I’m afraid that I, calm like a candle,
"Do not be afraid, Mary, am a fuse, a muffled firework,
that one day I’ll go off, his kingdom will never end
and she who was said to be barren is in her sixth month
and peel the skin, the arms of all who huddled close—
I’m afraid that I, with the gospel on my lips,
We know that the whole creation has been groaning
as in the pains of childbirth
am a colonist, buckled with a rusty sword,
that one day I’ll arrive on pregnant shores Not only so,
but we ourselves groan inwardly
and when I leave there will be little more—
as we wait eagerly for our adoption,
the redemption of our bodies.
For in this hope we were saved." Then the angel left her.
22.12.08
5.12.08
"Let There Be Light," revised
If you’re ever ashamed because you broke a pencil--or if you find yourself in a similar situation—you’re not alone.
It was a Wednesday in September. I walked into Crill Performance Hall through the side entrance, those heavy, cyan double-doors. Everything was dark.
“And God said. . . ‘Let there be light,’” said Dr. Pedersen, our choir director, as he pressed something on the wall. Still in darkness, he described Joseph Haydn’s sonata “The Creation,” in which the choir depicts chaos and the first day of the world by quietly chanting (he whispered, imitating them), “And. . . God. . . said. . . let. . . there. . . be. . . .” Dr. Pedersen backed away as he half-shouted, “LIGHT!” At this point, he said with a smile, the choir bursts from pianissimo to fortissimo.
The lights were now beaming on stage. They illuminated the wooden platform, the glossy black piano, the potted plants that witness our choir rehearsals every day, and even the plush folding seats and aisles in the distance. It was 12:30, and class had begun for the Point Loma Singers.
During most rehearsals, the twenty of us—sopranos, altos, tenors, basses—stand in a semi-circle around the piano as Dr. Pedersen signals the beginning of class with a procession of chords (I, IV, iv, I). We lay our music folders on the floor and stand with our feet shoulder-width apart, our shoulders heaved back, and heads up. And in case Dr. Pedersen tells us to mark changes on our music, we must always have our pencils.
After playing the introductory chords, Dr. Pedersen leads us in warm-ups: breathing, arm-stretching, high to low singing, consonant-spitting, and massaging. I like when Dr. Pedersen asks the basses and sopranos to sing in unison. While they sing, a new note rings in the atmosphere: steady, pure, and high. Searching for its source, I look to the basses, but it sounds like a woman’s voice, and the sopranos are too far away. It hovers somewhere below the high ceiling of the hall, above the piano and inches from our faces. I’ve been told it’s the sound of a harmonic fifth: the unison sound waves from the basses and sopranos vibrate together to create a note that no one actually sings. I often wonder, though, if it’s an angel singing. Then, we tenors join with the altos and match that perfect note.
After warming up and rehearsing together, we sometimes break up for our sectional rehearsals. That day, the basses, sopranos, and altos walked to different rooms while the tenors stayed in Crill to practice with Dr. Pedersen.
During the song “The Lord is the Everlasting God,” Dr. Pedersen asked us to take out our pencils and draw in eighth rests and replace quarter notes with eighth notes so that all of us could breathe at a unified spot. That’s when I felt heat behind my eyes and nose, the feeling I get when I’m sick. My pencil was broken--and I hadn’t sharpened it.
I remembered the few times last year when, as a first-year Point Loma Singer, I forgot to bring my pencil. Dr. Pedersen would tell us to write in the changes, and I would stand in the circle, quietly looking at my shoes, hoping no one saw me. Now, everyone knew. One of the guys had a pencil, so I asked him if I could borrow it to draw in the rests. The vibrant emptiness of Crill was silenced by the chanting of guilt. The seconds it took to draw those eighth rests were like the distance between two paragraphs. I felt like I was writing an apology.
“This time could have been spent going over those last few measures again,” Dr. Pedersen said to the group, though I knew whom he was addressing. “It’s important for each of us to bring pencils to rehearsals.”
