Thursday, December 15, 2011
On one key-ring I have car keys for two cars, a bike-lock key that has gone unused for the past three years, electronic key fobs for Emme's preschool and for the neighborhood pool, a key to the "Preschool Board Suggestion Box", those little scannable fobs for everything from the athletic club to the library to the grocery store, a Texas EX life-member keyring, and a key for the lockable desk drawer that I keep unlocked. I do not have a house key on the ring. We have had some work going on at the house for the past couple of weeks, so my key has remained under the welcome mat while our handyman hangs out at our home.
Usually, because these make up such a heavy load to carry around, one ring or the other will hang out in a desk drawer until needed. At the athletic club, I leave my keys on a board at the front desk. There is nothing worse than running on a treadmill to the sound of Jingle-Keys.
Perhaps what really got me thinking about keys was the AA group that meets at the church. They do not have keys, and have to be let into the building. We have the system worked out pretty well, but still I worry that they will be locked-out at some point because everyone has finished their work and gone home early. They have recently transitioned to our place, from another hosting church that trusted them with keys. We have not established that type of relationship yet, even though we leave and allow them to lock up--pulling the door closed behind them.
I remember the first time that I was given a key to the church. I was probably twelve. My mom had a part time cleaning job at the church we attended and I would often go help. I remember that there was one week that she was sick, and I volunteered to go do the vacuuming-- and there were comments on that Sunday about the dirty sanctuary. I had not done a quality job, and it showed. Even so, I got to keep the key. It shared a ring with my house key and the key to the Scout hut.
That was a simpler time. Home life was not ideal, but the house in which we lived was definitely a home. School and Scouts were my work. I could ride my bike to either of those locations and lock it up with a coiled cable and a combination lock. Church was my third place...maybe church, the video arcade, and the pizza place. And then there were the streets and the backyards of my neighborhood-- that is were we could usually be found, most likely with friends.
I miss those "Third Places". Today at lunch, I was greeted by name at my favorite lunch spot, The Red Orchid. It has become one of my regular haunts. I go there so often that I feel like I should send a Christmas card to the staff that always takes such good care of me. The athletic club has become another one of my regular brick-and-mortar sites. I am there with regularity.
So, just as I was just thinking about healthy boundaries between work, home, and these other public spots when I ran across this blog by Ed Stetzer. Then there was this National Geographic article on cities. These have made me think of how we use public space (both effectively and ineffectively) . And then there is Twitter! It is certainly a cyber-space that has great potential in building community. I think it should be considered a "third place" that rivals even the Roman Forum. It is that place that I go with regularity. I am part of that community... even though I am not one who does a lot of talking. I do a lot of listening. I keep an eye open for more effective fulcrums. It is truly a new medium, largely because of its creative users.
All that being said, I believe that I haven't been using the right keys recently, to access the proverbial backyard. I am still riding around in the street. I need to do some internal organization... and reengage my creative connective. I'm not sure how to do it. It is an adaptive problem, not a technical one. So this is the beginning! (I hope it gets better.)
In my short term memory:
Monday, November 23, 2009
25:1 To you, O LORD, I lift up my soul.
25:2 O my God, in you I trust; do not let me be put to shame; do not let my enemies exult over me.
25:3 Do not let those who wait for you be put to shame; let them be ashamed who are wantonly treacherous.
25:4 Make me to know your ways, O LORD; teach me your paths.
25:5 Lead me in your truth, and teach me, for you are the God of my salvation; for you I wait all day long.
25:6 Be mindful of your mercy, O LORD, and of your steadfast love, for they have been from of old.
25:7 Do not remember the sins of my youth or my transgressions; according to your steadfast love remember me, for your goodness' sake, O LORD!
25:8 Good and upright is the LORD; therefore he instructs sinners in the way.
25:9 He leads the humble in what is right, and teaches the humble his way.
25:10 All the paths of the LORD are steadfast love and faithfulness, for those who keep his covenant and his decrees.
