Thoughts based on Brothers Karamazov, Fear and Trembling, theodicy, and suffering.

Reflecting on this book, and remembering having read Crime and Punishment, I have thought much lately of my own view of love. It is difficult to explain, and I ask the reader's patience in allowing me to sort this out.

The first unusual and pivotal tenet I hold to love is this: love without suffering is not to be trusted. What madness is this? We all hear said in our society, "Love is patient, love is kind... love is pure... love is like a flower... love is beautiful..." and the like. And I don't disagree. However, that is not the totality of my experience of love. Love can hardly be called true if it is not consumed in fire, if it is not immolated in flame, and yet survives. The term "acid test" comes from the use of strong acids such as nitric acid to test whether "gold" was truly gold or rather a cheap imitation metal. If it was gold, the acid would burn off impurities and leave the gold shining beautifully. If it was pewter or other rubbish stone, the acid would consume and corrode it.

And yet this image is no good. For true love is both the acid and the gold, both the clay and the flame. This is the second unusual tenet: that love is as completely external as it is internal. Our society is fond of possession of all sorts of things - what child doesn't learn to say "mine" shortly after "dada" and "mama"? And yet it is dangerous to take ownership wholly of love. That is like taking a nuclear bomb inside one's own body. In it there is great power, but also enough power to destroy a man (and many of those around him). Obsession, lust, pornography, all such sins of love commit the sin by taking ravenous possession of love that is not one's to have. David lusted after Bathsheba; yet this was not the love that he had for Michal. His love did not proceed from God's love for mankind. He horded this love, savored it, and it almost destroyed him (and did destroy Uriah). Therefore, we must be stewards of love. We must acknowledge its source far beyond us and continually send it to a destination beyond us.

Similarly, the third tenet is that love must be dynamic and moving. In the scene with the woman at the well, Jesus describes his love and salvation as "living water". This is a stock phrase that has become commonplace in Christianity, but the likely connotation of the phrase is "running water." It is not stagnant, it does not come from a tamed and controlled dam, but rather from a vibrant and nearly dangerous source. And indeed, the source of all streams comes from mountain snows, for it is written: "He spreads the snow like wool and scatters the frost like ashes. He hurls down his hail like pebbles. Who can withstand his icy blast? He sends his word and melts them; he stirs up his breezes, and the waters flow" (Psalm 147:16-18).

So building off these tenets, I would argue that any love that comes without suffering has yet to truly be love at all. Does that mean that those who are "in love" ought to seek out suffering that they may be forged into love? By no means! Seeking suffering is the foolish purview of youths who don't value their lives. Those who seek suffering either have a death wish or desire to become a hero in their own eyes by dint of having an enemy. Rather, those who seek pure love must be willing to suffer, and must look in the eyes of suffering as the eyes of a friend rather than an enemy. It is a test, but not a temptation, for that is given to those who lack faith; it is the necessary function of God's holiness, which, like fire, both destroys and refines.

"For we are God's fellow workers; you are God's field, God's building. According to the grace of God which was given to me, like a wise master builder I laid a foundation, and another is building on it. But each man must be careful how he builds on it. For no man can lay a foundation other than the one which is laid, which is Jesus Christ. Now if any man builds on the foundation with gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, straw, each man's work will become evident; for the day will show it because it is to be revealed with fire, and the fire itself will test the quality of each man's work. If any man's work which he has built on it remains, he will receive a reward. If any man's work is burned up, he will suffer loss; but he himself will be saved, yet so as through fire.

- 1 Cor. 3:9-15
Thus, in a bizarre way, theodicy comes to some resolution if suffering is seen as the necessary function of love in a broken world. For fire is both benign and malignant. Ray Bradbury's Farenheit 451 paints a beautiful contrast of this. For much of the novel, fire is an evil, insidious force conscripted by evil men to destroy knowledge and freedom. However, in the end, it is the benign fire of twigs and scrap that warm "book people." These two sides of fire hold true for love, but not in mutual exclusion. In order to be true love, love must consume and temper indisciplined love and evil so that the flame may burn on.

And that is all I can say. Let this be my blessing: let love come to and through you, embrace the suffering it brings insofar as it tempers your heart to the truth, and do not let yourself be drawn to evil for the sake of love.

- Jacob G.

If you'll pardon my ADD, I'm basically going to post this as a list of thoughts, rather than using cogent rhetoric. It's summer. :-D

1. I'll remember every abrazo (hug) and every beso I received. Really, names and faces to many of them. I sigh I little when I shake hands now, and lament when people ask me on the bus to move away from them. If only Americans knew what each other felt like.


2. Siesta culture is awesome. Knowing that you couldn't do business if you wanted to between 1 PM and 4 PM sure makes it easier to live in the moment and not live in worry and hurry.


3. It's nice to cross the street without having the fear of God instilled in you by crazy drivers who will run you over. It's also nice having streets with less than 20 lanes.


4. A leisurely late lunch is far improved with a leisurely dessert and half-cup of coffee.


5. Evangelicals in Argentina seem to have (thus far) avoided much of the corruption and pettiness that has made it a political sect in the U.S. I hope that continues, because God has done so many beautiful things through them.


6. Though translation helps (and is certainly a gift to the Kingdom), music still has some kind of visceral, universal appeal to it. A brief introduction in Spanish to Prayer of the Children served to set the scene, but words could not describe the memorable and meaningful silence in the theatre in Buenos Aires as the lights dimmed. Music helps facilitate those "thin places," as the Celts call them, where God is so close you can feel His breath.


7. I have always and still like Promised Land and Old Dan Tucker. How much more American can you get? Sacred Harp and down-home folk?


8. I understand why Piazzolla and Borges drew fierce opposition from Argentina. Though quiet, they are a fiercely proud people, and the syncretism of style and belief they included in their works would seem to be less amenable to Argentina than the English-speaking world (primarily US and UK, where such syncretism is expected).


9. "Baptists and Free Brethren are kissing cousins." - Manuel Sosa. I'll add to that: jazz and tango are kissing cousins too. And, in both cases, beautiful things happen when family cooperates.


10. Both missionary couples we worked with showed me how truly the Body of Christ is a family. "Aunt" Laura really felt like an Aunt. Manny and Berta remind me of what I want to be when I grow up. Paul's speeches before our performances would get me choked up - because I did understand what he was saying about us. And I smiled like a little brother the first time Rolo smiled at me, gave me an abrazo, and said, "Amigo."


11. Point: "Umuntu ngumuntu ngabantu." "People are people through other people." I really realized how profoundly friendships and acquaintances speak of who you are.


12. Counterpoint: But the core of identity comes from the positive affirmation of self, an absolute relationship to the absolute. Outside sources don't always affirm, and negation and silence are always vague. Dependency on outside sources of affirmation can give us little more than a relative relationship to the relative. God is an absolute, and faith is an absolute. Sounds like a great place to start.


