ISSUE:008 November 2012
MUSE Censorship: HOW TO MATURE IN PURIty?
OPEN MIC// Photos by A chance ABOUT US Larisa Wa Encounter rren with Fran k Peretti New Wine, //Nick Fin Muse is an online N e e w publication produced Wineskins C e n s o / / r Makenzie ship: How by the students for the Halbert To mature students at Multnomah i n purity?//M university. atthew Ho wen Sl ow to hea The views Expressed do not Politica r//shaun S l engagem necessarily reflect the tevenson ent as sp i r opinions of Multnomah itual prac tice//aust University in way False Sta ndards//Ma kenzie Ha Muse is published the first Living Pro lbert of:Love4li monday of the month fe//christ during the school year i collins For more information Orthodoxy short fic or to submit: //nick fin t i o n e ch a ll Multnomahmuse@gmail.com enge//vari ous contr ibutors breakfast Editor: Makenzie Halbert with beau //beau stu email@example.com Crossroad mberg s//poetry by Anne p Designer: Matthew Howen artridge firstname.lastname@example.org Lit Snip//r Cover Photo and Contributor ay bradbu ry photos by Matthew Howen Facuty Advisor: Cornelia Seigneur Break the email@example.com block
Contributors Nick Fine
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CONTRIBUTORS NOT pictured: Austin Way / Shaun Stevenson / Larisa Warren / Christi Collins
Matthew Howen//Designer Makenzie Halbert//Editor
Letter from the
Photo By Matthew Howen
Editor First of all, thank you for reading. I am committed to the production of this magazine because I am committed to providing an opportunity for the voices of Multnomah students to be heard. If the students aren’t reading, it is no longer an effective platform. I am also committed to keeping the Muse a place where difficult topics can be discussed in a way that is productive and challenging. As long as that precedent continues, Muse will be something I will be proud to present to my fellow students. The feedback both Matthew and I received from the first issue was incredible, both the good and the bad, we want to keep improving, we want to keep asking questions, we want to grow. This month’s issue covers a wide variety of topics, some that many may consider controversial. We like it that way. We’re not producing a magazine to elicit shock from our students but we do want it to be a catalyst for conversations and thoughts that may not organically come up. I hope you can read this issue and hear the honest voices of these students. I ask that you read critically, but with understanding that these are opinions and everyone is entitled to an opinion. It is preferable that we be a community that does hold a homogenous opinion of the world around us. Engage in these articles, think about them, and if you feel it necessary, respond. Remember, this is your platform.
OPEN MIC NIGHT PHOTOS BY LARISA WARREN
A CHANCE ENCOUNTER
– WITH –
By Nick FINE Over last mid-semester break I visited my father in North Carolina. Going to and from North Carolina I changed planes six times and spent over 18 hours in planes and airports. The trip was strange in that I had the opportunity to meet a fair amount of celebrity throughout. On my way to Raleigh I ran into Jim O’Heir, cast member of the hit NBC show Parks and Recreation, and had a nice, little discussion with him. While in Raleigh I went to a small comedy show starring Chris Kattan, long time cast member of Saturday Night Live, and met him. My final encounter was with a gentlemen on my way home. His name is Frank Peretti. I was sitting in seat B, the middle seat, of row 24 in coach. I looked to my right at the gentleman sitting next to me. He was reading a book, Jesus Manifesto, which piqued my interest. I wondered if he was a Christian, or if he was just reading it because. I started reading a book on Orthodox Dogmatic Theology and I caught his eyes looking over the pages I was reading. We had apparently taken an interest in each other’s reading material. I decided I would ask him where he was headed, and why; the usual in-flight conversation. He told me he was heading home to Coeur d’Alene, Idaho after a speaking engagement. I further prodded as to where he had spoke. He answered that he had spoken that morning at Liberty University about church culture. Excited by his answer I asked him if he was a minister. He said he had been for a while, but mainly his profession was that of author. I asked him if he had written anything I knew. He named
a few titles. Some sounded familiar. I asked him his name. “My name is Frank. Peretti, P-E-R-E-T-T-I,” he spelled. It clicked in my mind. I was sitting next to a great author of Christian fiction. He had produced such works as This Present Darkness, The Oath, and House. I was sitting next to him, unknowingly. I began to prod even deeper. I asked, “What specifically did you speak about today?” He began what turned into a lengthy conversation about how he feels that church in America has turned into a western, capitalist system. “It’s all about the return,” he said. He went on to say that most churches base their success off of numbers of attendees and size of church building. To get this return and success, churches make unreachable goals for congregants to try and achieve. He told me that he grew up with ministers of his church telling him to imagine heaven. Then the minister would ask, “Where is Bob? Where is Jim? Where are your friends? Are they in Heaven?” What the minister was getting at is that if you don’t witness and share your faith with your friends, they may not end up in heaven. This method, according to my seatmate, was to guilt congregants into doing a better job of witnessing. Transitioning, he moved on to another irritation he has. “Ministers are always saying we need to love intentionally,” he said as he shook his head and poked my shoulder, “I don’t want to be loved intentionally, I want to be loved.” As the conversation furthered he told me of how the Lord had been churning this dissatisfaction - this unsettledness he was having with the church and its “systems”- in his heart for some time now. He commented on modern worship music, how it seems to be thin, how churches are auditoriums. He noted how worship leaders are always reminding their teams (or bands if you like)
that the worship isn’t about them, and it isn’t a show. “Why do we have to say that? Because it’s a show!” he said. Here was a giant among the authors of Christian fiction, who has sold over 15 million copies of his books, and he was sitting next to me in coach discussing his beefs with the protestant church of America. Trying to be relevant, to have the biggest numbers, the best power-point presentations, the best equipment, the best sermon series: these seem to be the things that Peretti was railing against—in a very loving and gentle manner. “Christ is building His church, it isn’t going to fail. But the current way it is now, I don’t think it will last long,” Peretti commented as our plane was making its final descent. We ended our conversation discussing the old hymns of the church from a few hundred years ago. He told me how he had listened to a hymn by Mozart in Latin and how it’s transcendent beauty brought him to tears. He had mentioned writing a book discussing some of the things we had chatted about during the flight. He said that before he could write the book he needed to have more answers to accompany the obstacles he saw and wanted to address. I encouraged him to write the book and told him that, along with myself, many Christians feel this way toward many of the things happening today in American Protestant Christianity. It was a wonderful chance meeting, one I will remember and retell for many months, and maybe years, to come. Peretti said it might just have been a divine encounter. I certainly like to think so. Nick Fine, Senior, Greek Major
Photos By Matthew Howen
The last weekend of October, Multnomah hosted a conference organized by The Institute for the Theology of Culture: New Wine, New Wineskins. Let me begin by saying that if you have yet to make it to one of these conferences, held once a semester, make every effort to attend the next one.