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
set up office
set up computer, printer, etc
Wedding run-through (for this Sat.)
called Board of Pensions
Tried to sell former AP's desk on Craigslist (the staff and congregation actually hold bad feelings towards it)
Run through directory, updating, back-stories
To hospital for ID badge (took hours)
Nursing Home visit
Set up tables for Wednesday night supper
Wednesday night supper
Tomorrow... day off
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Sunday, February 03, 2008
The following is offered in memory of Stanley Robertson Hall:
The Eucharist as Sacrifice
The language of sacrifice has been used through the centuries in an attempt to express a truth at the heart of Eucharistic practice. Even today, language used in the rite brings forth images of offering, sacrifice, atonement, and giving—but surely, these words mean something markedly different to individuals in the twenty-first century than they would have to early Christians. Not only have there been changes in language, over the years, but there have also been tremendous changes in social order as well as liturgical practice. Even through ages of change, there remains a sense of sacrificial language at the core of this liturgical event. Sacrifice, however, is a term that can be misused as often as it is used correctly. In the Eucharistic rite, “sacrifice” means something different than what “sacrifice” means in pagan or Jewish ritual. The argument can be made that the Eucharist is not ”sacrifice” at all—but something so close that there has not been any better way of describing it. To understand how we view the Eucharist today, and what type of “sacrifice” is being made, we need to recall some of the ways it has been understood in the past. By identifying it as “Christian sacrifice”, we may come to terms with a range of ideas that span from the early faith to the present church, therefore engaging the metaphorical language on its own ground.
To speak of Christian sacrifice, we must first acknowledge the rich tradition of Jewish heritage found throughout Old Testament texts. The Hebrew Scriptures give in-depth instruction about sacrifice. Here, priestly instruction was collected as law. Sacrifice literally means the slaughter of an animal (an actual victim), the offering of incense or grain along with the blood and smoke that “giving” these offerings would entail. Leviticus outlines procedures for a number of ritual sacrifices—burnt offerings, offerings of well being, cereal offerings, sin offerings, guilt offerings. These “sacrifices” and sacrifices throughout the history of the world have been performed in times of celebration and thanksgiving as well as in times of hardship and ruin. In this type, the individual making the sacrifice brings a perfect and healthy animal to the priest from the herd or flock. The animal is killed, blood is sprinkled on and around the altar and then selected portions of the animal are burned. Smoke and odor go “up” to where God is. When an animal was sacrificed, the life of the animal—and more importantly, the life of the worshiper who brought the sacrifice—were ritually “given” to God. 
In these Jewish sacrificial ceremonies, the killing of the animal was not understood to affect the specific situation in some sort of cosmic parallel. The offering was ingrained into the daily life, so much that it was much more an acknowledgment of one’s place than it would have been a direct petition for change through divine intervention. Here, sacrifice “points to the fear of the holy” and at the same time “coexists with the desire to commune with it.” In this type of sacrifice, there is a sense of the close relationship between what is impure and what is holy, between death and life, and between weakness and power.
Likewise, in the Hellenistic world, sacrifice played a major role in the social structures and in the politics of the day. Those who did not sacrifice to the gods were accused of atheism. To be a good citizen meant that one would participate in the sacrifices of the community—to take some responsibility in the organization of the social structure as well as to carry on the economics of the temple and the state. Engaging in a “sacrifice” meant offering in a ritualistic way, parts of one’s possessions. Hellenistic sacrifice looked like the Jewish practice in this regard. Clearly identifiable characteristics—material, agent and recipients for these sacrifices—were as easy to label as in other pagan rituals. There was killing, burning, offering and blood—only these were given to an assortment of gods, rather than to the One God of the Hebrews. Regardless of the differences, both Jewish and Hellenistic sacrifices appear to be very similar. Christian Sacrifice—the Eucharist, is a different story (although many of the elements appear to be somewhat familiar.)
