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KA OS Con n e ct
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a creative arts publication of the Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary community
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KA OS From the Editors ( pronounced ka-los )
The Kalos Quality of Light
The Greek word meaning “good” or “beauty.”
Andene Christopherson, Senior Editor
A creative arts publication of Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary community.
Come and See
John Meinen, Senior Editor
Light can be quite commonplace, really. Light is what we wake up by—
David, that great king and poet, described the Lord God as a “sun and shield.”
whether the sun or a bedside lamp. It’s what we read by, eat by, and
“In Thy light we see light,” he said. The One who made the sun is the Sun
Andene Christopherson John Meinen Senior Editors
work by. All living things receive nutrients from balanced exposure to it.
of Righteousness, which arises with healing in its wings. In similar, poetic
And since we measure all aspects of clock and calendar by light as the
language, Zechariah, father of John the Baptist, prophesied the birth of Jesus
earth spins and orbits around the sun, light has the same unswerving
Christ in this way: “The sunrise shall visit us from on high to give light to those
Christopher Anderson Design Editor
regularity as the passing of time.
who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death.”
Actually, light is anything but commonplace. It is extraordinary. It was cre-
The Bible’s rendering of light, including that of the sun, offers some of the
ated first—its existence a prerequisite for all forms of life. Light’s physical
richest insights into the nature and character of God. Obviously, God is not
properties sustain, grow, warm, reveal, and guide us all. These attributes
the sun—about that Genesis 1 is very clear. Rather, as the great Dutch theo-
given to light embody the very deepest realities of its Creator’s character.
logian Abraham Kuyper points out, “The sun is the image in nature of what
Physical light is an emanation of the ultimate and infinite Light of God’s
God is to us in our life….The sun is heaven-high above you, and yet right by
glory. This truest form of light is kalos: it is both good and beautiful and
you, round about you…he is a power far off and equally close by.” The sun
can make things good and beautiful.
pours out warmth; it colors and illuminates existence; it gives and sustains
Patricia Anders Copy Editor Spring 2010: Light Each issue of the journal will feature the visual and literary artwork of the community in response to a given theme. A list of all contributors can be found on page 31.
So, what does kalos light have to do with the arts? We, as Christ followers, are to be the salt and light of the world, reflecting into a dark, sin-laden world the light of our Lord. The creative arts have a particular
On the Cover (from left to right) Leaf • Kristen Scott
ability to expose darkness and call attention to the light. The emotion of
Heaven Series • Ellie Cho
a painting, the poignancy of a poem, or the momentum of a song can
Santuario Don Bosco • Caroline Chadwell
deep in the human soul.
break through the limits of routine conversation and lodge somewhere
Monumental Morning • John Meinen
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is incredibly wholistic—it unabashedly depicts the tension between light and darkness, good and evil, God’s love and His wrath too. But if the Bible reveals this tension, it is primarily concerned with its resolution—the sending of God’s Son to die in our stead on a cross—that place where light and darkness meet. ness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”
over the world’s brokenness, and rejoicing in the true hope of redemption we have in Christ.
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God, as well? The answer provided by the Bible is a qualified “yes.” The Bible
with all peoples and all cultures in honesty, hospitality, and hope. We
nate. Artists can reveal the character of God alive in our midst, grieving
Kalos Journal 133 Essex St. South Hamilton, MA 01982
away—that it hardens and scorches, withers and destroys? Is this true of our
The good news is certainly not less than this: “The light shines in the dark-
should, at times, illustrate, but art can do more than that. It can illumi-
Contact Kalos Journal kalosjournal@gmail.com
with another, conflicting reality: that the sun, just as it gives life, also takes
The arts are a vast and textured language that enable us to communicate need not restrict ourselves to the illustration of Bible stories. We certainly
Back Cover A Light Study of Andy Warhol • Caroline Chadwell
life. We, as Christians, readily attribute the same to God. But how do we deal
“
The Bible is incredibly wholistic—it unabashedly depicts the tension between light and darkness, good and evil, God’s love and His wrath too. But if the Bible reveals this tension, it is primarily concerned with its resolution...
