Finding The Stillness of Advent in a Culture of Yuletide Intensity

Lowe's knows what this season is all about.

It’s the season "of going all out," or so its recent commercial would suggest. While I have an immediate negative reaction to any claim that Christmas requires "going all out," I suspect that the marketers at Lowe's have succeded in diagnosing the American holiday zeitgeist.  Within this short advertisement, Lowe's isn't so much selling, as much as they are describing. December is indeed a time of going all out.

Some would argue that Christmas in a secular society is about excess and consumption. I used to agree with this widespread critique. But Lowe's has helped me to rethink things. Today, I would argue that our current cultural understanding of Christmas isn't as a time of excess but as a time of fervor. We don't view December as a season of consumption and spending, as some would suggest, but a period of vigor. We don't attend 9 Christmas dinners and wrap 35 presents or sit through 5 school concerts because of a desire to consume. We do it because we are caught up in the new-found intensity of the yuletide.This isn't a season of consumption. It's a season of hustle. It's not a season of busyness, but a season of intensity. With steely and at times frosty determination, we shop, decorate, and sprint through our holiday preparations (all of which Lowe's can and does help with).

Holiday movies depict the raging reality of this time of year. Arnold Schwarzenagger's character in the Oscar-snubbed "Jingle All The Way"is not so much a caricature but a mirrior of the frantic volition that propels us through this season. The grown-up Ralphie of "A Christmas Story" describes the time leading up to Christmas as a "yearly bacchanalia of peace on earth and goodwill to men," in a quote that encapsulates the rowdiness of this final month of the calendar.

Is it any wonder, then, that we don't know what to with Advent? We so often mistake the Christian liturgical season of Advent for the 24 days that lead up to Christmas, missing out on the practices of waiting and anticipation leading up to Christ's arrival (note to self: verify whether my annual Advent beer calendar qualifies as a practice of waiting and anticipation). I want to be clear that our misunderstanding of Advent has little to do with "putting Christ back in Christmas." Secular holiday celebrations haven't pushed aside the church's season of Advent. Rather, we have willfully adopted a mindset of forceful festivity, one that’s completely incompatible with Advent's longings and liminality.

At its core, Advent isn't a countdown to Christmas. It's a month-long reminder that Christ has come into our world. It's a four week expression of the hope that Christ will come again. Advent, then, has something of a split identity - one of looking back but also ahead. That's why the readings in Advent lectionaries depict themes of anticipation and longing, and why traditional Advent themes are solemn, even a bit melancholy. The traditional practices of Advent have been practices of repentance, of preparing our hearts and minds for Christ's presence in our lives. This has been the purpose of Advent throughout church history. By the 9th century, the church recognized that Advent served a dual purpose - of waiting for the commemoration of Christ's birth, just as we await Christ's return in the fullness of time. Throughout Christian history, Advent hasn't been a time of counting down, but a time of dwelling in the space between the Incarnation and Christ's return.

But how does one find time for stillness in a season where Lowe's beckons us to go all-out? How do we dwell in the tension of liminal space, practicing waiting and contemplation, when there are concerts to attend, parties to host, malls to visit, presents to wrap?

I'm not completely sure that the attitudes of waiting and repentance that Advent aims to instill are achievable in this setting. In a world that is increasingly fast-paced and filled with distractions, the traditional practices associated with Advent can feel out of place, almost like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. The month of December, with its relentless flurry of activity, shopping, social gatherings, and the pressure to create the perfect holiday experience, may not lend itself easily to the contemplative spirit that Advent seeks to cultivate.

And so I’d suggest that maybe the answer isn't to force a new contemplative exercise into the harried calendar of the 12th month of the year, to take on new spiritual disciplines or go "all-out" on the practices of the early church. You might try to read every book on stillness and solitude that you can, but even that might simply be an expression of the deep drive that defines December.

Perhaps the answer is simply to recognize that our celebration of Christmas loses something crucial when preceded by intensity instead of introspection. The best way forward is simply to be aware that our own effort diminishes our appreciation of this high holy day. And maybe if we learn to dial-down the intensity from December 1 through December 23, the practices of Advent will be that much more formative, our appreciation of Christmas that much more meaningful.