The most recent conference addressed the relationship between church and state. The conference was informative as well as timely as the country is immersed in the election season. The conference consists of plenary sessions where all attendees gather together and hear from key speakers who represents different faiths, traditions, backgrounds, and beliefs. The conference’s workshops offer a time for breakout and attendees are able to choose the sessions that they are personally interested in. During the workshop portion I was able to hear from Harris Zafar, national spokesperson for Ahmadiyya Muslim Community USA, the oldest Muslim organization in the United States. Zafar and Dr. Paul Louis Metzger, founder and director of New Wine, New Wineskins, talked about the response we should have as voters when and if we have a Muslim presidential candidate. Dr. Metzger shared one of his recent blog posts entitled: “After the Mormon Moment, What’s Next—the Muslim Moment?” Zafar took the time to explain and speak on behalf of the Muslim community he represents. He elaborated on the values they hold and the Islamic law they apply to their daily lives. The information gained made it clear that an Islamic presidential candidate should not be disqualified from receiving a vote from an evangelical, as many of the morals and values held are found in both faiths. Zafar made no assertions of similarity between the two faiths, but he did emphasize that we are not so different
from each other in terms of our values. Both Muslims and Christians have done evil things throughout the course of history and both have done good, this is not the issue. In the second plenary session of the conference the question arose: why are the terms evangelical and republican often considered synonymous? This is a problem in the way Christians approach voting and politics. Likewise, if a candidate is a professing evangelical does that mean we as Christians should then willingly give him/her our vote, ignoring other vital factors? Our decisions about voting should be about so much more. It is required that we be informed in the call to honestly look at presidential candidates and make a choice based on more than their professing faith. This goes back to the very purpose and mission of New Wine, New Wineskins. It is stated in their purpose: “We at New Wine, New Wineskins seek to partner with the church to live incarnationally in the communities in which we are placed and beyond. We wrestle with rethinking how to communicate the eternal Word of Christ in an ever-changing culture in a holistic manner. This requires keeping one finger on the pulse of the Bible and another on the bold print of the daily news.” We are Christians looking to the coming Kingdom, not the kingdom of man, yet we are also called to the message of the gospel, to love, and to be stewards of our lives on earth. Whether it be politics, policies, social structures, we need be informed, we need to engage. Makenzie Halbert, Senior, English Major http://new-wineskins.org/ http://blogs.christianpost.com/uncommon-Godcommon-good/
Censorship: HOW TO MATURE IN PURIty? BY MATTHEW HOWEN
Before I was in high school there were some R-rated movies my parents would let me watch and there were some they would not. During high school, and especially now in college, they left the duty of censorship to me, trusting that I would make wise decisions. I watch movies and read books now that they would not have let me read or watch as an eighth grader. I understand this to essentially communicate the following: more mature people are capable of experiencing gradually more explicit content without negative effect. But, for the sake of purity, shouldn’t we be steering clear of explicit content? What has purity to do with this? I’ve thought selfcensorship, deciding what one should and shouldn’t experience through books and movies, ought to aim solely
at keeping my eyes away from nudity, my mind away from sex, and my language away from vulgarity. I was under the impression that self-censorship was keeping myself as clean as I could, because clean is good. One day I sat next to Koby Krikac in the café, and knowing him to be a friend who thinks seriously about these matters, I began to ask him questions. After defining words like “edification” and phrases like “makes me stumble,” we got to a place where we could begin talking about how we decide what is worth putting in front of us and what is not. We began talking, not so much about purity as much as we did about facing the world as it is, sin and all. Koby told me, “Maturity is seeing the world from God’s perspective.” In other words, part of our development as Christians is the fostering of a more vivid understanding of what other people experience, including the violence and other dark realities of the world we live in. “If we don’t see things as they are, we aren’t humble,” says Koby. So the question is, should I be more focused on keeping impure content away from my mind for the sake of purity, or, should I strive to gain a clear understanding of the world — one filled with violence, sex and vulgarity — for the sake of growing in Christ-like maturity? Do purity and maturity oppose each other? What does God expect from us? Koby and I finished talking and he left me with this: “Selfcensorship is based on the individual: whether or not I believe I can do it to the glory of God.” But how do we grow in maturity in a godly way, without willfully experiencing sin? Much of the impetus behind this article comes from my experience in my English classes. I’ve been assigned to read books with explicit content, books I would not have decided to read on my own. I asked Dr. Schaak, Ph.D, why he continues to teach books that are, due to their content, often avoided by Christian readers. He responds, “I assign challenging, often banned, books for a number of reasons, perhaps the most important of which is my conviction that students need to learn how to read and respond to such books thoughtfully and proactively. We are not at the mercy of books.”
