Bayer contra Barth, part 2

See part 1 here.

On the Scheme of Theory and Practice:

“The twofold scheme serves as a basic model right up to our own day.  An impressive example of this is the motto of Taizé: contemplation et lutte, ‘prayer and engagement.’…The Roman Catholic tradition has at its best maintained the twofold scheme up to the present in the sense of Meister Eckhart’s dialectic [that practice must be adopted in such a way that it does not exclude theory].  Karl Barth has also followed this twofold scheme in his strongly cognitive and contemplative understanding of faith, which of course is connected to the modern emphasis on construction.  However, this scheme, together with the Platonic-Aristotelian concept of science that always goes with it, was dealt a fatal blow by Luther’s concept of theology.  For him, faith is no longer subordinated to theory, but it is a unique and distinctive kind of life, a receptive life (vita passiva).  Theory and practice are no longer related to each other in a two-fold way.  Rather, both are related to faith, and it is this third element that determines whether they are true or false.” (p. 109) 

         “Festivals and holidays (holy days) make harsh demands on the old nature, for it means that we must cease from our work: ‘For our sinful nature is very unwilling to die and to be passive, and it is a bitter day of rest for it to cease from its own works and be dead.’  This has been a bitter pill for modern theological anthropology, right up to the theology of Barth and Bultmann, in which humans are always seen as active subjects, as doers (for Barth analogously to God)…. However, this overlooks the power of the Sabbath, of Sunday, to establish life, because on the Lord’s day human work ceases and God is active.  If we receive this power as a categorical gift, the urge to realize ourselves, not only in our work but also in our actions, even in the act of faith, must die…        

This kind of dying, however, makes room for life: ‘Keep hand and heart from labor free, that God may do his work in thee. (Lutheran Hymn)’…  Faith, of course, is nothing but ‘a divine work in us which changes us and makes us to be born anew of God, John 1 [12-13].  It kills the old Adam and makes us altogether new persons, in heart and spirit and mind and powers.’If it is true that we must rest from our work, die to the old self, to let God do his work, faith is primarily neither theory nor practice, neither a speculative life (vita contemplativa) nor an active life (vita activa), but, to use Luther’s term for it, a receptive life (vita passiva).” (p. 92-93, quotes from Luther)

Since Aristotle, discussion of science as an academic discipline has involved the distinction between theory and practice.  Theology has largely remained in this scheme throughout its history.  Bayer proposes that to remain within the scheme of theory and practice, of speculation and activity, is to succomb to the temptation to justify one's self and neglect the importance of faith, which is neither theory nor practice but something separate which God does to us.  Theory and practice are merely the outgrowth of that faith as it is challenged and seeks to establish itself.  Theology should not concern itself with striking the proper balance between theory and practice, but rather it should rest and be captured by God's work which kills and makes alive.

Bayer contra Barth, part 1

Since my inclusion of Karl Barth in my last post is generating some disagreement, and I am not knowledgeable enough to defend Bayer's critiques sufficiently, I am going to try and let Bayer speak for himself.  In reviewing where Bayer discusses Barth in his book, I have seen three primary criticisms.  The first is the program of "faith seeking understanding," the second is the classic scheme of theory and practice, and the third (by far the most in-depth) is Barth's "rehabilitation" of natural theology and its "unity of meaning."  Since the passages (particularly in the third critique) are long, I am dividing these up into three posts.

(Unless otherwise noted, quotes are from Oswald Bayer's Theology the Lutheran Way.)

On Fides Quaerens Intellectum:

