Winter Issue 4
Goodbye to Regent
Seriously Dangerous Reflections
By Joel Butcher
One of my regrets as I leave Regent this week, in addition to never taking a class with Bruce Hindmarsh and only discovering AJ’s hot chocolates this month, is that I never submitted anything to Et Cetera. I thought I would change that now, although this may be just a means of procrastinating writing my thesis which, given the fact that I’ve bought approximately 1 coffee per 100 words written, has proved an expensive endeavour. (My normal procrastination method involves eating day-old muffins and/or visiting Pizza Garden, but I’m getting pains in my chest that suggest I need to cut back slightly.)
As my Regent experience ends shortly and I go home to live rent-free with my parents and lounge about watching cricket, I wanted to share a few of my favourite things/memories:
1. Claire Perini. In my opinion, she’s the best thing about Regent (plus Pat Guthrie’s scones), to such an extent that if she ever leaves I feel that the Regent board should say, “Well, we’ve had a good run these 50 years, but let’s close things down now.”
2. The multiple students who have identified the communal tables in the library as the perfect location to clip their fingernails. Whilst the frequent clipping noise was slightly off-putting as I tried to write about final judgement, I now admire their audacity. Also, a shout-out to the man last month who snored very loudly for a while next to the rare books.
3. The dirty dungeon. I’m going to miss you and your $7 Chinese food very much.
4. I decided in my first two years that I was too busy to go to chapel. Jesus wouldn’t have taken a break from sentence-diagramming 1 Peter to pray and worship in community, I imagined. Thankfully, I’ve started going to chapel the last few months, and I feel very silly for giving it a miss for so long. In November, I’d been really struggling to understand some apocalyptic text I was interpreting, and then heard a Chinese woman in chapel share about confessing Jesus as Lord in her context, and suddenly this text came alive to me. If anyone knows who she is, let me know and I can put her in my bibliography.
5. Thankfully, I’ve been part of a soup group from the start. Every week, I don’t really want to turn up, especially as Champions League games tend to be during that time. Every week, as I talk and pray with a small yet diverse group of Jesus’ followers, I am thankful I turned up.
6. Darrell Johnson once said in a Soul of Ministry class that we could do all this studying at Regent, learn all these lofty and complicated things, and yet miss Jesus. Triggered by this challenge, a few of us have started to pray together at Regent throughout the week. This has helped tremendously with integrating my head and my heart, and will serve me well as I seek to become a failed academic. After two years of avoiding praying at Regent, I’m glad I discovered it. Would recommend.
7. Finally, Pat Guthrie’s scones (I decided they deserve their own category). If you’re undecided about taking one of George’s classes, then these scones should tip the scales.
Cheers.
An Unlikely Pair
By Erica Bowler
Old Simeon knew a secret, which meant
That he wore a large grin wherever he went:
God had told him he’d live to see
The Saviour who would set them free!
Redeemer, prophet, priest and king,
a son and servant who would bring
good governance, and peace for men,
a nation right with God again.
He grew more excited with every new year,
He accepted his wrinkles with trust and good cheer,
His limbs lost their strength, his features grew lined,
His eyes clouded over ‘til he was half blind.
Simeon aged and grew deaf as a post,
deaf to all sound save the Holy Ghost.
One day, when he was eating his kippers,
sipping his tea while wearing his slippers,
The Spirit whispered in his ear,
“The day has come, the Christ is here!”
Simeon’s heart leapt in his chest -
He left his home not fully dressed
His nightgown billowed as he rushed
His eyes were bright, his face was flushed,
His socks were off, his head was bare
But Simeon simply did not care!
“Where is he, Lord, where is he? Where?”
The temple steps were quite a climb
But he took the stairs two at a time
He scanned the men inside the court
Some were tall; others, short.
What manner of man would the Christ be?
Which of them was it? Which one was he?
Simeon stopped and started to pray
Then suddenly, three men walked in his way.
The first one was a wealthy lord,
with velvet robes and bags of gold.
A kingly hat perched on his head.
“He’s not the one,” the Spirit said.
The second was in the prime of his life
He was strong, and tall, and carried a knife,
(A weapon that he had managed to hide).
Simeon’s eyes popped and went wide.
