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KA OS Con n e ct
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Fa l l 2 0 0 9 : w h at i s b e a u t y ?
a creative arts publication of the faculty, staff, students and spouses of Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary
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KA OS From the Editors ( pronounced ka-los )
Why Kalos?
The Greek word meaning “good” or “beauty.”
Andene Christopherson, Senior Editor
A creative arts publication of the faculty, staff, students and spouses of Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary.
When the earth was newly made, no fault could be found in its morality or flaw in its artistry. All things were lush and vibrant. Every speck of creation was in intimate worshipful relationship with its Creator. This was
Andene Christopherson John Meinen Senior Editors
the greatest good and the highest beauty; it was kalos. God called it so himself. This, unfortunately, would not last. Excepting those first two image-bearers, no one would again taste this
Christopher Anderson Design Editor
pure, unadulterated form of kalos. Its unity and clarity were shattered when Eve, believing the lie that something might be good apart from
Patricia Anders Copy Editor
God, bit into that forbidden fruit. If you’re anything like me, you may have tried to imagine life before the Fall—when it was perfectly good and beautiful, when it was kalos. But we simply cannot grasp it. Like the
FALL 2009: What is Beauty? Each issue of the journal will feature the visual and literary artwork of the community in response to a given theme. For our inaugural issue, the theme is: “What is Beauty?”
apostle Paul, we are stuck on one side of a dark glass, straining to catch glimpses of what was and what will be. Mercifully, God has not hidden himself from us. Even though we live in a world blanketed by sin’s darkness, the light of God’s goodness and beauty is piercing. The Christian is one who cannot escape the effects
A list of all contributors can be found on page 31.
of the Fall but, being transformed by God’s good grace, reenters into a worshipful relationship with the Creator awaiting complete reconcilia-
On the Cover (from left to right):
tion. The artist, who confesses Christ, is one who recognizes both this
Holy, Holy, Holy • Christopher Anderson
its beauty, and ponder its mystery. Ned Bustard says that artists should
tension and trajectory and works creatively to expose its darkness, reveal wrestle with the subject of kalos and create works that convey both sin’s
Painted Koi • David Cumbie
pervasiveness and the hope of redemption, so that “a world—forgetful of
Supple • Jade Campbell
true goodness since the Fall—can be taught what the word means, and
Yellow Gem • Debara Hafemann
so be led to the only good One.”
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This creative arts publication is named unabashedly for the aim of its pursuit, its pages filled with artwork from all corners and perspectives of the Gordon-Conwell faith community. Kalos Journal is designed to be a place for faculty, staff, students and spouses to connect with one another, encouraging thoughtful creativity and faithful cultivation of the Lord’s gifts, for the purpose of searching out true good and true beauty.
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The Question of Beauty John Meinen, Senior Editor
In December 2004, five hundred “art experts” cast their votes to decide the most influential modern artwork of all time. The winner? Marcel Duchamp’s Fountain—a porcelain urinal pseudonymously signed “R. Mutt.” (Picasso’s Guernica placed fourth; the Red House by Matisse, fifth.) When the norms surrounding beauty are (ahem!) flushed down the toilet, how are Christians to respond? It seems we can either, as Umberto Eco says, “surrender before the orgy of tolerance, the total syncretism and the absolute and unstoppable polytheism of Beauty” or insist that beauty, like goodness and truth, is meaningful, objective, and real because of the God who is there. While most Christians will readily concede that beauty should not (indeed, cannot) be relativized—that Michelangelo’s David really is better than a pile of elephant dung—very few are comfortable answering why. When we say, “This is beautiful” or “That is lacking in beauty,” what do we mean? That was the question posed to you, the Gordon-Conwell
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In reviewing the submissions, one thing became readily clear: there is a difference between relativity and diversity. Beauty can be found in many things without being all things.
community. The following pages contain your response. In reviewing the submissions, one thing became readily clear: there is a difference between relativity and diversity. Beauty can be found in many things without being all things. Secondly, there is a close association between beauty and longing. Finally, pieces like Mark Jacobson’s “The Beauty Inside” vividly remind us that true beauty is more than skin deep—it is, as Adrienne Chaplin says, “a multi-layered affair, which is able to acknowledge and embrace friction, violence, brokenness, pain, suffering, and all that a fallen world entails.” Perhaps that is why in his book, The Wounded Healer, Henri Nouwen describes the Christian leader as an artist—someone “who can bind together many people by his courage in giving expression to his most personal concern.” In any case, the pursuit of redemptive beauty is not merely a luxurious pastime. It is a call to all Christians to become agents of restoration and reconciliation in a fallen world that still is, by His good grace, beautiful.
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Poetry
Vo c e s I n t i m a e by Dr. Jeffrey Niehaus
A youth could stroll along a strand composed Of sand and shelly matter, in Jamaica, Say—in Boston Bay—or Florida, A place where palms would rustle in the breeze And bring a welcome calm into his soul While he studied the shells he walked among And found a conch undamaged by the waves All of the days it lacked an occupant. And if he washed it out and held it up, And held it to his ear to hear the waves As people tell their children they can do, What would the ocean seem to say to him? Would it speak to him of pirate ships, Of men who sank in sturdy men ‘o war Under a heavy weight of Aztec gold, Undone by some untoward hurricane One August long ago? Or would it tell Some rarer secret of the unknown sea, As though some goddess murmured in his ear Those things no human being ought to hear? Or maybe it would say what any conch Or coconut palm rustling in the breeze Or dolphin playful in the distant foam Of whitecaps in the Gulf Stream could tell us On any stormy day or in calm weather: That one more convoluted than a shell (And yet more simple and more eloquent) Still murmurs in the wind and in the waves.