That same story fills the pages of this journal. Light is not only beautiful—it reveals beauty. Just as it exposes beauty, it also exposes pain. Sometimes, in fact, it is the light that causes us pain. It is a good-but-broken world after all, and broken bones—even in the hands of the most loving doctor—are not easily set. But the story does not end in brokenness and in darkness. The sunrise
In the last issue of Kalos we hoped that by artfully wrestling with ideas of
has visited us from on high, and yes, with healing in its wings. Interestingly
good and beautiful, we would connect with one another, create thought-
enough, one miracle Jesus performs again and again is restoring sight to the
ful and enjoyable artwork, and cultivate the Lord’s gifts. Congratulations,
blind. And with the invitation, “Come and see,” those who lived in darkness
community of Gordon-Conwell, you’ve done it! And as we continue
are given the grace to behold the kalos of Light.
creating work of kalos quality, we will reflect the light of Christ onto one another and into the world.
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SPRING 2010: LIGHT • 3
Double Rainbow • David Moore Miss Pat was a missionary to Haiti for 25 years before retiring in her late seventies. Like Noah, she trusted God.
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SPRING 2010: LIGHT • 5
Poetry
Foothills • Thomas Henry
C lo u d g a z ing by Brendan Payne
As I contemplate sun and air, the first things I feel are little blades tickling hands and hair as my fingers caress verdant locks of grass. Winds whisper sweet nothings in my ears. I drink and drink, drunk on the spring scents. I taste the honeyed air pregnant with spices intimate yet wholly other. I see nothing, not a thing but blue and blue and white, lily white. Sunlight overflows. I close my eyes. Music rings ‘round and ‘round. My arms embrace the earth. My nose inhales the sky. I sigh with delight. I hear You say I am son and heir. This is also my world.
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This photograph captures the Teton Range, Wyoming. It was taken one late-morning in May as the freezing temperatures were still sustaining snow up high. The Grand (the park’s namesake) can be seen in the background, but the real dynamic portion of this photograph is the light play in the contours of the clouds and foothills. It shows how illumination can empower the seemingly less grand subject.
The Light Shines in the Darkness • Hanno van der Bijl This picture was taken last summer in a town called Narendra Nagar in the Indian foothills of the Himalayas. While the spiritual darkness is palpably felt in this town, Christians have started a school there called Mount Carmel Christian Academy. This small light has met with intense spiritual warfare but the darkness has not overcome it.
SPRING 2010: LIGHT • 7
Poetry
PROSE
A u tum n V ignet te by John Dao
Reflections by Ryan Gregg
Two leaves entwined dance along a cobblestone path
To where do all fallen leaves go?
Morning time in the ancient wood. Honeyed waves
to see. The mind of the saint is the telescope through
caring not what stones their feet touch
It’s a question not for leaves to know
of light swell and fold and crash the timber through.
which I peer deep into the mystery which is God, and
or on what road they travel for
to keep the spice of uncertainty
A breeze chants a sunrise hymn as it glides high
that same holy mind the microscope through which I
they are lost in the moment
the story of uncertainty
through leaf and branch. Rumors of legend and
scrutinize what it means to be a me.
in the fluid moment
that rejoices over requited love
mystery are adrift. The meadows on the hillside erupt
that bridges that gaps of reality
that depicts the deepest sorrow
in volcanic blossoms; everywhere the soil is preg-
of my mind toward each other and see what might
that binds them here in bliss
leaving the audience asking “Why?”
nant with the art of the Soul. The sun overhead has
happen, I put on my old boots and go out for a walk.
left port and is plowing like a ship through the upper
Reflecting is best done while walking because the tru-
even if for so brief a moment as this
When I want to reflect, want to angle the mirrors
But is not a cloud a member of the sky?
ocean, trailing an aurora wake to wake the world. The
est truth lives in movement. Without the ever-chang-
The wind follows up at their heels
though they themselves will fade, the sky remains
first of her gentle pulses reaches my check, and I
ing perspective of movement, without the freshness
in silent syncopation keeping the beat
so move when moved, be still when stilled
smile. It is no coincidence that Christ was resurrected
of seeing the same thing from many varied angles,
as more leaves join the parade
press on through the unseen way
in the morning time.
