Thou and Ye

In my English Linguistics class, we've been discussing some pretty heady stuff: the arbitrariness of language as a sign, ideas like synchronic and diachronic, la langue and parole, and a bunch of other concepts I'm still attempting to wrap my head around. I love the discussions we're having, but have yet to feel completely confident in our subject matter to participate as I'd like. One of the things we discussed last week in passing was subject pronouns: I, you, he, she, it, we, you, and they. We were asked to make a chart of these, which I would replicate, but can't figure out how to create a chart within this, so here's a list:

Subject Pronouns
First person singular: I
Second person singular: You
Third person singular: He, She, It
First person plural: We
Second person plural: You
Third person plural: They

If you've studied a foreign language, you know that sometimes the second person subject pronouns (both singular and plural forms) have two different forms of 'you' -- a formal and informal 'you'. Apparently, English had this as well, but it's changed over the years and 'you' serves both functions. And what were these pronouns? Yep, 'thou' and 'ye'. 'Thou' was the second person singular informal and 'ye' was the second person plural informal. (Ye also served as second person formal singular until 'you' supplanted it.) So, the thou's, thee's, thine's, and ye's were informal forms when they were used.

So what? Why would I write about this? Well, glad you asked.

It's fascinating to me in a couple of ways. First, it's a great example of how languages change: adapting, reshaping, and dropping different words. There doesn't seem to be any intent moving these things along, either. In the south (and other areas of the U.S.), "y'all" functions as the second person plural pronoun -- language is an organism in this sense. This isn't a reflection of lack of education or speaking poor English; our language changes in unpredictable ways.

(A note about formal and informal before proceeding: As I understand it, the formal 'you' is used the vast majority of the time when people speak with each other; the informal 'you' is withheld from use except with those one is most intimate with, like a spouse or child.)

But the really insightful thing I picked up from the fact that English used to have a formal/informal demarcation is which words were formal and which ones were informal. 'Thou' functioned in the informal sense, as did 'ye'. At some point, 'you' took over both formal and informal roles and we quit using thou, ye, etc. So when the King James Version of the Bible was translated, which I grew up hearing read in church and hearing prayers prayed using it's language, the translators did not use 'thou' and 'ye' because of the sacredness of God, but because of the intimacy with the Creator. Considering the KJV text in this light, it gives me much more insight (and appreciation) for the text and towards the nature of God. It stands in contrast to the use of 'thou', 'thine', and 'ye' when I was growing up; those words were used in a much more formal, elevated fashion than originally used. They went from intimate to Proper and Capitalized. This KJV-language was used in a very reverent manner among the generations ahead of me; there's nothing wrong with this, but I find the change in function fascinating because of the difference it provides in how one views God.

The only other similarity I can think of that sheds more light on this use of language is with the word 'Abba', which is the intimate form of the word 'Father'. The equivalent word in our venacular today would be a child referring to his or her father as 'Daddy'. When the translators of the KJV (and maybe some of the authors of songs in our songbooks?) used 'thou' and 'ye', they were relating the intimacy with which David spoke to his Creator. This different perspective opens up a greater appreciation for the text of the KJV and gives further glimpses into the intimacy God longs for with us.

From Mike Cope's blog earlier this week:

Words to ponder from Anne Lamott: “The biggest difference between you and God is that God doesn’t think he’s you.”

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I've been getting up at 5:45 this week to meet with a couple of guys I met at church and work out. We're lifting weights, which is good for me since I'm not prone to participate in that capacity when exercising; running is usually my easiest outlet. Not only am I working on muscles I've not really worked on in several years, I'm getting connected and building friendships. One of the guys is a professor; the other is finishing his MBA.

My schedule the previous two weeks had been going very well, with a wake up at 6:45 and getting off to the Writing Center or class by 8:00. I wondered what moving my wake-up time back an hour would do, how much tougher it might be. So far, not bad at all. I've actually awakened a few hours before my alarm on several nights. But on Tuesday, I did run into a little bit of a problem associated with this new schedule: I locked myself out of my apartment.

The Rec Center is about a mile and a half from my apartment, so I could walk or run there if I wanted to, but since I'm going there to work out (and need to get back to shower and change as quickly as I can), driving is my best and warmest option. As I gathered my coat and keys to leave that morning, I forgot to pick up the separate key chain which holds my apartment key.

(I hadn't placed it on the keychain with my truck key and various other ones because I didn't want to have to carry so many keys as I walked around campus. I also kept the spare key separate so I could only take that one key with me when I ran and didn't have to bother with taking it off another keychain and then putting it back on -- a small inconvenience I usually don't want to deal with.)

I also decided not to take my phone, figuring I wouldn't have any need for it at that hour. Another brilliant move. As I watched my apartment door close, with the truck keychain in hand, I realized I was missing an important piece to getting back inside the apartment I'd just left. I sighed deeply, managed a small laugh, and headed on to the Rec Center, knowing I couldn't do anything about it until at least 7:00.