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Sea G l a s s by Debara Hafemann Dirty secrets, Shameful acts
Wave tormented—by Tidal torn
Splintered reasons, Bended backs
Sharpness polished, That Pierced form
Worth discarded, Purpose dashed
Seen a jewel, Oh! Joyful gleaning
Broken vessels, Painful cracks
Treasured find on bloody ground
Sinner’s Folly, Lost at Sea
Grace-filled washing, Mercy splashing
Homeless fragment, Torrid storm
Beauty spilt, forgiveness found
Yellow Gem • Debara Hafemann
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Poetry
Da n t e ’s Ode To R e v el ation by Dr. Gwenfair Adams
A Canto
Virgil takes me by the hand
In the desert.
But Beatrice has my heart.
Wolf-chased, Fear-wrought,
On the border of heaven
I gaze at a
Virgil bids adieu.
Millennium-soaked mirage.
Pagan denizens of Limbo Have no business here.
Virgil takes me by the hand Come with me,
But Beatrice has my heart.
Beatrice commands. ‘Tis Virgil the poet,
Come with me for
The bard, the sage.
33 Cantos
Virgil traveling
And the hallways of Heaven
To the past
Everlasting.
With Aeneas
Come to the True Glory of Rome,
And the glory of Rome.
The Pax Romana.
Virgil traveling
The Prince of Peace.
To the present With Aristotle
Virgil takes me by the hand
And the joy of Reason.
But Beatrice, thou hast my heart.
Virgil, be my guide.
Heaven’s beauty writ In ink and blood, My Love, sweet Revelation.
33 Cantos 9 circles Downward The heat of Hell Harrowing Virgil takes me by the hand But Beatrice has my heart. 33 Cantos 7 terraces Upward The pains of purgatory Purging
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Ete r n a l A c he of G lory by Suzanne Carter
I nvincible by Michelle Sanchez
Underneath it all
My late soul doth magnify the Lord
we know
Who has seized my heart to deploy and ravish;
the Eternal Ache of Glory.
Breathless, I finally swell in his blazing power,
All that is Beautiful reminds us that we are simply,
Armed and arrayed through his grace so lavish—
deeply Heartbroken for Home.
No guilt, No guilt—I am invincible
Longing
To my—to your!—to the Accuser’s accusations,
To fully belong.
For the mystery that even in my sin—yes—
There.
God still smiles—
There it is, in the heart, the soul, the song,
I am ridiculously free from condemnation!
Rising, surfacing, surprising us again like… Mornings cast on the waters…
No fear, No fear—Christ painstakingly paid
Colors vast in the skies…
For every past-present-future mistake—
Ages past in the mountains, the cultures,
And now with me in battle God will always be
the Dance
For his Son he already did once forsake—
Pages lasting with Truths of Divinity’s Inspiration, And the grandeur of God’s Dreams
No doubt, No doubt—his blessings are sure
peeks out still through fallen Nature
As the daunting Christ-life dazzling from me within—
And we and all creation in silent worship,
Which blinds and destroys every force of darkness
pain, longingly, achingly wait
As it shines forth in this saint’s realized
for more than we can see, feel
freedom from sin.
Knowing, truly...Knowing That
No clouds, No clouds—the way is free, and clear;
Beyond the Beauty of these
My relieved race is to preach his peace, and grace—
Untamed, ungrasped, almost-caught,
And then one day to rest fast in what is sure at last
Barely held moments
His full acceptance and eternal embrace.
We are Almost Home. Beauty…
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E s s ay
Dr i v ing M i ss Daisy by Timothy Van Rheenen
There’s something about 10 p.m. to 1 a.m. I’ve gotten to the point where I can’t sit down and do any serious
reflecting unless it’s during this beautiful window of time. I sit in my cozy little room with the Christmas lights on, even though it’s March, and I let my emotions go. I’ll often turn on some music, and this time of night it has to be soothing and melodic. Tonight it’s Coldplay. As it plays I go back to my past summer in Montana, where Viva La Vida was my constant companion, my soundtrack to the mountains.
I would get in my car and drive down to yoga class every Wednesday afternoon, and Coldplay would go with
me as I drove by the lake. It took fifteen minutes just to get back to the main road, and I faithfully made this drive to yoga, sometimes twice a week. Why is this memory coming back to me now, and why with such sweetness? It seems insignificant when I remember that I hiked through some of the most beautiful country I’ve ever seen. I paddled under star-filled skies, I encountered black and grizzly bears, I jumped forty feet off a bridge into an ice cold river, and I lived with a Jamaican. All were amazing—especially the Jamaican. But tonight I’m struck by the little things.
Yoga was one of the little things—my one bit of sanity in the often crazy world of Glacier Park employees. I
would quietly slip out in the late afternoon, roll down my windows, and get away. Or in this case, get back to civilization. I would join the four or five middle-aged women, take my borrowed mat and awkwardly attempt the many impossible suggested poses. The instructor never quite knew what to do with me. At times she seemed pleased that I was showing up, at other times she seemed to be tolerating me and questioning my motives. It almost became a battle of wills, and by the end I continued going simply to show the instructor that I wasn’t a flake, and that maybe, just maybe, I had what it took to be one of the best.
But where are these thoughts coming from? Montana was over six months ago. I just watched Driving Miss
Daisy, and I was struck by what a beautiful, simple story it is. Nothing huge ever happened, and the biggest moment was arguably when the old woman takes her chauffeur’s hand and tells him that he is her best friend. It’s so simple and commonplace. And it’s so sweet that it makes you cry.