Two books which he teaches on are Toni Morrison’s Song of Solomon and Leslie Marmon Silko’s Ceremony, both have fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff
strong language and contain sexually explicit scenes, and were a large part of my personal growth early this semester. Dr. Schaak sees these texts, when paired with a careful discussion, not as indulgent but as books that benefit their readers. “College students are young adults, and most have some sexual experience, so it’s something they are interested in. It’s also something they need a better understanding of, which is where a careful discussion is necessary. Responsible writers do not include such scenes carelessly or in order to be titillating. These scenes communicate something that moves the story forward, and often such scenes are presented as dangerous, destructive, or hazardous.” On encountering difficult content in a text, Dr. Schaak says, “It’s almost like facing a fear: once you have named it and confronted it, it loses some of its power over you. Once you see that profane language or improper sexuality in a book need not have a detrimental effect on your life, you begin to gain power and control over these things.” This is a kind of power I couldn’t get from avoiding these books, not a kind of power that allows me to overcome everything else, but one that allows me to see things as they are: it’s the maturity Koby and I talked about. When I asked Dr. Schaak how he advised students to interact with books like this he said, “the classroom is important in showing students how to engage such discussion.” He doesn’t often suggest difficult books outside of class away from “a thoughtful group of peers and a structured setting.” But, once a student has learned “how to read and respond to such a book, doing so on his or her own is possible, even expected.” Interaction with these texts has been a rewarding experience for me personally, and I can attest to the process of development carefully employed by Dr. Schaak. This is what I want to pass on to you. When you think about selfcensorship don’t think about content alone. Avoidance of difficult content subconsciously teaches us that those who follow Christ have no place in life’s hardest discussions. Avoidance reinforces the misconception that purity is fragile. Don’t misunderstand my aim. I don’t intend to say that we can do whatever we want. My aim is this: to show that
Avoidance reinforces the misconception that purity is fragile
Photos By Matthew Howen
our duty as responsible bearers of the name of Christ is to see the world how it is. It isn’t pleasant, but it is rewarding. A careful balance must be kept, because not all authors and directors are honest about the world. Good artists are (but this is another article for another time). While the censored world of Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 kept sex and violence on the screen, the fictional society did away with honest thought. When Guy Montague, Bradbury’s protagonist, reads a poem the women cry because they are faced with ideas that are weighty and that have substance. I hope that we avoid this sort of censorship too: the kind that does away with good art because it has some uncomfortable things in it. So reconsider the typical standard of self-censorship: sex/violence/language. Take into account our responsibility to learn about the world as it is, and how movies and books add or subtract. My hope is that we are ever mindful about what we actively experience. I hope that we would not foolishly dismiss opportunities to learn about human life due to its darkness. I hope that we would grow. Matthew Howen, Senior, English Major
HEAR By Shaun Stevenson
I loved the library. I begged my mom to take me weekly. Then came the day I walked into the library during Banned Books Week. I walked past a huge barrel filled with books, and I wondered if they were selling them. I walked up and saw a huge sign sticking out of it: “BANNED BOOKS.” The good, Christian kid in me said: “Run! Get away from these evil, perverse books!” But a strangely morbid curiosity told me to look – just to see exactly what people had deemed as “banned.” I felt closer to the plight of Eve than ever before. My peek over the edge led to shock. Book after book that I’d read and loved was in that barrel. From The BFG to A Wrinkle In Time, Bridge to Terebithia to How To Eat Fried Worms. I wanted to turn around and shout, “Who put these in here?! Why are these books in this barrel?” But of course, this being the public library, I wasn’t supposed to talk above a whisper. I left that day with no book in hand because a strange hole had been bored through my heart. Why would someone ever ban those books? Why? It seems people – especially Christians – can get super threatened by books with questionable themes, profanity, sexual situations, and violence. There is a right to caution. But should books be censored?
What are we doing when we decide The Lord of Flies is too violent? We decide William Golding’s troupe of British choirboys is too gruesome. Boys of such fine moral fiber would never devolve into that mess of gore and power. Or we say Holden Caulfield needs to be locked up in a psych ward and his book tossed in after. Aren’t we shying away from J.D. Salinger’s view of the helplessness and angst of teenagers? The church of the past is famous for censoring people. Galileo was under house arrest for years following some of his crazy ideas. Joan of Arc was burnt at the stake for talking with God. And Jesus was nailed to a cross for claiming to be the Messiah. I worked at a Christian bookstore for years, and I’ll never forget the phone calls I received there. Coworkers often forwarded questions about children’s books to me, and Heather, the assistant manager, handed me the phone often. “Thank you for calling! How can I help you?” The lady on the other end sounded older, perhaps in her sixties. “I’m looking for a children’s Bible.” I walked toward the children’s Bibles and started glancing them over. And then she continued: “But I want one without all... well... is there a Bible without the violence? I’m just concerned about my eight year old grandson reading some of those stories, but I want him to have a Bible.” I honestly didn’t know what to say. Even the Precious Moments Bible still had the stories of Samson or Noah’s ark or Jesus. Violence and sex fill the pages of Scripture. Questionable situations like bestiality, homosexuality, and a bunch of other “alities” are all over the place from Genesis to Revelation.
“Well... there isn’t really a Bible like that...” I said. She hung up. Here’s my honest, gut-wrenching fear: the moment we start to ban books, what’s coming eventually down the pipeline? The Bible. I wait for the day when society says, “No more. No more Bibles. No more of this Christianity stuff. It’s just too graphic.” So I swing the other direction: don’t ban anything. Because if a body meets a body there are stories in the collision. I don’t want to censor the stories of another human living through hell and beyond. I don’t want large black streaks painted over people’s lives. Are there appropriate times to share certain things? Of course. I’m not going to explain the intricacies of Sodom and Gomorrah to a five year old. They’re not ready for it. But should I stop and say, “Never read this!”? No. I won’t and can’t do that. Mrs. Keane, a superstar librarian and good friend, still stands as one of my favorite people. I asked her about the secret barrel of banned books. She told me, “Shaun, some people are threatened by honesty.” The Banned Books Barrel should probably have this sign: “WISDOM REQUIRED HERE.” Know that authors have something to share. Words are windows to the soul – they reveal, conceal, and threaten. Our task is to know the stories of those surrounding us. To know the experiences of a Marjane Satrapi, or the feelings of a Harper Lee, to simply listen before we are quick to respond and slow to hear. Shaun Stevenson, Junior, Youth Ministry Major
BY AUSTIN WAY