The early Christian community was not exempt from the overarching social structures of its time. For one, the Christian communities inherited many of the deeper meanings that the Jewish communities had associated with sacrifice. There was a certain aspect of ritual, atonement, and purification that was involved in the Jewish practice that spills over into the Christian tradition. Sacrifice said something about who the worshiping people were as well as saying something about God. Sacrifice is something that can not be undone, once the blood is poured out, there is no putting it back in. In that regard, sacrifice was a serious business—not something to be taken lightly. This was understood to be a holy thing, not just a ritual or legality. Here the people were coming into contact with God. It was not something that could be reversed. Sacrifice was “both ritual action and theological metaphor.” Sacrifice was a sign of confession that the community embraced with language—which literally urged both the inner ethical change as well as an offering of some mass.
Furthermore, bloody sacrifices were a reality that no one in the ancient world would be unfamiliar with. These events became the ritual practices of communities, only for those who were Christian—something had changed. The metaphor of sacrifice was taken by the early church—and then cracked open on the cross. For early Christians, the syntax of “sacrifice” was still present in the community, only it looked vastly different than the killing ceremony. There was still the ritual of gathering—and of celebration, but there was no longer any need to offer up “things” to God. “Sacrifice” was taking on a new shape—the relationship between people and God had been drastically altered through the Christ event. The new practices reflected the change. All of the language about sacrifice or offering was retained, but in this new setting it was used to mean new things and to point to new priorities. Christians metaphorically fought the fire of old ideas with the new fire of Holy Spirit.
Today’s life is far removed from many of the practices and concerns of the early Christian communities. These early communities held drastically different views of sacrifice than we do today—at least in the fact that sacrifices were to them a common occurrence. When we speak of sacrifice today (at least in a secular way), we often think about “sacrificing” money or something we desire for a greater good. If we think this as Christians, we lose out on some of the implications sacrifice has on the life of faith. Christian sacrifice is something different than secular sacrifice—this is most distinguishable in the Eucharist.
Early Christian communities picked up where their Jewish forbearers had left off, and used this idea of sacrifice to explain the events of the cross. Metaphorically, we call the crucifixion a sacrifice but it is really an execution. “We use the strange word to say the new thing: God views this execution as if it were the archetypal sacrifice…it is in no way a literal sacrifice, yet it is used to depict our sacrifice of the Eucharist…it is an offering but not an offering; our sacrifice is praise, a sacrifice but not a sacrifice.”
The language becomes important as this metaphor is played out. The sacrificial vocabulary is retained. In the effort to hold onto a way of expression, choices are made—in some ways this language is more effective than it is in others. “The attribution to the assembly of names drawn from sacrificial ritual sometimes occurs in central texts of the liturgy. Thus the table of the meal, which is widely and informally called an “altar,” can also be so designated in hymns and prayers of the rite itself. In some traditions, the house of the assembly is similarly termed “temple”; in others the participants in the assembly are designated as a “priesthood” and the presider in the assembly is a “priest” or a “high priest.” Bear in mind that these words have now undergone a change—they resemble the old ways but there is a different focus for the assembly. “Christian worship is not a sacrifice”…”at least not in a literal sense of the word.” 
There is no victim, no animals are slain in the assembly, no holy violence occurs, there is no bloody knife or stone with horns. God is not given something to eat and is not rebuilt through the action of the assembly. “Christian worship is rather a communal gathering that enacts or remembers the baptismal bath, reads and interprets scriptures, and holds the meal of bread and wine.” We use sacrificial language where there is no sacrifice! We look at giving as sacrifice but that is not what is being related in the Eucharist. “Our giving of worship and gifts is conjoined to the “sacrifice of Christ.” We see Christ as the sacrifice offered to God—for whatever purposes it is that a sacrifice would be made: to guarantee the future, to bring satisfaction out of anger, to substitute one thing for another, or perhaps the establishment of a holy bond. 