This is life: many small moments that you experience on your own or perhaps with a few select others.
These moments are not going to become a movie script, and they probably won’t even be something worth telling at the next party. But between those elusive hours of 10 and 1, you’ll come back to those moments. I don’t know what your moments will be—but without yoga, or Coldplay, or mountains, or sweet old women who show you their soft side, I think I might be entirely lost.
There’s beauty, and obscene amounts of it, but it’s not always where you might expect to find it. Soak it in.
Each moment is literally ripe with potential. As for me, I’m going to bed. I have cardio kickboxing in the morning.
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Psalm 1:3 • Robin Giberson Lawrenz This wall-hanging was sewn mostly by hand using appliqué and embroidery techniques. It displays a tree rooted by the stream of living water, stretching out toward the sun and waiting for a season when it will bear sweet and vibrant fruit as a result of its labor. It represents the beauty of struggle, patience, and growth.
Jack Mountain • Thomas Henry This image was captured from a dock on Ross Lake in the North Cascades, WA. Jack Mountain is situated on the eastern side of the lake and provides paddlers and hikers a sense of humility and wonder. This was a particularly beautiful morning for the mountain as the low hanging clouds moved around the flanks of the summit in the gray early hours.
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Meeting • Kristopher Loper This shot was taken in spring 2006 standing on an island near Aghios Achillios in northwestern Greece. A friend pointed out the view and I could not help but attempt to capture the beauty. The lake and mountain in the distance are located about one mile from the intersection of Greece, Macedonia, and Albania.
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Unknown Girl • David Moore I came across this girl when walking around the foothills of La Baie du Moustiques (Bay of Mosquitos) in northwest Haiti. I’ve never seen such poverty in my life.
Supple • Jade Campbell My niece Elyn, preciously plump and supple on a hot, Oklahoma summer day.
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Age of Innocence • Amanda Cannon I think the way children see the world is truly beautiful. They see beauty even in the simple. Imaginations run wild, and they can play freely in the age of innocence.
By Still Waters • Kristen Scott I seek to use my photography as an instrument to find beauty in simplicity.
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Captivate (top) • Jade Campbell Mommy and baby both being captivated while captivating.
Joy of Life (bottom left) • Sarah Loiacono This picture represents life and the expectation of life. I love this picture because it not only captures the “true Sally” (fun and full of life) but it also shows her excitement and anticipation of this child’s birth. That expectation represents the beauty of God’s creation.
Enjoying Life • Amanda Cannon A friend is seeking shelter under the shade of an umbrella.
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Poetry
Bea u t y in t he Behol de r
Untitled
by John Dao
by Sonja Noll
The beggar bursting into Solomon’s song jumping and praising all day long while people stopped to stare they saw beauty over there
There is a deep beauty in pain, much unlike the sated, jaded, flippant sweetness that is public, popular beauty.
David’s one and only hope what the Lord gave to Job! prostrated down in holy fear You will find that beauty here In a bleeding woman, a daughter’s demise sight beyond sight in Magdalene’s eyes marked by a widow’s copper coins there is beauty purloined This is now the Strong Man’s loss The Son of Man crushed on a cross His heel sent to crush the snake Now beauty lost is ours to take
Lasting, authentic, screamingly real, it tears and mends, torments and delights. It is what stays with us, what cannot be corrupted. It has power, potency, permanence. The pasted-on beauty of painless haste is deceptively sweet, betraying with its emptiness. We seek it, honor it, at far too great a price. Help us to see, to set our eyes aright. Help us to strive for that which is true. The ache for beauty beckons, even for its mere perception, but it can deceive, that we know.
For the most beautiful thing God made was made in his image
Tru e Be a u t y by Marsharie Williams Beauty cannot be seen through the natural eye In fact real beauty can only be perceived through supernatural sensation that comes within the soul A man’s soul is the nest in which Beauty is nurtured and developed True Beauty does not just appear but rather true Beauty requires time, pain, struggle, and suffering And only love can bring about Beauty’s fruit: compassion and kindness Yes, it’s true, real Beauty requires suffering Suffering and the Savior equals Beauty Beauty was crucified on the cross Beauty lives in the deep inner part of man Beauty loves both you and me, and if Beauty loves both you and me surely Beauty sees us as beautiful too And maybe just maybe… if sinful creatures like us can be seen as beautiful through the eyes of Beauty Himself then I declare Weakness is beautiful Vulnerability is beautiful Meekness is beautiful Humility is beautiful Pain is beautiful So don’t let the eyes deceive you but rather understand that true Beauty is calling you from deep within Wanting to give your heart an extreme makeover But before you allow Beauty to transform you, ask yourself, can you stand to be loved? Beauty is waiting…
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Short Story
The Be a u t y Inside by Mark Jacobson
Heather slides her butt forward on the plastic chair and leans back, tips the chair so it rests against the wall and her feet are off the ground. What is more beautiful? she wonders, ignoring the reading from Genesis. The scars? Or the blood? She tugs at the cuff of her left sleeve. Resisting, or giving in? Everyone else is standing; she is at the back; slouched; invisible.
“Be seated,” Spencer, the boys’ leader, says. Meghan, the girls’ leader, stands next to and just slightly
behind him. She carefully rubs one of her mascara-laden eyes.