Politics is the art and science of living in community. However, for most college-aged Americans when they think of politics they think of deadlocked bureaucracy, partisan conflicts, broken promises, and corrupt politicians. These stereotypes have lead to the distrust and dissatisfaction with politics in general. What then can young twentysomethings do about the current state of things? There are a couple options. One is to join the established system, parties, and platforms. Another option is to be somewhat in the loop and do nothing. Third is to disengage, close your mind to the world of politics, and be utterly uninformed. The second and third option are the most problematic because within those options change cannot occur. The problems still exist, and left unresolved, become more formidable. Communities are still hurting, people are still suffering. Sadly, the second and third options are the most common choice among young people today and are especially popular with Multnomah students. We have lost faith: faith that change is possible, faith in communities that seem too
broken, and faith in the hope that people can make a difference. We see problems that plague our communities like racism, poverty, neglectful parents, domestic violence, and sex trafficking as mountains that cannot be moved. As a result, we throw our hands in the air, quit, and choose not to care. Ultimately, we give up on our city, state, country, and the world. The core of Jesus’ teachings is about a kingdom, a political community. Jesus wandered up and down the barren landscape of Israel preaching about something that many were waiting for because they were dissatisfied with the current political situation. His stump speeches were laced with images of mustard seeds and prodigal sons. His message was empowered by healings and liberation. Many listened but few understood what he was teaching. He spoke against the current kingdom and was pointing to another. Jesus preached about the Kingdom of God, a Holy politic. For Christians, political engagement is also a spiritual practice because, like our Savior, we are heralding a new and Holy politic. As the Church, the Body of Christ, we are called to carry on his mission, The Kingdom of God. If our God doesn’t shy away from political engagement then neither should we. I am not trying to persuade any readers to join a specific political party or advocating voting in this year’s election. However, I am urging all of us to get involved in someway. I want to challenge Multnomah’s student body to think critically about how, as a community and individually, we are engaging politically, if we are at all. First, we must be informed by a kingdom perspective when considering the problems facing our city, country, and world. Second, we must examine the structural and systemic sins in our local and national communities and develop sanctified and creative solutions to these problems. Lastly, we must have enough faith to go do something about. Austin Way, Senior, Youth Ministry Major
FALSE w Standards a By Makenzie Halbert
There was a point in the history of our school where skirts had minimum length requirements and the laws of dress code were heavily enforced. In the way of institutional standards, the restrictions were once much more strict, much more black and white. Though the student handbook currently consists of guidelines that address dress code, they aren’t entirely specific or restrictive:
- Shoes or sandals are required for safety and hygiene reasons - Shirts are required (except for men’s athletic activities) - Refrain from wearing any of the following: - Immodestly tight clothing - Shirts with immodestly low or revealing necklines - Inappropriate messages or pictures - Immodestly short skirts - Clothing that would reveal bare midriffs
I don’t look at the list and think that it will be an incredible strain or inconvenience to abide by these less-than-specific guidelines. fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff
For the most part Multnomah trusts its students to determine what is and isn’t modest; this is logical. As we spend our days studying the word of God, engaged in community with other Christians, and devoted to outside ministries and churches we should be able to gauge what we consider as modest. It makes sense.
The problem is that we as a student body adopt unwritten specifics
Yet you can walk onto Multnomah’s campus and immediately understand that the definition of modesty here is very different from the definition of modesty off campus, even in churches or other Christian schools. In addition, definitions of modesty vary even from student to student on Multnomah’s campus. While some may be deeply convicted about an item of clothing’s level of immodesty, it may not even occur to another student that it could be immodest. I’m not criticizing the personal convictions of anyone on campus nor am I saying that one way to dress is the best way, but I am saying that the definition is not black and white, on this campus or in the world outside of Multnomah. Though I think it is extremely reasonable for Multnomah to leave responsibility and specific interpretation up to the students, the problem is then that we, as a student body, adopt unwritten specifics, create a standard, and then insist that those around us live up to that standard. Multnomah strives to be a place where we can live in community with one another and learn to respect our brothers and sisters in Christ. This is not a bad thing. But something like modesty, a definition that is in constant flux and impossible to concretely define, really shouldn’t be something we concern ourselves with as much as we do. Please hear what I am saying - don’t set down your laptop, run back to your dorm and throw on that new tube top you’ve been dying to break in because a fellow student is telling you it’s suddenly okay. Don’t do that. But do seek out your own convictions, understand that this is something culturally defined and even more so, defined by our Multnomah culture. Sooner or later, you
Photos By Matthew Howen
will graduate and there will be a new culture that defines what modesty looks like, what you deem modest or immodest must be sought out and concluded on an individual basis with regards to those around you and your convictions. That being said, let’s ease up on pointing fingers at whom is being immodest . This is not a concrete definition and it is not consistent with the world outside of Multnomah and how we define it now is not something that will stand the test of time. We’ve seen this definition change drastically in Multnomah’s history alone. Seek out your own standards of modesty but don’t push them on others. Do not assume unwritten standards and then expect others to hold the same convictions. It is absolutely important to respect those around us by the way we dress, it is just as important to respect each other in how we respond to the way others choose to dress. Makenzie Halbert, Senior, English Major
IN V I
proof LOVE - 4 Life -
BY CHRISTI COLLINS
After taking a three year break from school, I am back at Multnomah University and back at the place where life as I knew it changed forever. My friend visited me the other day and we went to grab a cup of coffee at Roger’s. Simultaneously we cracked up as we looked at the “tip” jar. The jar was labeled, “Donations go to The Portland Rescue Mission.” Both of us felt a little awkward as we have both lived at Shepherd’s Door, part of PRM, and it was funny because we knew no one in the café would ever guess that we were ever homeless. Seeing that reminds us that in this “world” a separation exists between the people who serve and are served. Don’t get me wrong, I am not judging, I have been on both sides of the counter. Four years ago when I came to Multnomah, there were probably three things you would hear within the first 10 minutes of meeting me.... number one, I went to China, number two I did Native American Ministry for five years, and number three I wanted to do missions. What