13. I need a digital camera. Bad. Too many ruined photos, and good developing is getting hard to find.


14. Argentina is very different from Brasil. Very different.


15. As a bookend to my first comment, I will remember every deep conversation (and even some not-so-deep) I had with other folks on the trip. Jonathan and Mrs. Bradley on literature, Harry on philosophy (I'm going to check out Brothers Karamazov sometime soon), Justin on God's will, James C. on growing in faith and American history, Braeden on music and expressing art, Chris on a little bit of everything, Alan and John on the Church, Dr. Bradley on vocation, James N. and Collin on dorm antics, Isaac on heroism and airplanes (sorry if I scared you), Hannah (who now knows my man-crush - it's Matthew Bellamy from MUSE), Ben W. on tough times, Ben R. on getting brain-fatigue from Spanish, Clint on Coke Slurpees and the timelessness of hymns. And if we didn't get a chance to talk that much, then it'll happen sometime!

- Jacob G.

tags: argentina

Hey folks, I have posted all of my journal entries from Argentina. Here's the master list:

• Day 1 - Santiago de Chile


• Day 2 - Mendoza


• Day 2 (later) - Mendoza


• Day 3 - Mendoza


• Day 4/5 - Uspallata, Mendoza


• Day 9 - Puerto Iguazú


• Day 13 - Buenos Aires


• Post-Trip Reflections

Sometime soon (maybe later today) I will add post-trip reflections. Click on all the pictures to see bigger versions (in order to save space, the biggest ones you'll find will be 480x320). If you really want a bigger version of one of the photos, ask me.

- Jacob G.

tags: argentina

Buenos Aires is a city of masks. In the past few days we have ad a number of concerts, but most interesting to me have been our city tours. We have been guided by our coordinator, Santiago Tur, who is young and eager. Our city tours have been narrated mostly by Alejandra, a cosmopolitan and multilingual history buff.

BA has many neighborhoods. Our hotel is in Recoleta, an old-money European-styled neighborhood. There are may Italian-style sculptures, French-style parks, Spanish-style buildings. The mausoleum/cemetery we visited seems to capture the essence of old-money aristocracy.

The largest mausoleum in Recoleta cemetery, of the Leloir family

Puerto Madero, where we ate, is the new status symbol. Old warehouses by the river have been replaced by lofts, extravagant restaurants, and upscale car dealers. All streets are named after famous women, and a central point is the modernist bridge dedicated to women. Puerto Madero is young, seductive, and fashionable.

Palermo is the largest neighborhood. It includes subdivisions with names like "SoHo" and "Hollywood." This may as well be LA or Manhattan.

There are a few notable landmarks I saw. One is the obelisk in 9 de Julio Avenue (which is a central street that is over 20 lanes wide, with medians to help poor pedestrians). Alejandra calls BA drivers "serial killers", which is abundantly obvious on 9 de Julio. The obelisk, inspired by the Washington Monument and the Egyptian obelisks, is a symbol of Argentine pride and independence. Continuing with the Egyptian theme, three pyramids (rather than a cross or a crucifix) stand atop the capital of the town square's Neoclassical-style cathedral. Like the bulk of the city, the cathedral is an architectural cacophony of styles, a true Tower of Babel - an edifice founded in confusion, awash in a myriad of misunderstood cultures.

But two areas are breaths of fresh air (one literally so). The Tigre Delta on the outskirts of the city is a quaint suburb which fades seamlessly into an honest, rural river community. Men peddle groceries and natural gas out of boats, boat-buses take parishioners to church, and older citizens row through narrow chutes to enjoy the scenery.

On the Tigre Delta


Fall Colors on the Tigre Delta

Boca neighborhood, far across town, could not be more different. First, it stenches like sewage; the Boca Port has been irrevocably polluted for decades (Alejandra estimates a cleanup would take no less than 10 solid years). Yet it is the most honest place I have seen in BA. At its center sits the hearth of civilized religion in the Hispanic world - a soccer stadium (for CABJ - aka, Boca Juniors). It is the ancestral home of tango. Hardly a street corner is not adorned with the fedora-topped portrait of Carlos Gardel, a 20s-30s tango crooner who became the first international celebrity of tango. Boca was to tango what New Orleans was to jazz - a somewhat seedy birthplace to a truly unique artform. Jazz and tango are "kissing cousins" you might say, and both have had their twisting histories and holy wars over "purity". It is fitting that Ástor Piazzolla, one of the men who "saved" tango from ignominy, did much to unite jazz and tango.

Anyway, one landmark we saw in Boca was the Caminito, an erstwhile immigrant slum that became a colorful and noisy shopping district reminiscent of its multicolored origins. It is gritty - sirens ask tourists to take pictures with them in provocative tango poses and then solicit them for "further services" - but it makes no pretense of what it is. Here I finally discovered a distinctive and original voice in porteño culture.

As far as our concerts, the most inspiring in BA has been a noon concert for the congress Bible study. Fewer than a dozen congressional staffers showed up, but they brought the hope of bringing Christ into the country's politics. Two familiar faces attended - familiar from political posters from Mendoza (they are running for national senator and deputy). If they are Christians, I certainly hope they win. If they aren't, then I certainly hope our music meant something to them. Either way, that little concert was a big thing.

We also had the chance to sing on national TV on a congregation-supported church station (they aren't allowed to solicit donations on-air). That was odd. And one concert in BA had rock-concert style lighting. I hope we get a video - we'll have to convince the powers that be to put lights like that in Jones Hall for MMB Phase 2! Ha ha ha. Only a day left. Wow!

- Jacob G.

tags: argentina

Quick recap: Saturday, we had an asado at Tomás Prat Gay's family's finca. Great food and people, and some wine tasting.

Then a concert at a hotel for the Shelton's home church and friends. Carlos, a fringe member of their church who had yet to engage, stayed for the concert and then decided to engage at their church. He talked and interacted at the service for the first time ever. Talked about life with Chris, Alan, and Ben Wong. Good stuff.

Sunday: Four church concerts. First = decent; 2nd = 25 minutes late, not our best, but they loved us and fed us. The pastor's wife talked about how her father became a Christian because of a missionary wife singing "Jesus Loves Me" in English; 3rd = Big church (First Baptist) that really appreciated us and wanted more (the guitarist from Day 1 was there and kept rousing the audience for more encores); 4th = small but hearty church. This last one bears explanation. Our (and especially Hannah's) new friends Ana and Belén (who translated a lot for us) go there, and their dad (?) is the pastor. Their home was ransacked a couple of weeks ago while (thank God) they were all away. They took everything out of the house, including all of the church's musical equipment, so all they had was a borrowed keyboard. We sang two sets, and in between the pastor split us into five groups to pray with church members. So meaningful! Only downside - one guy started mocking me for being a García and only speaking some Spanish. Well, sor-ree!