What we have, more than a sacrifice, is the syntax of a sacrifice. Self giving acts are seen as a reflection and celebration of those gathered—of the all-sufficient gift of Christ. These acts are not seen as a contribution made in addition to the gift of Christ. Only when this “reflection” is made, can the language of sacrifice be used to speak of the gospel. It is through this language that many aspects of the Christian life are drawn together. Sacrifice has been viewed as an important way to talk about the connection between the death of Christ, Christian worship and Christian ethics.
To speak of Christian sacrifice, there is a necessity to look at the language of metaphor and interpretation. To truly understand what is going on, one must be able to make the leap that the metaphor provokes. “Words, to risk a paradox, mean more than they mean. Translation is not only a matter of interpretation from one language to another. It involves, almost as much, a transfer of meaning, in the selfsame language, from speaker to hearer. To converse is to translate—to recreate meanings, moods and metaphors.” Words do not possess absolute character-and it is here that we may begin to see that “sacrifice” may have many meanings. “Words acquire their virtues or their defects, from their context. Their character and their values are relative…words are the weapons, not the warriors. We are the warriors.” All of this is to say that there can be appropriate use of the “sacrifice” metaphor—as well as inappropriate. Some have argued that the imagery of “Christ’s sacrifice” amounts to some sort of divine child abuse. This argument fails to use the metaphor for the purpose it was intended—Christian sacrifice must uphold that which is at the heart of the Christian message if it is to be used at all.
Christians use the long held tradition of Jewish thought that had spiritualized the meaning of the temple cult and made “sacrifice” available to describe the interior state of the one who praised God and kept the law.” It may be better to say that “sacrifice” is the wrong word in these cases. “The wrongness of the words needs to be heightened, not tamed, in order for the figure of speech to work. We need to inquire what truth about God is proposed by calling our assembly action sacrifice when it is not.” Sacrifice was once the central ritual act—bearing and sustaining a conception of the world, drawing the people and their gods into the heart of daily experience. In some ways we adopt pieces of those ideas in Christian Sacrifice—there is certainly some word drift to any two meanings or understandings that are so alike.
To attempt to define what sacrifice means requires a sense if its evolution. To go from the sacrificial structure of the Old Testament to the belief that an ultimate sacrifice has been made for all time meant that there would be a need for some explanation. In Justin Martyr’s writing we see just this sort of account: “That God has no need of blood-outpourings and drink-offerings and incense-burnings, and whom we praise, as much as we can, by the word of prayer and thanksgiving over all that we eat.” Justin admits that Christians do not sacrifice in the former sense (grounds on which early Christians were accused of atheism) and rejects ritual killing. He talks of religious practice as being a new action—giving to the poor and needy that which had been formerly devoted to the gods. In an empire of sacrificial parades, Justin describes the procession of the gathered community in a metaphor—a new kind of parade that is not what at first it seems. He explains that “the traditions of the Christians is to offer food, not to the gods, but to the poor—and with thanksgiving, to themselves. This is our ritual sacrifice.”
Metaphor is the key to the interpretation of Christian sacrificial language. It means rather that “praise and thanksgiving, or the Eucharistic memorial, are called in the interpretive way by the (alien) name of sacrifice or offering. The force of the metaphor, the revelation which it brings, is to convey that the praise and thanksgiving of Christians, rendered in memorial of Jesus Christ, far surpasses any offering of gift found in Pagan or Jewish practice.”
The metaphor is meant to hold our attention to the association between the bread-word and the messianic table fellowship in the kingdom—which is realized in the life and death of Christ. “This is to say that the primary reference of the bread-word is eschatological or messianic and that Jesus here promises a share in the messianic blessings to those who eat of his body, or, in other words to those who receive the gift of himself which is communicated through the symbol of the bread… The appeal to sacrificial imagery occurs in the wine-word.” Through the language that describes what is taking place with the cup—images of blood being poured out for the sins of many—those kernels of what is at stake within a sacrifice make the leap into Christian Sacrifice. “To set the two metaphors alongside one another, that of our praise and thanksgiving and that of God’s offering to us in Christ, is to evoke the reality of the Holy Spirit.”