three-dimensional truths have a way of flattening out
rousing others to join in chorus
The divergent way
in the rhythmic chorus
that only works to its good
many times before, and yet it is something I have nev-
difference between holding the sweet girl in your arms
that coaxes them from their trees
that only works to its end
er seen before. It seems to happen this way. What I
and looking at a faded photo. Photos are fine, I guess,
that bids them gaily where to fall
All leaves must move, none can stay
see is this: a gleam of sunlight reflecting from a drop
but I’ll take the girl thank you very much. Let your
every leaf just happy it’s there at all
For every leaf has no hands
of morning dew. My mind fills. Perhaps the universe,
constant law be to keep nothing constant. Move.
in which to hold onto this world
when it began, was a single drop of light? This drop
The clouds have funneled and heavens shake
for they don’t need them to dance
of light, this baby universe, was then perhaps placed
kindly stirred by the sun, I decided to reflect on her for
the last storm to be seen for days
just their feet, just the music
by soft hands into a cradle made completely of mir-
a while. And one became two. Everything on earth
The leaves excited animate with life
the immaculate music
rors. In this shiny bed the first-ever miracle occurred:
owes its life to the sun. Without this source of warmth
as they know not what’s the reason
that guides their steps
reflection. One drop of light became two drops of
and light and gravity that rises every morning, planet
the reason of the season
that grounds them firmly
light. And two drops became four, and four eight, and
earth would be a bland rock plummeting through noth-
that steps into their hearts
Freed from hands they soar by another’s!
eight sixteen, and so on until infinite regress (or more
ingness to nowhere. Thank God for the sun. But here
that sends them along the street not to shelter but to a melody
So when they let go of all they know
I see something. It is something I have seen
into two-dimensional doctrines, which is about the
So I walk. On a recent morning, having been so
properly infinite progress). Maybe it just so happened
is the question: in the relationship between the earth
that long before the loaves and fish were multiplied
and the sun, why is it that the sun is always giving
and all they have come to expect
by the Word, a single drop of light was multiplied in a
and the earth is always taking? This is no reciprocal
The tempo slows down to a crawl
they may just see through the tunnel
cradle of mirrors, which is the Mind.
relationship; the sun gives everything and gains noth-
the leaves they now begin to waltz
to the light that has not reached them yet
to the conductor’s will they follow the lead
The glorious light
language: “I need to spend some time reflecting.”
for its in their motion that they find rest
that sparkles off their eyes of winter
Minds reflect, and when they do they multiply. Let
the sun, ever giving, ever bright. Here is the earth,
in the ceaseless rest
that shines through the darkest tomb
once a small drop of truth enter the mind, and soon
ever taking, ever dark. Is it possible that one day long
that calms their spirits’ journey
that leaps off the tops of trees in rejoicing spring
Minds are mirrors. It is right there in our
ing, while the earth gains everything and gives nothing. How is this fair? But then two became four. Here is
whole universes will sprout there too. Have you ever
ago a man working wood with his hands looked up
that reminds them they were once alive
considered the fact that our most powerful optical de-
at this great self-giving light that illumines the whole
One and two and three, four, five...
vices—telescopes and microscopes—employ mirrors?
world and realized that it is more blessed to give than
Where’s the maestro that directs the flow?
Mirrors let us see what is plain to see, and, if they are
to receive?
used correctly, they also let us see what is not plain
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SPRING 2010: LIGHT • 9
City Globe • Kristen Scott The shadow of a powerful city pulled into the reflection of my everyday life.
Lens: Pensacola Lighthouse • Bert Hickman These lenses concentrate light and send it out into the night.
Morning Dew • Kristen Scott If the light had struck this leaf in any other way, I may not have noticed the intricacy of God’s creation. 10 • KA ΛOS Co n n e c t
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SPRING 2010: LIGHT • 11
Short Story
C e m e t e ry Tript ych by Mark Jacobson
Private Burial
Star Over BabyLand
Rise and Shine
The sunlight was too bright for Danny, and he hated it.
Every day, twice a day, taking care to avoid the blue
The deputy sat on a stone, watching, and wiped his
He felt it on his red neck as he bent over and dropped
plush bear, Walt flooded the tiny patch of sod. It had
sweat. The thin, metal probe went smoothly down into
the yardstick into the small, square hole. “Fifteen,” he
been a bad burial. The parents wanted to lower the
the dirt, caught up a little in what was probably clay,
said. And, “Damn it.” He mashed his face against his
casket themselves, but they mismanaged the ropes,
hit an obstruction, and (push, push) busted through
sleeve to get the sweat out of his eyes.
and the casket flipped into the grave. They didn’t visit
and dropped a clean foot beyond it. The body was
“Three more,” the foreman said. “Take your time.”
much, which Walt figured was just as well.
there, but the casket was rotted. The crane was driven
Danny slammed a tile spade down into the hole,
out of the way; it had been a mistake to rent it.