The next day we made our way to Iguazú. Flight delays for no good reason caused us to arrive at our concert venue in Andresito several hours late. We drove one and a half hours from Puerto Iguazú to Andresito right from the airport. During that time, I had a chance to have a really great chat with Braeden about music, TED talks, and more. We immediately unloaded and started a concert at a Free Brethren church there. Unique experience - they didn't clap until their pastor did, most women covered their heads, etc. One young boy with hearing aids played piano in their praise band. He is talented, learning English fast, and wants to study music. He is a resident at the church school's dorm as well. A very honest woman named Mónica talked to me after the concert. She asked me why Americans are so loud, whether James Neese and Collin were brothers, and whether Caleb was a girl. Sigh.

Today was my birthday / Iguazú Falls day. The Río Iguazú is the border between Brasil and Argentina. We saw Garganta del Diablo (the opening scene from The Mission), Lower and Upper Circuits (including Salto Dos Hermanas, Salto Bosetti, and Salto San Martín), a boat excursion (San Martín, Dos Mosqueros, Tres Mosqueros), and a 4x4 ride through the jungle back to the front. The boat ride was surreal. Pics below will describe better than words God's grandeur.


And then I had birthday dinner with a bunch of the guys - probably more than 10 (and Isaac and Hannah joined us too). It was great. During our reflection time, I added how great it was to have that caring community even away from home on my birthday. People kept offering to pay even. Then, the hotel restaurant brought out a cake and Mrs. Bradley gave me a card everyone signed. Almost speechless. In the past, it sometimes didn't feel like my birthdays didn't mean that much. This one, though, was just so special. It feels so, well, excessive. Thanks be to God!


Garganta del Diablo


Panorama from Upper Circuit


Salto Bosetti


Salto San Martín from the boat


Three Borders - Paraguay to the left, Brasil across

- Jacob G.

location: Puerto Iguazú, Argentina tags: argentina

Yesterday we got to sleep in (yay!) and then embarked on the road trip to Uspallata, west of Mendoza city. We had lunch in Mendoza. Right before loading the bus, James Neese caught me and said the equipment driver Rolando ("Rolo" for short) wanted company, and asked for the guy who gave a testimony in Spanish - that is, me. So I met up with him and the van and left on Ruta 7. We drove out a van loaded with musical instruments, paint cans, and PA equipment for Uspallata, and it also towed a trailer with all the big bags in it.

Rolo spoke a little English - he is 35, but is taking a number of classes, including English. Mostly we conversed in Spanish, at least in so far as I could. He is as earnest, gentle and passionate a man as I had ever met. Converted to Christianity by Baptist IMB missionaries in the 80s (was it 82?), he is the image of the servant leader. He left high school early to support his family and has worked nearly nonstop for the last 19 years (until recently, when he lost his job). He's one of those quiet, passionate people who can maintain an innocent love for God in spite of life's hardships. He divorced a few years ago, his mother died a few months ago, and he's still working hard to help out his family (including his father who lives several hours away). He now feels a calling to missions, and plans to go on a mission to Yemen with his church in Mendoza.

We conversed well (despite my memory lapses and his kind correction of my Spanish) until there was a loud pop and the trailer began to wobble. We pulled over to find the trailer tire shredded and the wheel well partially bent inwards. We were about 60 km outside of Mendoza.

Tire - ASPLODED!

I helped him prop the trailer up with rocks -we had to be quick because many people will sack abandoned vehicles on this highway. We went to the next town, Potrerillos, and got a hold of Paul Shelton ("Pablo"), our missionary contact in Mendoza. Paul and Dr. Bradley stayed back in Mendoza so Dr. Bradley could host a Q&A about church music at the Baptist Institute Music School. Paul went to get a new wheel for the trailer. Rolo removed the busted tire, and we waited.


About 45 minutes later, Paul arrived with Dr. Bradley. Unfortunately, we discovered it was the wrong tire (IIRC, there were too few lugs). So Rolo took the van (sans trailer) back to Mendoza to exchange it. I talked with Dr. Bradley and Paul in the meantime. Paul told us about Rolo's life and the greater picture of the Church in South America. I also talked to Dr. Bradley about my own journey with vocation and music education. it was, to say the very least, very elucidating.

Rolo returned after well over an hour, maybe an hour and a half. Apparently, he was stopped by gendarmes, national guardsmen. They had stopped someone shortly before he drove by who was smuggling contraband across the border, so they turned the van upside-down, opening every instrument case and can of paint. They were going to detain him for questioning, but he explained his situation and his employ with an evangelical, Baptist, international group that awaited him in Uspallata. They releented, and he arrived.

Rolando saves the day! Paul and Dr. Bradley look on.


Rolo and Paul fiexed the tire, and arrived in Uspallata, albeit over 4 hours late. The next day we had tourism in the Andes, west towards Chile.

Trees in Uspallata

We saw Aconcagua, the tallest point in the Americas, and many other amazing sights. I'll let the pictures speak for themselves. We had some free time, a concert in the open, and dinner, and then we returned to Mendoza. And now, it is time to sleep. With three "E"s.


Aconcagua


Descending from an outlook


The old railroad into Chile

- Jacob G.

location: Mendoza Province, Argentina tags: argentina

Note: I originally wrote this post for the BUMC Argentina trip blog. You can see the original post with additional photos from other choir members here.

Last night was our first concert here in Argentina. We performed at a local Baptist church for members of their congregation. They treated us to tea and churros before the concert. Then we went and performed. The Sheltons had previously briefed us on an important rule of etiquette here in South America; being on time is not expected. We started ten minutes late to a healthy half-filled congregation, but we finished the concert with a full house and standing room in the back. In Argentina, Lauren Shelton informs us, rules aren’t as important as relationships. So it’s expected that you finish whatever you’re doing and show up for a get-together, concert, or other function when you’ve politely finished with the business at hand. And our audience was certainly relational! A few sang along with one of the Argentine songs we sang. Many thanked us (in English and in Spanish) for our presence.

This morning we debriefed on the previous day’s adventures, and then embarked on our own. Several groups went out to brave the downtown shops of Mendoza. One group joined Amanda, a Baylor graduate involved with Baylor in Mendoza, for a tour of the Weinert winery on the outskirts of town. We enjoyed lunch on our own followed by a tradition well-loved by the whole choir: SIESTA!


Bodega Weinert

Later that afternoon we walked over to a local high school to sing outside for their students. Unfortunately, many of them had to stay in their classrooms to take government-mandated midterms (um, yay TAKS tests?!?). Their principal lined them up in neat files while we organized our processional. However, by the end, the audience (who stood the whole time) had formed an amoebic blob scarcely an inch from our choir. By the end of the school day, their principal had the unfortunate task of telling them we were done (they begged for more, but he snapped back that they should have been quieter! :-) ).

