A eulogy

17 April 2009

I learned this week that Thomas O. Lambdin is dead. My classmates chuckled when the Harvard grad, who was lecturing on the Blessed BDB, told us that this man, the source of all suffering and tribulation in our lives over the past two semesters, had in fact moved on to the other side.

I was shocked. For a moment, I was afraid I might start crying because somehow, somewhere between stewing over his lists of vocabulary and grumbling over his complex translation homework, I became very attached to the author of my text book: Introduction to Biblical Hebrew.

Thomas O Lambdin is a man of mystery. His Wikipedia article is two lines long-- brevity that perhaps nods to the famous brevity of his Hebrew Grammar. He taught at Harvard University, but besides a few papers and my shabby green textbook, paperback cover peeling away from wrinkled and well thumbed pages, there is little left behind to remind the world of this brilliant Hebrew Scholar.

So this is my tribute to the man who was my Virgil through Hebrew Grammar (is it a sin to cross dead language metaphors thus?): my guide through the forms and tenses of Biblical Writ.

Dr. Lambdin, you will be dearly missed.

I do

10 October 2008

I've got this thing for history. It landed me in a dead-end major which I loved intensely, but which provided me with minimal marketable skills. As my ANES 101 class reminded me weekly, you have two options as an Ancient Near Eastern Historian: museum curator ("And here we have the bronze beard of the late Amenhotep II, 7th Pharaoh of the 18th dynasty of Egypt") or translator of obscure languages ("ראיתי אש ירדת מהשמים ונפלת אירושלם"*). By-the-bye, The Next Indiana Jones is no longer a viable/marketable option.

So this year, I picked a new major with a few more post-grad options, but history still pulls at my heartstrings.

I was just reading about Roman marriages- here in Happy Valley I get my fill of the Mormon variety, but the Roman wedding ceremonies were different in a beautiful and exotic way.

The bride wore saffron- I'd like to do my wedding in saffron maybe with burgundy?- and around her waist she knotted a braided rope to represent fidelity. The ceremony began at the bride's home, where her parents gave her away and the bride and groom exchanged their vows:

"Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia."
Where you are Gaius, there I am Gaia.
Where you are Father, I am Mother.

"Ubi to Gaia, ego Gaius"
Where you are Gaia, there I am Gaius.
Where you are Mother, I am Father.

Gaia, the Mother Goddess, the Earth, is the first goddess of fertility; as these young couples took eachother's hands in covenant, they promised to be parents together, to raise a family together. For the Romans, the purpose of marriage was family.

I'm not exactly jumping at the bit to get hitched, but I wonder sometimes how marriage would be different today if our vows were made not only to eachother but also to our children. Ought we not also promise to have and to hold our children till death do us part? Marriage becomes even more selfless when you see it that way.

I feel like now would be a good time for the music to start... "Family-- isn't it about time?" But see, here's the thing: It is really all about family. Marriage I mean. I think the Roman's had that bit pretty strait.

Vote yes on Prop 8.

*"I saw fire descend from the sky and fall upon Jerusalem." Or something to that effect.