Winter Issue 12
Thus says Yahweh: In this place of which you say, ‘It is waste without people or animals,’ in the towns of Judah and the streets of Jerusalem that are desolate, without inhabitants, there shall once more be heard the voice of mirth and the voice of gladness, the voice of the bridegroom and the voice of the bride, the voices of those who sing, as they bring thank offerings to the house of Yahweh: ‘Give thanks to Yahweh of hosts, for Yahweh is good, for his steadfast love endures forever!’ Jeremiah 33:10-11
From the Editor’s Desk
On Abundance in the Midst of Scarcity
By Steven Gomez
When I agreed to become editor of the Et Cetera, I knew only two things: that I would be writing an article introducing myself in September, and that I would be writing another one to close things off in April. What would happen in between was a complete mystery.
I had no idea that by the time I got around to the deadline for this last issue that things would be as surreal. It’s the end of term and another academic year. A time when things wind down even as pressure mounts, a time of cleaning out lockers, a time of saying goodbye.
Except all of that happened a month ago, so the end of term feels like something hypothetical, something that’s only happening in theory or in some kind of delayed reaction. We’re supposed to be saying goodbye, but travel plans are disrupted, convocation is put off, and thanks to assignment extensions for some of us the term is lingering longer than usual. The time is out of joint. Normality is scarce.
I’m trying to say something eloquent, something memorable, something that closes off these twenty-four issues of the Et Cetera with a bang. A proper goodbye to the year and to the students and faculty who will be leaving our community and going on to new things. I was even trying to write something beautiful about Easter hope. But nothing’s coming, or rather what is coming feels like static. The right words—like everything else, including proper goodbyes—are scarce.
Then I remembered that, here at least, I’m an editor. It’s not my job to write things when I can get other people to write them. And as I look over the words that all of you have written over the past seven and a half months, I realize that eloquence is already here. You have kept me laughing, kept me thinking, kept me praying not only through the current tough times but also throughout the year. And now your words—especially in poetry—have written Easter eloquence for me; images and lines that resurrect faith and carry me into the ability to know something of what this season means. I have abundance in the midst of scarcity.
One of the small pleasures I’ve had as editor in this last little while is the chance to talk to one of my predecessors. Pete Santucci is not only a former student but also a former editor of the Et Cetera. He is, in fact, the editor who made the Et Cetera that we know and love today. In our email conversation I asked him about that and he gave me permission to share the story. You can find it below.
It’s been an honour to carry on the tradition of this little student paper. I hope in some way you’ve managed to find in it a sense of continued community these days. I hope you manage to find Easter somewhere in it this week, as I have. Thank you for reading it. Thank you for writing it.
We’ll see each other in the fall. Or at least I want to. I want to see our building again and struggle with the mailroom printers again and wander through the bookstore and sit in the library pretending to get work done—and hug everybody. But these days are not in our hands. Still, the One who does hold them has promised us abundance, even in our scarcity, and I trust that when we do see each other again, whatever the season it will taste a little bit like spring.
How the Et Cetera Came to Be
By Pete Santucci
Before I edited the Regent paper, doing so for two years, it was called The Page. It had originally been just a single page, printed front and back. But it had become a two-page weekly that was stapled. It had never been edited by a journalist or designed by anyone with any design experience. I brought both of those skills and revamped the whole thing. It was a stretch at first, but I made it a six-page paper since I wanted to move from 8.5x11 pages to a folded 11x17 paper with four pages on it. And having liked the Sporting Green of the San Francisco Chronicle, I put all of the announcements and classified ads together on what I called The Green Sheet. It was an immediate improvement and approved of by everyone but one person: Rita Houston. She hated the name I gave to it, wanting to go back to the name of the very first Regent paper which was something along the lines of Family Matters. She also thought a more professional look was a move away from the family feel it’d had before. Alas. But who was I to argue with the venerable, spit-fire Rita!