BabyLand had maybe twenty small plots in it; two
pulled it out, and slammed it again, breaking up the
rows of tiny, name-bearing stones. Brittle grass stuck
packed dirt. Sweat flew off his head with each punch
up between and through the pinwheels, stuffed toys,
side. One of the diggers jumped into the backhoe and
The sod was cut, rolled, and pushed off to the
of the spade. Then he threw the spade aside, pushed
plastic flowers, and little trucks, some of which had
haltingly scraped the grave’s surface. Then again.
a round-point shovel into the hole, twisted it around,
been there for years. They had been ripped by mower
Then the shovels with measured scoops until the
and carefully lifted out another small pile of dirt.
blades, worn by rain, and baked, as all of BabyLand
crumbling wood was exposed to light.
now baked in the unmoving sun.
shook it. “Want any Grape-Nuts?” he asked. He was
around and bit in under the casket, scooping it and the
wearing a tie because he was selling a plot later.
from the hose of the tank. When he had bought the
earth around it into its loader bucket. With a number
The box was hard, black plastic, and the foreman
Danny slammed the spade down again. The
Walt stared at the recent burial, water gushing
The backhoe dug itself a ramp, then turned
new sod, it had been bright green, right off the truck.
of small, hydraulic hesitations, the bucket was angled
sun was burning into his flesh, and he had been to a
He had cut it to fit, tamped it, and watered the hell out
up and lifted; the casket fully disintegrated, and what
party the night before, so it was biting his eyes, too.
of it. But the sun had not stopped pressing down, and
had been hidden from the light for over fifty years was
He scooped out more dirt. He dropped the yardstick.
the sod had shriveled up, the water now running off
raised to the sky like a champion.
Seventeen-and-a-half was good enough. “Let’s plant
the hard earth into the inch-wide depression between
that son’bitch,” he said.
that sod and the rest of the lawn.
foreman said, “Truth is, they really pumped ’em full of
“Got any words?” the foreman asked, and he
Walt pushed the lever and stopped the flow. He
The deputy stared at the body, then spat. The
chemicals back then; he’ll last longer than his stone will.”
chuckled. He held the box over the hole and let go.
grabbed the paper bag from his tractor and pulled the
When it landed, he said, “Rest in peace.”
statue out. The Virgin Mother was white, about a foot
was a bit of a halt as it leveled out, and the body jolted.
high, arms spread in welcome, head bowed in prayer.
The jaw opened, then detached. The foreman said,
The box had settled at an angle, which would
make it hard to fill around. Danny got onto his knees,
He eased the water back on and held her in the stream
then his stomach, and reached into the hole. He
of it, washing off the cobwebs and the dirt; she had
adjusted the box, then let his hand hang down into
been in the shed when he bought his house. He placed
the cool, damp air at the bottom; the dark. Closing his
her in a patch of mulch, facing the rows of graves,
eyes, he escaped into it. And then he stood back up,
water still dripping off her cheeks. He pushed the lever
mashed his face against his sleeve, and dropped in a
to a fully open position and flooded the sod again.
The backhoe reversed up toward the street. There
“There we go.” The deputy puked into a flowering peony bush.
shovelful of loose dirt.
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SPRING 2010: LIGHT • 13
Poetry
A Mor ning of Pale Sun by Dr. Jeffrey Niehaus
Alone, and on a morning of pale sun,
From whom works flowed that should endure always,
I sat before our antique Queen Anne table
Part of a long tradition of great music.
Transported from England decades ago;
Groves wrote to those who stood in that tradition
I looked outside, and everything I saw,
As auditors, as people who could be
Surrounded by a blanket of old snow,
Ennobled by the music once composed
Encouraged early hope of better days,
On warm Vienna summer days for us.
The warmer days of spring, when ice and snow Would melt and water a softening ground.