       “What do we pray for as we journey along the pathway of theology?  What are we seeking when we pray it?  Assuming that we already have faith, are we asking for insight, along the lines of Anselm’s program of “faith seeking understanding” (fides quaerens intellectum)?  Luther emphasizes that the author of the psalm (the pray-er) asks to be instructed and taught, even though he would have been well acquainted with the text of Moses and the other books, and would have heard and read them daily.  Here we come to a difference which is crucial for Luther’s understanding of theology.  The theologian should try to understand through prayer what he or she already knows.
       What the theologian does not yet know and is still seeking is not knowledge and insights into texts.  Therefore, it is not a matter of discovering what a text is saying with the aid of grammar, rhetoric, and dialectics (logic and philosophy in the wider sense) in order to be able to teach it in the school or academy.  For that, of course, "knowledge of the liberal arts" is necessary, and Luther stresses its importance for the study of theology as much as the "grace of the Spirit."  Although the work of the Holy Spirit, and therefore of the triune God to whom we pray, does not depend on human achievement and education, it does not exclude “knowledge of the liberal arts.”  The “grace of the Spirit” does not replace “knowledge of the liberal arts”; it sets it free.  In this way, prayer and work, God’s work and human work, find their proper relationship.  Theology as a human project is relieved of the need to reach above, to go in search of timeless pure principles, the absolute first and last, and to be enraptured by it in a pure vision.  Humans do not have to justify themselves by their knowledge any more than by their actions… What this learning receives and attains beyond what it knows is the certainty of what it knows, a certainty that cannot be given by knowledge and science.  This certainty is not within our power to create or possess.  We can only seek it and wait for it from him alone through prayer.” (p. 48-49) 

“Theology, then, is a way of life that is stamped by prayer, the study of scripture, and spiritual attack (oratio, meditatio, tentatio).  And to this we can also add death.  By the same token, the theologian – and every Christian is a theologian – is a person under attack seeking certainty (tentatus quaerens certitudinem).  This formula, which picks up Anselm’s programmatic formula and turns it inside out, illustrates the difference between Luther and Anselm in their understanding of theology.”  (p. 212)  

“Despite some points of contact, this formula represents a clear alternative to the program of ‘faith seeking understanding’ (fides quaerens intellectum) that has dominated theology from Augustine through Anselm to Hegel…and Karl Barth.  In contrast to the program of ‘faith seeking understanding,’ Luther’s formula takes into account the historical nature of theological existence, and gives due recognition to the fundamental importance of temptation (tentatio)….  Luther’s approach does not arbitrarily impose a general, a priori condition that makes possible the understanding of the gospel.  Rather it teaches us how meditation, and the use of the inexhaustible treasures of the Bible, can be a source of new experiences.”  (p. 34)

These three quotes illustrate a fundamental difference between Bayer (and Luther) and perhaps the majority of theological thinking throughout the history of the church, including Barth.  Fides quaerens intellectum (faith seeking understanding) sees the Christian life in more-or-less this way:  first, the Holy Spirit gives faith to the sinner, who then uses this grace to find out more about this faith.  In this picture, which is purely intellectual and lacking in emotion, the christian is seen as the do-er of theology.  Theology is a somewhat neutral enterprise, insofar as its effects on the christian are concerned.  Bayer's formula of tentatus quaerens certitudinem (a person under attack seeking certainty) paints a very different picture.  While both view faith as the gift of the Holy Spirit, Bayer's formula does not show understanding as the goal of theology, but rather a strong faith.  The christian finds her faith under attack by life events, the challenges of skeptics and the seeming absence of God, and laments, reaching to God for salvation: "How long will you hide your face from me?" (Psalm 13).  Bayer takes into account that God uses suffering to kill the old self and raise the new and that this is by no means an emotionally-neutral enterprise.  In this formula, God is the do-er of theology, not the christian.

On Baptism

This is a sermon I gave at St. Luke Lutheran Church on March 30, 2011. I apologize if it's not very readable, it was meant to be read aloud.

Edit: Here is the scripture reading for this sermon: Romans 6:3-11

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Brothers and Sisters, grace to you and peace from God our father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

As many of you know, I was raised in a Baptist church and I have been a Lutheran for only a few years. One of the biggest disagreements between Baptists and Lutherans is, of course, baptism. So doesn’t it seem appropriate that I of all people would be the one to teach about baptism?!? Preparing for this lesson has been as much a learning experience for me as I hope it will for one or two of you! Anyway, because of my background, I am going to begin by talking a little bit about my baptism and what I was taught, and then compare that to what I’ve come to know about baptism as a Lutheran.

My baptism was very different than how baptisms are done here. I was baptized on Aug. 21^st, 2001 (I was 14). I had decided at a church camp earlier that summer that I needed to dedicate my life to God and be a better person, so I decided to show that to my church by being baptized. At the church I grew up in, every summer we would have a youth baptism event. The congregation would go out to Lake Whatcom, we’d have a potluck and then the youth who were to be baptized would wade out with the pastor (all in their swimsuits, of course) and be baptized, one by one.