people didn’t see was that I was dying inside and trying so hard to find my identity in the Christian world when my picture of God had been so screwed up as a child. This year, a girl said to me that I have a rocker chick attitude. It was the best compliment ever, not because I am a rocker chick, I love the guitar and I love that idea, but really I was taken back because somebody saw me instead of what I do. That is because Jesus has been transforming me majorly since 2008 when I first came to Multnomah. However, in the last four years, because of growing up in an abusive home, I have been homeless. I finished out the spring semester at Multnomah and moved into Shepherd’s Door in June. Surprised? I don’t blame you. What picture do you see when you hear the name Portland Rescue Mission? Do you see a 21 year old who went to China, staffed with YWAM, worked with Native American youth, and sits beside you in class? The truth is that the issues of homelessness, abuse, addiction and hopelessness touch everyone including people in the church, and yes, even Multnomah. However there is hope; I am living proof that loving people makes a difference. The Lord has called me and a friend of mine to start a non-profit called Love4Life. Our mission is to provide support, life skills, action plans and resources for women, in order to help them achieve their goals; both those they want to work towards and those they can’t imagine. We want to walk alongside women and assist them as they move towards recovery from addictions, abuse, self-harm and despair. If you are interested in being a part of this ministry please check out our blog at love4lifeactsnow.blogspot. com and email Christi Collins or Erin McCormick at firstname.lastname@example.org. Christi Collins, Freshman, Youth Ministry Major
ORTHODOXY eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
Before embracing Orthodoxy
I was in a state of unrest
BY: NICK FINE Photo By Matthew Howen
Before embracing orthodoxy I was in a state of unrest. I was earnestly trying to answer some very tough questions: what church should I go to? What theology should I hold? Arminianism? Calvinism? Covenantal theology or dispensationalism? What really are major doctrines and minor, and according to whom? But the main question was, what is the Church? I looked at the state of the protestant church I was in. It was a Pentecostal, community style church, with contemporary (concert style) worship, and I wondered if this was it? Was this the church that Jesus established? What would Paul think of this church and our theology? I started looking at Protestantism as a whole in America. Is this it? This is what 2000 years gets you? Various thousands of denominations with various theological stances and disagreements, all supposedly working together, and working against each other at the same time? So there is one church, but it is visibly divided? Is this what weâ€™re buying? fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff
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It couldn’t be, it just couldn’t be! If the church is Christ’s body, which it is, then it can’t be divided. I talked to a lot of people I respected, and then had a chance discussion with a new student I met in my Greek class. He introduced me to the Orthodox Church. I had really no idea what it was, but the things he was talking about were the things I had been struggling with for a long time. He answered a lot of my tough questions with great answers, and I started researching this Orthodox Church. I asked him if I could attend a service. I had to see this thing for myself. I vividly remember the first time I entered an Orthodox Church. It was here in Portland, off of 162nd: St. George Orthodox Church. Upon walking into the church the sweet-smelling remnant of frequently burned incense overpowered my senses. I entered the narthex, separating the entrance of the church from the nave where the faithful sit. Upon sitting down in the pew (which in an Orthodox church is a rare commodity, since they have only just recently started using them) my eyes were turned toward the ceiling where the piercing eyes of a rather large icon of Christ the Pantocrator (ruler of all) were staring back at me. The great vespers began and the unconfined current of the Divine service swept me along, and I was caught up into heaven. It was as if time had stopped, and nothing mattered in that moment but the extreme realization that I was meeting with God in this place. I left the service utterly changed— transfigured—as if coming down from my own Tabor experience. From that moment I was hooked and overtaken by the awed wonder of this holy and wholly “other” experience that was the Orthodox Church. It would be too daunting a task to begin a discourse in the major theological tenets of the Orthodox Church, or of its vast history, but a few things I can say: At Pentecost the church was born. Throughout the first century 3 major Christian capital cities were established: Jerusalem, Antioch, and Rome. As Christianity began to spread
widely throughout the Mediterranean world, two more major cities were added, Alexandria and Constantinople. These cities acted as hubs of major Christian thought and development throughout the first ten centuries of Christianity. The church stood firm as a unified body, defending against various heresies and disruptions from without and within for a little over 1,000 years. This unity remained until the year 1054 a.d. when the Archbishop of Rome, Pope Leo IX, anathematized all of the Eastern churches for: 1) Not recognizing the Popes supremacy over all the churches as the only true successor of Peter. 2) The disagreement of the addition “filioque” in the Nicene Creed that became a mandatory doctrine in the 9th century only among western churches under the Archbishop of Rome. This great schism separated west from East and created the western Roman Catholic church, and the Eastern Orthodox Church. Being the oldest Christian church in existence, the Orthodox Church holds to the doctrines and teaching of the Holy Scriptures, the Holy Apostolic Tradition, and the seven Ecumenical councils. It has no pope and no purgatory. It is Catholic but not Roman. It has sacraments, it is liturgical, and it is eastern in look and sound. If you want to know more about the Orthodox Church there are a few books I can point you to. Timothy Ware’s The Orthodox Church is a great place to start, also The Faith by Clark Carlton. Those two books are good for introductory material on the overall history and theology of the church. For those of you who may wish to a go a little further than a bit of light (deep) reading, my advice would be to come to church. Visit a service. Come and see. Nick Fine, Senior, Greek Major
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SHORT FICTION P CHALLENGE P Multnomah Students wrote short fIction pIeces that could not exceed 500 words and had to include THE FOLLOWING ELEMENTS: 1st PERSON NARRATOR WHO is NOT A HUMAN, AN ENDING THAT iNCORPORATEd SOME SORT OF VEHICLE, AND THE WORDS LISSOM, BADINAGE, And fracas. THESE ARE THE RESULTS:
“Giselle, Giselle, Giselle, Giselle…” By Krista Loughman
I turned back around to sprint in the opposite direction, but it was already too late. I could never rinse my eyes with enough water or brainwash myself with enough purely classical music to erase from my mind that horrific, revolting image. Evan and Giselle were holding hands. See, I had just been on a Giselle detox for the last 3 months of summer and still, only one little glimpse of that fiery, red-headed giraffe with the equally gorgeous Evan Lion was enough to make me detox my entire lunch. I knew I was crazy, but I still didn’t understand why a wonderfully grey elephant like me should not have a chance with Giselle. Never mind the fact that we’ve never even talked or that she specifically said in her homecoming queen speech that she would “never ever, EVER (like in a million years, ever) date an elephant.” I still think that if she just gave me a chan- yeah, that’s not happening.