I saw the shadows of some active branches, Shadows that moved across our Queen Anne table
For many months I had not taken time
As breezes played with them one sunny morning
Outside the window of our dining room. To use a modern marvel and play music Recorded on another continent,
Melodies from an era long ago
Summer had not yet come, yet I sensed promise
When men wore frock coats and top hats and walked
Of summer in the angle of the sun,
On paths outside a very small Vienna
And in the sunny music of the master.
Or trod the ways of those Vienna woods Commemorated, if not made immortal, By Hoffmann’s Tales and music made from them. But now I was alone and I put on A very youthful Beethoven octet, A plaything full of warm sunshine and joy. It showed all the ebullience, and hope, And sense of growing power in the man Who would, one day, bestow upon the world Such music as no one had ever known. I also had an old and faded book By Sir Charles Groves, who wrote so thoughtfully About the symphonies of Beethoven. I had begun to read it, and I found He wrote of Beethoven as though he wrote About someone who was a human treasure
Heaven Series • Ellie Cho Etching series of a short metaphorical story of heaven, light, and redemption. The Spirit rains down.The light of heaven crashes down to save you from the pit of darkness. It reaches you, pulls you, and lifts you up. Now you stand cleansed, shameless, and beautiful in the light of His glory.
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SPRING 2010: LIGHT • 15
Poetry
M o on L a k e P oe m s by Dr. David Currie
Moon Lake on a moonlit night
Moon Lake by morning light
Moon Lake at Christmas dawn
Rude wood of manger and cross
Harvest hinted in the orange light
Sifted through the bowing maples
Daystar hope of Incarnation
To welcome us to stone-hewn palaces
A glowing globe falling up
Rippling with a New Day’s Promise
First, faint beacon of invasion
Of grotto stable and empty tomb
From same-hued trees
That distance does not diminish.
Sin surviving like the dark
The surety of the many mansions
Reflected on quiet waters
Nor death its sunset bring.
Death lingering like the ice
Prepared from all eternity
Yielding to the Sun
Which soon shall freeze A snapshot of this present age
Moon Lake through winter mist
Pointing toward the end
Light diffused by freezing vapor
When reflections resurrect as reality
Yielding into falling snow
And harvest home was wend.
That both covers and reveals
Whose coming enthrones
Superficial differences of land and lake To reflect more fully the Light to come.
Essex House • Keith Polischuk
Goyesque Metareflection • Dr. Pablo Polischuk
The stillness of the water and the light from the windows remind me of the peace and warmth of home. This was a long exposure lit by a full moon, streetlights, and passing cars.
Metareflection is reflecting about reflections. The light of a full moon (itself being a reflection of the sun) over a village with a church at its center being reflected on a creek, as envisioned idealistically in Goyesque fashion (painted when I was 17 years of age). Just as we worship in spirit, we also, through our senses, invite God’s transcending reality into our trivial endeavors, and with renewed minds grasp God’s immanent light as a reflected impression.
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SPRING 2010: LIGHT • 17
SON G LYRICS
Da r k
M ay God Arise
by Caroline Smith
by Mandy Thompson
I wake up early, I drive to work and it’s dark outside
You weren’t born to lie in darkness, Lord we’re waiting,
Here in my heart like outside my window
Lord we’re waiting…
It’s dark as night
We’re waiting for the Son to surface, will You break
It crept right in like a thief and stole my sun
free, will You break free? And with Your life as an offering
Did I leave the key in the lock
You came to die so that we can sing
Did I slip from the rock that was underneath May God arise Oh, love
From this tomb within my chest
Don’t let me stay down
May this heart of stone be flesh
Hope
Bringing life and nothing less
Don’t leave me alone
May God arise
God God where did you go, where did you go, go
From what once was dark and cold Bringing light so bright and bold
I’m losin’ myself, that’s how I feel
Making newness from the old
From dawn until night
May God arise…
Til I fall asleep lulled by the lies But I feel too worthless to fight
When I am lost in darkness, can you find me, can you find me?
I know in my head that I’m wrong
I’m waiting for the sun to surface, can you break free,
He is right here, inside my song but
can you break free?
I feel the rain in my heart
And I will bring an offering
Clouds rolling in making it dark but
From my heart now I will sing
Here is my prayer, I step down I won’t Listen to lies, I’m gonna listen to you now I’m gonna see myself in the light of you ‘Cause I am yours, that is the truth .
