1 Peter has in mind with the word example. The Greek is typos, and certainly the most obvious meaning of the word is a pattern to be imitated, which is how we usually understand ‘example’ in this passage. But typos is also used in Greek to describe children who are, as we would say, "the very image" of their parents. The presbyter is made not only a model for another but a model of Another. Thank goodness the writer talks not in terms of an accomplishment, an already achieved status as image, but in terms of development: "proving to be examples for the flock."

Another aspect of Christ’s shepherding that this passage calls on presbyters to model is that of exercising oversight. Shepherds not only feed their flocks; they keep an eye on them and supervise them. An overseer in Greek is an episkopos, from which we get our word ‘bishop’; but here presbyters are invited to share in overseeing the flock entrusted to them. And there is a great deal here about the spirit in which they ought to exercise that pastoral oversight: not grudgingly or under compulsion, not in the pursuit of money ("for sordid gain") or power ("lording it over the flock"), but eagerly and because they want to. I think somewhere in the back of our minds is a vague impression that it’s a bit unseemly for anyone to express an eagerness for ordination. I suspect it’s because we too often suspect that anyone who is positively eager to be ordained must in fact be some sort of careerist who desires to "lord it over the flock." By all means, let us test the spirit in which people present themselves for ordained ministry. But if it does not appear that someone is drawn by money or power, then I think it is wise to assume that such eagerness is a work of God, part of the divine activity that is, I have argued, the mode in which God’s call is received.

It's 3 a.m., I must be nervous

It's actually a little after 4:00, but close enough. I woke up extra early with my mind racing. I now have about four hours to think about what sorts of questions I'm likely to be asked and how I might like to answer them. One of the disadvantages of an unusually intelligent and thoughtful parish discernment committee was that I was always being asked unusually intelligent and thoughtful questions. They were penetrating and difficult questions, sometimes, but they always admitted of serious answers. People seeking ordination are so often asked unanswerable questions, and at the moment I'm nervous about being asked those. For example, I've never been able to figure out that old staple of Commission on Ministry questions, "Why do you need to be ordained to do what you feel called to do?" Well, I'm called to be a priest, and you can't be a priest without being ordained. Doesn't really go anywhere, that question.

Getting closer

Yesterday's meeting with the Bishop went well. He joked about the way in which the same phrases appear over and over in the psychologist's reports, obviously generated by the program that scores the tests. He also outlined more clearly than before how the process will go for me (assuming the COM approves). I will be a postulant for about a year while I'm away on fellowship writing my book. During that time I'll do my field education, probably (if the Bishop of that Diocese is on board) at the Cathedral in the city where I'll be working. That would involve spending 10-15 hours a week working in the parish in various ways, such as preaching, being a Lay Eucharistic Visitor, and teaching. By the time I leave for the new job in the summer of '06, I will be a candidate. That would last for six months to a year, allowing me to prepare for the General Ordination Exam (bleah!). I would return here for ordination to the diaconate and then again for ordination to the priesthood. So if there are no hitches, I'll be a priest by the end of 2007.

The Bishop also explained how things will go on Saturday. I'll meet with the COM in two different groups, which will question me in different areas -- the exact nature of that questioning to be determined in their meeting the night before. It should last two hours at the outside. After that I'll have to wait -- possibly for an appreciable period of time, the Bishop warned -- for a written report detailing what the COM would like to see me do during postulancy. I told him that if I get nervous because I haven't heard anything, I can always just ask the member of the COM who is a fellow-parishioner.

The other career

While I'm preparing for a possible change in careers, my current one is humming along nicely. The prospectus for the book I intend to work on next year has received two very favorable readers' reports, and Oxford University Press will be issuing a contract shortly.

The prospect of getting to work on the book has renewed my energy for academic work, which had flagged noticeably over the course of the last few months. Other than writing one short article and a book review essay, I was pretty unproductive last semester. But I'm actually quite excited about this book project, and having a year's fellowship to work on it is a wonderful prospect. I love teaching, but a year away from it will do me a great deal of good.

Conference wrap-up

Alas, I have no sermon notes for yesterday, since my travel schedule prevented me from attending church. (I go to great lengths not to miss church on Sundays, but sometimes the airlines just won't cooperate.) The conference was a great success, I think. My own paper went very well. It was originally written for a very different audience, so I retooled it slightly for this conference so that I could use it for light comic relief, and in that respect it was a great success. There was some serious discussion afterwards, most of which I handled pretty well, I thought. But there was one question that I simply could not follow -- and from someone who is the very model of lucidity, so clearly the problem was with me and my questioner. I just hate it when I can tell I'm not connecting.

The mix of personalities, some of them new to this conference and some of them old hands, was fascinating. One senior scholar with a booming voice and a pontificating manner held forth amusingly over dinner and drinks but annoyed everyone with his interminable questions in the actual sessions. Another newcomer, a feisty Texan, could have been annoying in the same way but actually endeared herself to everyone by mocking her own scholarly self-sufficiency. One newcomer turned out to be an Anglo-Catholic of my sort. (He complained about the formula "In the Name of the Creator, Redeemer, and Sanctifier," much used in his parish, because he starts making the sign of the cross at "In the Name of" and then realizes he's been tricked. That's exactly the sort of thing I get worked up about.)

