Syllabus

Cynthia Glass – Syllabus

Fully Alive: the Joint MAT TA Thesis projects of Cynthia Glass and Stefan Robinson

**Note: along with the stimulating discussion, Stefan Robinson’s portion on the 29th at Knox will also feature a curated art show and tasty refreshments.

For a helpful map to both of the above locations, click here. We hope to see you there!

Indiscriminate Act of Kindness

Indiscriminate Act Of Kindness, by Foy Vance

She came from the cold wet
Dropped her luggage bags
Looked the concierge in the eye
Said, “I need a room for the night,
But I don’t got no money.
Would you take payment of any kind?”

He said, “It’s alright
I got a room here, you can share mine.
Make the bed in the morning and that’ll do fine.
You can change in the bathroom,
Hang your clothes on the line.”
A tear came to her eye
She thought how could he be so kind
How could he be so kind (x2)

She sat down on the bed with a needle
He said, “I’d hate to see you bleed,
Just fetch a warm towel,
I’ll sit with you til you’re dry.”
She started to cry
Said, “Why? why? why? why? why? why?”

Consider it an indiscriminate act of kindness.
(x3)

She was cold turkey
He was holding her hand
She said, “I was ruined by man,
This was never in my plans.
I dreamed of men who loved me,
Together we’d see the world.
Somehow I lost myself among the insults they hurled.”

“I’m sure your a wonderful woman,
And someday there will surely be someone.
So just relax now, it’s important that you’re calm.”

She said, “How is it you can see past me as I am?”

Consider it an indiscriminate act of kindness.
(x3)

“When you took your chances,
It was like you placed a bet.
And sometimes this is the reward you can get.
I was always taught
If you see someone defiled,
You should look them in the eyes and smile,
And take their heart, no better yet
Take them home, home, home.”

She awoke early in the morning
Made the bed, gathered up her clothes to leave
Saw the concierge curled on the settee
Said, “What you did for me was hard for me to believe.”

“I was just doing what was right.
No one that knows love could leave you out there on such a night.
If you can help someone,
Bare this in mind
And consider it an indiscriminate act of kindness.”

Consider it an indiscriminate act of kindness.

“Look Out” by Wendell Berry

I’ve had this poem open in a browser tab since finals week, and today I finally read it.

Come to the window, look out, and see
the valley turning green in remembrance
of all springs past and to come, the woods
perfecting with immortal patience
the leaves that are the work of all of time,
the sycamore whose white limbs shed
the history of a man’s life with their old bark,
the river quivering under the morning’s breath
like the touched skin of a horse, and you will see
also the shadow cast upon it by fire, the war
that lights its way by burning the earth.

Come to your windows, people of the world,
look out at whatever you see wherever you are,
and you will see dancing upon it that shadow.
You will see that your place, wherever it is,
your house, your garden, your shop, your forest, your farm,
bears the shadow of its destruction by war
which is the economy of greed which is plunder
which is the economy of wrath which is fire.
The Lords of War sell the earth to buy fire,
they sell the water and air of life to buy fire.
They are little men grown great by willingness
to drive whatever exists into its perfect absence.
Their intention to destroy any place is solidly founded
upon their willingness to destroy every place.

Every household of the world is at their mercy,
the households of the farmer and the otter and the owl
are at their mercy. They have no mercy.
Having hate, they can have no mercy.
Their greed is the hatred of mercy.
Their pockets jingle with the small change of the poor.
Their power is the willingness to destroy
everything for knowledge which is money
which is power which is victory
which is ashes sown by the wind.

Leave your windows and go out, people of the world,
go into the streets, go into the fields, go into the woods
and along the streams. Go together, go alone.
Say no to the Lords of War which is Money
which is Fire. Say no by saying yes
to the air, to the earth, to the trees,
yes to the grasses, to the rivers, to the birds
and the animals and every living thing, yes
to the small houses, yes to the children. Yes.

Forever is a place

Last Saturday, I found Forever.