I apologized. It wasn’t so much that I didn’t sharpen my pencil; it was that I am the tenor section leader and I was unprepared. I’ve been in this choir for over a year. Why did I neglect my pencil? How can I expect the young ones to look up to me now? The rest of the rehearsal for me was spoiled by shame. It tasted a little like chaos.
After concerts, when one of us feels embarrassed about having sung an outstandingly wrong note, Dr. Pedersen reminds us, “If you sing a wrong note, move on, because that note is in the past. The most important note is the one that’s coming up.”
After saying good bye, Dr. Pedersen encouraged us for developing our vocal blend. I walked outdoors, into the early afternoon sunlight, to the financial aid office. On a desk I saw a canister carrying free pencils. I thankfully took one. I hit the wrong note today, but I wasn’t so out of tune. And there are more notes coming up. I slipped the pencil into my music folder, ready for tomorrow. There may have been an angel, singing.
It was a Wednesday in September. I walked into Crill Performance Hall through the side entrance, those heavy, cyan double-doors. Everything was dark.
“And God said. . . ‘Let there be light,’” said Dr. Pedersen, our choir director, as he pressed something on the wall. Still in darkness, he described Joseph Haydn’s sonata “The Creation,” in which the choir depicts chaos and the first day of the world by quietly chanting (he whispered, imitating them), “And. . . God. . . said. . . let. . . there. . . be. . . .” Dr. Pedersen backed away as he half-shouted, “LIGHT!” At this point, he said with a smile, the choir bursts from pianissimo to fortissimo.
The lights were now beaming on stage. They illuminated the wooden platform, the glossy black piano, the potted plants that witness our choir rehearsals every day, and even the plush folding seats and aisles in the distance. It was 12:30, and class had begun for the Point Loma Singers.
During most rehearsals, the twenty of us—sopranos, altos, tenors, basses—stand in a semi-circle around the piano as Dr. Pedersen signals the beginning of class with a procession of chords (I, IV, iv, I). We lay our music folders on the floor and stand with our feet shoulder-width apart, our shoulders heaved back, and heads up. And in case Dr. Pedersen tells us to mark changes on our music, we must always have our pencils.
After playing the introductory chords, Dr. Pedersen leads us in warm-ups: breathing, arm-stretching, high to low singing, consonant-spitting, and massaging. I like when Dr. Pedersen asks the basses and sopranos to sing in unison. While they sing, a new note rings in the atmosphere: steady, pure, and high. Searching for its source, I look to the basses, but it sounds like a woman’s voice, and the sopranos are too far away. It hovers somewhere below the high ceiling of the hall, above the piano and inches from our faces. I’ve been told it’s the sound of a harmonic fifth: the unison sound waves from the basses and sopranos vibrate together to create a note that no one actually sings. I often wonder, though, if it’s an angel singing. Then, we tenors join with the altos and match that perfect note.
After warming up and rehearsing together, we sometimes break up for our sectional rehearsals. That day, the basses, sopranos, and altos walked to different rooms while the tenors stayed in Crill to practice with Dr. Pedersen.
During the song “The Lord is the Everlasting God,” Dr. Pedersen asked us to take out our pencils and draw in eighth rests and replace quarter notes with eighth notes so that all of us could breathe at a unified spot. That’s when I felt heat behind my eyes and nose, the feeling I get when I’m sick. My pencil was broken--and I hadn’t sharpened it.
I remembered the few times last year when, as a first-year Point Loma Singer, I forgot to bring my pencil. Dr. Pedersen would tell us to write in the changes, and I would stand in the circle, quietly looking at my shoes, hoping no one saw me. Now, everyone knew. One of the guys had a pencil, so I asked him if I could borrow it to draw in the rests. The vibrant emptiness of Crill was silenced by the chanting of guilt. The seconds it took to draw those eighth rests were like the distance between two paragraphs. I felt like I was writing an apology.