Afterwards, a few members of the choir got to know the audience. Well, it looked more like this: rabbles of giggling girls swarmed around a couple of guys begging for pictures, autographs, locks of hair, etc. See photo evidence below.

Dr. Bradley also exchanged gifts with the school’s principal. The principal gave Dr. Bradley a sculpture of two gauchos (rural Argentinian farmers) pulling a wagon in the style of a famous painter, as well as a small collectible wine bottle from Mendoza’s famous vineyards.

We all received another gift as we left: a fiery blaze of a sunset, streaked over the deepening azure sky. So beautiful.


Sunset outside public school in Mendoza

Later we arrived at the Sala Elina Alba for our formal concert. The acoustics were wonderful, which is ironic because the building was originally used as a bank. The stage we stood on was built off of the original teller window in the bank’s main hall. We were also finally reunited with our fearless accompanist Clint Kimmel, who essentially jumped off of a plane at the Mendoza airport and joined us in rehearsal. We’re glad to have you here, Clint!

The concert opened with Coral Víctor Volpe, a local men’s choir. Male choirs are very unusual in South America, so it was a privilege to hear them. They opened with two settings of Argentine folk songs. These men (many of whom have sang together since boyhood) sang with such heart that, even though we didn’t understand all the words, we were deeply moved. They also closed with a Gospel piece in English called “Ride the Chariot.” That really gave us the feeling of a cultural exchange — they tapped into music of our culture, just as we sought to do the same with their culture.

I’ll be honest — I don’t remember how well we sang (although I’d like to think it went quite well). All I know is that the crowd absolutely loved it. After “Te Quiero,” a well-known Argentine piece, we received whoops and cheers. (This piece has a bit more poignancy now since the lyricist, Mario Benedetti, passed away earlier this week.) The audience laughed along with “Old Dan Tucker” and just about brought the house down after it was over. We performed “Soon-ah Will Be Done” in the audience as our penultimate song, and the crowd got restless when they thought we were done. By the end of the concert, I think both us and the audience had won each other over.

A reception followed (with empanadas — of course!), and we got a chance to dialogue with some of the music school students, Víctor Volpe singers, and community members who showed up. Chris encountered a lady he happened to meet in line at the airport who decided to come to the concert. The choral conducting students involved in Dr. Bradley’s master class came and conversed with our students. Many people just showed up after seeing a wonderful article in the local newspaper about our performance (pics to come). I talked to a few of the Víctor Volpe singers who couldn’t believe that we weren’t all music students. One told Dr. Bradley that that was the first time he had actually understood all the words from “Te Quiero,” and we didn’t even all speak Spanish!

Many of us are already feeling like we’ve been here a month — so much has happened in just a few days! We are all excited to see what new things we will experience as we travel to mountainous Uspallata tomorrow.

- Jacob G.

location: Mendoza, Argentina tags: argentina

We went to the children's home today. We had a few main tasks: to paint the upper balcony and install new shelves in the pantry. I started off organizing one of the side rooms used as a storehouse for donated clothes and toys. This included about an hour of beating dust out of rugs with Alex and Stephen. I felt a little useless with the carpentry - I became a human vise grip while others ran the show. Surely this is a glimpse of God's kingdom. We did simple things, like beating rugs and scraping paint. Some guys even put down their work just to play with the kids. But, by God's guiding and providential will, the whole was greater than the sum of the parts. This is building for the Kingdom.

However, the highlight was the meal. Before lunch, the house was in complete chaos. Our clothes were covered in paint, many of the kids’ hair was covered in the same paint, the lunch table was covered in sawdust and bent screws, and the kitchen bustled with noise and activity. No one quite had a handle on the situation. Most of the people in charge spoke only Spanish and details got lost in translation. People in the patio yelled up to the roof that plates were already coming out of the kitchen. As the dust cleared in the main room and the table was set, there were not enough chairs in the building, so a few students traipsed chairs from the church two blocks away. While waiting, we sang (or yelled) a song over the hubbub. Then, amidst the continued cheerful bellows of the children and the conversational hum of the adults, a sudden hush came upon the whole building. Lunch was served.

We had (essentially) chicken-fried steak [editor's note: this is called "milanesa"] and potatoes with beef empanadas and salad. For dessert we had birthday cake for Adam. Afterwards, the proprietor of the home, Rudolfo, spoke about its founding. After his wife Adriana had a vision of suffering children, they carried out a church mission in the outlying slums of Mendoza, whereupon they met Jesús, the oldest son of an alcoholic indigent who no longer worked. Rudolfo and Adriana decided to provide meals for Jesús and his younger siblings, but only at a neighbor's house. This convinced the father to sign paperwork to subsidize meals from the government. He missed being able to be with them (even though they had become malnourished because of his neglect). So Rudolfo and Adriana set up a children's home run by volunteers and funded by donors. Through their seven (?) years of existence, God has provided their every need, even providing milk for the kids' breakfast while the volunteer cooks were in the process of praying for it.

This meal was especially touching; it came out of their own pantries and was prepared and served by volunteers. The owner himself personally served and bussed our table. Surely this was the feeding of the five thousand; the more abundantly this man and his colleagues gave, the greater surplus everyone (including them) had. Surely this is the woman who gave abundantly of her two denarii, as opposed to the rich men who gave out of their abundance. Our later meal at the French bistro was wonderful — a few courses, delightful dessert, helpful service. But the children’s home was not a meal, but a lavish feast, given abundantly out of meagerness. And most beautiful, while the owner spoke of the dark tales of suffering children in Guaymallen, was the sound of laughing children, innocently playing in the presence of their God who gave out of His own abundance.

- Jacob G.

location: Mendoza, Argentina tags: argentina

First impression: Mendoza feels like home. It looks a lot like Belen in the fall - mountains to the west, tall yellow trees, lots of farms and vineyards. It's dry and cool. The people, however, are warm and friendly. At our reception last night, we were greeted with tango and milonga dances as well as música folklórica - samba, salsa, and chamamé. Then we ate empanadas with our hosts. During the reception, I got to talk to the guitarist in the folkloric ensemble about music and guitar. He expressed interest in corridos and rancheras of Mexico and New Mexico.

The LAN flight last night was breathtaking. We got an overview of the snowcapped Andes and some high valleys.

Snowcapped Andes from above.


Flying over the Andes

Then Mendoza approached in the form of hedgerow-lined vineyards. the sun set on the blazes of yellowing trees and fields of grapes and olives. There are acequias here, like Las Cruces or Las Golondrinas. I can't wait to see it all by light of day this week.