Heather has big eyes. Everyone would always say, “Your eyes are so beautiful!” or “What big eyes you
have!” and to the former she had to say, “Thank you,” and to the latter, “The better to see you with,” and then she stopped saying all the things she was supposed to say, and she grew out her bangs so that people would just say, “You’re such a pretty girl when your hair’s out of your face,” and she could ignore them. Right now, a couple of the kids are shouting “Yes!” to a question she hasn’t heard.
“That’s right,” Spencer says. “Because woman was created second, she was created to be a complement
to man.” Heather looks up. The guy-in-front-of-her’s underwear is sticking up out of the back of his jeans; blue boxers with smiley faces with tongues. Above, taped to the basement rafters, are misshapen self-portraits done by the preschool kids. To Heather’s right, on the counter that runs the length of the wall, is a set of three drawers. The top drawer has “Scissors” written on the label, and there is a picture of scissors drawn next to it. Scissors are on Heather’s list; she is not supposed to think about scissors. Scissors, scissors, scissors, she thinks. “It’s God’s beautiful plan,” says Meghan. Heather knows her a little bit because a few months ago Meghan had gotten the girls together to tell them not to make the boys lust. Meghan used to make boys lust, but now she struggles against it. Heather thinks about the scissors again. She tips her chair forward so that her sneakers are on the floor. Spencer says, “Man is designed to be attracted to beauty, and woman is designed with a yearning to be beautiful.” He smiles over at Meghan; everyone knows that they are secretly courting. “Now why don’t we get into groups and see how many other ways we can think of that woman was designed for man?” And by the time the first chairs are being scraped along the basement floor, Heather has the scissors in her hand and is heading up the back staircase to the sanctuary. Heather prays as she climbs, but prayer never does anything. She walks quickly through the dark sanctuary, past the stain on the carpet where some-
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one had spilled grape juice and down the center aisle, into a pew. The only light comes from outside, a streetlight dimmed by stained-glass: Christ’s starved and bleeding body, nailed through the wrists. Heather pulls up her left sleeve, wipes her snot onto her hand, then onto her jeans, and places a blade against her forearm. She thinks again about beauty: the raised parallel scars are a sign of what she has overcome, but just under the skin is another sign, a brilliant liquid sign of how she really feels when she really lets herself feel. She stops when she hears footsteps in the sanctuary. She closes the scissors and hides them under her thigh. “Are you okay?” Meghan asks softly, kneeling down in the aisle next to Heather and looking into her face. “You’d be real pretty if you just got the hair out of your eyes,” she says. “Is that why you took the scissors? To cut your bangs?” Meghan gives a quiet laugh. “I’ll tell you a little secret between us girls: what really matters is the beauty inside. Okay?” She laughs again, notices Heather’s exposed forearm, looks away, and tells Heather to come downstairs when she’s ready, and then she heads back downstairs herself. “The beauty inside,” Heather whispers to the quiet church as she reaches under her thigh. The scissors are children’s scissors, so you can’t get a good, quick slice from them, but if you dig, it hurts, and if you dig hard enough, you can generally get something going.
SON G LYRICS
The Pe r f e ct Me by Mandy Thompson
It’s 8 a.m., and I’m already late for a day that won’t quit and a world of mistakes. So I hit the ground running ten minutes too late and walk to work, in the wind. She sits in the window two-dimensioned perfection A body to kill for and a perfect complexion. And then in the glass I see the reflection of an exceptionally bad hair day. I wanna run and scream “Don’t look at me! I’m not that beautiful, I’ll never be. You’ll be lucky if you see ...the perfect me, the perfect me.” With the time and the money I could look this way, but most days, honey, I don’t even shave! Is that how those world-class models behave? They’re gonna make me lose my mind! I wanna run and scream “Don’t look at me! I’m not that beautiful, I’ll never be. You’ll be lucky if you see ...the perfect me, the perfect me.” I can’t compete...with the beauty around me. The million-dollar models...are they even real?!? I wanna run and scream “Don’t look at me! I’m not that beautiful, I’ll never be. You’ll be lucky if you see ...the perfect me, the perfect me.”
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SON G LYRICS
The G a r de n by Caroline Smith
Beauty from void Dark to light Sun for the day Stars for the night For you I’ll plant a garden Fill it with light Food for your mouth and Colors for your eyes And I will breathe into the dust The breath of life and all my love And when you open your eyes You will see and be satisfied And I will be with you, I will be with you, I Fall asleep I’ll make for you a love Love like a shield, like a home, like a dove You are free, but ever enthralled And I, I, I will be your all And I will breathe into the dust The breath of life and all my love And when you open your eyes You will see and be satisfied And I will be with you, I will be with you, I Eat the lies right off the tree Your eyes are open but not to see Build a tower to the sky Flap your arms you think you fly Melt your gold down to a god Sell your soul to pay for your façade Trade my love for silence I give you up if you want it But I will breathe into the dust The breath of life and all my love And when you open your eyes You will see and be satisfied And I will be with you, I will be with you, I
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Tree of Life • Ellie Cho I wanted to describe heaven, growing out of a small mustard seed. The tree represents life, that is the beauty of heaven.
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G l o b a l AR t R e v i e w s
Global Sights & Sounds Todd M. Johnson We are committed to the biblical idea that all Christians should become adroit at intercultural learning as members of both the global Christian community and the human race. As such, I am not recommending “safe entertainment” for Christians. Instead, I highlight ten films and ten musicians from around the world that are likely to build our cosmopolitan capacity and empathy for other cultures.