As far as where the name came from, while I was editing it, Et Cetera had a tag line under the title. I’m not remembering exactly what it said, but the gist was that it was an all-encompassing forum for the Regent community. It included all of the “et cetera” of the community. And it did. Some of my favorite editions included a left-handed edition on April 1 where the fold was on the right instead of on the left and its pages were organized in the reverse order like Hebrew. Another issue had a hand-written front page. That took me a long time to do! But it was worth it. I also did a joke issue just for Monty. He’d written a song called Peniel and played it in chapel. Everyone loved it asked for it to be printed in Et Cetera. I did so and included the Peniel passage where Jacob wrestled the angel. But in a special edition just for Monty, I put the Peniel passage from Judges 8 where the Peniel tower is pulled down and the men killed. He did an appropriate “Oh no!” But had a suspicion I was trying to pull one over on him. Another issue included a spoof of Regent’s Crux journal. The spoof had some great faux scholarly articles and the issue was called Flux.
What I liked about the Et Cetera name was its lack of pretension. Too many seminaries have lofty paper names. Regent is the unseminary. We are for all people. We try to do things well while remaining humble. A name like Et Cetera suggests that there’s room in it for just about anything AND that we don’t take ourselves too seriously. I hope any other name maintains that posture. But here’s the real story about the name: I needed to get the first issue out quickly, because Lai, the student president, wanted an issue out just for the incoming students. I was so busy getting all of the info gathered and the articles written that I didn’t have much time to come up with a name. The only thing I could think of was Et Cetera. And somehow it’s stuck for the last 25 years.
La Corona (IV)
By John Donne
This sequence of seven sonnets by John Donne on the life of Christ was sent to Mrs. Magdalen Herbert (the mother of poet-priest George Herbert) in July 1607. Each sonnet is linked by their first and last lines, and the last line of the last sonnet brings us back to the first line of the first sonnet, creating an unbroken circular pattern. ‘Corona’ in Latin means ‘crown’ or ‘wreath’. See Winter Issues 9 , 10 , and 11 for the previous sonnets.
VI. Resurrection
Moist with one drop of Thy blood, my dry soul
Shall—though she now be in extreme degree
Too stony hard, and yet too fleshly—be
Freed by that drop, from being starved, hard or foul,
And life by this death abled shall control
Death, whom Thy death slew ; nor shall to me
Fear of first or last death bring misery,
If in thy life-book my name thou enroll.
Flesh in that long sleep is not putrified,
But made that there, of which, and for which it was ;
Nor can by other means be glorified.
May then sin's sleep and death soon from me pass,
That waked from both, I again risen may
Salute the last and everlasting day.
VII. Ascension
Salute the last and everlasting day,
Joy at th' uprising of this Sun, and Son,
Ye whose true tears, or tribulation
Have purely wash'd, or burnt your drossy clay.
Behold, the Highest, parting hence away,
Lightens the dark clouds, which He treads upon ;
Nor doth He by ascending show alone,
But first He, and He first enters the way.
O strong Ram, which hast batter'd heaven for me !
Mild Lamb, which with Thy Blood hast mark'd the path !
Bright Torch, which shinest, that I the way may see !
O, with Thy own Blood quench Thy own just wrath ;
And if Thy Holy Spirit my Muse did raise,
Deign at my hands this crown of prayer and praise.
Declarations at the Border
By Abigail Stocker
Four times a week, a border guard asks me: Where are you going? Do you have anything to declare?
Three years ago, I was starting to implode, fragile from adulting and church nomadism and the existential angst I’d been dragging around. I applied to Regent. I wanted community and answers. To start new.
So I told God: I AM SO SICK OF THIS, HOW ABOUT I GO TO VANCOUVER, WE ALL KNOW THAT CANADA IS BETTER ANYWAY, EH?
And God answered: What are you running away from?
Me: I just want community and Regent does it basically perfectly so how about I go there?
God: Here’s a wonderful local church in Bellingham. Cling to it. Work out your faith there.
Me: Why. So messy.
God: Don’t run. Be where you are. I know you know how to embrace an academic community. Don’t idealize that either. But also Abby—those things that draw you to Regent are such good things. You’re going to love it there. How about both?