I guess that detox was a waste. Because I was still, for sure, completely, 100%, trunk-over-fly-swatter-tail, in love with Giselle. After sprinting in the opposite direction for practically the whole length of the hall (ok, like a few steps) I was wheezing my lungs out. Hey, carrying around a couple tons is tough. That’s when my cousin, Harold Hyena, noticed my totally obvious break-down in the middle of the hall and had compassion on me, or something like that. He pulled me aside and whispered two words in my ear which popped and sizzled in my brain as my chest filled with bravery. SPELLING BEE. I just knew that Giselle would swoon at my feet if I won the Spelling Bee! There was a prize but I didn’t care; Giselle was the only prize I wanted. Harold spent the next 3 weeks helping me basically memorize the dictionary. This of course was no use, because every word only reminded me of Giselle. The day of the Spelling Bee finally arrived. This was the day that Giselle would finally notice me! As all of the participants in the Bee walked on stage I kept calm by rhyming Giselle’s name with anything I could think of. Quell, lapel, mademoiselle. I breezed through the competition like a piranha through a mute water buffalo. Badinage: Giselle and Evan made me sick with their flirty jokes, B-A-D-I-N-A-G-E. Fracas: I wished that Even and Giselle would get in a really loud fight and break up, F-R-A-C-AS. Lissom: Giselle’s long beautifully spotted neck was slender and graceful, L-I-S-S-O-M. Before I knew it, the prize was being brought out. An old beat up safari jeep was being wheeled towards me, and that’s when it happened. All I wanted in the world was to drive that jeep. Nothing else mattered, it was mine all mine, and all I could think of was my ears flapping in the wind as I drove off into the desert sunset. Maybe Giselle could ride in the trunk. Krista Loughman, Junior, Educational Ministry Major / Greek Minor
By Shaun Stevenson
My backside burns. Almost as if it could melt any moment – dripping gray and down – to fuse with the carpet. The voices thud all along me – every scream, every shout, every whispered threat, every veiled slip of biting badinage – stops me from thinking. I want to turn. To turn back – to go the other way – that’s normally what satiates me from that intense curiosity
to know what’s on the other side. A hand slams. Slaps – another shout – a loud fracas as something topples over – and then the rattle of the door handle. The creak of hinges. The thudding steps of another soul. And then the door closes. And I know what is coming: the peek. Rough fingers slice me open – and for a moment I feel that sweet relief from the heat. The face presses up – only eyes peeking through my slats. And I imagine: someone – a man with thinning, graying hair sags away down the sidewalk – the tears bravely held until now – releasing. I felt tears once. They dripped and dribbled, slipping down layer after layer. But those times have past I suppose. The slat lowers with a lissome snap and I can feel the cool breath linger – dust scattering. All that I have seen – every time another body has walked down that path back – back to their shaking cars, their waiting wives – lies within me. But what am I? Only blinds. And blind. But I wonder: how much longer can I go – day, night, night, night... until the door closes for the last time, and the hearts stop their frantic thumping, and the man behind the desk just starts – loving? The day I rattled away in a dumpy little truck I couldn’t help but think: While blind, I never saw, But that doesn’t ever mean I couldn’t help but – feel everything. Shaun Stevenson, Junior, Youth Ministry Major
“I Will Survive” By Wendy Johnson
Fire emerged on the hazy horizon. Fire unlike any we had witnessed before or since. I watched as the initial smoke was
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consumed, and shooting flames began to rapidly devour all living things. The lethal blazes left only a charred and broken landscape that reminded me of a scrunched-up scrap of toasted marshmallow I had once nabbed from an abandoned campsite. In a moment of panic, I zinged up and over the blackened stumps to seek shelter before the fire turned me into just another crispy critter. Finding none, I stood for a moment rubbing my wings together uneasily. Off to the side I heard a snide voice quip, “Cricket, cricket.” “What else am I supposed to do, Badger?” I fought to control the sarcasm in my own voice, remembering he only meant for harmless badinage. “Filling in awkward silences is basically my sole purpose in life. I mean, let’s just be honest here: what else is a cricket good for?” “Only bedtime sounds for babies!” Badger yelled back over his shoulder as he bounded away. “But I’m not gonna be caught napping with a forest fire on the loose!” Nursing the wound to my self-esteem which this fracas had caused, I muttered something about badger pelts and hopped a few inches forward. Suddenly I spotted a lissom sparrow swooping in from the ash-polluted sky. I quickly dove under a bracken fern to avoid her nibbling beak, but I was not quick enough. In the blink of an eye I found myself lurching forward at an incredible velocity, while my fortress-like fern nearly disappeared from site. There in the sharp bill of the sparrow, my life flashed before my eyes and I prepared to be digested. I had evaded the fire, only to die in the face of a danger I faced every day. Oh, the cruel irony of fate! After just a few moments, I felt a significant drop in elevation and found myself still alive, but splatted on the windshield of a park ranger’s Jeep. Peeling all my legs off of the scorching surface, I somehow found enough energy to sail down to the ground and drag my dripping body under a clump of wild grass. Apparently the sparrow had decided to spare me this time, or maybe she noticed the greater threat of the ensuing fire and chose personal safety over her teatime snack. Whatever was going through that bird brain had worked out for me; I was clear of the danger zone and ready for a nap before my heart palpitated beyond its natural function. It had been one exhausting afternoon, but that’s just life when you’re at the bottom of the food chain. Wendy Johnson, Junior, Elementary Education Major
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“The Mountains are Movers” By Matthew Howen
“I never meant to fall on top of an entire city. Fate, or maybe the wind, would have me do more things in my transient life than I care to admit. In fact, at times I question whether or not I’m just a part of a bigger whole. Am I a giant among giants? My whole life just seems to be one big cycle.” He said all this to me slowly. I told the drifter, “Godspeed,” then, after lingering longer than he ought, he dissipated and I never saw him again, but I felt a sort of mist which he had left about my ears. After a season of heat and another season of leaves and rain, my neighbor said to me only a few words: who was that talking, that thing seasons ago which you listened to? I replied with fewer words: He was a lissom young soul. Maybe a cloud. I then listened: A shame. This he said because he, all of those within our range have agreed, is the most growling man of a mountain I know — not like dogs with territory or masters to protect, not like lions who are the masters of audible fracas, and not like cars with drivers too eager leave our mountain roads, but more like the growling of a boat when it’s drug on hard sand, or anything but water, with widespread stubbornness. He is a rumbler, always with more pine needles on him than any of us. More boulders roll off of him than the agreed upon amount, though, as a rule, we haven’t considered him for relocation because we haven’t thought of a feasible method. (Faith or not, mountains are difficult to move). My reply was this: I hear you’re having a hard time with these latitudes. He said: fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff
next thing you know the thunderheads will come too and take away my needles with a spark. I: What if we move? Of all the plates, few have tried since the sun was young and dark. And I didn’t hear so much as a mumble from him until the following fall: I’ll lose all my boulders if we shift. Or if we leave. I was seeing a face of him I had never seen. Clouds perhaps say what some mountains never believe. Sure enough, it was time to move. With our eyes on the rise we could be heard for miles, our badinage in our own style, and we slid not along like ice, but with the Earth’s surface slice in our own momentus way, our own tectonic plate.