FILMS 1. Global Baraka (1994) by Ron Fricke Shot in 70mm in 24 countries, this stunning musical and visual montage expresses the global existence of nature and man in the broadest sensory terms as people try to cope with the changes that have crowded them together and sped up daily life. Spiritual themes are sprinkled throughout. 2. Sweden Let the Right One In (2008) by Tomas Alfredson A Scandinavian minimal landscape (à la Bergman) is the backdrop for this Swedish horror film that tells an achingly beautiful love story in the context of violence and bullying. Prepare to meet one of the sweetest young vampires ever to grace the screen. 3. Japan After Life (1998) by Kore-eda Hirokazu Reflecting back on life’s memories from the vantage point of a kind of limbo after death allows the viewer to participate in the difficult choice of the protagonists: choose one moment from your life to reenact to carry with you into the afterlife to bring you joy forever.
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4. Scotland Rivers and Tides (2003) by Thomas Riedelsheimer The work of British artist Andy Goldsworthy is examined in this glacialpaced documentary that follows the artist in nature in Scotland as he tries to create fleeting and transitory constructions out of leaves, hair, wool, rocks, and icicles. A singularly beautiful soundtrack and the inclusion of a number of failed artistic endeavors add depth to the film. 5. Palestine Lemon Tree (2008) by Eran Riklis The film follows the path of a seasoned Palestinian widow (brilliantly played by Hiam Abbass) who defends her lemon grove from the political machinations of her Israeli defense minister neighbor while receiving much pressure from Palestinian friends and family. The seemingly intractable conflict is placed in the context of a deeply human encounter. 6. India Veer-Zaara (2004) by Yosh Chopra This film from Bollywood has all the elements of this classic art form: romance, dance, song, and tragedy. But this film explores the human relationships in the larger context of Indo-Pakistani relations with two leading Indian actors in the title roles.
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7. Brazil City of God (2003) by Fernando Meirelles and Katia Lund This film gives penetrating insights into the slums of Brazil through the eyes of its children, all grown up ahead of their time but sensitive youths nonetheless. Many other films and TV shows borrow from this pacesetter. 8. Silk Road In This World (2003) by Michael Winterbottom This is the ultimate road trip film with two young protagonists traveling the breadth of the Asian continent to find freedom. Border crossings and a complex web of relationships provide ample drama along the way. 9. Russia Russian Ark (2002) by Aleksandr Sokurov Filmed in one fluid shot on a highdefinition camera this film tells the modern history of Russia from the standpoint of art displayed in St. Petersburg State Hermitage Museum. Nearly one thousand actors participate in a dream-like tour in this intersection of art and history. 10. Mexico Pan’s Labyrinth (2006) by Guillermo del Toro A fantastical tale seen through the eyes of young girl examines the nature of good and evil in the context of fascism in post Civil War Spain. Perceptive viewers will discern the inextricable bonds between two realities, one seen and the other imagined or unseen.
MUSICIANS 11. Canada Kiran Ahluwalia Toronto-raised and New York-based Indian sitar player has one foot in the West and the other in the East. Winner of a number of World Music awards, including best new album for Wanderlust, she specializes in the ghazal, a love poem that originated in Persia but migrated to India hundreds of years ago. 12. Mali Vieux Farka Touré Son of the famous Malian griot and blues legend Ali Farka Touré, this young guitar player has carved out a style all his own but, at the same time, extends the work of his father in introducing the world to the music of Mali. A portion of the proceeds from his albums buys mosquito nets that are sent back to his village. 13. China Twelve Girls Band In mid-2001 in China, 4,000 women auditioned and 12 were chosen to play Chinese traditional instruments. Immensely popular, the 12 (now 13) come from the leading classical music conservatories in China and tour extensively playing a range of music from ancient Chinese to Coldplay and Enya.
14. Silk Road Yo-Yo Ma & the Silk Road Project Up to 60 different musicians from a dozen countries along the Silk Road participate in a series of albums, concerts, residencies, and educational activities. While the project highlights individual artists and their traditional styles, founder Yo-Yo Ma also promotes collaborative endeavors exploring the intersection of different cultures and music styles. 15. Zimbabwe Oliver Mtukudzi Performing for over 30 years and producing more than 40 albums, Mtukudzi has developed his own genre of music called “Tuku” which combines the traditional Shona style with jazz, Caribbean, and folk. His lyrics emphasize tradition, respect, community, and dignity (all predominant Shona themes), as well as modern dangers such as alcohol and AIDS. 16. Turkey Sezen Aksu The “Queen of Turkish Pop” has sold over 40 million albums worldwide and is credited with forming the contours of Turkish music since her debut in 1975. Her influence has spread to other countries in the Mediterranean while she has championed women’s rights and educational reform in Turkey.
18. Australia Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds Spanning an extraordinary 25-year career, this post-punk multinational band nearly defies genre. While lead singer Australian Nick Cave experienced and then emerged from 20 years of heroin addiction, the band explored numerous themes ranging from violent narratives to biographical and confessional love songs. Their latest album Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!! is loosely based on the biblical story of the resurrection of Lazarus. 19. USA Polyphonic Spree Inspired by ‘70s music, the hippie generation, and church choirs, this 23-member ensemble explores a wide range of sound. You’ve probably already heard them in iPod commercials, TV shows, and movies. 20. Global Transglobal Underground (TGU) This London-based group is a pioneer in world fusion music, mixing Western and Eastern styles in a rock format. Belgian Muslim singer Natacha Atlas is a longtime friend and collaborator of the group who recently won awards for its seventh album Moonshout.
17. Colombia Sidestepper One of the most promising new bands out of South America creates a unique fusion between classic salsa and club beats with all sorts of other music styles mixed in.