So I have gotten good at driving. I have scoured my car of fresh fruit and suspicious items and anything worth more than $10,000 CAD. I have gotten a Nexus card. And every time I journey to Regent, I answer twice—once to, once from—if I have anything to declare. Sometimes I have packages, or Trader Joe’s, or ketchup chips. But usually, I say, “Just myself.”
It has taken many semesters for loving two communities to become a creative tension, a dance, rather than primarily an exhaustion. But the border reminds me: You are on a tiny journey every time you drive. Your heart is in both places, Bellingham and Vancouver, and do you have anything to declare?
Usually, I am not transporting anything. Just myself.
And still they ask: Do you have anything to declare?
Yet, bringing myself across the border, I do declare: Of course singleness of heart is compelling, but the Christian life is also a call to live out of a both/and that is anything but cliche.
I declare: The local church is alive and well and proclaiming the gospel of Jesus, and it is vital for me to be in the one where I am called; it matters that they are part of my education in who God is and how I am to live.
I declare: Even in the West, even in America, the gospel is shining light, and we are learning to walk in that truth.
I also declare: Regent is good, and I love Vancouver. And God is teaching me to be keenly thankful for every mountain view and community meal and theology/poetry/history/education/integration conversation I have.
I declare: Every time I am in Vancouver I will wish that my people in Bellingham were with me and when in Bellingham I will miss those in Vancouver, and I no longer expect this tension to resolve. Someday we will all be praising God as the Church together, in the same place, and until then, this space-between is a place for dancing, despite the weight of carrying communities that the world sees as disparate and separate.
I declare: God asks us to sacrifice, and he is also so generous. He gives us more than we ask him for, even when that is more than we think we can handle.
I declare: God is good, over and over. (Why am I still sometimes surprised?) Life is so hard, and life is so good. And on the border between these truths I will keep dancing, an ongoing ceilidh with my people though we are flung far over this globe, declaring that we are journeying and already home, we are refugees and citizens of the kingdom, we have nothing and everything to declare and everywhere and only here to be.
(Note: I wrote this some weeks ago, before the border closed and Regent moved online. These declarations are still true, but I declare them now by staying where I am. Whether you're still in Vancouver or have ventured elsewhere, reader, what do you declare by your presence—your life—where you are?)
Serving on the Front Lines in Response to COVID-19
By Peter Cheung
In the past, my submissions would be a script or a poem. Today, I am writing to share about my experience on the frontlines AND call for volunteers. I am writing to you as your fellow classmate, an alumnus and the community ministries director of Boundless Vancouver.
Boundless Vancouver is a Salvation Army ministry here in the heart of Vancouver. Depending on your ecclesiology, we could be a church, or a parachurch. For now, let’s set that aside. All I want to say is what I have learned from professor Don Lewis’ History of Christian Missions class this term about the Salvation Army is truly embodied here: for the sake of the Gospel, proclaimed by both word and deed, by any Biblical means necessary. During these times, our food programs are getting more and more demands from our neighbours. It is also how we qualify as an essential service when church sites around the world are closed. So, my invitation is to come and see.
Truth to be told, as much as I value my education from my MDiv, living it out on the frontlines is stretching it to another level. One thing that rings true to me again and again is what I learned from professor Paul Steven’s classes: Jesus is the hope that people need, today. To be honest, even though I could confidently say that God has been preparing me for what I do now, I feel the weight of the challenge ahead of us, especially as we upscale our services to more and more neighbours. Feels a bit like Moses. So if you cannot risk coming out to help for whatever reasons, which is completely ok, may I ask you to please pray for me and my team here?
Wanna help? I want to welcome you and others who feel called to help giving hope today. Boundless Vancouver is currently looking for volunteers to help with 1) intaking food supplies at our site in Vancouver (3213 Fraser Street), 2) sorting and preparing food packages, 3) delivering food packages to families in need in the city. Of course, all within the boundaries of social distancing. For more information or to sign-up, please contact me at peter@boundlessvancouver.ca
Lastly, I also want to give a shout out to Joshua Carothers for helping with deliveries last Wednesday! And thank you Steven for bringing us the RCSA Et Cetera!