- Jacob G.

location: Mendoza, Argentina tags: argentina

So our flight almost didn't leave Dallas at all. We have a ~7 hour layover in Santiago due to a missed flight. Chile proves fairly inhospitable so far - everyone thinks we have swine flue, and if we want to tour the city or leave the airport, we have to pay a $140 fee. Luckily, it would seem our bags made it. Expect more later.

- Jacob G.

location: Santiago, Chile tags: argentina

(after the film The Mission)

Upon the holy, gilded altar sat
A starburst monstrance and a sword.
The one a shining light of peace and love
The one a deathly blaze of zeal and grace.
Upon the brazen monstrance shone a lamb
Engraved with gentle filigree throughout.
Etched in the rapier's polished hilt
A lion roared in vigor, cried in strength.

A priest and verger bent before the two
And blessed their proper use before the Lord.
The one in black took up his arms and left
While Father Albus raised the Bread of Heav'n.
Both men sought the second Kind, the Grail
And raised their instruments to draw first blood.
"Pascha nostrum immolatus est" -
The Lamb of God is sacrificed for us.
The zealous verger killed and bled his mark,
The earth consumed the vinegary wine.

"Humble thyself and kneel" the twain proclaimed.
Before the wrath of God, submit and live;
In gratitude consume His lavish feast.
Silently the ritual concludes
With solemn words of mission and of love -
They say, "Go forth, the Mass is done."

- Jacob G.

WARNING: Potential LOST/Donnie Darko spoilers below. Continue at your own risk.

So this may be a theory that has already been partially or wholesale-ly rejected by the producers, but I insist on its possibility nonetheless.

In the fictional treatise A Philosophy of Time Travel, which exists in the universe of Donnie Darko, an uncommon twist on the idea of a parallel universe is explored. It is one of a tangent universe - where, if the primary universe is imagined as a cyclic curve of some sort, a tangent comes off of one line and later re-intersects with the curve of the primary universe.



I purport that the universe of LOST may be one such tangent universe. Imagine that the tangent point is 1977 when the first release of electromagnetism from what becomes the Swan occurs. This discharge destabilizes the Casimir effect of the Orchid, spawning a less-than-stable tangent universe. The opposite end of the tangent universe coincides with the crash of Oceanic 815 in 2004.

In Donnie Darko, the anomaly of the tangent universe occurs linearly - that is, after the tangent point, time passes in a linear fashion until Donnie destroys the tangent universe. Additionally, there is much "mythology" attached to the tangent universe in A Philosophy of Time Travel. This includes the unique and nearly fatalistic roles attached to different parties - the Manipulated Dead, Manipulated Living, Artifact, etc. However, the most fundamental motifs of the tangent universe are its inherent instability, the force of destiny driving the actions of people involved, and the symbolic importance of physical objects.

LOST may share these basic motifs with Donnie Darko's conception of a tangent universe. The instability of the Swan indicates that it may be the center of such an anomaly (unanswered question: How does the failsafe "fix" things? Did it "fix" things?). The seeming predestination of many characters (notably John Locke) and the odd role of people such as Richard Alpert fit the bill of a destiny-driven tangent universe. And, of course, there must be irony in the fact that inciting incident of both plots revolves around an airplane disaster.

LOST differs, I propose, in its treatment of the tangent universe non-linearly. Suspend your disbelief and consider that when the first incident occurred at the Swan that that initiated the whole tangent universe at once at both ends. This circumvented the linear nature of time and instigated the crash of Oceanic 815. Thus the logical solution to destroying the tangent universe must be to approach it from both ends - thus the rationale behind leaving some losties in the 70s and others in 2007. The series of episodes in which the 70s group was slipping through time may be explained by a fluttering instability in the Casimir effect caused by Ben Linus's ill-executed turning of the donkey wheel, thus fluttering the far end of the tangent back and forth in comparison to the primary universe.

The philosophical and temporal anomalies of Donnie Darko notwithstanding, the enthusiastic viewer must grapple with what purpose the tangent universe of that movie served. In the final scene after Donnie's death, the answer is obvious; each character shown awakening appears to have perceived the tangent universe as a kind of shadow feeling or nightmare which passed unsettlingly in the night. The implication is that, though the tangent universe is substantially unremembered, there is a haunting impression left on everyone it effected. The same could be the point of LOST. Today's episode revealed that the characters are grappling with the same idea; would it make any difference if they prevented the first incident? I propose that it would, that the same force of destiny that drove the tangent universe also propelled its main cast out of and through the primary universe in such a way that they were effected by the forgotten experience.

Maybe that force is God. Maybe it's connected to the concept of Jacob. Much remains to be seen in next week's finale and next year's final season.

- Jacob G.

From I Kings 19 (ESV), after Elijah shamed the priests of Ba'al on Mount Carmel:

But he himself went a day’s journey into the wilderness and came and sat down under a broom tree. And he asked that he might die, saying, "It is enough; now, O LORD, take away my life, for I am no better than my fathers." And he lay down and slept under a broom tree. And behold, an angel touched him and said to him, "Arise and eat." And he looked, and behold, there was at his head a cake baked on hot stones and a jar of water. And he ate and drank and lay down again. And the angel of the LORD came again a second time and touched him and said, "Arise and eat, for the journey is too great for you." And he arose and ate and drank, and went in the strength of that food forty days and forty nights to Horeb, the mount of God.

...And he said, "Go out and stand on the mount before the LORD." And behold, the LORD passed by, and a great and strong wind tore the mountains and broke in pieces the rocks before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind. And after the wind an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake. And after the earthquake a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire. And after the fire the sound of a low whisper. And when Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his cloak and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. And behold, there came a voice to him and said, "What are you doing here, Elijah?"

I love this story. I love the image of Elijah - zealous for God's work, but worn to the wire by it. He had to flee Jezebel's insane (and likely fatal) threats and seek the solace of a God who seemed all but absent. He believed himself to be the final true prophet of YHWH. And he is ready to die.

He eats, but then fasts and wanders for forty days and nights. Then on Mount Horeb, he stands before the LORD and sees the powerful force of His presence. And yet, in the midst of all that noise, God is not even present until the noise ceases and leaves a soft whisper. That's poetry.

In our lives, we have perfected the art of noise. My perfectly silent apartment puts out 35 dB of noise. My friend's iPods can crank out music loud enough that they may be in hearing aids in a few decades. New music must be louder and more impressive. Radio tunes are envelope-compressed and packed with white noise to sound louder. Are these problems? Not necessarily, but it shows our modern trend of deliberately seeking to fill our ears up to try and fill our souls.

Though Elijah lived in a quieter day, he still sought noise. Lost and alone after seeing a powerful act of God's power, he sought another powerful act that would return to orthodoxy to the apostate Jews who ruled the kingdom. And God gave it to him - a light show of might and force, fireworks and cannons. But He Himself did not arrive until there was nearly complete silence.