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That I Should Boast • Benjamin Corey Captured during sunset at a quant spot in the foothills of Maine named Hacker’s Hill. When I was first courting my wife, she brought me here for a late afternoon picnic. We sat at the foot of the cross and stayed through sunset, which is when I captured this photo.
In the Quiet • Goran Kocjev Peaceful sunset at Crane Beach.
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Holy, Holy, Holy • Chris Anderson I’ve always been fascinated by the account of the Seraphim in Isaiah 6. What would they have looked like? What would it have been like to hear their worship? This was my meager attempt to depict something (perhaps) of the experience.
Fall 0 9 : W h at i s Be a u t y ? • 2 3
Painted Koi • David Cumbie A school of koi swirl around their darkened tank at the North Carolina Aquarium, Morehead City, NC.
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Fall 0 9 : W h at i s Be a u t y ? • 2 5
Short Story
R e c a l l e d to Life by Patricia Anders
For some reason, this was the first time he stopped to think about what he was doing. What was it that steered him toward that café each week—that got him out of bed, showered and dressed by 6:00 a.m.? Sure, the breakfasts were good and inexpensive, but that wasn’t reason enough. He looked up at the bright sun directly in his eyes as it rose higher over the Atlantic seemingly with each step he took down the quiet street. He pushed up his baseball cap to relish the comforting warmth of the sun and breathed in deep the refreshing air that reeked magnificently of fish, salt and even a hint of diesel fuel from boats in the harbor.
He passed a man about his age walking a golden retriever and bid him good morning. Everyone said
good morning out here. That was something new to him—that and the fact that he was out walking at all. In Los Angeles, he didn’t do much of that. For one, it wasn’t safe, but there really wasn’t anywhere to walk. People out here seemed to think of Southern California as a laidback friendly place, when it was really a chaotic concrete, strip-mall sprawl of frenetic energy and spinning wheels—both on and off the congested freeways. Perhaps it was because he was retired, but life here felt slower, more deliberate. There was plenty of open green space, woods, salt marshes and coastline, not to mention the quaint New England towns and coastal villages. He liked the idea of living in Rockport the moment he saw it in a photograph his daughter had sent to him: the harbor with the granite-block wharfs, small fishing boats, colorful lobster buoys and, of course, the famous red wooden building that seemed to be in every picture. There was a sense of community here and of belonging to the past that he had missed growing up in L.A. He took another deep breath of the delicious air and walked the remaining few steps to the café. They had just opened and he was the first customer of the day. He sat down at their table by the window with the view of the harbor and looked at the menu. The girl beamed a bright good morning and brought him his heavy white ceramic mug of black, steaming coffee. She scampered off as an elderly couple came in and sat down at another table by the window. He listened to the pleasantries they exchanged, enjoying that rare moment that comes to us all every once in awhile that says, “God is in his heaven and all is right with the world.” He took a careful sip of the piping hot coffee and wondered how long he’d been coming here now. Must be getting close to seven months—that’s about how long they’d been having these weekly breakfasts together anyway. He first saw her about a year ago. He’d been in town for about six months when his daughter said to him, “Dad, you’ve really got to get on with your life. Mom wouldn’t want you to sit around brooding. You’re only sixty-seven! You’re too young to give up! You’ve got to get out and meet people! It’s a wonderful community—you’re sure to meet some
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nice folks around here. Go to the bookstore, check out the free concerts, have fun!” He had gone to the bookstore, mostly because he had to see a place that called itself “Toad Hall.” He found himself in there often; and in a day of superstore book chains, Toad Hall was like visiting an old friend. After his wife died, he hadn’t been able to do much reading. Maybe an occasional magazine and newspaper, but the literature—the novels, the poetry— all sat forlornly collecting dust crammed in his home library. He now thought this rather strange as books— especially the classics—had always brought comfort to him. Maybe it was because she had shared his love of literature that made him stop. She was no longer there to talk to about it. It wasn’t until he had moved out here and had finally opened his boxes of books that the spark was rekindled. It was Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities. He had casually opened up the well-worn volume to the familiar first page: It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was
the age of foolishness, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going to Heaven, we are all going direct the other way. It was the subtitle glaring at him, however, that aroused something he’d thought gone forever. It stated simply, “Book the First—Recalled to Life.” Devouring the words like a starved man, he came to a halt at the peculiar dialogue that resonated within the cell of his self-imprisonment: “Buried how long?” The answer was always the same: “Almost eighteen years.” “You had abandoned all hope of being dug out?” “Long ago.” “You know that you are recalled to life?” “They tell me so.” “I hope you care to live?” “I can’t say.” The front door opened again, pulling his thoughts back to the present. He only then noticed that the girl had refilled his mug. He looked at his watch: it was after 8:30. She should have been here by now. They had come together by chance—a glance had brought them together. For months, on the middle day of the week, he and she had sat at separate tables; and then one day they came together to have their coffee and breakfast at a shared table, which now had become a weekly event—of course, always on Wednesdays. He had discovered from her that she volunteered in the office of the Baptist church on Wednesdays and gave herself this weekly treat of breakfast out before heading over there at 9:00. Before they had begun sitting together, she would sit reading the newspaper
or sometimes a novel or poetry or sometimes her Bible. Well, the Bible was always there with her. He later found out that she had a women’s study lunch group at the church on Wednesdays. It was a support group for widows. She occasionally talked about this and the struggles the women had—finances or dealing with house repairs or problems with children or grandchildren, but mostly grappling with perpetual grief and loneliness. He was surprised how honest she was about it and how she could talk so freely about her loss. For a long time, he figured that if he didn’t talk about his own bereavement, then maybe he would eventually forget—but that never happened and after a few months of talking with her, he began to discuss his own grief; and as he talked about it, he felt surprisingly lighter, as if a sack of coals had been on his back and the coals were finally slipping out a rip at the bottom, one by one, until he felt he could stand up straight again. She also seemed to smile more than she had before and there was now a twinkle in her keen blue eyes that hadn’t been there; in fact, her whole face was brighter and she looked ten years younger in merely a few weeks. “I’m so sorry I’m late!” She startled him out of his thoughts and seemed like a ghost appearing so abruptly next to the table. He jumped up immediately. “I’m very sorry I’m so late, but my sister called from Florida and I couldn’t get off the phone—well, not without hurting the poor dear’s feelings. Haven’t you had your breakfast yet? Oh my, you shouldn’t have waited for me! Thank you—you’re such the gentleman—but I’m afraid I can’t stay. I’ll be late to the church if I stop for breakfast now. I’m just going to grab a muffin and take it with me. I’ll be extra early next week—I promise!” For some reason he felt himself stumbling for words. “Of course, yes, it’s no problem. To be honest, I had lost track of time!” Why did he suddenly feel awkward? She smiled and glanced out the window. “Yes, it is a beautiful spot, isn’t it? Very easy to get lost in one’s thoughts. Well, I hope they were happy ones! But now, I really must dash. I’m so sorry!”