Three Poems
By Blythe Kingcroft
These poems are from Blythe Kingcroft's IPIAT chapbook, "Lapis Lazuli" (2020). Blythe's poems playfully explore the colour blue, Augustinian language theory, and sacramental theology.
Mountain
Bright cloud,
I am the bride of my unknowing of you.
A listening skin,
breathed bones.
I clunk at my own saying.
To be sure
I did not recognize you,
luminous as the blue edge of what I see.
But be near.
See, I have set the table for you.
I have poured you a glass of water. I am
preparing a place for you preparing
a place for me.
Come,
I have built you a shelter.
The World Teems
Seagulls are strewn like laundry
over Gore Avenue.
They flop in the wind, madly,
and wobble after scraps.
Sometimes it is 4pm and winter,
their skied bellies licked pink
by the hour.
On the sidewalk, day-old
puddles greet each other
as businessmen splash by.
Above, wings pitch into dusk.
Lake Como on Film
Piles of mountain flood the lake.
You are on one, looking down.
From here, you take a picture,
haphazard snap: sea-green hills,
a small boat’s trail, sky like curdled milk.
Down below, a tide too faint to notice.
It splashes against travellers,
blueing their dangling shins.
When you finally print the image
at a London Drugs, you see the way
the bright lake leaks into landscape,
giving itself to the world.
Fifty People You Can Meet While Social Distancing
By Hilary Guth
Did you know that one of Regent’s graduates has written for the Star Wars Expanded Universe? Or that “Regent College Podcast” was preceded by (the considerably less official) “Hashtag Atrium”? Have you heard which professor’s ice cream preferences played a major role in a student’s decision to study here? What about the story of how J. I. Packer inadvertently out-pranked his students one April Fools’ Day?
If you answered “no” to any of these questions, I’d like to introduce you to some new friends.
Last June, Regent’s Alumni and Advancement team launched the 50/50 Alumni Project. (Tag line: 50 years, 50 grads, 100% Regent. Clever, right? We crack ourselves up sometimes.) The plan was to count down the weeks to Regent’s 50th Anniversary Reunion by introducing one grad to represent each year from 1971 to 2020.
Then COVID-19 happened, and it became clear that a gathering of 700 people from six continents was not exactly the most public-health-friendly of activities. The reunion has been rescheduled for 2021—I’m personally hoping we can use the intervening year to recruit attendees from seven continents (come on, Antarctica!)—but the 50/50 Alumni Project marches bravely on. Because Regent grads are just that awesome.
Some of the stories our alumni shared have turned out to be unexpectedly relevant to current events. Our grad representing 1985, for example, is an epidemiologist (shout out to Kathlyn Ronaldson!). This week we’re featuring Hannah Coyne for the class of 2011. She’s a palliative care chaplain, and to say her work has been affected by the coronavirus would be a massive understatement.
Other alumni stories feel less ripped-from-the-headlines, but still offer something valuable to our community as we face an end to the school year that none of us could have imagined.
I’ve been working on the 50/50 Alumni Project for almost two years now, and it’s been a genuine delight to learn about so many members of the global Regent community. The fifty participants have absolutely blown me away with their graciousness, insight, and love for Regent and all it represents. But the thing that’s been most meaningful for me is how … well, how non-sugar-coated so many of their stories are.
Ask fifty people to tell you about their lives since graduation, and one plausible outcome would be fifty résumé-ready highlight reels. (If you’ve seen the high school reunion episode of pretty much any American sit-com ever made, you know the kind of posturing I’m talking about.) To be honest, I worried about that when I started asking people to share their stories. Because while fifty shiny success stories might look good superficially, it wouldn’t be true to the community I know and love.
Fortunately, Regent’s alumni community didn’t let me down. These fifty grads didn’t give me fifty “inspirational” feel-good stories—they gave me something much better.
