The annual Theological Symposium begins this evening in Gallatin, Tennessee. If you can’t join us in person, watch online at the Theological Commission’s Facebook page. I’ll be presenting a paper entitled, “The Holy Spirit, His Gifts, and the Use and Abuse of Tongues.” However, my presentation will not include a demonstration.
In 2008, I returned to my alma mater for the annual Theological Symposium. The purpose of this trip was for my first ever academic paper presentation. The paper was entitled, “Sanctification and the Electronic Media: How Are Screens Shaping Us?”
The experience engendered both pride and humility. I felt (and feel) proud because I think the paper had many good qualities. It reflected the best of thought—both secular and religious—about the nature of electronic and visual technology. This was before countless books by popular evangelical authors emerged, expressing concerns over social media and digital technology. One thinks of authors like Andy Crouch, Tony Reinke, T. David Gordon, and John Dyer. This was also before the work of secular scholars like Sherry Turkle, who has written poignantly about the modern experience of “being alone together.” To be able to tap into some of the best of “tech criticism” and relate it to Christian theology and spirituality was an important contribution.
To be clear, I didn’t make a new contribution to this field. Few of us ever get a chance to do that, especially those of us who aren’t in academic vocations. But during college the work of Neil Postman and Ken Myers had really gotten inside me and caused me to reevaluate everything I thought I knew about this thing we call “culture,” and the very narrow and naïve ways we tend to think of technology.
That being said, pride is quickly dashed by the reality of limits. I was very much learning to write in a serious way during that time (I still am now!), and it showed. It was learning how to make a clear, cogent argument using evidence and sources wisely and persuasively. I’m not sure you could pay me to resurrect that paper—perhaps the central argument, but not the paper itself.
God also humbled me in other ways through the experience of presenting the paper. I caught a few typographical errors while reading the paper aloud, which is never fun. But chiefly, when I finished reading my paper I was met by a range of reactions, some quite positive and several uncertain and bordering on critical. Of course, I think any paper that questioned Christian use of certain technologies (especially in the church) would have this effect. But I think the overall response was quite positive, including from Leroy Forlines. That made a 22-year-old feel pretty good!
But I still remember Dr. Paul Harrison questioning some of my analysis. He reasoned that if Jesus used parables—images of a sort to communicate—didn’t that negate some of the thrust of my argument which questioned contemporary use of images? Looking back, it’s obvious to me why my old professor’s criticism was unfounded and a false analogy. However, in the moment, I was caught flat-footed, unprepared to respond. Memorably, Dr. Robert Picirilli chimed in and saved me, noting how Jesus used parables more to confound and conceal than to illuminate and communicate.
I still feel a bit sheepish thinking back over the experience. But I’m so grateful I was given the opportunity. Since then, I’ve presented about eight papers at the annual symposium, and quite a few more in other settings. Some of these presentations were more of an academic, technical nature, while others were more professional and practical in nature. However, some general lessons emerge which I’d like to highlight.
First, the audience is everything. I’ve presented to as few as three people, and as many as 100 or so. Whether large or small, educated or not, sympathetic or not, value their attention. They’ve probably chosen to listen to your presentation over other things. They could be giving you as much as 30, 45, or 60 minutes of their time. Speak to them, not to people not in the room. Aim to help. Be prepared to editorialize in a place or two if it will keep them tracking with you. Aim for clarity and press ahead graciously.
Second, be confident, not anxious. Presumably you’ve invested a fair bit of time in preparing your paper and have thought it through. It’s also possible that you’re not as prepared as you’d like to be, or you feel there are one or two weak or underdeveloped parts to your presentation. You can’t do anything about it now. Acknowledge an oversight at the end or during the Q&A session (if relevant), but press forward and give them what you have.