This man might conquer their Romanic foe.
“Is it him, Lord God?” But the Spirit said “No.”
The third was a priest full of piety,
Who behaved with utmost propriety
“Not he,” said the Spirit, “but look over there.”
Two people had reached the top of the stair.
A husband and wife, rustic and tanned.
The man had two pigeons clutched in his hand.
They had come from the country, through fields and farms,
To buy back the son that they held in their arms.
Simeon stared at the little child,
Who gurgled at him, and squirmed and smiled.
“That’s him,” breathed the Spirit’s voice.
Simeon shrieked and began to rejoice!
Throughout the courts his cries were heard:
“Good Lord, you have kept your word!”
The old man’s tears would not cease.
“Now, Yahweh, I can die in peace
For I have seen how you will save
your people, though our sins are grave:
A light that can be seen for miles,
A light for pagans and gentiles -
A light that shall draw them near!
The glory of your people here!”
Old Simeon blessed Joseph and Mary,
Then he told the mother something scary:
“The child in your arms, this little boy
brings rising, falling, pain and joy.
The suffering will take its toll:
A sword will pierce your very soul.”
Before the shock could settle in
A lady with a knobbly chin
Came at them with alarming speed.
She flung her arms out and decreed:
“It’s him! The one we’ve waited for!”
This widow, who was eighty-four,
had lived in the temple for years and years,
through triumphs and trials, treasures and tears.
She worshipped God both night and day -
She loved to fast and praise and pray.
This woman, known as ‘Prophet Anna,’
Praised and shouted out “Hosannah!”
Then, facing a priest with a Torah,
She hitched up her dress and danced the hora!
She whirled and she twirled – her arms were a whirr!
She kicked and she hopped – her feet were a blur!
Simeon smiled and started to hum:
“Hava Nagila, tiddly pum pum!”
The people around sneered and laughed
“She’s batty! She’s balmy! Old Anna’s gone daft!”
“Batty?” She asked, “Balmy, you say?
I didn’t miss the Messiah today!
Get moving! You might catch him – quick!”
She whacked one with her walking stick.
Simeon also shared what he learned
But, save one or two, the rest of them turned
to their business and gossip, their trade and routine,
Too busy to seek what Simeon had seen.
Simeon grieved for the deaf and the blind.
“Perhaps,” he said, “they’ll change their mind.”
Then he invited Anna home for a feast.
They sang joyful songs and dined on roast beef
Then they made even more room on their plates
for hummus and challah, and halva and dates!
That night, happy Simeon died in mid snore.
He had seen the one he had waited for.
Sandman Stories
From Débora Silva Raimundo
I woke up, went to the washroom and, still half asleep, opened a door. It was the door of my locker, and I found myself at Regent… in my pajamas! “Good morning,” someone told me in a hurry, entering the office. Confused, I asked “What are you doing here? So early, I mean. Wait! What am I doing here? Do I live here?” But no one was there anymore. Already dressed, I entered into the library carrying a big, big bottle of milk, only to let it fall on the carpet at the entrance, making a gigantic white splash on the floor. Cindy rushed in my direction, really upset (like you have never seen her): “What were you thinking, bringing that here?” “You don’t understand!” Embarrassed, I tried to justify my rowdy behavior, “I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know… I… I… I don’t even drink milk!”
Then, I woke up.
Send in your own crazy dream experience to etcetera@regent-college.edu
Winter Evening Ritual
By Jolene Nolte
Wander the neighbourhood, and note
the beads clinging to leaf tips, glistening
in streetlamp-light. Feel cold air pressing
your face in the thick dark, passing
through your coat, through even the skin’s
membrane—a chilling bloom
entering the thighs quietly, exponentially
until it envelopes even your femur.
Strange, the cure for permeating
cold: Submerge hands and forearms
in hot dishwater. Let its bubbling
warmth pervade invisibly, from arms
to core to thighs to toes. Lay dishes
to dry and cast the day’s chill words
aside like so many stones.
This poem is part of Jolene's IPIAT, Tender Sieve, a book-length poetry collection. Mark your calendars for Thursday, February 27, 7:30 pm in the atrium to hear more original poems and some thoughts about how poetry (and Kierkegaard) can help us think about what it means to be human.