Theological Education & Artificial Intelligence: How Seminaries Should Teach with ChatGPT

A new academic year has started. Students are scrolling syllabi and buying e-Books, while faculty and instructors dust-off PowerPoints and lecture notes. At the same time, academic institutions are grappling with a new technology: generative artificial intelligence. Suddenly, students can generate thorough summaries of assigned reading in a fraction of the time it takes to read the complete work. Moreover, students can generate complete (albeit substandard) essays and term papers from a chatbot. So much for the academic rigor of a curriculum emphasizing independent reading - and written work!

Much has been written about how colleges and graduate schools are adapting their curricula in response to this new technology. Group presentations, project work, and in-person written exams are replacing the take-home essay. Institutions of theological education need to make these same adjustments. Seminaries, however, are unique among graduate schools in that their response to AI needs to transcend the logistics of assigned work.

It is essential for seminary educators to collaborate with their students in exploring the ethical and developmental aspects of artificial intelligence. Unfortunately, cultural observers have mostly disregarded these factors, concentrating more on the contentious aspects of AI, such as its potential for abuse or the risk of job displacement.

AI is a major technology, and major technologies have moral and formative dimensions that we must work to understand. As Marshall McLuhan said, "We become what we behold. We shape our tools, and thereafter our tools shape us." Just how much will AI shape us? Well, if we are to believe Professor Andrew Ng of Stanford, one of the world's most influential experts on AI, AI will be the "new electricity." As with electricity, AI will change not just what we are capable of doing - but how we see the world around us.

Much of the broader higher education dialogue on AI has focused on the practicalities of its use in the classroom: will students plagiarize ChatGPT? Will chatbots displace the role of teaching assistants? These questions are important - but they are not the only considerations that we must take up. Those called to theological education are called to explore how AI shapes and forms today's culture - and by extension, how it forms today's church.

The questions posed by artificial intelligence vary by academic discipline. In Biblical studies, the questions involve hermeneutics. In my own testing, I have observed how chatbots can prooftext and substantiate seemingly any theological perspective. I can ask ChatGPT to identify Bible passages to support a contentious political belief. I can ask AI to use the Bible to substantiate my denomination's statement of faith. With AI, I can press the Bible into serving my worldview. What does it mean for Biblical interpretation when the scripture becomes a resource to be mined in support of a specific worldview? And how might church leaders respond by teaching a better way to read the scriptures?

In homiletics, the questions involve sermon development and sermon reception. Chatbots create quick, succinct summaries. How will that change the ability to listen to a sermon in its entirety? AI can summarize any long-form content - from a podcast to Karl Barth's Church Dogmatics. This technology is already capable of creating succinct summaries of text and video content (ie, a sermon recording). What happens to sermons when our society develops a preference for pithy summaries instead of original content? How does a preacher remain faithful to the text and to God in a context with a much shorter span of attention?

In systematic theology, the questions involve our core doctrines. I wonder specifically about AI's propensity to airbrush any imperfection - in our grammar, in our music, in our decision-making processes. How do we re-imagine the doctrine of creation when creatio ex nihilo (creation out of nothing) becomes the domain of generative chatbots? How do we re-imagine the doctrine of salvation in a world where our work can be polished and perfected with the assistance of AI?

In pastoral care, the questions involve trust and authority. A crisis of authenticity emerges as AI-generated content becomes ubiquitous. What becomes of trust and relationship in an online environment where AI-generated creations, deep fakes included, masquerade as the creations of human beings? And what happens to the pastor-parishioner bond when our culture poses the big questions first to ChatGPT - rather than the pastor?

That's not to say that artificial intelligence only contests faith formation and Christian community. Seminaries should also examine where AI promotes the flourishing of faith. Theological educators ought to experiment with where AI can be channeled towards spiritually nourishing ends, using AI generated content for conversation, discernment, and spiritual formation.

As I explored with Dr. Michael Chan in a post for Church Anew, GenAI is a powerful tool in giving coherence to our experiences. We can use AI to create a cohesive narrative of our faith experiences, one that edifies our own spirituality while connecting us more deeply across our faith communities. The theological educator might consider what it takes to faithfully articulate one's faith story with the assistance of a tool like ChatGPT. Christian communities can be formed to use AI to promote curiosity. The content it generates provides a sort of source material for deeply human conversations taking place in analog communities.