One of my interns, Travis, had taught me how to get into my office using a credit card if I ever locked myself out. I thought about this as I drove to work out. The work out was fine; my arms ached and still do a bit, but that had little to do with me not being able to break into my room as I'd learned a few summers ago. Apparently you can't do that little trick with this door. I found a pay phone, called Residential Housing, left a message, and went back to try to get in again. Another failed attempt. It was getting near 7:30, so I walked over to Morgan Hall, where my classes are, and left a note on the chalkboard for my co-teacher that I would probably be late because I was locked out. As I left the building, I called Residential Housing one more time from the office and talked with a guy. He said he'd be over as quickly as he could.

This time I went back and sat in the hallway outside my door. I thought about going to grab breakfast or something quick down the street at the grocery store, but knew once I did, I'd miss the guy arriving and be further delayed. He arrived a little after 8:00, let me in, checked my ID (which may have been out of order -- shouldn't he check that before he let me in?), and I proceeded to get ready for the day. I got to class by 8:30, had a good laugh with the students, and the day went quite well. No other problems this week with locking myself out, though I'm wondering if early morning workouts are overrated.

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I'm headed to Atlanta this weekend to visit some friends from college and to spend time with a couple of my cousins and aunt and uncle. I'm visiting Wes and Leanne Bender, two of my best friends from college, today. I'm going to stay with them until sometime in the late morning tomorrow. I'm leaving a bit early because I'm meeting my cousins Krista and Paige a few of their friends for High School Musical the play at the Fox Theater downtown, which I'm really excited about. I'll stay with the Morris's Saturday night and head back to Tuscaloosa right after lunch or so because I've got a ticket to concert at 3:00. Chris Thile and Edgar Meyer, two incredible musicians, are touring together. If you're a fan of Nickel Creek, Chris Thile was their fiddle player. Meyer is known mainly for playing the double bass, though he plays so many other instruments as well. Their concert is advertized as a cross and mixture of bluegrass, classical, folk, blues, and everything in between. Anyway, I need to get on the road, so have a beautiful weekend and God bless.

Though I've now been in Tuscaloosa for two weeks, I still haven't had a full week of classes and work. The first week here was abbreviated; things didn't start until Wednesday of that week. With the celebration of MLK Day on Monday, this week wasn't full either. Not complaining; it's quite nice. But it may still be a few weeks until I develop a comfortable rhythm and schedule for my weeks, going through things a few times to figure out if reading for class is better two or three days before class or the day before, things like that.

I visited a church Wednesday night. I went to the mens' Bible study; they are looking at the life of David, a study led by the lead pastor. The congregation is Capstone Church, a non-demoninational gathering that's a little more than two years old. One of the men I met introduced me to Pastor Bill and we got to talk for a little bit. He mentioned his background was Southern Baptist and I told him mine was Church of Christ. And then I said something that struck me after finished talking.

He was telling me about their worship, wanting to make sure I knew they weren't a cappella. We laughed a bit about the few differences between Baptist/Church of Christ and then I said, "You know, really, we're first cousins," implying that there are so few differences between the two. But I was bothered by my choice of words because brother/sister/sibling wasn't spoken. If I give it a little more thought, sibling is such a closer and better analogy. (My friend Cretia and I discovered as much, and a whole lot of other fun things, from a prayer group I was in my second year in San Antonio.) Maybe I was going for a laugh more than accuracy; maybe I'm still working at seeing other believers as brothers and sisters. I think it's the former, but the latter may still have some truth.

More than anything, I want to be somewhere that I'll be stretched, challenged, and fed spiritually. I need a community that will help kick my butt into service in a loving way, a place where we're mutually accountable. And I merely need to keep my eyes and heart open to God's promptings and I'm sure he'll provide in ways I can't imagine.

Through the heartfelt mercies of our God, God's sunrise will break in upon us, shining on those sitting in the shadow of death, then showing us the way, one foot at a time, down the path of peace.

Luke 1:78-79 (The Message)


Though I sit not in the shadow of death, I've felt a bit of darkness along my path. This promise, through the prophetic words of Zachariah, gives me hope that light breaks in, streaking through the shadows whatever they may be. And one step at a time, Jesus leads us along the path of peace. Not to peace, but on it, with it. Present. Active. As we move in step with our Savior into the glorious light of our Father's mercies.

It's been quite an interesting few weeks for me as 2006 ended and 2007 began. I spent those days in quite a whirlwind: traveling to Florence for Christmas and Anna's wedding, to Nashville/Clarksville with friends for New Year's, then to San Antonio for a few days and a touching going-away party, back to Florence and finally this past Sunday to Tuscaloosa, from where I now write. (But for good measure, I met my Dad in Birmingham tonight to switch vehicles since I'd taken his Escape instead of my truck so I'd have covering on the boxes, suitcases, and things I brought to T-town.) And that's just the physical travel aspect of those weeks.