Matthew Howen, Senior, English Major
“Lissom the Cat” By Jason Reuter
My name is Lissom, and I’m a cat. I grant you, it’s an odd name, but given the one chosen for the dog, I’ll take it. This almost-friend, this blundering fracas of fur and teeth, is Badinage. To me, however, she is simply, Bad the Beagle. I recall her first appearance in my home years prior. Busting through the front door like a frenzied loaf of bologna, Bad scampered, howled, and forced her scent upon all that I’d territorially claimed years ago. Perched atop a mustard-colored armchair in the corner of the living room, I studied this specimen with green-glowing eye slits, horrified at this odd creature enslaved to all scents foreign and familiar. I studied my intruder, and in time I understood quite well the motivation of the beagle.
Every aspiration in the beagle mind revolves around the
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consumption of calories. When our owners once accidentally left a bag of groceries on the floor of the garage, Bad saw a clear path to massive caloric intake. Eight sausage patties and four bagels later, Bad spent a bloated night on the living room couch while the humans berated her with animated gestures and long, drawn-out sighs. It was a simple thing really, calculating a way in which I’d be rid of that sausage vacuum. Given her near-religious obedience to her stomach, a plot was fashioned with ease, and as I waited in the backyard one autumn morning, I executed my plan. The sound of a cracker-filled box instantly alerted Bad to the movement of food, and as I pushed it through the rubbery pet door to the drive way outside, the beagle was not far behind. Timing, I realized, was key. If I placed the crackers too early, Bad would consume them and escape her fate. So behind the car Bad and I sat, she eyeing the box with gluttonous delight, I watching the side door for the departure of our owner. Soon the owner appeared, disheveled and hurried (she was late again), scrambling to the driver’s seat. I, purring with delight, placed the box ever-so-gently behind the vehicle, and waited for Bad’s demise. Badinage didn’t budge. Rather, she crouched menacingly, bearing her teeth in a sign of aggression I’d yet to witness. In my murderous zeal, I’d lost focus of my surroundings. As a massive black canine bounded towards me across the leaf-littered front lawn, The beagle, outweighed by thirty pounds, lunged forward with a howl, and locked jaws with a beast of dense sinew and strength. It was over as soon as it began. The human was alerted, the black nightmare spooked, and Bad whimpering as our owner scooped us up and whisked us to a place of healing. I recall licking the wounds of a dog who’d just saved my life while I conspired to take hers. As her russet eyes languished in pain, I resolved to tolerate my canine rescuer. And when the opportunity arose, Bad would eat crackers to her heart’s delight.
Jason Reuter, Masters in Biblical Studies
By Beau Stumberg Suggested Listening: Let Down (Radiohead), cover by David Bazan.
The twilight air was brisk against my eyes. It was near cold out, but I was heated by the anger that raged within the shell of
my body. Was I running? No I needed time to be alone. The fog seemed to meet the haze that had slipped over my mind. What started as only badinage quickly turned into a serious argument. Although he was my brother he had bent the last of my patience to the point of breaking. He knew that I was sensitive about the end of the season, yet he pressed and made small the reality that we all face: the end. So what began in jocularity ended as a fracas and I left; I flew the coop. I’d go back soon though. My absence for the night would be punishment enough. As the light faded from the sky and the air deepened its chill, my speed increased and I flew from the dark of the situation to the light that showed ahead; the time alone would allow me to process and cool off. It was not the first time that he had taken for granted my lissome patience. He was insensitive, he didn’t understand. It was fair for me to leave, even in a rage and on the brink of the night. Mother said we were to stay in for the nights, but the season was almost over, so what difference did it make? The light was deepening, the darkness fading. I began to feel a slight relief as I swerved in the wind. He would see his own wrong and when I returned he would apologize; and if I chose, I would withhold my forgiveness to punish him more. But soon I would give in and forgive him and we would return to our conviviality. The light deepened and for the first time I felt the cold of the night. As I moved forward I forgot the situation, the future was resolved as far as I was concerned. I was free from the quarrel and my brother; the anger that had fueled my flight had given way to forgiveness. But the remnants of the emotional high held me deep in my circumstance, lost in the enchantment of the flight. I flew faster and the light engulfed me. Splat! Windshield wipers removed the remains of my body with a violent surge of water and a quick move from right to left.
Beau Stumberg, Junior, Pyschology Major
Living on 82nd and Glisan means that you are
going to have to travel to enjoy a good meal unless you know of the few hidden dinner restaurants
In terms of breakfast, 82nd is like a black hole, a void some have said, for anything that is not drenched in grease or served in an environment your mother would not be comfortable with. There are always the MU favorites like Bipartisan or Montyâ€™s (walking distance from campus), but if you are interested in trying something new, not having to travel to the middle of southeast, and feeling comfortable using the bathroom then Bakery Bar on 29th and NE Glisan is a must breakfast destination. Ok friends, I know that sixty blocks seems like quite a distance, especially if your friend with a car is on a Botany field trip, but anyone with a bike can be there in ten minutes (although the ride home may be a little more strenuous) and the butter and sugar combinations that await are worth the trek. fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff
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Now, there are many good bakeries in Portland and even more good breakfast places, but I have yet to run across a place with better scones. Chocolate chip with chai glaze, blueberry vanilla, apple-bacon with maple glaze and fennel golden raisin are among the ever-changing selection of scones offered at this neighborhood bakery. There needs to be some clarification on what exactly a scone is. A scone is not a cookie and it is most definitely not something that comes out of box from SISCO. A scone, in my personal opinion, is a combination between a cookie, biscuit, and a moist bread. The Bakery Bar has mastered this trifecta and offered it to you for $3.25. Yes breakfast lover, they have mastered it. The scones here have a crisp, crunchy outside usually covered in a sweet glaze, and then a soft, flakey inside that is filled with whatever magical ingredients desired. This combination of flour, sugar and butter could be, nay should be, your next breakfast epiphany. If you are someone who wants a hearty breakfast to start the day off right, the Bakery Bar has options for you as well. Scrambles, breakfast burritos, and house made pancakes are all on the menu regularly, but the rotating seasonal specials are what draw the most customer attention. A house made biscuit with sautĂŠed seasonal