The alumni you’ll meet through the 50/50 project are real people, and they let it show. Their stories include plenty of accomplishments and triumphs—plenty of reasons for each of us to be proud to belong to the Regent community—but they also include moments and seasons of lament. Our grads shared stories of personal disappointment and vocational confusion, of dreams unfulfilled and families broken, of illness and loneliness and grief. One alumnus (Doug Reichel, representing 1992) shared an article he wrote decades ago in response to a period of spiritual desolation, titled “Thoughts on the Desert Walk.”
I find these stories incredibly encouraging.
Yes, you read that right; and no, I don’t enjoy revelling in others’ pain! I find these stories encouraging because, ultimately, they’re stories of God’s people following God through treacherous terrain—and of God being faithful the whole way. They’re stories like ours.
As a history major at Regent and in undergrad, I’ve long felt a special affection for Hebrews 11, that portrait gallery of faithful forebearers, both named and anonymous, whose stories epitomize the highs and lows of life with God and teach us what it looks like to persevere. Maybe the 50/50 Alumni Project can serve as Regent’s own little portrait gallery, reminding us that we are part of a bigger community and a longer story than we often imagine, and that we find our ultimate identity as participants in God’s story.
So, I hope you’ll take the opportunity to visit rgnt.net/50-50 and meet some of your big sisters and brothers in the Regent family. Where better to meet dozens of people from all over the world during this time of distancing? You won’t even need to worry about standing two metres apart. Enjoy!
Figures of Speech
By Neil Rogers
Alliteration allows alignment of A, alpha and aleph
Anagrams are incoherent and coinherent, they teach you to cheat and infest the finest minds. They bring the heart down to earth, aspire to praise, are a statement of testament, and are a downer to wonder. Having grown wrong, they secure rescue like a German manager or Donald Rumsfeld who was a muddler of lands.
Anaphora announces analytical analogies
Assonance as once attested is a tested form for formation, a misty mystery, a self-owned cell phone, an urgent colleague at Regent College teaching on euthanasia and youth in Asia.
Double negatives occur not infrequently when the counterargument to the antithesis disagrees less than the contradiction to the null-hypothesis.
When a euphemism hits the fan, the silver cord is snapped, the golden bowl is broken, the pitcher is shattered at the fountain and the bucket is caressed by the toes in a circumlocution.
Hyperbole is absolutely, super-essential for hyper-excellent writing
Irony, like sarcasm, is no joke: sometimes it says exactly what it means.
Litotes are not unworthy of consideration, nor incompatible with success
Metaphor plies its clandestine trade concealed under a cloak of comparisons and minds its own literary business
Mixed metaphors are when dreams are hatched that have already been on the brew
Onomatopoeia? Moooooves words in ruff, ruff, ruff direction. Neigh!
Oxymoron, like any other moron, is clearly opaque, an obvious subtlety, a clever folly.
Personification occurs when words conspire together to pull the epistemological rug out from underneath the unsuspecting metaphor
Simile is kinda like metaphor, just like, you know like kinda different
Spoonerisms occur when your perm taper is dressed in wearable turds
Synecdoche is like totally yo, peeps! So like, you can just use a synec thingy to impress in your mids,
Tautology is this tiny, little inclination to lean unilaterally to one side
Understatement is as good as it gets and somewhat over-rated.
Zeugma is a two-edged word, which bifurcates verbs between objects dividing sentences and those who mark them.
J Street, Evening
By Abigail Stocker
I emerge from Lent
shaken and affirmed, tense:
present, though past and future
keep wrestling for my dreams.
Someone said: in French,
blessure means wound.
And Lent is blessing,
a fragrance filling the house
'til I'm dizzy and my head hurts.
I stumble out, grateful for the
customary air, then suddenly sad
as my ordinary thoughts arrive as well,
weighted from returning in the wake of an anointing.
I want Christ as indispensable and close
as a verb I conjugate in my native tongue,
as the skin that wraps each fragile limb,
as the glissando of petals all
along the street outside my
church this Easter evening,
knowing they're the flowers, gone,
knowing they're the firstfruits, coming.
Last Week’s Crossword Answers