Moving back to Florida, living among persons who sneer at "green" initiatives, and being an unemployed divinity school graduate have allowed me time to reflect on my last divinity school papers on environmental ethics. The infatuation with "green" to describe environmental ethics, theology, etc by marketing minds certainly illuminates the failure of our self-centered culture to remember 2/3 of our planet is not green, but blue. Water is rudimentary for our and our many eco-systems' survival. Secular environmental ethicists, mostly oceanographers and adventurers, have attempted to raise this very issue with marine conservation campaigns (see a classic work like The World is Blue by Sylvia Earle). However, my own education experience in environmental ethics (which itself is fairly sparse) neglected to acknowledge this nuance.
An ironic thought occurred to me as I was snorkeling off a local beach: the color green is not a primary color and requires the mixture of yellow and blue to create the necessary 520-570 nanometer wavelength. (I was indeed thinking about wavelengths because under the water light refraction causes some interesting twists of color, but you could also return to early elementary school with the mixing of paints to envision how my mind recalled this fact.) Blue is necessary to create green. How then, can we create "green guides" and advocate "green living" without seriously discussing or explicitly acknowledging the role of marine conservation? What would living "blue" mean in popular discourse? In theology, the prominent doctrines of creation always focus on the land-based creature. Psalms and other other poetic metaphors compare the strength and depth of the ocean to God, but I have seen little published material attempting to meditate on a "blue" theology. A caveat, of course, is blue and green are intimately connected. Green lives in the ocean as well as on land. Exploring a "blue" theology doesn't exclude "green" environmental theology, but would seek to name in theological terms a profound source of life to all.
21 July 2011
Career Hunting and Practicing Presence
In a recent interview, my divinity school training helped and I believe humorously hindered the first rule of job-seeking: boast about yourself. Christian history and the diversity of persons I encountered in divinity school certainly temper the individual's pride in "knowing" the breadth, depth, and creativity of spiritual wisdom. Theologians trained in divinity schools with rich liberal arts underpinnings avoid absolute statements about their insights into the knowledge of God. This "default" training created an amusing situation when I was charged with offering a 60 second statement of why I was the best candidate for the position. Listening to the experiences of other candidates and my lack of detailed information, I was sure multiple persons in the room could perform the tasks of the job. So, I ended my statement with myself as "one of the best" instead of "the best" candidate. My interviewers caught this slip and pointed it out. I smiled and nodded toward the interviewer as I was unable articulate a short and uncomplicated retort. Since I was in the final three for candidacy, it is likely my slip painted me as a generous and humble individual. Or it was a unique answer that made me stand out in the group interview. Either way, I choked and couldn't help laugh to myself how divinity school has uniquely formed me. This formation catch the eye of many in the business world as a curious individual.
Theological training has formed particular phrasing on my tongue which may be my undoing in the job hunt, but it also helped me articulate concise, deep replies to words an institution uses to describe the core responsibilities of a position. For any sales position "presence" is a practical word with deep theological depths. My excitement of theologizing presence in the interview process, however, exposed me to unknown emotional dangers. The frustrating and lonely endeavor of job hunting illuminates the dangers of full presence in the interviewing process. I invested too much in the interviews as an attempt to embody the kind of presence I told the interviewer his description envisioned. In the end, I did not get the job and am trying to evaluate why the rejection felt more like a stab than being kindly discharged from the process. The sincerity of my presence is likely one dimension to being in the top 3% of the candidates, but I never quite envisioned the implications of rejection. The question now is how will I proceed in future interviews and balancing sincere presence with caution.... ...if that is possible.
Theological training has formed particular phrasing on my tongue which may be my undoing in the job hunt, but it also helped me articulate concise, deep replies to words an institution uses to describe the core responsibilities of a position. For any sales position "presence" is a practical word with deep theological depths. My excitement of theologizing presence in the interview process, however, exposed me to unknown emotional dangers. The frustrating and lonely endeavor of job hunting illuminates the dangers of full presence in the interviewing process. I invested too much in the interviews as an attempt to embody the kind of presence I told the interviewer his description envisioned. In the end, I did not get the job and am trying to evaluate why the rejection felt more like a stab than being kindly discharged from the process. The sincerity of my presence is likely one dimension to being in the top 3% of the candidates, but I never quite envisioned the implications of rejection. The question now is how will I proceed in future interviews and balancing sincere presence with caution.... ...if that is possible.
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