“This time could have been spent going over those last few measures again,” Dr. Pedersen said to the group, though I knew whom he was addressing. “It’s important for each of us to bring pencils to rehearsals.”
I apologized. It wasn’t so much that I didn’t sharpen my pencil; it was that I am the tenor section leader and I was unprepared. I’ve been in this choir for over a year. Why did I neglect my pencil? How can I expect the young ones to look up to me now? The rest of the rehearsal for me was spoiled by shame. It tasted a little like chaos.
After concerts, when one of us feels embarrassed about having sung an outstandingly wrong note, Dr. Pedersen reminds us, “If you sing a wrong note, move on, because that note is in the past. The most important note is the one that’s coming up.”
After saying good bye, Dr. Pedersen encouraged us for developing our vocal blend. I walked outdoors, into the early afternoon sunlight, to the financial aid office. On a desk I saw a canister carrying free pencils. I thankfully took one. I hit the wrong note today, but I wasn’t so out of tune. And there are more notes coming up. I slipped the pencil into my music folder, ready for tomorrow. There may have been an angel, singing.
27.11.08
"And they all were satisfied"
The rain was cold tonight, but one church in Southeast San Diego was full of warmth.
From 6 to 8 pm, Southeast Church of the Nazarene served its annual Thanksgiving Eve dinner, free to anyone hungry for food and company. Round and rectangular tables covered in red-and-white-checkered tablecloths filled the sanctuary. By 5 pm, some tables were already full with adults and families.
"This was something I did not want to miss," said Stephanie, who worships with the church on Sundays.
The church served about 300 folks. Plates of sliced turkey, yams, steamed vegetables, stuffing, ambrosia, cranberries, gravy, and bread were prepared in the kitchen and brought by servers to the diners. Beverages included lemonade, coffee, and milk.
About half of the servers and cooks came from San Diego First Church of the Nazarene in Point Loma, which partnered with the church for last year's Thanksgiving Eve dinner. They also donated the turkeys.
For dessert, servers presented slices of pumpkin pie with whip cream. Many individuals and families took entire pies home; about 140 pies were baked.
"This is the most pies I've ever seen in my life," said Kelsey, who helped bake the pies last night. Over 20 people, mostly youths, baked from 6 pm until 1 am. When they weren't working, they were playing chess, Clue, Connect Four, card games, basketball, or just hanging out.
Southeast Church of the Nazarene has provided this meal every year for over 12 years.
In his book Snapshots of the Kingdom, Pastor Steve writes about a Thanksgiving Eve dinner at the church 10 years ago. He compares the dinner with Jesus' feeding of 5,000 people.
"At the end of Jesus' meal they all were satisfied. And at the end of our meal, they all were satisfied. Jesus said He came to proclaim that the kingdom of God was at hand. In the Kingdom all will be satisfied. Jesus as well as the prophets before Him compared the coming of the Kingdom to a great banquet. Listen to what Isaiah has to say: 'On this mountain the LORD Almighty will prepare a feast of rich food for all peoples, a banquet of aged wine--the best of meats and the finest of wines. On this mountain he will destroy the shroud that enfolds all peoples, the sheet that covers all nations; he will swallow up death forever. The Sovereign LORD will wipe away the tears from all faces; he will remove the disgrace of his people from all the earth' (25:6-8). . . .
"The reality was hitting home that our feast to end all feasts didn't end anything, especially hunger. But for one night, for one meal, [they] all were satisfied. . . . We reminded them of the future. They participated in a picture of the Kingdom. . . . For one night, for one meal, for one moment, folks of all ages, races, incomes, and backgrounds entered into the Lord's house and banqueted together at His tables. And they all were satisfied."
From 6 to 8 pm, Southeast Church of the Nazarene served its annual Thanksgiving Eve dinner, free to anyone hungry for food and company. Round and rectangular tables covered in red-and-white-checkered tablecloths filled the sanctuary. By 5 pm, some tables were already full with adults and families.