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R e c a l l e d to Life ( continued... )
He returned her smile and nodded as he watched
her head over to the bakery counter near the front
He looked up to see her standing right in front of
him, the usual smile on her face. “Enjoying this beauti-
door. A few moments later, she had something in a
ful day I see,” she said. “Good for you!”
bag and was gone. He only then realized that he was
still standing and felt rather foolish. He sat down and
and inadvertently dropping his paperback to the grass.
looked around, but no one had seemed to notice. Just
Before he could move, she bent down and picked it
then over the restaurant’s music system, he heard— as if for the first time—the familiar opening orchestral
He stood up, fumbling to pull off his baseball cap
up. He was impressed with her agility. “Ah,” she said, “the new Pulitzer Prize winner! Do you like it?”
notes of what had been one of his favorite Louis Arm-
strong songs, and then he heard Satchmo’s distinctive
an awkward school boy. He hadn’t been this nervous
voice, deep and gravelly but somehow comforting:
Again, he found himself stumbling for words, like
around a woman for a long time—a very long time.
I see trees of green, red roses too;
I see them bloom for me and you,
afraid. The weather’s too nice for any serious concen-
and I think to myself, what a wonderful world!
tration.”
I see skies of blue and clouds of white,
the bright blessed day, the dark sacred night,
cially sitting here with all these lovely flowers to look
and I think to myself, what a wonderful world!
at.” She handed the book back to him, glanced up
“Haven’t really been able to make much headway I’m
“Yes, it is too beautiful out for reading, espe-
at the sun and took a deep breath complete with a ••••••••••••••••••••••••••
sigh of contentment. “Would you like to take a walk? I wouldn’t mind some company on my way home. It
He wasn’t sure what time she finished at the
church, so he sat on the park bench shortly after lunch
isn’t far; just up the street on Atlantic. I have a lovely view of the harbor on my little deck. Perhaps you’d
thinking he might see her come out. The breeze was
like a cup of tea? I’m afraid I don’t keep any coffee
chilly, but the sun felt sufficiently warm on this spring
about the place.”
day. He glanced over at the bright yellow daffodils and
the red tulips and then up at the drooping pink blos-
to spend an afternoon.”
soms of the tree next to him.
walking.
Why was he here, waiting for her? If she saw
He smiled at her. “I couldn’t think of a nicer way “Wonderful!” She took his arm and began
him, what would he say? Well, it was a public park
with nice views of the harbor and ocean, and it was
cap and tucked the book under his left arm. He found
Surprised, but only momentarily, he replaced his
amusing to watch people walking along Mount Pleas-
himself walking taller. He didn’t know if it was because
ant Street. But she was sharp. She’d see right through
her posture was so erect and he felt as if he had been
him. For some reason, however, he didn’t seem to
slouching, or maybe there was another reason for it. It
mind. He glanced down at the book on his lap but
was the same feeling he’d had with the lessening sack
didn’t feel much like reading. It had been a long hard
of coals. All of a sudden, he noticed the sack was
winter and he couldn’t concentrate on the words.
gone, completely gone. I see trees of green, red roses
too....
“Well, hello you!”
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She was talking but it was hard to listen—he
thing, but he couldn’t think clearly and all he could say
enjoyed the sound of her voice and was submerged
was “Thank you.”
in the cadence of it, the individual words lost yet
somehow richer, like poetry in another language. He
asked, “Whatever for?”
She smiled, still holding his hand, and gently
felt almost overjoyed as they turned left down Atlantic
Avenue toward her house.
kind. For...for easing me out of my shell. It’s been dif-
He paused another moment and said, “For being
Recalled to life.
ficult, but you know all about that.”
Was it possible to be happy again—to find love
“Yes,” she said quietly, “I know all about that.”
once more?