The day I was baptized, it was raining and really not a great day for a picnic, but there were still a lot of people there. So when it was my turn, I waded out, the Pastor asked me some simple questions (such as ‘Do you accept Jesus Christ as your Savior and Lord?’), and then he baptized me (by submerging me, of course) in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Now, in the weeks leading up to this, I had been attending a class on Baptism, and here’s what I was taught:

· Baptism is a public declaration of faith in God, and that’s all it is, it’s really no different than telling your church that you’re a Christian.

o This means that only people who can say they believe in Jesus and the Bible can be baptized, otherwise it’s not real

o This also means no baptizing babies, because they can’t declare their faith

· Baptism is only a symbol

o Nothing happens to you in Baptism, it just represents what Christ has done and what is supposed to happen to you in your life

· Baptism is something we do as followers of God

o Jesus commanded it in Matthew 28

This idea of Baptism is much different than what we believe in the Lutheran tradition. Here’s section two of baptism in Luther’s Small Catechism:

“What gifts or benefits does baptism grant?
It brings about forgiveness of sins, redeems from death and the devil, and gives eternal salvation to all who believe it, as the words and promise of God declare.
What are these words and promises of God?
Where our Lord Christ says in Mark 16,‘The one who believes and is baptized will be saved; but the one who does not believe will be condemned.’”

Notice how different this is from what I was taught!

o I was taught that Baptism is nothing more than a declaration of faith, but we believe that it brings about our entire salvation!

o I was taught that Baptism is only a symbol, but we believe (as Paul says in our Romans reading) that it actually buries us with Christ into death—actually kills us—so that we can have new life!

o I was taught that Baptism was something that I did, but we believe that it is something that God does to us. We believe that God actually makes a change in us.

So how can it be that water does all this? I mean, it seems like magic! It seems like it doesn’t matter what we believe, all that matters is that we have a baptism. It seems like we should just take a hose out onto the street and start spraying everyone we can! And what about faith? In Romans 3, Paul says very clearly that it is by faith that we are justified, so how can we say that baptism saves us?

Well, faith on its own accomplishes nothing; faith needs something to believe in, to cling to. Obviously having faith in Shiva is not the same as having faith in Christ. Well, I have faith in Jesus Christ and in what he accomplished for me, but how can I be certain that the promises in scripture are mine? After all, God didn’t come down from heaven and physically tell me these things. How do I know that I’m saved? Is it because I believe the right things? I’m almost 100% certain that none of us have it all figured out. And I know that I’m nowhere close. So that doesn’t help. Do I know I’m saved because I have faith? Well, I certainly do have faith, but if my beliefs are wrong, then how do I know that have the right faith? Also, sometimes I have doubts, how do I know that I have enough faith to make up for my doubts? No, I can’t rely on that. Do I look at my works? No, there’s not one of those that’s good all the way through. Do I weigh my sins against my repenting? No, my sins would win outright.

You see, without something concrete to cling to, we flit about helplessly, trying to find a sign or something with which we can calm our fear and convince ourselves that we’ll make it. Baptism gives faith something to cling to. Because the water was poured over you, and the words were spoken to you, you can know that the promise is meant for you. You see, the promise of salvation is like a precious jewel. It’s incredibly valuable in and of itself, but you can’t really do anything with it. Without a ring to put it in, you’re just left holding this jewel, scared that you’ll drop it. You’re sort of paralyzed; it’s too valuable to risk losing. Baptism is the ring in which you can set the jewel securely and go about your business. Baptism binds you to the precious word of God. It takes the universal promise of Jesus on the cross and binds it to you in particular.

But what if you didn’t believe during your baptism? I mean, infants don’t have any idea what’s going on, so do they need to be re-baptized? Or what about my baptism? I didn’t believe that God was doing anything to me, and neither did my Pastor, or anyone else involved. Does it still count? If baptism is there to give faith something to cling to, than how can we baptize someone who doesn’t have faith, or who has wrong faith?

Well, think again about the analogy of baptism being a ring that holds the promise of God like a jewel. Does that ring have any less value if I don’t wear it? Do my beliefs about the value of that ring have any effect on its price? Just as my ignorance of the ring’s value doesn’t make it worthless, neither did my wrong beliefs make my baptism wrong, nor does an infant’s lack of belief nullify her baptism. The baptism still contains the promise of God, even if I was unable to hear it at the time. And just as I can put on a ring I once considered worthless, so I can now cling to the promise given to me in my baptism. I do not need a new baptism, as though my ignorance somehow overpowered God’s promise. No, rather I need to reclaim what I once considered to be worthless. Before I did not understand the value of my baptism; now I cling to it with all I have.