Third, practice reading your paper beforehand. This seems like a no-brainer, but it’s more consequential than most think. People tend to read more slowly or much faster when they’re presenting to a live human audience, so the only way to gauge the length of a paper accurately is to read it several times, timing yourself. Eventually you get a sense of what you may need to cut or abbreviate. I’ll say more about leaving time at the end in a second, but an additional reason why you should do this is to get comfortable with the flow of the paper and ensure that your diction is going to serve the audience well. In other words, practicing your reading helps you avoid serving up word salads to the audience.
Fourth, anticipate questions and objections. Generally, questions are permitted at the end of these kinds of presentations. I suppose presenters of various kinds stumble on this point. We assume what we’ve said is self-evidently clear and comprehensive enough that there’s not more to be said. Or we spend so much time fine-tuning our presentations that we don’t take time to consider what may be too abstract, impractical, or in tension with other more assumed beliefs or ideas. Try to imagine the critics’ voices. Don’t wait to swat away strawmen, but prepare to engage steel-men.
Fifth, give adequate answers to serious questions. Let’s face it: sometimes people ask poor questions. They ask questions whose answers are self-evident—perhaps in the paper itself. They may ask about something that your paper “made them think of,” but it’s not germane to the subject itself. However, not everyone simply wants to hear themselves talk. They really want to know about something you said or didn’t say, but which is implicated in the paper’s argument. Do your best to hear the question, clarify the question by restating it, and give as honest and clear of a response as possible. It’s okay to say, “I hadn’t thought about that aspect of it.” Or “I’ll have to research that a little more.” But if you do step #4, you’ll more likely be prepared to give a thoughtful response. Oh, and thank people for their questions. Assuming they’re not a pompous, self-aggrandizing jerk, they took time not only to listen, but they took the paper seriously enough to respond. Be grateful!
Sixth, ensure your audience has a way to contact you. It may be the case that you don’t want for people to know how to reach you after a poor presentation. However, if you’re seriously committed to intellectual formation, then anything you can do to keep the conversation going should be pursued. If people are still discussing your paper six months afterward (or six days, for that matter), you probably did something right (or terribly wrong!). Include a phone number or email somewhere in a footnote of the paper. Or be prepared to provide them to folks afterward who may want to dialogue with you more. You never know when a professional opportunity may arise from follow-up communication, or simply the chance to forge a new friend or partnership.
I’m sure there are other lessons I could mention from past experiences, but I think context makes a huge difference in how one approaches a paper presentation. Also, it matters whether it’s a truly academic presentation or more of a lay-level presentation. This shapes everything from decorum to dress to preparation. However, these six are the primary ones that I think would benefit people.
Still a Decent Paragraph
For those curious, here is a lightly revised paragraph from that first symposium paper:
It has been over 40 years since Marshall McLuhan suggested that the medium is the message. Since that time psychologist, sociologists, and other cultural critics have been wrestling with the ways in which various media influence and shape the human person.[1] Unfortunately for the church, not many theologians and pastors have taken seriously the wide-scale transition in western culture from word-based media to image-based media. In fact, it is startling to note that until only recently have significant numbers of Christian thinkers come to heed McLuhan’s words.
Currently Reading:
Phil Bell, The Family Ministry Playbook
John Grisham, The Rooster Bar
Quote of the Week:
Science emerged among people who believed certain things. Specifically, they believed that science could be done. They believed in what Einstein called ‘the miracle of comprehensibility’—the wonder that puny human brains can figure out the mysteries of the cosmos. They trusted in this miracle because they believed that humans are made in God’s image . . . A great many scientists today are not Christian, of course. Some are anti-Christian. But all of them must depend on Einstein’s miracle. Many will dislike the language of miracle. They may insist that their belief in science is based not on religious reasons but on pragmatic ones: it delivers. They may say that they have evidence: centuries of scientific advance. They trust science because it works. This is all true. Science does work. But we ought to be curious about why it works.
[1] Some of these include McLuhan, Neil Postman, Todd Gitlin, Jacque Ellul, Walter Ong, and others.