Perhaps today, one of our greatest obstacles is in the way we attempt to draw lines of recognition between concrete examples of sacrifice and what we call sacrifice in the Eucharist. Robert Daly suggests that we often go about the task completely backwards. We should not begin with the non-Christian example of what sacrifice is and then try to back it into our understanding—but rather we should begin with what the early Christians were pointing toward. In what way did they begin to use sacrificial terms to speak of the Christ event, the Christian life and the Eucharist? Daly states that answers to this question must necessarily begin with our central beliefs in a triune God and in the Eucharist.
Daly describes three defining moments in the Christian Sacrifice. The first is that it begins with the self-offering of the Father in the gift of the Son (and not with any attempt on our part.) The second is that of the “totally loving response of the Son to his humanity.” And the third is that which takes place when “the rest of humanity, in the Spirit, begins to be taken up into that self-offering, self giving relationship of the Father and the Son.” He goes on to state that it is only in the third action that Christian sacrifice becomes real.
Christian sacrifice is therefore not something that the faithful do; it is rather what happens to the faithful. What God was doing in Christ—was doing away with the “material, agent, recipient” way of looking at sacrifice. What is being done in the Christ event is as much an invitation into the metaphor as it is a description of what is being described. The words both veil the meaning and unveil it.
To understand the Eucharist, Daly suggests, we should look at it like a wedding ceremony. He explains that the ceremony helps us to make a connection between the gathered event and the rest of our lives. Marriage does not stop at the conclusion of the wedding ceremony and likewise, “Eucharist that stops at the end of the celebration in church never becomes a real Eucharist.” What is taking place in the ceremony is the beginning place—and will only be completely realized in the fullness of time. The assembly receives what it already is—the body of Christ. It is about transformation—Christian sacrifice means that there is a change within us. We die to the “us” we might have been and accept the new body—the “us” of the Eucharist.
I began this project thinking that the questions I had about the language of sacrifice, as we encounter it in the Eucharist, would lead me to some fairly concrete examples of sacrificial language through the centuries. I expected to find a slower conversion of thought—not the jump from “Jewish” sacrifice to what has been described as Christian sacrifice. What I have found is that the “change” seems to have been much more complete in its early stages than I would have imagined. (I guess that I am guilty of falling into the trap of thinking modern society vastly superior to our early counterparts.) The use of metaphor to describe these things of the sacramental realm was, surprisingly, a constant aspect of the authors’ arguments. It quickly became clear that our modern thought processes may lack what the early Christian communities took for granted (that the metaphorical leap could be made.)
It seems that those communities that were closer to the “sacrifice of Christ” held a better understanding of Christian sacrifice than the majority of today’s populations. The metaphor still works, but it needs to be delivered cautiously and carefully in today’s world. There are many words that have developed connotations detrimental to the Christian message. “Sacrifice” is just such a difficult word—in that we modern types have a limited perspective on what it means. Woe be to the person who uses it haphazardly.
In the parish today, there is no reason not to use the language of sacrifice when describing the Eucharist—as long as the metaphor that was intended by the early church is retained. One must be aware of the pitfalls: that this is not a sacrifice in the pagan sense, and that the Eucharist is not just what happens in the midst of the assembly—but that it is carried on in the lives of those that gather. Special care must be given that the language is not saying something that goes against the Christian understanding or teachings (that it is not justifying the victimization of anyone, nor spreading fear.) With these things in mind, the Eucharist may be blessed by being described as a sacrifice—not on someone else’s terms, but on its own.
