Ian M. Anderson

On February 8th, I posted an introduction of sorts called "Toward a Manifesto of Silliness." Every week since then I've written about silliness, mostly as a way to meditate on and answer the question: What makes silliness important? My family and I talked it over, and here are our answers: "Silliness is a Sign of Joy." "Silliness is Important Because We are Silly." "Silliness is Just Fun." "Silliness Helps Bring Balance." Thinking on and writing about those answers helped this last silly answer grow -- I had an idea at first, but those initial answers shaped how I thought/think about silliness. It was a suspicion that began the day my youngest son and I played our game of nothing. Remember? All this began with nothing. Try to imagine: First, we sat side by side, the whole room bright from the sun. Soon, he draped his arms around my neck, and because of the faces we'd been making, laughter took over. His brothers were close by, ...

If you've been with us for the last few weeks, you're beginning to see what we feel about silliness. If you haven't been checking in on us, however, here's what you've missed: * We asked some initial questions about why silliness is important . * Firstly, we said, silliness is a sign of joy . * Secondly, we are obviously silly and obviously important. You are, too, if you were wondering . * Thirdly, silliness is just fun . Don't worry, we'll wait while you catch up on all that reading. ... Good, I'm glad you're back! We're just giving another answer: Fourthly, silliness is important because it helps bring balance. I hope you know we're being earnest, if not completely serious. That last sentence made me smile, and I needed it at the moment. You see, even though all this writing and posting amounts to little, there's a feeling that begins at the back of my mind when I think I'm doing something good, especially when I'm glad about m...

A small look back at what I've shared so far reveals the moment all this silliness began: It was after a game of nothing my son and I played . The game stuck in my mind for some reason, and so I asked the whole family, "What makes silliness important?" They gave their answers, going round the table quick-like, and I was stunned by the ease with which they replied. First answer: "It's a sign of joy."  And it is. Second answer: "Because we are silly."  We are. Silly. And important. Then came the third: "It's just fun." So here we are. I still use the Bible my youth group leader gave me in junior high. It's an NIV Study Bible with helpful notes and explanations. Sometimes I see the notes I wrote in the margins and cringe; other times I'm thankful to have a history of my errors, my growth, and God's faithfulness. As I thought about my son's answer -- It's just fun -- I remembered a small note I jotted down next to Psal...

Where have we been so far? In my introductory post,  Toward a Manifesto of Silliness , I wrote that I asked my family: "What makes silliness important?" The first answer: Silliness Is a Sign of Joy . Today, we're meditating on our second answer: Silliness is important because we are silly. As I explained about the first answer, this one also found me at a loss. It was a probing kind of answer, and, as we'll see in later posts, it's where I'm headed with all this nonsense. But hang with me here for now. Isn't the circular nature of this answer fitting? Silliness is important because we are silly; we are silly because it's important. As an argument, this circular kind rests at the peak of hilarity -- it's silly. And yet, the very nature of what we're discussing here requires a deep presupposition that can't be explained anyway. So we're fine with circular if you are. "Look around you," my son seemed to say. "Aren't WE s...

In my introductory post,  Toward a Manifesto of Silliness , I wrote that I asked my family: "What makes silliness important?" A second passed, and one of my sons said, "It's a sign of joy." When I ask questions of my family -- my sons especially -- I anticipate what they might say in the hope of finding some wisdom to impart, of finding a teaching moment. This rapid-fire answer caught me off guard. I don't know why, really, but I wasn't prepared for the speed at which he answered or for the force of the answer itself. JOY! He may as well have shouted it. Upon reflection, I don't know what I was prepared to hear instead. Yet here I was, receiving wisdom unawares; it was the kind that strikes you on the mouth -- and you smile at the truthful ring of it. Of course! I've had time since then to think about what the little sage said, and I keep coming back to this promise God made to his people long, long ago through the prophet Zephaniah: "On tha...

Recently, my thoughts have turned to silliness. It all began when my eight year old son and I sat together on the couch, he on my lap. We spent a while goofing, mostly laughing at nothing. Afterward, a question stuck in my mind: Why was that so good? It's not as though we hadn't been together lately, we had -- plenty. Thus, for several days on end, at odd moments here and there, I've been thinking about nonsense, tomfoolery, laughter -- in a word, silliness. In fact, I'm becoming quite serious about it. Other questions have arisen: How might Jesus view silliness? What Scripture passages come to mind when I'm thinking this way? Is there such a thing as a theology of silliness? I also asked my family about it. "What," I said one night at dinner, "makes silliness important?" I did realize as I asked the question that I assumed the importance of such a thing, but none of them skipped a beat. We came up with the following: 1. Silliness is a sign of jo...

The spring and summer months found me in the garden many evenings. I pulled weeds, picked beans or tomatoes, or looked for new blossoms on the pumpkin vine. Of course, eating the produce of a garden is the goal, the joy of the work, yet I found that feeding the soil throughout the year is a new way for me to enjoy it all. It started when I watched a YouTube video of a gardener burying all sorts of kitchen scraps to enrich the soil; naturally, I had to try it. Now I not only bury orange peels and eggshells, rotten spinach and celery stumps, but also various animal bones and shredded paper. The worms have thanked me. In other words, my attention to the soil began in the spring instead of autumn, and when the growing season was over I was eager to work with the compost; usually, this is a time marked by a note of longing for summer produce -- and that didn't pass completely -- but that first weekend in November gave me a kind of thrill normally reserved for warmer months. My sons and ...

We'll begin with something a bit fantastic, that being a visit from the apostle James: He stood at my school desk the other day -- I'd gone for some water -- and he opened one of my books. It lay flat on my desk next to a description of an exercise we do in class. Conveniently, the book he opened contained his own letter to some of the first people to proclaim Jesus as the Christ, and he flipped right to it. He didn't say anything, but pointed out to me a few passages. Then he directed my eyes to some parallels in what we do in my Creative Writing classes. It's in light of this that I offer this meditation on faith and writing. I'm in my 9th year of creative writing instruction. Spread into two classes, almost evenly, I have 22 students this year -- which is more than usual. The mix of students who want to write with those who need an easy class to blow off is about the same; the mix of their anxieties, if we only consider anxieties that are class-related, is also n...