Emotionally, it may have been even crazier. Kind-of saying goodbye as I left San Antonio before the holidays; the joy of family at Christmas, getting to spend time with Anna before she changed her last name -- and no, she did not in any way approach turning into Bridezilla...she was incredible through it all; getting everything ready for the wedding and reception, including putting her video together; anticipating moving to Tuscaloosa while dealing with the sadness of leaving such close friends in San Antonio; saying "see you later" to my group; settling in here in T-town; and a few other things going through my mind and heart that I can't put into words. I've been overwhelmed, engulfed, humbled, celebrated, mournful, ecstatic, joyful, disappointed, confused, excited, loved, and on and on. I feel like a chart of the stock market the past ten years.

But regardless of how out-of-whack I may have been through these weeks, setting aside any and all bumps, bruises, confusions, etc., God had prepared me for it all. I've been surrounded by people who love me and people I love. I've been encouraged through words written, prayed, spoken, and unspoken. I've sensed the leading of the Spirit in all the twists and turns that landed me at the University of Alabama. And now I stand ready to begin classes tomorrow, officially turning the page to a new chapter in my book. Though I'm still dealing with some of the confusions and uncertainties about what's ahead and what's behind, I know God's faithfulness will continue to seep into my life in obvious and unexpected ways -- to which I say, Bring it on. Fill me up.

You're not from around here, are you?

Not one day into living in Tuscaloosa and this question was asked of me. So much for being from Alabama, huh?

I spent yesterday moving my things into my apartment, shopping at Target and Publix, and unpacking a bit. I'm excited about the location of my apartment: it's a short 4-5 minute walk from where I'll be going to class and teaching, as well as an even shorter walk (in the other direction) to Publix, one of the grocery stores around here. It was there last night that I was found as not "being from around here."

It's been a few years since I lived by myself, so it's exciting to re-start in a new place and create new routines. I made a menu for meals I'd like to have this week, then made a grocery list and shopped (mostly) for those items. One of the things I wanted to treat myself to in this inaugural week of the return to university life was a homemade steak dinner with a glass of wine. I probably won't get to do that often (I'm sure, among other questions, you're asking how I know to cook a steak) and wanted to welcome myself to the place in a nice way.

Having not shopped in a Publix before, I wasn't sure what their selection of wines would be, so that item was questionable on my list -- if they've got something local or something I recognize, I'll go for it; if not, nothing lost. After I'd gathered all the items I needed, I saw the wine section and found something I'd had and enjoyed before. As I checked out, I was playing the "guess how much you spent" game and was quickly interrupted by the cashier holding the bottle of wine and asking me, "You know Alabama doesn't sell alcohol on Sundays, right?"

My first response was what came out, "Oh, yeah...I forgot." Having worked at a steakhouse after my freshman year of college, I remembered not being able to do this. As for ever encountering this before, other than trips home for holidays, I've never been in the state to buy alcohol so this fact was completely out of my mind. Unlike quick, sharp-witted people in these situations, my responses like that jump into my head as I'm leaving such scenes. So saying things like "Would I be attempting to purchase this if I had that information? Here's your sign." are lost on me. It was after my "...I forgot" response that the bag boy asked, "You're not from around here, are you?" The cashier and bag boy then proceeded to try to think of a place in the state where you could buy alcohol on Sundays.

That this is my "Welcome back to Alabama" story makes me laugh. The epilogue, though, may go beyond a chuckle...

I went back to Publix this afternoon to pick up a few things: a cutting board, soap, and wine. I toyed with picking up a few more things for the kitchen, but withstood the temptation and kept with my list. No problems at the check-out. The cashier from last night was now the bagging my groceries, but didn't recognize me I don't think. I made a salad, used my George Foreman grill to accidently overcook my steak, and attempted to open the bottle of wine with the cheap opener I got last night. At the 915, Chad, Fouad and I always took turns opening the wine because it wasn't until December that we had a decent opener, so it's fitting that this would happen to me though unfortunate I was by myself since I'm sure many of you would've enjoyed watching this.

Somehow, in the process of uncorking the bottle, I pushed the cork down instead of pulling it out. It slid a bit, maybe a half-inch. So I tried again, with this two-pronged contraption that didn't come with directions. I thought the prongs would go into the cork, allowing me to grip-and-twist from there. No such luck. Again, I successfully pushed the cork down, this time into the liquid, sending some of it shooting in my face and on the counter. So now the cork is resting almost all the way down the neck of the bottle with a little bit of wine resting atop.

One more time. Surely it won't happen again and magically the cork will come out.

Nope.

This time, it went all the way in, leaving me no hope of getting it out. On the positive side, I was able to pour a glass to go with dinner. On the negative, it left me with a mess in the kitchen and an open bottle of wine that's probably going to ruin. Either way, a fitting end to the welcome back.