In this project I have tried to identify what Christian sacrifice “looks” like, as compared to other forms of sacrifice. I believe that the answer to this query lies in the context that event takes form. In the gathered assembly there is a sacrifice—and it looks like prayer, concern for one’s community, and the offering of one’s self (in whatever forms this may take) to others who do not appear to be included in any number of self defined groups. I have gathered a sense that those saints that went before us may have been infinitely more successful in realizing the metaphor. Perhaps we are too often caught up in being individuals brought together into a body to realize that we are a body first—and that we have our individuality which flows from that place. Likewise, some of my first questions addressed to this topic centered on the idea of sacrifice that connects us within the community—and now I realize that the question is flawed. A better question would be how to preserve the sense of Christian sacrifice in the face of secular definitions and ideals.
In conclusion, I have come to realize that this project is just a starting point. I have found that the language used to describe the Eucharist—something I feel fairly knowledgeable about, takes on a life of its own when it slips into images of Christian sacrifice. There is something in the language that is perhaps too deep to dig out (into words on a page, at least.) Sacrificial language seems to have a way of meaning something different—depending on the perspective the observer approaches it from. I am sure that our concepts of offering, sacrifice, atonement, and the like are in a perpetual state of flux. By engaging the Christian sacrifice—in the Eucharist, we are drawn further into the mystery. This is a growth industry; here we may spend a lifetime knowing the answer to the riddle, only failing to be able to verbalize the question. In affect, this should be considered a success (only the success is not ours.) Christian sacrifice looks like the church, the body of Christ—in this regard it should be at the heart of our being.
Applebaum, David Ed. Parabola Vol. 25, Number 2 “Riddle and Mystery”
Bradshaw, Paul F. Ed. Essays on Early Eastern Eucharistic Prayers
Brock, Rita; Claudia Camp; Serene Jones Eds. Setting the Table: Women in Theological Conversation
Crockett, William R. Eucharist: Symbol of Transformation.
Daly, Robert J. Christian Sacrifice
Daly, Robert J. The Origins of the Christian Doctrine of Sacrifice
Daly, Robert J. “Sacrifice: the Way to Enter the Pascal Mystery” in
Goldberg, Isaac. The Wonder of Words
Lathrop, Gordon W. Holy Things
Power, David N. The Sacrifice We Offer
Power, David N. The Eucharistic Mystery
Power, David. “Words That Crack: The Uses of ‘Sacrifice’ in Eucharistic Discourse.” in Seasoltz, R. Kevin. Ed. Living Bread, Saving Cup:
Stevenson, Kenneth. Eucharist and Offering
Ramshaw, Gail. Reviving Sacred Speech
Stookey, Laurence Hull. Eucharist: Christ’s Feast With the Church.
Weaver, J. Denny. The Nonviolent Atonement
White, James F. Introduction to Christian Worship.
 Weaver 58-59
 David Power (Living Bread, Saving Cup 172)
 Ramshaw 90
 Ramshaw 90-91
 Ramshaw 90-91
 Lathrop 139
 Lanthrop 140
 Lanthrop 140
 Lanthrop 140
 Lanthrop 140
 Lanthrop 141
 Goldberg 308
 Goldberg 317-318
 Lanthrop 141
 Lanthrop 143
 Justin (1 Apology 13)
 Lanthrop 147
 Power, David (Living Bread, Saving Cup 160)
 Power 161-162
 Power 174
 Daly, Robert J. “Sacrifice: the Way to Enter the Pascal Mystery
 Daly “Sacrifice: the Way to Enter the Pascal Mystery”
 Daly attributes the example to Edward Kilmartin
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Liberal Arts To Reopen Garrison Hall, Home to Nationally Noted History Program
Two-day event includes tours, lectures, exhibitions
AUSTIN, Texas -Jan. 29, 2008- The College of Liberal Arts at The University of Texas at Austin this week will mark the reopening of Garrison Hall, the recently renovated home of the university's nationally recognized history program. The "Come Back to Garrison" celebrations include the opening of the Institute of Historical Studies and two days of tours, lectures, films and exhibitions, Jan. 31-Feb. 1.