So to, especially in our era of noise, must we hone our ears and listen for that soft breath. Josef Pieper discusses the asceticism of sight in order to restore sight to what it ought to have been - the perception of what is true. Hearing is no different, especially to the musician. We must (at least from time to time) reject the constant noises of life and remember what silence really is. Any musician worth his muster will recall how the perfect musical moment at the end of a piece happens when the final note melts into the silence, and suddenly the whole piece makes sense when the canvas is known.

Many Christians also seek to hear God's voice. That's spectacular! But we can set ourselves up for disappointment if we expect Him to talk all the time. Do you have someone special? A friend, a parent, a significant other, a sibling? One of those things you learn about them is the sound of them breathing (or sighing - it's like breathing with feeling). The rhythm, the pitch, the intensity. Every now and then, the best gift I've been given by a friend when I'm in need has been that sound - knowing that she's breathing, and she knows I'm breathing, and everything's as it should be. That silence can be more affirming than a single word.

Also remember the creation story. When God created all of Creation, He did so by speaking it into existence. John affirms this: "In the beginning was the Word." However, mankind receives a special gift: He breathed into us the breath of life. The spirit of life. He in-spired us. We are accustomed then, by dint of our creation in His image, to the quality of that breath. In everything we do, we seek it (either rightly or misguidedly). We hope to identify it amongst the throngs of noise we generate, but we can't always get our lives quiet enough to recognize the echo of that breath within our own souls.

And I'd like to think that that's the start of discovering God's vocation and volition. His calling and His will for us. Again, as Pieper says, no matter of knowledge is really just a product of "straining one's brain." It begins with the mystically simple and complex command of the psalmist:

Be still (or "cease striving"), and know that I am God.

- Jacob G.

We have killed it. You and I. We have killed the American Dream.

Do I have your attention now? BTW: Apologies to Nietzsche.

I have thought long and hard this last year or so about what the American Dream is. It's the ability to transcend one's circumstances and ascend in society - to throw off the reins of poverty, ignominy, repression and better oneself. This a beautiful idea, and has benefited many people. My father was the first in his family to get a college education and has given me and my sister a great chance at the same because of his education. Post-Civil War freedmen in the North could take up trades and own property, something no black man in the South could have dreamt decades earlier. Immigrants departed distant shores as peasants and became part of the middle class of urban metropolises.

So what's the problem?

First of all, such stories have always been somewhat exceptional (such as the long plight of freedmen in Jim Crow states and abused immigrants such as depicted in The Jungle). More importantly, though, the American Dream became a lofty project with a fuzzy goal. Locke envisioned society trained on "life, liberty, and property"; the French revolutionaries, "liberty, fraternity, and equality"; Jefferson, "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness." These seemed to be the perfect prescription for oppressed nations, especially colonial America squirming under Britain and the French lower classes imprisoned by the ruling elite. However, once freed from a tyrannical prison, the freed prisoners pursued nothing specific besides freedom itself.

As a result, the American Dream is a lofty vision without a goal. It is a sharp and keening arrow without a target. There is no end, so there is no satisfaction. Not satisfied with "employee of the month"? There's always manager. Then division chair. Then VP. Then CEO. Then CEO of a merged conglomerate. And then what? Well, a man at that level has presumably accrued enough money and fame that he has the vested responsibility to prevent his own obsolescence and decay (physically, financially, influentially).

Therein lies at least part of the core of the American Dream's suicide. At a point, there is no way to fly higher. If a balloon flies too high, it bursts. If a plane flies too high, it loses air to chop through. Icarus' wings melted and he plummeted to the sea. Perhaps this is what Solomon saw as the "vanity of vanities," the "mist of mist." He had achieved all and expanded thereof, and accrued a large harem and the financial wherewithal to drink heartily every day; yet still his heart was unsatisfied. This is the American Dream in practice. A man climbs the ranks of society, only to realize the only difference between here and there is the weight of worry and a distinct rarefaction to the air.

And in practice, I have seen (and experienced) too much of this dizzying realization. The work ethic required by the American Dream is immense. In fact, it has often driven me to the brink of sanity until I (either by my own observation, or more often, by the providential forces of physical disablement) had to cease striving and regain my footing on solid ground. Many people from older generations berate my generation for being lazy and entitled. I do not disagree, but I will qualify it by saying that those selfsame older generations (and the "generations" from centuries past) enabled our generation's laziness and entitlement. They have carved altars in the high places, and we are no longer charmed by the altitude. We grew up thinking that's all there was. And when we realize how futile and dangerous it would be to continue building upwards, we paralyze. The standard response of my generation is to cling to the status quo. My decidedly non-standard reaction is one of dread and atavism. I begin to realize that I must either be a mediocre jack-of-all-trades or a devoted servant of one trade. However, I also realize that there is absolutely nothing wrong with either.

So there's the American Dream. The American Dream is Icarus, bound on a perilous and unguided course for the sun, not realizing that the sun is untouchable and the pursuit is suicidal. The wings are melting and the only thing that can put the situation to rights is a fall. A long and also potentially mortal fall. Let us hope that as individuals (and, pray, even a whole culture) we return to the earth before the impact will be fatal.

- Jacob G.

This is in response to an article in the Baylor Lariat.

Adam Moore, adviser for the College of Arts and Sciences at Baylor, has started this initiative he calls the "Void collective". In his own words, it is "a place for those on the fringes of belief, a church that’s not a church, a truly open and non-evangelical space, a space that’s not dominated by any one person." The idea is a twist on Blaise Pascal's concept of the God-shaped hole within each man. Moore claims that, as man reaches closer to God, he realizes the growing immensity of the void. Thus the proper solution is always to continue questioning and expanding one's understanding of the void. He emphasizes that this is a "space," not a "church." They, in fact, will hold their first meeting at a bar.

I can't help but wonder what lies at the heart of this. I am reminded of the man on the bus in Lewis's The Great Divorce, who wants to ask all the questions but know no answers. He presumes that true scholasticism is in having all the questions, and expecting only a few of the answers. To borrow Chesterton's turn of phrase, he wants to get the heavens in his head (or perhaps, even this "void"). However, this is far from natural, far from orthodox, and far from healthy.

Just last night Dr. Foley explained Leo Strauss's three waves of modernity (stemming respectively from Machiavelli, Rousseau, and Nietzsche) in terms of Plato's cave. Machiavelli sought to close and improve the cave with technology. Rousseau destroyed any notion that life existed outside the cave, and that refuge could be found in the subhuman grottoes beneath the cave. Nietzsche realized that this whole system had collapsed on himself - all of mankind was in freefall into the void, and the only that could stop it was the violently powerful Uebermensch. Thus, much of Nietzsche's philosophy circled around the fatal courtship and control of nihilism - facing the void.