Santuario Don Bosco • Caroline Chadwell
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SPRING 2010: LIGHT • 19
Cathedral Window • Robin Giberson Lawrenz
światło • Kevin Antlis
A wall hanging in traditional quilting style demonstrating that even in seasons of darkness, God gives us windows of light shining through, offering patterns and meaning in our darkest times.
This is a stained glass window in a hotel in Krakow, Poland. The photo was captured during the short “window” of daylight hours in the winter of 2005.
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SPRING 2010: LIGHT • 21
A Light Within • Jessica Shirley An antique lantern sheds light in a dark spiral staircase at Hammond Castle in Gloucester.
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SPRING 2010: LIGHT • 23
PROSE
Monumental Morning • John Meinen
U ta h by Thomas Henry
Straining to keep the weight of my eyelids from drop-
certain beauty in daylight.
it and my muscles respond by loosening up. My heart
light pouring in through the notch that minutes ago
ping altogether, I glance down and to the left. The
beats robustly as blood tingles in my fingertips and in
had delivered us into this valley. As the sun rises
most subtle glow emerges from the east, a direction
a heavy breathing sound, rolls over and then returns to
the back of my neck. At simply the prospect of light,
the wedge of light, as an axe splitting wood, plunges
that we have now been traveling away from for nearly
his effortless dreaming. Worked hard from his shift of
my body begins to respond in a vibrant rush. Anticipa-
deeper into the sandstone before me. More light
Taylor is asleep beside me in the cab. He makes
thirty hours nonstop. In the mirror the glow seems
driving, I remind myself that his sleep is precious be-
tion dissolves the pains of this final crux, these fading
streams in through the pass and the entire southern
fragile yet imminent. My grip tightens and rolls on the
cause it was well earned. And in the bed of the truck,
and final minutes of darkness.
wall of the valley sings with color. The progression of
wheel as I wiggle in my seat in an awkward attempt
beneath the topper, Landon and Alex enjoy their rest
sunrise light ensues, pink giving way to orange. All the
to stretch. The darkness of night presses in all around
as well. Beneath piles of assorted gear and blankets,
And as surely as the opposite side of the pass had
while, the light playing joyously off the whitened wisps
A great and steady silence begins to resonate.
me. Nearly overcome yet victory resting on the hori-
they sleep insulated from the cold and the weight of
given itself over to the light, definition begins to
and darkened streaks of desert varnish painted on the
zon, a tiny spring of hope begins to bubble.
this final veil of darkness.
emerge out of the darkness before me. Featureless
sandstone towering overhead.
The grade now steepens, and our pick-up groans
We crest the top of the grade that the truck has
shadows resign as rich and beautiful darkened colors
labored up. From this pass, and only for a split second,
fill the shapes of the land. I discover that a deep bot-
sound, faint and piercing. Having heard its sound only
compress the gas pedal to its maximum. The engine
I find myself at an incredible divide. Before me, a faint
tomless gorge is cut in a meandering course through
twice before, it remains a most precious treat. I notice
complains but pushes on, climbing the contours of a
starlit mysterious landscape is spread out. Behind me,
the valley floor. The confines of the drainage are
a worn spot of dirt just off the road approaching fast.
against the angle. Begging all I can of the truck, I
I would profess at this moment that light has a
land masked in darkness. Only silhouettes against the
the light is faithfully advancing. In my mirror, a patch-
vertical slabs of stone, easing off in steepness only at
Applying a bit of assertive pressure to the brake, I veer
heavens indicate the drama of the landscape we are
work of sand and rock is bathed by a deep blue. And
a sandy bench one-third of the way up part of its face.
from the asphalt. The gliding sound of pavement is
traveling through. Nights in the desert are complex
then it is gone. Through my windshield I look downhill.
things.
I imagine the sound of the truck sighing in relief. We
to keep up with them while keeping the truck on the
and the smooth ride of the asphalt is behind us as well.
Hoodoos, mesas, rounded and treeless knobs
Details are revealed in each moment, and I strain
exchanged for the crunching of frozen dirt and rocks,
coast into a wide valley, contained by high and uninter-
road. Suddenly, it happens. In the upper left corner
We bounce and jolt for a few moments before rolling
and notches cut from ridgelines have emerged in the
rupted silhouettes.
of my windshield, a wedge of sandstone slab bursts
to a rest. I turn the key and the engine grumbles to a
last three hours—just shapes and figures begging for
My eyelids begin to lift. Coasting into the dark, I
into color. Brilliant pink early morning light illuminates
rest at about the same moment that Taylor, Landon,
detail. The stars give only enough illumination to tell of
feel the light in the east. It’s coming; my bones know
a slice of warm red sandstone. My mirror reveals the
and Alex grumble and arise.