So cling to your baptism! When you are attacked by sin and conscience, when it looks from all appearances that you are lost, remember that you were baptized, and if you were baptized, then you have the promise that you will be saved. Nothing in all creation can take that away from you! Hold fast to your baptism. Protect it, for it is the surest sign you have that you are a child of God. Let it free you from worry and fear, so that you may live the life God has laid out for you, so that you can take your mind off of heaven and do the work prepared for you here on Earth. You are a child of God, sealed with the cross of Christ, and filled with the Holy Spirit. God has made you a promise, and he will keep it. Amen.

The Righteousness of Faith According to Luther

I was reading something by H. J. Iwand, a German contemporary of Barth, entitled "The Righteousness of Faith According to Luther" and I came across something really profound. I want to try and share it with you, so I'm going to do my best in this post. All quotes are from Iwand, unless otherwise stated. Scripture quotations are from the ESV. So let's begin:

Sins that are interpreted as emanating from a person are really sins of action and constitute a knowledge of sin in terms of "thoughts, words, and deeds." Ultimately when people conceive of sin in this way, they are considering the "fruits" of sin which are mere symptoms of the true sin that is concealed behind them. With such a concept of sin, one is misled to consider all manner of sins without recognizing the true nature of the sickness. Furthermore, if one succeeds in repressing the symptoms, the sickness will attack from the inside. Any righteousness shown in this manner is really hypocrisy. In his natural despair--which, in the last analysis is a false one because the person is despairing only of the "appearance" of what he is--the person will not look at himself, but will always try to break free of the mistakes and weaknesses that tarnish the picture of the perfect human being to which that person aspires. He will try to cast off his sins and faults, but will remain the same even in the attempt.

Sin is not merely the bad things we do (or the good things we don't) but it is a state of being, a condition in which we are completely and hopelessly stuck. What we often call "sins" are just the results of this condition. Even if we are able to suppress these sins, we are still a sinner. In fact, if the symptoms are suppressed, the disease becomes even more dangerous, for we are likely to forget that we have this fatal disease at all and we stop relying on the healer. In fact, we never truly suppress the symptoms, we just put them in a form where they are difficult to recognize. Isaiah 64:6 says "all our righteous deeds are like a polluted garment." The works that we call good are actually sinful, for we do them not for God's sake, but for our own. They are almost always (and perhaps actually always) an attempt to justify ourselves, either before others or before God, rather than to receive justification from God.

Also, notice in the second-to-last sentence, that it is not God's standard of perfection that is being aspired to, but our own. Our standard is much different from God's standard, although we generally think that our standard is God's standard.

However, casting off one's sin is quite impossible. A person must first be destroyed because he is the person who holds out his own ideal of what is good, true, just, and godly. Such a person believes he needs to be directed to God only because of his incomplete, weak nature (as if the goal of perfection is not to need God!) he thinks that grace is only a stage; some kind of beneficent, helping gesture on God's part to help people to reach their own goal of perfection by means of his holy power, because they are simply not strong enough or perfect enough to do it on their own. If that is the case, then God would be merely a means to one's achieving one's own self-perfection. It is exactly this kind of person who uses God, but does not believe in him.

Our standard of the perfect human being is clearly stated in the fifth verse of Genesis 3: "when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil." We view human perfection as perfect divine knowledge, which brings with it perfect divine independence and perfect divine power. We really want to be "like God." The fact is we really aren't that interested in being human at all, we have always wanted to be more heavenly and less earthly. We want to ascend above our station, to become "more" than we were created to be. This is the essence of our rebellion. The fall is really an upward fall, not a downward one. It is not that we became too entrenched in earthly things, but rather that we abandoned our charge (see Genesis 1:28, 2:15) in order to storm heaven and position ourselves as gods. The life of faith, of relying on God for everything including our righteousness, is not a stopgap made necessary by the fall--rather it is the way things were always meant to be. We were designed to rely on God; the ideal of a perfect human who does it all himself is our own sinful machination.