It seems like, far from finding a true and abiding faith, that Moore is seeking a fatal courtship with nihilism in the name of God. The Void initiative sought to remove all foundations (a church, a creed, a doctrine, a statement of faith) and hang the Void from a single skyhook: question. Skepticism is the presumed cure. It will be the match that shows us how large the void is, and that void is the God who swallowed us. How presumptuous! How insolent! This is the modern mistake. Man has no tradition, he has built his own system of belief (or, unbelief). He seeks to ask questions and find no answers. And he conceives that mysterious and forbidding abyss in which he is sinking is God. That is as sure a sign of perdition as any - calling the cave God.

To borrow more than a few pages from Chesterton, Christian faith is not radical because it seeks to "be more inclusive, open, and non-evangelical." I can assure you that many things in this world are "inclusive, open and non-evangelical" - frivolous sorority mixers, knitting circles, driving ranges, checkers games. No, the truly radical nature of Christianity is the audacity to claim itself as truth. Moore's hedging away from calling anything truth is the great modern cowardice - if we simply avoid truth, everyone will like us. Jesus did not call Himself a possibility; He is "the Way, the Truth, the Light - no one comes to the Father except through me." He is the Word made Flesh; He is of one being with the Father; He is Reason (logos).

What is the great miracle of Christ's salvation but that (rather than God consuming us in an ever-expanding void) Jesus' body and blood were given over to us? We, in fact, are not the benighted and small creatures slithering about blindly in the void that is God. In fact, God humbled Himself, made Himself small, and dwelt within us through the sacrifice of His Son and sending of His Holy Spirit.

So what will "seekers" find at the Void? Naturally - more of the Void. And less of God.

- Jacob G.

One of the most central virtues that has run as a scarlet thread through my life has been moderation or temperance. That is not to say that I have most often exemplified moderation, but that it has often been the measure against which I have gauged my actions and thoughts. I have often thought of Jesus as exemplifying moderation.

In the extreme political climate of 1st century A.D., polarization was common. Extreme loyalists adhered to the dominion and divinity of Caesar (who seized the title "Dominus et Deus"). Monotheistic zealots of all kinds (Jews, Zoroastrians, the Mithras cult, other mysery cults) opposed Rome's system of tribute as pluralism, defiance which was often punished as treason. Within the Jewish community, religious conservatives (such as the Sadducees) attempted to return Israel to communion with God by the literal interpretation of Mosaic law. The Pharisees took a less literal view of the Torah, but with no less stringent view of the Law.

All of these groups sought truth, and some of them also sought power. Christ, however, brought a unique spin to everything. Rather than identifying himself on a spectrum from Pharisee to Sadducee to Essene, Christ pointed out the fault in all these beliefs. At the core of all of these Jewish sects was a desire to return to God, but they had all suffered immoderation of belief. Christ walked a narrow path, drawing fire from Sadducees, Pharisees, and Romans equally.

Christ even pointed out immoderation in his disciples. Whenever the ever-zealous Peter arose to act on instinct (such as when he cut off the ear of the Roman soldier), Christ chastised him curtly. When James and John sought to sit in heaven at Jesus' side, he pointed out the silliness of it all. When Martha bustled in the kitchen to prepare a feast, Jesus criticized her focus on busyness.

Yet, it would be foolish to see Jesus as a mere moderate - a lukewarm average of emotions and temperaments. When it came to things that truly mattered, the divine virtue of love always trumped the cardinal virtue of temperance. When Peter proclaimed that Jesus was indeed the Son of God come to earth, Christ responded "Blessed are you Simon, son of Jonah!" When Martha's sister Mary threw herself at Christ's feet in adoration, he blessed her. When Christ saw his temple overrun with usurers and cheating businessmen, he stormed the place and upset tables. When a woman poured perfume costing a year's wages on Christ's feet and washed them with her hair, the disciples tried to call out Jesus on the immoderation of it all. And yet, Christ looked with pure love at this woman's immoderate devotion.

And it is no mistake of linguistics that the word "passion" is applied to Christ's crucifixion. When Jesus prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane and bloody sweat poured forth from his brow, I imagine that it was not the blood of stress and anxiety. The cup that Jesus asked the Father to take from him was, I imagine, the cup of passionate and fiery love. When he took that love on himself, it coursed through his veins. He so passionately desired to see deliverance brought to his creation that his body could hardly contain itself. At the crucifixion, the world's primal thirst for the blood of love was satisfied and saturated. Jesus' sacrifice was opposed to some reserved form of emotional moderation. His beliefs were moderate in the earthly polarities of politics and theology, yet he immoderately glutted himself on the Father's love.

And yet we remember that God can not be simplified into "love." That is a reduction of both God and love. "These three things abide: faith, hope, and charity. And the greatest of these is charity," writes Paul to the Corinthians. And yet there is no love (caritas) without faith or hope. Love without faith is juvenile and conditional; love without hope is transient and fleeting. Jesus hoped immoderately in the salvation of Israel; he believed immoderately in the guiding hand of his Father. And both of these were the necessary preconditions to the immoderate love that he spread on the earth.

- Jacob G.

OK, begin thought dump.

So here's my thoughts on what vibrato should be (lifted directly from Mr. Rudd). It always begins with a beautiful sound, and then either makes that sound more rich and beautiful or more intense and vibrant (and sometimes a little of both). And, according to my acoustics textbook, studies point to the fact that most people tend to find vibrato most pleasant when it occurs at about 7 Hz (i.e., 7 pulses per second).

First, a note to vocalists: If you use deep soloistic vibrato almost all the time in choir, you are wrong. It sounds terrible, destroys blend, affects intonation, and distorts vowels. I've found from my experience with choirs, many good soloists who have worked up their vibrato well and use and constantly usually have an inhibited ability to audiate pitch before singing it (and sometimes even match pitch). Some vocalists will claim that if you don't sing with vibrato, it will cause tension. In truth, I would argue that vibrato can only occur in an environment of relaxation and, thus, one can be relaxed without using vibrato. That's the way it is for every other instrument. And I can sing plenty relaxed with a pure tone.

Second, a note to violinists (and to some extent to other strings): The same goes for you. Due to the large number of overtones present in the string timbre, a mild vibrato can be beneficial for adding warmth to the sound. However, the second violin part of a Wagner overture is not a Wieniawski concerto.

Third, a note to flutes: Stop tuning with vibrato. This is not a science lab; you can't just tune the average, or you'll be having to lip/roll in part of the way if your vibrato gets off center. Sure, it's fundamental to learn how to execute vibrato, but it does absolutely no good if a flute section can't pick a pitch.

Fourth, a note to all teachers: Vibrato is a tool, not part of the sound. Some instruments can get away with using a lot of vibrato, but what happens when you're playing a 20th-century piece with those magic little letters N.V. written right there? What happens when you're singing an Eric Whitacre piece or an early Baroque solo madrigal? If you can't remove vibrato from your tone, then your tone is the problem. Fix it.

