Chowan Inspiration

This has been the week of meetings, inventories, syllabus writing . . . oh yes, and meetings.

I like the awareness of tradition here at Chowan. Periodically, someone says "This is the day when . . ." or "Traditionally on this day . . ." This is something I often wanted more of at other places.

I was feeling particularly inspired after Thursday which was the day of the faculty retreat. It was a rich day that culminated with a look at the new "Murph's" which is our newly renovated, truly transformed, sport-themed space formerly known as the snack bar. And that was followed by a reflective walk with Sophie (our dog) - reflective except for the part when we were running!

On our walk, my love for Murfreesboro and my work here was refreshed. I thought of my father's inspiration for his work, particularly as expressed in his church newsletter articles from his days at Sylvia Circle Baptist Church in the 80s. There was a sense of heaven on earth for him that came not from things being peaceful but purposeful.

Joy comes in being part of perfecting a place, helping a community become whole. And that's what has been going on here for a very long time. One would be saddened to move on because that work is so fulfilling.

Strolling quietly after dark under the tall pines reminds me that God is present and working, and Squirrel Park (the university commons) has been particular mysterious and intriguing lately as a pair of owls has been making an appearance there around dusk.

MacDowell Columns building stubbornly looms up out of the night like a bulldog jaw or a great fist. It says "Wars have come and gone - but we are still here. Hurricanes have scarred our land, but we are still here. Doors have closed and opened agin - we are still here. Depression, Recession - still here."

And we're still here for the continuation of civilization. It seems that the whole project - civilization and intitution - exist and persist as a grace from God.

Moments and Sound

Walking to school this morning I noticed the frost on the roof of the Columns for the first time. The sight took me back to the early days of the school when students and faculty lived and studied there. For a moment it was a picturesque bit of imagining.

Then I reminded myself of the hardships and uncertainties of 19th century life. I pictured faculty breaking some bad news to a student in a cold, candlelit room. I pictured the outburst that would have occurred in that horrible moment.

Our experience of life and the meaning of events often sink in or are expressed during specific moments. The expanse of day after day might leave little of note in our memories, but a single moment packed with significance can vibrate and consume us for years.

Sometimes music is designed that way. Composers like Schumann or Chopin or Prokofiev specialize in moments. Sometimes the structure or the integrated quality of their works might not seem to hold up under close scrutiny, but their very profound goal might very well be to convey moments that are full of character.

Another musical thought -

Some passages seem to be designed to focus us on sound - not its organization or where the music is going - only the beauty of the sounds we are hearing. And I'm not referring to passages in the music of Impressionists and more recent composers. A bit of Beethoven's Third Concerto started me thinking abot this. Today I noticed that the "Amen" of the Credo in Palestrina's Missa Pape Marcelli is also a moment of glorying in sound.