Garrison Hall, built in 1926, is named for George P. Garrison, who joined the university as a history and English instructor in 1884 and was later head of the History Department. Garrison died in 1910.
During his 2006 installation address, President William Powers Jr. identified the Department of History as a strategic priority for the university, committing $1.3 million in new, recurring funds that will support research, teaching and the new Institute for Historical Studies whose inaugural programs will focus on "Global Borders."
"In the great universities throughout civilization, the teaching of history has always been fundamental," Powers said. "Historians and history teachers not only preserve the past, they enrich the long narrative of events and human interaction, so that we better understand who we are now and what the future holds.
"Every UT student, no matter his or her major, should study history in order to enjoy the full range of the intellectual experience."
THURSDAY, JAN. 31
Randy Diehl, dean of the College of Liberal Arts, and Alan Tully, chair of the Department of History, will host a reception, which is free and open to the public, Thursday, Jan. 31, from 4 to 7 p.m. at the Main Building, Room 212.
During the reception, Diehl and Tully will provide an overview of the history program and the opening of the Institute for Historical Studies, which builds on the Department of History's impressive publication record and competitive research funding from national agencies and research institutions each year.
As part of its 2008 rankings of America's Best Graduate Schools, U.S. News and World Report ranked the university's Latin American history program No. 1 in the nation and the department No. 19.
The historians have built strong research enterprises in the areas of empires and globalization, diaspora and migration, the borderlands, cultures, gender, religion and transnational history.
In addition to the faculty members' impressive number of national book awards and fellowships, the department includes a Pulitzer Prize-winner and seven current and former Guggenheim Fellows.
For more information about the Institute for Historical Studies, please visit http://www.utexas.edu/cola/insts/historicalstudies/ .
FRIDAY, FEB. 1
As part of the "Come Back to Garrison" activities, the university's historians will present lectures, which are free and open to the public, Friday, Feb. 1 from 10 a.m. to noon at classrooms throughout Garrison Hall. The discussions include:
• "Torture, Past and Present" with Brian Levack;
• "The Secret Lives of Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt," with H.W. Brands;
• "Spices and Global History" with Toyin Falola;
• "The Evil Eye: What Muslims, Christians, and Jews All Feared and Why" with Denise Spellberg; and
• "Buying Freedom from Slavery: An African-American Family Saga, 1777-1857" with Juliet Walker.
• "Bubble and Bust: Lessons from Japan" with Mark Metzler;
• "The Salvation Army Archive of American Music, or How to Listen Like a Historian" with Karl Miller;
• "The Global Cigarette: Tobacco and Politics during the Cold War" with Mary Neuburger;
• "Finding Politics in Unexpected Places: Women in the Civil Rights Movement" with Tiffany Gill and Laurie Green;
• "AIDS in Africa" with James Wilson; and
• "The Wizard of Oz: A Parable of Populism" with Michael Stoff.
Throughout the afternoon, historians will lead visitors through the university's library and museum resources, including:
• "Rewriting the Vietnam War: New Evidence from the Johnson Library" with Mark Lawrence;
• "UT's Extraordinary Sixteenth-Century 'Aztec' Maps" with Jorge Cañizares-Esguerra;
• "Maquilapolis" (film and discussion) with John McKiernan-Gonzales; and
• "The Second World War in Global Perspective: The Normandy Scholar Program Looks at a Turning Point in World History" David Crew, Michael Stoff and Charters Wynn.
• "Jesus at the Movies, The Silent Era" with Howard Miller;
• "Virgins, Saints, and Angels: the Art of Conquest and Conversion in Colonial South America" with Susan Deans-Smith;
• "Asian Americans on Stage: Forbidden City, USA" (film and discussion) with Madeline Hsu;
• "Cuban Roots-Bronx Stories" (film and discussion) with Frank Guridy; and
• "Arthur Miller, Norman Mailer, Woodward and Bernstein" with Pulitzer Prize winner David Oshinsky.