Fifth, a note to saxophonists: I'm really jealous of you. Your vibrato is so natural and vocal. It just sucks that there are only, like, five pieces in your repertoire that don't sound like they were written during a drug-induced reading of Harmonilehre. Oh, well.

- Jacob G.

G. K. Chesterton contrasted the icons of Christianity with those of Eastern religions (particularly Hinduism and Buddhism). He states that while the Eastern religious figures often show deep introspection - closed eyes, detachment from the noise of the world - the Christian figures are wide-eyed and vibrant. There is a nearly violent intensity in their figures. In a sense, that is how Christians should react to the Resurrection. We should shout and scream. We should leap up to share in just a drop of Christ's resurrection. Even though he wasn't a Christian, Christopher Marlowe understood this; his Faustus rightly desires to "leap up to my God," knowing that just a drop of the blood streaming in the firmament would save him.

The chains of the enemy are designed for restraining the subdued; they cannot contain the violent force of life (perhaps not unlike Gandhi's conception of satyāgraha - truth-force) inherent in the Christian. The sensuous, ecstatic music of Olivier Messiaen is not sultry for its own sake. Its vibrant and frenetic energy (often inspired by wild birdsongs) finds its source in Christ.

We as Christians ought to be compelled to leap fully into the joy and ecstasy of Christ. The great sin of despair effects the same payload as a strong sedative. Pain (and all sensation, for that matter) is dulled, motivation sapped, strength robbed, sleep imminent, and the battle always feels lost. It is no mistake that sleep is a euphemism for death. But the antidote is simple: to jump to one's feet and dance until the adrenaline and sweat replace the sleeping pills and despair. (NB: That is NOT actual medical device. I'm just a sucker for metaphors. :-) Turn on the lights! Among the first of Christian hymns still sung in the Vesper hour begins, "O gladsome [or even "cheerful"] light!"

The great lie of our age is the necessity for industriousness [read: striving after the wind]. Yet, the joyful energy found in the Resurrection is greater than self-indulgent and self-defeating industriousness (which Pieper, via Aquinas, connects closely to sloth or acedia). The gifts of God so often feel so little like work that it can leave one in doubt. To be sure, many things God calls us to do are humanly difficult or impossible; yet, through the working of the Holy Spirit, all such inability tends to fade away.

Yet the chains of depression always try to return. The clouds descend, the dense and choking fog, and all bearings are lost. It can feel impossible to be out of it. Remember, though: even if there is fog, even thick clouds, even eclipse or plumes of smoke, the sun never ceases to shine. One may have to jump and fly past the clouds, or the smoke, or even the moon. But vale la pena. It's worth the pain. Resurrection is still at hand - in the sacraments and in the world. The kingdom of heaven is at hand. One day there will be no eclipses or clouds or smoke. All the world will behold the gladsome, cheerful light. Allelu Yah!

- Jacob G.

NB: The word "regard" is in reference to Olivier Messiaen's Vingt regards sur l'enfant-Jésus.

I had a thought during church the other day. We often celebrate Christmas as the festival of Christ's birth in reference to salvation. But a deeper (but just as relevant) aspect of the Incarnation of Christ came to me as this:

Christ embodies everything that is right, true, noble, and lovely about His own Creation.

In that case, the birth of Christ isn't merely our freedom from eternal suffering and celebration from God. That perfect Infant was the first unsullied Creation since the Fall of Man. Thus, he is the first vanguard of the new work of Creation, wherein the current world will fade away to the glory of what it truly was to be in the first place. I wish I had a word for it; calling it "the new earth" is much less poetic than Tolkien's term in the Elvish mythology of Aman, the Blessed Realm, the one unsullied part of Middle Earth.

Christ, however, was still born of woman and lived in the same flesh that Adam and Eve had stained with sin. His death and resurrection is a new birth - a birth of a body that is so uncannily like our own that the disciples feared and recoiled at his sudden reappearance. Yet, his body seemed otherworldly - he appeared and disappeared beyond what the eye could see - and the disciples could barely record in the Gospels the true nature of that otherness. Perhaps it was that Christ's new body was the absolute best of Creation, finally conjoined in one body. Perhaps it was even that Christ's new aspect is that of the New Earth.

No matter, that colors how we as Christians celebrate our year. Advent is not merely the symbolic remembrance of the weeks following up to Christ's birth. We now participate in the vigil of the terrifying and glorious Second Coming of Christ. At Christmas, we remember how Christ's first Incarnation was the pinnacle of creation. At Easter, we remember Christ's Resurrection, and that it was a strange and indescribable glance at the World To Come, at the fulfillment of Creation as it always was to be.

And every year the mighty waves swell higher until the fulfillment of God's work comes crashing down on the earth and reconstitutes His Vision.

Since graduating high school, I have had the intriguing experience of meeting up (either in real life, or the fake life that is Facebook) with people I have or have not seen (or not even known that well) in quite a while. A few times I have been "friended" by people whom I remembered vaguely or who varied so greatly from my memory of their aspect or appearance that it required a perusal of my old yearbooks to remember how I knew them. The interesting things I have found are how they stay the same and how they change.

When a person resembles someone else in a surprising way, we call it "uncanny." The German word that closely translates that is unheimlich which has the same meaning, but a different connotation. It literally means "un-home-like" (or something like that) and implies that not only is something surprising, but fundamentally disturbing. Think of meeting your own Doppelgänger. The way I see it, people can change in very positive ways, so that when you meet them later their resemblance to their former selves is uncanny (that is, they uncannily resemble the best of their former selves). Some people, however, change in ways that seem not so positive, so that their resemblance to your memory of them is </strong>unheimlich</strong> (that is, they "un-home-like-ly" resemble their former selves, but have changed drastically).

I have learned it is impossible to tell who will become what. Sometimes you meet people you worried about - thought they may fall into a bad lifestyle, or throw away their talent, or come to an identity crisis, or end up in jail - and you're glad to see that none of that came to pass. Sometimes you meet or hear about people who you thought had it all together and were headed to great things, only to find out they have lost their direction.

Even more personally, I must reflect on this and wonder where I fall. Not that I feel concerned about how others perceive me, but rather I'm concerned with if I have fundamentally changed and whether this change is for the better or for the worst. The beautiful thing about college is that it's a time to become your own person - choose your career path, solidify your personality and way of relating to people, come to grips with God (or shun Him). However, a constant healthy dread must balance us students on the tenuous border of becoming our true self or surrendering to nihilism. It's like skiing steep runs or moguls: you can nervously and cautiously approach the run and tumble skis over head, or you can go for it and trust your edges.

So have I changed? For the peace sake, don't answer that question. But it'll be interesting to think about in the next five, ten, twenty, thirty years. Who knows where we'll all be?

- Jacob G.

music: Sanctuary - Frank Ticheli