James D. Hogan

What’s up, Doc?

On January 31, 2024

FAITH

In which the Apostle Paul takes a baseball bat to the knees of the wise…

This week, I defended my dissertation before a committee of four professors and administrators. In the course of a short hour and a half, I presented them with the problem my research addressed, the research questions I established, a review of the literature I researched about the problem, the methods I used to conduct my own research, my findings, and a summation of what those findings mean as answers to the questions I’d asked. It was the culmination of nearly four years of studying, taking courses, and working independently.

The process goes like this: we logged on (my committee met by zoom, because we were all geographically scattered), the committee quickly gathered independent of me to discuss my dissertation, I presented, and then the committee asked questions of my research. (This is the part where I “defended” my work.) Following that, the committee broke away again to discuss whether or not they felt my work met their expectations–and when they returned, they each had changed their zoom backgrounds to congratulate me. I had earned my doctorate.

It was quite a moment.

Aboard the S.S. Absurdity

By James D. Hogan

On January 25, 2024

In writing

How I learned to stop worrying and love the cruise.

Let us begin with a short litany of the preposterous: there is an ice skating rink, a carousel, a park with actual trees, a bar that floats up and down across multiple decks, an English pub (not to mention a sports bar, karaoke bar, jazz bar, poolside bar, adults-only bar, wine bar, champagne bar, piano bar, Spanish bar, and fully automated robotic bar), 20 restaurants and dining areas, five swimming pools, nine monstrous jacuzzis, two separate surfing simulators, four water slides (plus a fifth “dry” slide), a zip-line experience, a pair of rock climbing walls, an arcade, a miniature golf course, a Broadway-sized theatre, a two-story music hall, and an outdoor aquatics amphitheater featuring a 60-foot high dive pool whose bottom can split into three parts that independently float all the way up to the surface to become a platform.

There is a full spa, nail salon, IV therapy area, fitness center, and massage clinic. There is an outdoor basketball court, which is retrofitted for tennis, pickleball, volleyball, soccer, and even hockey. There is a full casino. An art gallery. A promenade with shops displaying fine watches, accessories, apparel, beachwear, and jewelry. There is a vintage 1930 Auburn Boattail Speedster convertible parked just down from the full-service Starbucks.

All of this is onboard a single ship.

Wednesdays: “I am not listening.”

By James D. Hogan

On January 3, 2024

In writing

FAITH

Sometimes God listens, and sometimes he doesn’t.

Throughout Advent this past year, I’ve been reading through the Book of Isaiah. As a refresher, Isaiah was a prophet writing about 800 years before the birth of Christ. The book, which many scholars attribute to multiple authors, follows along with the fall of Israel and its occupation. Frequently, Isaiah proclaims a prophecy of a new king of Israel to come, a foreshadowing of the birth of Christ*.

Back in December we were pondering through a text in Isaiah in Bible study, and it struck me that 800 years is a long, long time. Isaiah was predicting something he would never live to see–not just him, but not even his great-great-great-great-grandchildren. That’s a lot of darkness to peer into.

Anyway, last night I flipped back to the very beginning of Isaiah. It’s poetry, but it isn’t pretty.