24 • KA ΛOS Co n n e c t
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SPRING 2010: LIGHT • 25
Illuminated • Nicole Rim
Sunset Surrender • Megan Hackman
I shot this photo of Half Dome while camping at Yosemite, California. As the sun was setting upon the dome, I was reminded of Christ who came into the world as the Light to expose and illuminate the darkness by His Truth.
The sunset forces the surfer to retire his practice for another day. He appears to be bowing in surrender to the light’s passing of time.
26 • KA ΛOS Co n n e c t
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SPRING 2010: LIGHT • 27
Short Story
M e e t ing G od by Adam Rick
Entering the throne room of the Ancient of Days, I am so overpowered by His awesome presence
members, I sense a strength that is not my own;
that I know somehow will never cease. Know-
that I am not able to stand. The sheer force of His presence is more than enough to melt the liga-
it is His Spirit moving in secret, guiding me up
ing that I had accepted my Lord’s strength and
ments in my knees and leave me prostate on the floor. There isn’t much one can do when one
to stand before His Father. My face is now lifted
that it had become my own in some mysterious
stands before the Almighty Creator of all that is, seen and unseen. I can see His robes and His san-
up, but my eyes are still attached to the floor
union, the Father and King spoke as though He
dals, and the Glory of His Celestial Throne, though He Himself is obscured by the Righteous Light
they left in proximity only a moment before. He
intended to start the conversation from the very
that radiates from Him with unyielding brightness. I cannot look upon His face.
I can sense a smile
knows I lack the courage to look up before I can
beginning. In perfect form, He only waited for
on His lips as He summoned me personally to appear in His Court, but I cannot verify its actual exis-
even demonstrate my weakness in that regard; I
me to be ready, “Welcome to My Court, child. My
tence as my eyes only burn all the more fiercely as I attempt to look at Him.
feel His finger on my chin, raising my face to His
Son has testified on your behalf, and his testi-
as would my mother to hers in days of old.
mony is true. Come, sit up here with Me. What
shall we talk about?”
At this point, I have known Him for the ma-
“You needn’t fear Him like this. I have
He stares at me now, His calm look swim-
jority of my life, but my lowly status as an earthly
personally spoken to Him on your behalf.” The
ming straight through the tears that now obscure
being—made from the very dust He tenderly
words are comforting, yet my face is still flat on
the lines of my vision and saturate my cheeks.
crafted particle by particle—has unprepared
the stone floor. “I personally arranged for your
me for the reality of standing before His Glory.
time here.”
and whoever I bring to Him, He greets with glad-
All these things pass before my senses in the
ness of Heart. Now is the chance I know you’ve
amount of time it takes for me to fall face flat
and yet my body is still chained in its prostrate
been waiting for. Speak.”
on the floor in venerable worship. My will had
position, though there is nothing physical holding
nothing to do with leaving me this way before
me down so far as I can tell. “I cannot speak to
me from the floor overwhelms the defenses of
Him; it happened, it seemed, automatically the
Him, Lord. I have nothing of value to say.”
my beleaguered will and, with tears fading, I turn
moment I stood before His chair. My face is now
toward the Seat. I can see His face now. It is
His gentle voice soothes me as no other can,
“He wants to speak to you. He told me so,
“Do not fear, my Son. I have brought you here,
Somehow, that hidden Strength that brought
pressed against the glossy marble floor, which
Himself.” I want to believe, but my inaction on
surrounded in Glory and Light, but it is not blind-
to my surprise is quite warm—stone floors on
the floor speaks for my heart where my lips can-
ing as it was before; I can see the warmth of His
earth were always cold. His Power in this Place
not. Sensing this, He continues, “I didn’t have to
face clearly. His eyes are clear and piercing, yet
truly permeates all things. My mind and heart are
say much to persuade Him to invite you here. I
tender in their gaze. His cheeks are flush and
united in a prayer of fear and expectation-less
assure you; you can rise up and talk to Him.”
full of warmth and life. His lips form a crisp and
joy. Yet for all the joy I could not get up. There
“I will only appear the fool, Lord.”
subtle smile. It is a face more beautiful than the
was too much fear for that.
