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Prayer to Share

Above all, trust in the slow work of God.

We are quite naturally impatient in everything

to reach the end without delay.

We would like to skip the intermediate stages.

We are impatient of being on the way to something

unknown, something new.

And yet, it is the law of all progress

that it is made by passing through

some stages of instability –

and that it may take a very long time.

“Annunciation” Andrea del Sarto

And so I think it is with you;

your ideas mature gradually – let them grow,

let them shape themselves, without undue haste.

Don’t try to force them on,

as though you could be today what time

(that is to say, grace and circumstances

acting on your own good will)

will make of you tomorrow.

 

Only God could say what this new spirit

gradually forming in you will be.

Give our Lord the benefit of believing

that his hand is leading you,

and accept the anxiety of feeling yourself

in suspense and incomplete.

 

-Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

Libraries Are Sacred

From the desk of Kirk Kramer

 


 

The Christian Science Monitor
Restore the noble purpose of libraries
by William Wisner
July 17, 2009

LAREDO, TEXAS – Libraries were once a sacred secular space of silence and reverence — a place where one automatically lowered one’s voice. As a direct heir to the Enlightenment, the establishment of libraries was a testament to the self-evident integrity of mankind, the belief that we all desire to find the truth through knowledge.

Librarians once framed our mission in those terms — before libraries became the noisy computer labs they now are, with their jingle of ringtones, clattering keyboards, and unquenchable printers. And we reference librarians had a higher, more dignified calling than merely changing the printer paper.

In some libraries today it is actually impossible to find any place quiet enough simply to read and study undisturbed. What I call the postmodern library — the library plus technology — deconstructs itself.

Modern librarians who prioritize information over knowledge perpetuate a distraction from the real purpose of a library. A library facilitates the patient gathering of knowledge — whose acquisition is superior to almost every other endeavor. Religions have adapted to technology for the most part without being destroyed by it, so why can’t libraries? It might not be too late.

Information on the Internet may come across as authoritative, but much of it is one giant Ponzi scheme, especially in the hands of the young, where it can become a counterfeit for the reading and memorization that true learning requires. Scholars are made through the quiet study of one chapter at a time. For that we need silence. We need to restore an appreciation for the close study of words.

Without that we are putting ourselves out of business. It should disturb us that fewer people are browsing the stacks, asking reference questions, or reading.

I went to my own public library the other day with my 11-year-old daughter and was horrified to see a television monitor running videos in the children’s section — not a kid in the stacks and all the rest lined up to play games at the computers. It was a library that had gotten everything exactly wrong.

My once gentle profession has prostituted itself, aided by library schools, which, embarrassed even to call their graduates “librarians,” now opt for the sexier term “information scientists.”

It is a bid for status that doesn’t work — from our patrons’ point of view we are still people who change the printer paper and reboot the computer when it goes haywire. We’re not scholars, of course, never that. A librarian is someone who just might be able to quote the Prologue to “The Canterbury Tales” in Middle English.

Once the captains of the information superhighway, librarians are now thumbing a ride into history.

Libraries are currently popular only because everything’s free. And yet library budgets are shrinking (a litmus test of viability and patron support) and branch libraries are closing.

In focusing on access in all its forms and hoping for the best, librarians have slowly stepped away from being readers or scholars, like their forebears in the Middle Ages who could recite whole books from memory. You cannot defend what you do not know. And you cannot know what you do not love.

As it happens, there may be some hope for libraries. There are reports of unique attempts to restore the inherent dignity of the library. At the community college library where I work, we do it one cup of coffee at a time.

Nearly three years ago I established Coffee Mondays, a new library service offering a cup of coffee free of charge to any student or professor who wanted one. It turned out to be work, but it was well worth it.

We take a humorous tone at Coffee Mondays — the coffee center is decorated with posters detailing interviews of me with Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt (fictitious, of course). The humor is human, and the result is humane. The library has been “personalized,” as it is with the exhibits I help organize with our art department here, exhibits famous for being constructed on a shoestring budget.

Young people are drawn to these imaginative approaches. It is through that humane, humorous connection that we are trying to win back hearts and young minds to the library. At the coffee center, I am able to meet and talk with students about, oh, maybe Plato or Japanese Noh theater or the paintings of Jasper Johns. And that is exactly one of the blessings of a library.

Before librarians put themselves out of business one printout at a time, libraries must explore similar creative ways to engage the community without dumbing down their mission.

There is a way for libraries to uphold their noble purpose. They must carefully balance wants and needs of the community — they must stop being one-stop shopping centers.

——–

William H. Wisner has been a librarian for 22 years. He is the author of “Whither the Postmodern Library?”

 

I hate moving

I made it to Irving (without dying or loosing anything).  After the move, it has become extremely clear in my mind that I hate possessions.  I hate owning things; things are indeed such a burden, and the monks do know best.  But of course, as soon as you get comfortable again…you start aquiring things like a ravenous pack-rat with three teeth and a bit of indigestion.  We like to have our things.  We love our little comforts.  Who really needs an ottoman?  No, not an Ottoman-Turk (actually who does need one of those!?), but an ottoman (that’s what I call it) on which to gently and mildly and ever so graciously rest your tired and sore feet?  And why did I find it so necessary, like a Gypsy Turtle, to pack literally every single possession of mine into that damn Penske and then go travelling at 75 mph across the desert?  Why? because I’m a Bloch and because I paid for those things and because it made me feel like a big boy to be moving all my things and finally because (in a Gollum voice) they’re mine, precious!  I am fairly certain that most people feel this way when they move: at first they hate that they own all of this stuff, then they move and they love it again.  I need to become more detached, it’s one of my goals for this year.  I think that it will probably not be easy.  Does anyone have any small suggestions?  Helpful hints?

I imagine that once I’m all moved then in I’ll be updating the Draught more frequently, but, seeing as I have no internet in the Old Mill and that I have so many important things to do, I’ll be updating the blog for the next two weeks ad hoc.

Cheers,

PHB

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