This type of person would be happiest if he could do it alone--without God--since even his own mistakes irritate him because they show him that he is not God and that he is actually God's enemy and opponent. God's judgment stands firmly over against this person. He must be destroyed. His mistakes and weaknesses, however, must not be lightened too soon just so that they are easier for him to carry. In other words, our sins prompt us to seek mercy anew and in so doing they make clear to us that everything works for good for those who love God. For the reminder of God's mercy and the admonition that we always live in his mercy and are never in a position of not needing it--that is the best thing that the new person in us can encounter.

We need to know our place, to be content with being human and not aspire to be gods. The only way to do this is through the cross. The old person, the person above condemned by God, must be killed so that the new person can be raised in his place. (See Romans 6:6) As Luther puts it: "[God] makes us conform to himself and crucifies us, thus making real, that is, wretched and sinful men, out of unhappy and proud gods."

So, if the perfect human is not the god we want it to be, what, or perhaps who, is it? The answer is simple, if not easy: Jesus Christ (surprise, huh?) To free us from our attempt to be gods, God became human to show us what we were created to be. We were created to be earthly creatures, relying on God for everything, perfectly trusting that he is God for us, working everything for our good.

So what do you think?

Saved for this world

Yesterday I found myself with some unexpected free time on my hands, so I went to the Japanese Garden in Manito Park and read the Gospel passage for next week, which is Luke 8:26-39.

This is the story where Jesus casts out lots of demons from one guy (the guy says his name is Legion because there are so many) and sends them into a herd of pigs, which then promptly drown themselves. The story is full of all sorts of interesting things, not the least of which is Jesus negotiating with demons, but what caught me this time was something that happens near the end. A crowd has gathered and sees the man who used to be demon-possessed sitting clothed by Jesus. They are afraid and beg Jesus to go away. As Jesus is getting in the boat to leave, the formerly demon-possessed man begs to go with him. Surprisingly, Jesus says no. Jesus tells him instead to go back to his house and to tell everyone what has been done for him.

I think we often respond to being saved from our demons in much the same way. We have a salvation experience of some kind and decide we need to become a monk (Martin Luther, anyone?) or go be a missionary or work in a church. I'm not saying that any of these things are bad things, because they're not. Also, I'm not saying that nobody is called to these things, because some certainly are. What I am saying is that there's nothing left to accomplish in our salvation, so we don't need to go do these things to prove ourselves or repay our debt or something. The gift has been given, salvation has been accomplished.

Let me say this another way. Often, in our discussions of salvation, we tend to emphasize the eternal importance of it while neglecting the immediate implication. We get so caught up focusing on Heaven and eternal life that we forget about the here and now. We tend to live "for Heaven" or something like that and therefore we strip our actions of any earthly meaning. We don't help one another for the other's sake, rather we do it with Heaven in mind. We know that we aren't earning our way to Heaven, but we are secretly trying to make ourselves more "heavenly." We live in such a way as to make ourselves holier, to be more "like God," thereby succumbing to the original temptation. When we become so focused on Heaven that we forget the here and now, we fail to fully receive the gift that has been given. Because salvation is something done for us, rather than by us, we don't have to worry about it. To be "saved" is to be saved from all of our attempts to save ourselves, from our tendency to ignore the here and now and interpret everything that happens against some constructed eternal meaning. In saving us, Jesus gives us back to this world. Because we don't have to worry about our eternal life, we can focus on this one. We are free to live earthly lives, to live as humans and give up attempting to be God. We are now free to really live; to eat for pleasure, to enjoy a sunset, to help our neighbor for his own sake, to thank God for every day.

As I sat in the garden, thinking about this, with the beauty of creation all around me, I heard a child squeal with delight when she saw, of all things, a fish. It's funny that it has taken so much reading and thinking to begin to understand what a child knows so effortlessly, but I guess that's just the way it is sometimes.

God Hidden and Revealed

In the course of my (relatively) short foray into Lutheran Theology (which, by the way, is teaching me just why it is that theologians peak in the latter part of their lives), the doctrine that I have struggled the most with is that of the hidden God and the revealed God.