“These past few months have felt like a sort of
resurrection. I thought I had buried myself as well
She turned up a short driveway at a charming
bungalow and walked him to a side door. The house
back in that cemetery in California, but you’ve man-
was just as delightful inside. He followed her into the
aged somehow to help me dig out. When I thought
bright clean kitchen where she busied herself putting
I’d never feel anything again but grief, I actually find
on the teakettle and getting out cookies that she had
myself happier than I have been in a long time.”
made in anticipation of a visit from grandchildren the
next day. Everything about this house said “Home.”
hand on top of the one he was holding. “I thought
They sat out on her small deck looking over a spring-
maybe you had grown tired of meeting an old lady like
time garden chockfull of daffodils, crocus, tulips of
me week after week in that little café.”
various bright colors, pink and white flowering trees
and a bit of vibrant green grass surrounded by a
beautiful woman who gives herself to anyone who
Tears formed in her eyes and she put her other
He shook his head. “I see no ‘old lady’—only a
low white picket fence. The Garden of Eden couldn’t
has need. In fact, at the risk of sounding corny, you’ve
have been much lovelier or perfect. After all, what did
taught me what beauty is: breakfast and coffee
“paradise” mean except an enclosed park? He glanced
shared by friends who want nothing more than to
over at her and noticed she was looking intently at
enjoy each other’s company.”
him, as if trying to read his thoughts. He suddenly felt
like the crippled beggar in ancient Jerusalem who sat
like to meet on Wednesdays?”
at the Temple gate called Beautiful, hoping for a mere
handout but instead being offered his life back again—
he didn’t realize he had, “Wednesday has been the
authentic life.
only day I’ve been alive. I want to feel that way every
day from now on.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m afraid I’ve been jab-
She seemed almost embarrassed. “So, you’d still He held her hand tighter and said with a passion
bering on here and haven’t let you get a word in
edgewise! Do forgive me.”
ment and then back up at him. The smile she gave
told him everything he wanted to know.
Before he realized what he was doing, he
She looked down at their hands for a long mo-
reached across the little table and took her hand. It was softer than he’d imagined. She looked up at him with surprise but said nothing.
He realized she was waiting for him to say some-
Fall 0 9 : W h at i s Be a u t y ? • 2 9
the Art of the Seasons
Winter Solitude (top left) • Joshua Stoxen Taken after one of the many snows this past winter when ice crystals clung to the branches of the trees around campus. Beauty is God’s Word (top right) • Nicole Rim As it says in Isaiah, all things in this world will one day pass away, but we can find security and hope in God’s eternal Word. Though the illustration might not depict it literally, I hope that it points to that surehope, which to me is beautiful.
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Spring (bottom left) • Bert Hickman I was fascinated by the stars in the middle of each blossom, by the way some of them were backlit, and by the tiny shadows cast by the stamens. God has put great beauty into details to which we are often oblivious. Fall (center right) • Jessica Everette This picture was taken at GCTS on a beautiful fall morning when the grass was still wet and the sun was shining. The intent was to capture the contrast of color in nature. Snowy Steeple (bottom right) • Zhu ZhengRong Taken on January 19, 2009, of the Kerr building in snow.
Contributor Index Gwenfair Adams • 6
Debara Hafemann • 5
Sonja Noll • 15
Patricia Anders • 26-29
Thomas Henry • 9
Nicole Rim • 30
Chris Anderson • 23
Bert Hickman • 30
Michelle Sanchez • 7
Jade Campbell • 12,14
Mark Jacobson • 16
Kristen Scott • 13
Amanda Cannon • 13,14
Todd Johnson • 20-21
Caroline Smith • 18
Suzanne Carter • 7
Goran Kojcev • 22
Joshua Stoxen • 30
Ellie Cho • 19
Robin Giberson Lawrenz • 9
Mandy Thompson • 17
Benjamin Corey • 22
Sarah Loiacono • 14
Timothy Van Rheenen • 8
David Cumbie • 24-25
Kristopher Loper • 10-11
Marsharie Williams • 15
John Dao • 15
David Moore • 12
Zhu ZhengRong • 30
Jessica Everette • 30
Jeffrey Niehaus • 4
Faculty, Associate Professor of Church History
Managing Editor, Modern Reformation Married to Dr. Peter Anders (faculty)
Student, M.Div.
Student, M.A. Religion Married to Bret Campbell (student)
Nanny Married to Josh Cannon (student)
Staff, Former Assistant Director, Mentored Ministry Program
Student, M.A. Religion
Student, M.A. Theology
Student, M.Div.
Student, M.Div. & M.A. Counseling
Mother and teacher of four children Married to Andre Everette (student)
Artist Married to Dr. Scott Hafemann (faculty)
Student, M.A. Religion Staff, Graphic Artist
Student, M.A. Theology
Student, M.Div. & Th.M.
Staff, Research Associate, Center for the Study of Global Christianity
Marriage and Family Therapist Married to Matt Scott (student)
Student, M.A. Religion
Faculty, Research Fellow, Center for the Study of Global Christianity
Staff, Admissions Representative Married to Nick Smith (student)
Student, M.Div.
Student, M.A. New Testament
Admin. Assistant for Humanities and Social Sciences at Gordon College Married to Jason Lawrenz (student)
Student, M.Div.
Student, M.A. Church History
Student, M.Div.
Student, M.A. Old Testament
Staff, Housing Coordinator Married to Drew Thompson (student)
Student, M.A. Counseling
Student, M.A. Educational Ministries Married to Chris Williams (student)
Student, M.Div.
Faculty, Professor of Old Testament
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We were each, in the image of our Creator, created to create, to call others back to beauty, and the truth about God’s nature, to stop and cry to someone preoccupied or distracted with the superficial, “Look!” or ”Listen!” when, in something beautiful and meaningful we hear a message from beyond us, and worship in holiness our Creator who in his unlimited grace, calls us to become co-creators of beauty.
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—Luci Shaw