"This was something I did not want to miss," said Stephanie, who worships with the church on Sundays.
The church served about 300 folks. Plates of sliced turkey, yams, steamed vegetables, stuffing, ambrosia, cranberries, gravy, and bread were prepared in the kitchen and brought by servers to the diners. Beverages included lemonade, coffee, and milk.
About half of the servers and cooks came from San Diego First Church of the Nazarene in Point Loma, which partnered with the church for last year's Thanksgiving Eve dinner. They also donated the turkeys.
For dessert, servers presented slices of pumpkin pie with whip cream. Many individuals and families took entire pies home; about 140 pies were baked.
"This is the most pies I've ever seen in my life," said Kelsey, who helped bake the pies last night. Over 20 people, mostly youths, baked from 6 pm until 1 am. When they weren't working, they were playing chess, Clue, Connect Four, card games, basketball, or just hanging out.
Southeast Church of the Nazarene has provided this meal every year for over 12 years.
In his book Snapshots of the Kingdom, Pastor Steve writes about a Thanksgiving Eve dinner at the church 10 years ago. He compares the dinner with Jesus' feeding of 5,000 people.
"At the end of Jesus' meal they all were satisfied. And at the end of our meal, they all were satisfied. Jesus said He came to proclaim that the kingdom of God was at hand. In the Kingdom all will be satisfied. Jesus as well as the prophets before Him compared the coming of the Kingdom to a great banquet. Listen to what Isaiah has to say: 'On this mountain the LORD Almighty will prepare a feast of rich food for all peoples, a banquet of aged wine--the best of meats and the finest of wines. On this mountain he will destroy the shroud that enfolds all peoples, the sheet that covers all nations; he will swallow up death forever. The Sovereign LORD will wipe away the tears from all faces; he will remove the disgrace of his people from all the earth' (25:6-8). . . .
"The reality was hitting home that our feast to end all feasts didn't end anything, especially hunger. But for one night, for one meal, [they] all were satisfied. . . . We reminded them of the future. They participated in a picture of the Kingdom. . . . For one night, for one meal, for one moment, folks of all ages, races, incomes, and backgrounds entered into the Lord's house and banqueted together at His tables. And they all were satisfied."
26.11.08
Skyline Drive
The yellow, mint, and magenta stars
shoot pillars on the ocean street,
which sinks and slopes and
separates like soldiers on the board.
The headlights advance from behind like pawns.
The vacant lot hides the bishop's sword.
It may be the rain--
it may be the night--
it may be loneliness
that turns all things to enemies.
shoot pillars on the ocean street,
which sinks and slopes and
separates like soldiers on the board.
The headlights advance from behind like pawns.
The vacant lot hides the bishop's sword.
It may be the rain--
it may be the night--
it may be loneliness
that turns all things to enemies.
25.11.08
Story Ideas
Today's Point Weekly meeting was interrupted by the sky.
Advisor Dr. Nelson was going through the routine of asking each staff member for story ideas. When he came to Arts and Entertainment editor Amy, she said, "You guys, look outside."
Dr. Nelson walked from the center of the room to the door, while some students stood to look out the windows. Then the class followed him outside. For the next several minutes, the staff stood by the stairs leading to the Golden Gym parking lot, staring at the sky.
"This beats anything the Point Weekly can come up with," Dr. Nelson said.
Advisor Dr. Nelson was going through the routine of asking each staff member for story ideas. When he came to Arts and Entertainment editor Amy, she said, "You guys, look outside."
Dr. Nelson walked from the center of the room to the door, while some students stood to look out the windows. Then the class followed him outside. For the next several minutes, the staff stood by the stairs leading to the Golden Gym parking lot, staring at the sky.
"This beats anything the Point Weekly can come up with," Dr. Nelson said.
Photo by Jon
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