Let me start by attempting to summarize the relevant parts of Lutheran Theology as I understand it now. One of the primary, if not the primary, distinctions in Lutheran theology is that of Law vs. Gospel. Law is defined functionally rather than ontologically (not sure if that's the right word). In other words, Law is defined by what it does rather than what it is. When Luther says Law, he doesn't necessarily mean the Mosaic Law or some abstract moral law, although he could, but he means anything that does Law to us. Luther talks about two functions of the Law: the pedagogical (from Paul's use of παιδαγωγός [paidagogos] in Galatians 3:24-25) and the civil. The civil use (function) of the Law refers to keeping order here on Earth in our day-to-day lives. This could mean Mosaic Law, but it could also mean the laws of our government and society. The pedagogical use is that which shows us our separation from God, that which shows us our sin. This can refer to anything, from Jesus' greatest commandments to Romans 3:23 (for all have fallen short) to a nagging conscience. One of my favorite images Luther uses is that of leaves rustling in the wind on a dark night in the woods. Anything that causes fear in you, anything that reminds you of your own mortality̶̶̶̶-- this is fulfilling the pedagogical function of the law.

Obviously we find the pedagogical use of the law to be... unpleasant, and we are willing to do anything to silence that voice. We look for solutions and schemes which will bring us closer to God and make us worthy of him. At the same time, we are terrified of God and are bound (like, with chains) to reject him. I know that, for those of us brought up in the Church, it can be hard to really understand that kind of fear of God. We, at least in the tradition I grew up in, are much more likely to talk about being buddies with God than subjects of him. Imagine for a moment what we know about God on our own apart from what has been directly revealed to us. We end up with the "God of the philosophers," as Pascal calls him in Pensées. We end up with an omnipotent, omniscient and omnipresent God. This God is the creator/source of all there is (good and bad) and yet we want to say that he is all-loving as well. This God is so big as to be incomprehensible to us and he is the one in charge of our destinies. Luther refers to this God of natural theology as the "Hidden God." This is God in himself. This is a God that, ultimately, is hidden from us. In his book Where God Meets Man, Gerhard Forde puts it this way:

...general concepts and ideas such as almightiness, immutability and even predestination do not in the first instance reveal God to us so much as they hide him from us. They do not at first comfort or console us so much as they frighten or even repel us...But the point in saying that God is hidden is to lead us to recognize that this is exactly the way God intends it to be. He does not want to be known as he is "in heaven," in his mere "almightiness" or even merely as "the God of predestination."

Note that we are not denying that this is how God is, but we are saying that we can never really know God in this way. This God, the Hidden God, is just too big and too frightening for us to know. We are never sure if he is for us or against us. We're never quite comfortable saying what he is or isn't doing. Luther says that the Hidden God is often indistinguishable from Satan. Who's responsible for Hurricane Katrina? What about the earthquake in Haiti? 9/11? Many said that this was God punishing us while others would say that it was the act of Satan, if they gave it a supernatural cause. The fact is that we have no idea what the Hidden God is doing or not doing, nor do we know why. So how can we know God? I'll continue Forde's quote:

He wants to be known as the God in the manger or at his mother's breasts, the God who suffered and died and rose again. His almightiness, his unchangeability, the threat of predestination- all these things are "masks" which God wears, so to speak, to drive us to look elsewhere, to look away from heaven and down to earth, to the manger and the cross, to preaching and the sacraments.

God is hidden in the abstract so that he can be revealed in the concrete, in his history with humanity culminating in Jesus Christ. This God, the Revealed God, is the source of Gospel. This is the good news that we have: God is indeed for us and not against us and has worked everything out for our good.

So here's my issue: what does it mean for God to be both Hidden and Revealed? How can we say that the Revealed God is the same as the Hidden God, who is so hidden as to be easily confused with Satan? How do we know that the promises made to us by the Revealed God will be upheld by the Hidden God? I have some beginnings of ideas, but for now I'll let the questions stand.

The Blog Blog.

So, this is a blog about the blog of the brothers buther.
Who, might you ask, are 'the brothers buther'?
Well it is simple, but obviously not apparent.
Answer is, John and Tyson.
Although, i assume, as the 'primary author', John will be less active than I.
Why name a blog such?
Well, it's pretty lame so figure it out.

This will be a pool of our thoughts and probably others too.
We have at times thought about things with a strong theological focus.
So, i apologize if that doesn't suit you so well.

I'm sure that we may find some way to get the dialogue rolling, but this is not that blog.
And since i find it hard to initiate activities involving multiple people i'm sure this blog is one step in the right direction.

Tyson out.