My friend Michael lives in a house with five other guys, and that night was his birthday, which they honored with food, beer and many, many people. Throughout the ebb and flow of conversation stacked upon conversation I think Forever was close by even then, because the six hours I was there surly did not feel equal in length to the better part of a workday. Time had already softened.

But then, a little after two, it truly came and rested on the eaves. Why is it always the small hours that the boundaries between this world and the next grow pale and whispy? When we wake we are full of vigor and systems, but at night, the honesty of food and wine bring us back once more to the place of expectance. All others had gone home or capitulated to sleep, but there were still six trusty pilgrim well-wishers left on the porch in the glow of the night. I sat on the left with Sam, Matt and Laura, while Michael showed Luke a new guitar riff he had created as Luke improvised over the top. Tapped out from the rush of people earlier in the evening, conversation was sparse, contemplative yet light as sentences rose from our mouths like birds.

Then there, in the next moment was Forever, looking intently on from afar as it she had been patiently waiting all night to be seen. She stood up slowly but made no move to come closer, revealing herself shyly… a bird unfurling its wings. Time seemed to shift, the second hand skip a few ticks as life itself was held suspended above the earth and a new truthly Life took its place The black night around me stopped.

***

Then someone shifted and the guitars fell still, and the place of Forever that had descended was gone. Clocks silently snicked back into motion and the night continued on, but as I walked back to my car, a voicely whisper lingered in the air behind me. Don’t worry, it said.

I’ll be back soon.

Abner, we’re famous!

…well, not really. But my wonderful director from Godspell read my blog and cross-posted it to the website for The ATree Productions (Newport Mesa’s drama ministry) under the Godspell tab.

Check them out. And if you live in Orange County, consider auditioning for their next show, Fiddler on the Roof!

We can build a beautiful city.

Today, after much anticipation, I received proofs of photos from a musical I was in during the last weekend of March this year. Beginning in January, I had the opportunity to be a part of the inaugural production of the drama ministry at Newport Mesa Church in Orange County. We did Godspell, the 1970s Stephen Schwartz (broadway) musical adaptation of the Gospel of Matthew.

We were in rehearsal 11 hours a week, and I was late 2/4 rehearsals a week because they started at 7 in Orange County and school in Pasadena didn’t get over till 6–which is, quite simply, a recipe for disaster. Thank God for long-suffering directors. In addition to the commute, I was taking a full load of classes and worked 24 hrs/week. Life was crazy.

But I would not trade that quarter for anything in the world.

To be a part of this beginning, to help figure out what a drama ministry could look like at this church (and prove why they needed it at all), to stand alongside the other cast members and production staff as they dodged the landmines and negotiated the obstacles inherent in birthing this unwieldy yet beautiful child was as extraordinary as it was rewarding. I will always think back on Tyler Choi, Kim Piszczek Jones, Aaron Al-Imam, Aubri Siebert and Jessica Rowley as incredible examples of gracefully balancing excellence with participation, and of giving themselves in service to each other and the vision they shared.

I know it was not perfect. I know sometimes tempers got heated. Sometimes frustrations got the better. Sometimes politics got exhausting. But in the end, blood was never left bad for long, people were reconciled and problems solved. We learned, we grew, and we loved. And that, right there, is what being in Christian community looks like. Not demanding perfection–but striving for it even as we give and forgive when things fall down.

We were amateurs. Some of us had musical or dramatic training, and some of us sang in the church choir and were game to try something new. We all could not really dance. But in the hands of directors who knew how to play the strengths of their cast as they also spurred us on to do things we’d never done before, it did not matter. I found myself thinking I would rather perform with this group of people every day of the week and twice on Sundays than most of the talented-yet-entitled people I attended music school with. And the result? Four great performances of a tightly-run, high quality good-looking show that blew past everyone’s expectations.

The photos speak for themselves. Take a look here–all taken by Jason Jones, photographer extraordinaire! (Check out his website, too.)