As students and educators embark on this new academic year, I am optimistic that seminaries and theological educators will take the lead in exploring these ethical and formative questions. By doing so, they can motivate a fresh cohort of church leaders who are not only knowledgeable in theology but also dedicated to advancing the church's mission in a world on the cusp of significant technological advancement.

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@ryanpanzer graduated from Luther Seminary before it was possible to copy from ChatGPT.

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Learning How to Listen in a Digital Age

I recently read Timothy Egan's "A Pilgrimage to Eternity: From Canterbury to Rome in Search of a Faith." The travelogue depicts a multi-leveled journey. On one level, there is a physical trek through contemporary Europe. A a deeper level, there is a spiritual trek through Europe's Christian heritage. As Egan walks, he grapples with his own beliefs and faith commitments. Full of honesty and candor, Egan sets out to hear the voice of God amidst the frenetic pace of his experience. The book is captivating, raw, and poetic.

As he starts his walk from England to Italy on The Via Francigena, he encounters the first directive in The Rule of St. Benedict: "Listen." It is to be the watchword of his journey.

Again and again, Egan recalls the importance of listening to the Christian faith. Drawing upon the scriptures and the rules of St Benedict, the writings of the apostles and the teachings of Pope Francis, the book emphasizes how utterly essential listening is to a life of faith.

As I read Egan's memoir, I am struck by how he managed to re-connect to his faith. It was not through reason or logic as Augustine might instruct, nor through tradition, as some clerics might teach. He does not find his spiritual footing through attendance at mass or worship (in his memoir, he opts to skip such services when invited). Rather, the author found spiritual sustenance through silently walking the lonely passages of the Via Francigena. Clearly there is something to be said about how intentional, active listening makes us more likely to notice what God is up to in our midst.

Is it any wonder, then, that one's faith often feels contested in this digital age, a time defined by more noise, fewer conversations, and constant context switching?

Even when I try to be completely intentional about my listening, I am interrupted by texts and emails, Slack notifications and news alerts. I find it challenging to listen to members of my own family - let alone the voice of the divine!

But it's not just interruption that inhibits our willingness to listen.

It's that digital technology actively takes away opportunities to practice listening to one another. As digital tools for collaboration become more sophisticated and AI advances, I am able to work asynchronously and independently with increasing ease. The conversations and interactions I would have once required to solve a problem can now be solved through interaction with AI. The alignment I need with collaborators and co-workers can now be solved through updates and notifications on apps like Trello, JIRA, and Asana. Thus my week involves fewer actual discussions, fewer opportunities to listen.

Listening is also made more difficult by the expanding items on our to-do list. As AI and digital workplace tools make us more productive (at least in theory), we are expected to take on a more expansive set of commitments. If these tools reduce the weekly hours required for Project A from 40 to 20, then the supervisor will soon add Projects B and C to our list. And while these projects might not add more hours to our workweek, they will certainly add to our cognitive load. That's because a wider set of tasks on my list requires me to rapidly change contexts from one deliverable to the next. The pace of work in the digital age might not require us to work more hours. But it always requires us to pack more into the hours we work. This way of working depletes our capacity for focus and listening.

This isn't to say we shouldn't use AI or digital collaboration tools. These resources can remove much of the drudgery of our work lives, freeing us up to spend less time on mindless, rote tasks. If using an app like Monday.com or Confluence means I get back the hours I spend in tedious project update meetings I will gladly partake. If digital tools allow me to work remotely, to spend more time with family, than I'll gladly accept their requisite pings and dings. Simple unplugging is not the solution to the challenge of listening in contemporary culture.

Instead, we should return to Benedict's command to Listen.

I've heard it said that listening involves both "listening to respond" and "listening to understand." The former is a faster, more common form of listening, while the latter is more empathetic and relational. Yet I would suggest that these two levels of listening are not enough for what the life of faith demands.

Faith in a digital age is about listening to discern. That's the type of listening that Timothy Egan discovered while hiking the Via Francigena. And while most of us won't attempt a trans-continental pilgrimage, this type of listening afforded by the pilgrimage or other forms of contemplative practice can be a balm to the distracted souls of the digital age. Perhaps, then, growing in our faith isn't about believing more ardently, or praying more consistently, or attending church more regularly. Maybe its simply about learning how to listen.