Now that I'm back home, I have quite a lot to do. Today I'm going to work on travel reimbursement and some other financial matters. I'll be without benefits for two months this summer and without a paycheck for one because of the change in jobs, so I have to start making arrangements for that sort of thing as well. Some time this week I'll meet with the Bishop about my psychological report, and then on Saturday it's the Commission on Ministry. I'm also substituting for our organist on the last two Sundays of the month, so I'll need to get in a lot of practice. I can show up every Sunday and play the piano with no practice at all, but my skills as an organist, which were never great, are very rusty indeed.

Of urologists and airline rules

After posting yesterday morning I went to take my shower. Removing the gauze from over the incision made in my recent hydrocelectomy, there was enough fresh blood to alarm me a bit, not to mention that the wound itself looked pretty gruesome. I had called my urologist's office on Tuesday, only to find out that he would not be in until Wednesday afternoon. I suppose at that point I should have pressed to be seen by someone else in his group, but I figured I was probably just being paranoid anyway, so I let it go. But the blood and general ugliness yesterday morning made me leave early so I could stop by the emergency room on the way to the airport. (There don't seem to be any urgent care clinics in our town, just emergency rooms.)

7:30 on a Wednesday morning when classes are not in session is apparently not a busy time for ERs where I live, so I was able to get in pretty quickly. The ER doc said she never saw post-op hydrocele repair patients, so she thought she'd likely have to call in a urologist, but she would take a look anyway. She clearly did not like what she saw and indicated that she would indeed call in a urologist, but she didn't know how long it might take. I said I had a flight to catch in two hours. She said, emphatically, "I would not be getting on a plane with a wound that looked like that." The wound was "dehiscent," she said -- my new vocabulary word of the day. (From the Latin dehiscere, meaning "to dehisce." I hope that clears things up. Actually, it means "gaping open," which is just what you want to hear about a wound in that particular area.)

While I was waiting, I decided I'd call the airline and see what my options were if I missed my flight. It will come as no surprise to frequent travelers that I basically had a choice between being moderately screwed and being royally screwed. Never mind that I was actually in an emergency room. There was not the slightest flexibility, not the remotest conception of customer service, friendliness, or "we'll do what we can to keep your business." It was going to cost me something, and the only question was how much. I hate airlines.

Eventually the urologist came, and it happened to be my own surgeon. He seemed to feel a bit bad that I had been basically forced to make an ER visit to do what could have been done in his office. But he took one look at the wound and said, "Oh, that's fine. These scrotal wounds are always goopy. It's healing quite normally. Just keep gauze on it and you'll be fine." Whew!

On my way out I saw the ER doc again. "Apparently, that's how it's supposed to look," I said, "but it certainly looked worrisome to me." "Me too," she said. So at least I know I wasn't being paranoid. It did occur to me later that the urologist could have saved me a bit of trouble by warning me about the "goopiness," but that's a minor point. Not only did I leave feeling quite reassured, but I made my flight. So here I am. The conference starts after lunch, so I have plenty of time to say Morning Prayer, exercise, and possibly think up more instructions for preachers.

Scattered thoughts on the way to a conference

I'm traveling to a conference today. I've always really enjoyed this conference -- a small, congenial affair with a number of my favorite people in the profession, where work of unusually high quality is presented -- but for some reason I'm not so excited about going this time. Perhaps it's the feeling that I am beginning my transition out of the profession, so academic conferences aren't really where my heart is at the moment. Or perhaps it's just that I'm still not completely recovered from the minor surgery I had early last week.

I'm much more excited about my summer studies in music and liturgy. I'm going to a music conference at one of our seminaries and a liturgical workshop at another -- both in July. I canceled my summer class in order to go to the music conference, and I'm just slightly regretting that decision, since it turns out that I will not receive a paycheck in August because of the change of jobs. If I had taught the summer class, I would at least have received my pay for that, which would be 1/9 of my annual salary. I would have been ahead money rather than behind. But as I say, that's only a slight regret. Thank goodness I have a fair bit of money saved; losing a month's paycheck won't be the end of the world.

As I think about it, perhaps my relative lack of enthusiasm for this conference stems from the way in which my own research has stalled a bit. I have plans for the summer, and in the fall I'll start work on a book, but right now I'm not doing anything in particular. The paper I'm presenting is something I've already finished and sent off for publication (and it isn't particularly good anyway).

Or perhaps it has to do with my always problematic relationship to my own professional ambitions. I have long been "under conviction" about my ambition, to use an expression that will be familiar to evangelicals. And this morning I received an udpate from the Philosophical Gourmet that listed various moves of senior people in the profession. As a recent article in The Chronicle of Higher Education (available only to subscribers) suggested, the existence of the Philosophical Gourmet, with its emphasis on high-profile hires and itinerant senior faculty, has solidified a view of the profession in which a relative handful of really important people can make or break a department. Now I am not, and have no chance of being, one of that relative handful. In itself, I don't mind that -- I've never been ambitious to that extent, and I've never been under any delusions about my own abilities (except perhaps near the beginning of my career, when I tended to sell myself a bit short). But the stratification of the profession in this way leaves me with less scope for professional development than I might otherwise have, and that's a bit disappointing.

Yet that ought to be a reason for looking forward to this conference, surrounded by people who are supportive and interested, in a setting where my own professional competences rank rather higher than they do in the profession at large.

But I don't really have the time to figure this out right now. My plane leaves in less than four hours, and I haven't showered, dressed, or even packed. I'm off. If anyone sees this, say a prayer for me. I'm a somewhat nervous flier.