“Enough of this nonsense!” There is a play-
very Heavens themselves. At this point, as my
ful gentleness in His rebuke, though it still cuts
Lord promised me, all my fear retreats before an
I do not know how long I lay there, com-
pletely foolish as I was on the floor, before I felt
through my flesh to the bone. “Get up and talk
army of power that moves in my being but is not
a soft touch on my back and a gentle whisper in
to Him. He wants to talk to you. He waited a
of it. I now have more to say than I believe there
my ear, “My Son, what are you doing there on
long time, just as you have, and I labored long to
time to say it.
the floor?”
bring you here. Get up.”
I recognize the voice immediately as it was
I desperately want to heed his kind words—
Again, He knows this thought before I do.
“He is eager to hear your whole story. He could
the first to grace my ears as I passed through
words that He assures me in Spirit are true—but
barely contain his excitement this morning. Go.”
the Gates of this Realm. His very Breath in
I cannot find the strength to rise from the floor,
my ear is enough to lift my spirits so that I can
though it stands personified right next to me. My
there was no sinful impulse to impede the desire
Now, as if all eternity was before me, and
answer, “I am afraid, Jesus. I did not know what
Lord knew this, as He knows all things. In my
to worship in my heart, I begin a conversation
else to do.”
28 • KA ΛOS Co n n e c t
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SPRING 2010: LIGHT • 29
Contributor Index Kevin Antlis • 20-21
Robin Giberson Lawrenz • 20
Jessica Shirley • 22-23
Caroline Chadwell • 19, 32
John Meinen • 24-25
Caroline Smith • 18
Ellie Cho • 15
David Moore • 4-5
Mandy Thompson • 18
David Currie • 16-17
Jeffrey Niehaus • 14
Hanno van der Bijl • 7
John Dao • 8
Brendan Payne • 6
Shawn Woo • 30
Ryan Gregg • 9
Keith Polischuk • 16
Megan Hackman • 27
Pablo Polischuk • 17
Thomas Henry • 6-7, 24-25
Adam Rick • 28-29
Bert Hickman • 11
Nicole Rim • 26
Mark Jacobson • 12-13
Kristen Scott • 10, 11
Student, M.Div, Th.M.
Married to Michael Chadwell, student
Student, M.A. Educational Ministries
Faculty, Director of Doctor of Ministry Program and Associate Professor of Pastoral Theology
Student, M.Div. & M.A. Counseling
Student, M.Div.
Student, M.Div.
Student, M.A. Theology
Staff, Research Associate, Center for the Study of Global Christianity Alumnus, M.A. Religion
Student, M.A. Religion
Admin. Assistant for Humanities and Social Sciences at Gordon College Married to Jason Lawrenz (student)
Student, M.Div.
Student, M.DIv.
Faculty, Professor of Old Testament
Student, M.Div.
Registered Nurse Married to Matthew Shirley (student)
Staff, Admissions Representative Married to Nick Smith (student)
Former Staff, Housing Coordinator Married to Drew Thompson (alumnus)
Student, M.Div.
Student, M.Div.
Photographer Son of Pablo Polischuk (faculty)
Faculty, Professor of Psychology and Pastoral Counseling
Staff, Admin. Assistant, Office of the President Alumnus, M.A. Church History and M.A. Old Testament
Student, M.A. Religion Staff, Graphic Artist
Marriage and Family Therapist Married to Matt Scott (student)
Crosslight • Shawn Woo This was captured at Chateau de Chillon in Geneva. It depicts a point of beckoning and reckoning, where Christ invites those who are wondering to “come and see” (Jn 1:46).
30 • KA ΛOS Co n n e c t
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SPRING 2010: LIGHT • 31
For as God is infinitely the greatest Being, so he is allowed to be infinitely the most beautiful and excellent: and all the beauty to be found throughout the whole creation is but the reflection of the diffused beams of that Being who with an infinite fulness of brightness and glory; God...is the foundation and fountain of all being and all beauty.
-Jonathan Edwards
32 • KA ΛOS Co n n e c t
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