vegetables, goat cheese, and a fried egg is one of the most memorable breakfasts I had in my morning explorations last year. A fresh cup of Stumptown coffee and a slice of chocolate banana bread to cut the caffeine buzz and ensure your ride home is not being wasted, is sure to give you a morning you and your date wonâ€™t forget. A quick disclaimer before you run for calories. On the weekends they offer full table service and get quite busy. If you are only going down there for a scone and some coffee, do not put your name on the list to get seated at a table, simply tell the server you only want some coffee and a pastry. This usually will end up being far less confusing and in the end make your experience much more delightful. One of the few downsides to this place is that they have yet to work out all the kinks from their weekly walk up procedure to the weekend sit down service. If you are going to have a full breakfast then grab a table and enjoy. The Bakery Bar is sure to be a new favorite for you devoted breakfast hunters and is well worth the trek down Glisan. (www.bakerybar.com) Your, fellow (slightly indulgent) breakfast hunter, Beau Beau Stumberg, Junior, Psychology Major
Photos By Matthew Howen
R CROSS A D S
Standing at a crossroads which way to choose The question bears asking Is it betting to gain or to lose? To the left or to the right A gentle voice is heard “This is the way, walk in it” Guiding love is assured Waters of adversity– a fire that refines Who can dwell in this afflicting design? Warriors that bear elips of their belt Divinely equipped can never melt A burning refinement molding when clothed Hope as fact – satisfaction betrothed A day is coming where the threshing will end On the other side Appreciation for a love that offends Until that day I walk in wait Knowing your timing will make the path straight Standing at a crossroads – which way to choose The question bears asking Is it better to gain or to lose? To gain is to lose to lose is to gain Refiners love - forever sustain
Anne Partridge, Junior, Educational Ministry Major
lit snips If you’ve come this far in the issue you may have gathered that we here at Muse are not big fans of censorship. Censorship has been an ongoing issue both in the Christian community and in our general American culture. Discernment is one thing but to reject art because it deals with difficult concepts or ideas is another. So, for this month’s Lit Snip, we present to you one of our favorites. You can’t think about censorship, dystopian society, or book burning without thinking of Ray Bradbury’s iconic novel, Fahrenheit 451. We chose this book because of the themes of censorship, conformity, and avoidance it deals with but also because we too are students, students with homework, jobs, devotional and ministry requirements, and sometimes social lives. That being said, this book could be devoured by a curious mind in a single day. We know, we’ve done it. Maybe you have a couple days where your homework load slows down, pick this book up, take the time to think about what Bradbury is trying to teach us, and be thankful that we have firemen who put out fires and don’t start them.
IT WAS A PLEASURE TO BURN It was a special pleasure to see things eaten, to see things blackened and changed. With the brass nozzle in his fists, with this great python spitting its venomous kerosene upon the world, the blood pounded in his head, and his hands were the hands of some amazing conductor playing all the symphonies of blazing and burning to bring down the tatters and charcoal ruins of history. With his symbolic helmet numbered 451 on his stolid head, and his eyes all orange flame with the thought of what came next, he flicked the igniter and the house jumped up in a gorging fire that burned the evening sky red and yellow and black. He strode in a swarm of fireflies. He wanted above all, like the old joke, to shove a marshmallow on a stick in the furnace, while the flapping pigeon-winged books died on the porch and lawn of the house. While the books went up in sparkling whirls and blew away on a wind turned dark with burning. -An excerpt from Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451
Makenzie & Matthew
BREAK BLOCK THE
Family Friday Concert: Portland Cello Project -- Friday November 16, 2012 -- 7:15-8:15 p.m. Come to the Community Music Center to enjoy a free concert by the Portland Cello Project. Since the group’s inception in late 2007, Portland Cello Project (or, PCP, as their fans affectionately call them), has wowed audiences all over the country with extravagant performances, mixing genres and blurring musical lines and perceptions wherever they go.
Guatemalan Art Show & Fundraiser –- 11/12 - 12/28, Daily 8 a.m. –- 10 p.m. Concordia University invites you to view Guatemalan Art on display in the George R. White Library and Learning Center. Guatemalan art on display comes from a small group of Tz’utujil communities where artists have adapted the international genre of naïve art to express the cultural traditions, beliefs, ceremonies, and daily activities of their indigenous culture. An artist’s reception will be held Thurs. Nov. 15 at 5:30 p.m. For more information visit http://www.cu-portland.edu/library/events/.
Imago Dei Advent Conspiracy DIY Fair -- Saturday November 17th, 2012 -- 10 a.m. This Christmas, Imago Dei and Advent Conspiracy would like to invite you to do it yourself! Join us on November 17th at Imago Dei Community for great eats, live music, and an inspiring collection of DIY gift ideas. Not the crafty type? Not all that artistic? Have no fear. We’ll provide you with step-by-step instructions, tons of examples, and all the information you need to leave here feeling ready to go handmade and heartfelt this Christmas. You can also enjoy the Voodoo Donut van in the morning and some unbelievably festive sandwiches from PBJs cart in the afternoon. http://www.imagodeicommunity.com/article/advent-diy/ fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff
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Reed College Theatre: The Suede Jacket -- November 29 & 30 -- 7:30 p.m. Written in the ’70s by Stanislav Stratiev, The Suede Jacket is an absurdist romp through socialist bureaucracy. It tells the story of Ivan Antonov, an idealistic young intellectual whose suede jacket is accidentally registered as a sheep. But not to worry! His loving government is there to make everything run smoothly. The bureaucratic machine duly churns him around. Antonov is gradually abandoned by the friends who initially came along to help him in the inferno of the tax office, full of doors leading nowhere and walled-up corridors. In the labyrinth of bureaucratic unconcern, will Antonov prevail, or will the Party crush his spirit? Directed by thesis candidate Elizabeth Dinkova. Tickets: $1–3; 503/777-7356 or http://info.reed.edu/theatre/tix.taf
Science Left Behind: The Rise of the AntiScientific Left -- Thursday, November 15th -- 7:30 p.m. Dr. Alex B. Berezow and Hank Campbell reveal how the political left’s vague inclinations about the wholesomeness of all things “natural” and the unhealthiness of the “unnatural” have led to an epidemic of misinformation. Preorder a signed edition of Science Left Behind . Powell’s City of Books on Burnside 1005 W Burnside (800) 878-7323
Portland Art Museum presents: The Body Beautiful in Ancient Greece -- October 6, 2012 – January 6, 2013 Don’t miss this rare opportunity at the Portland Art Museum to experience the thrill of The Body Beautiful in Ancient Greece. The exhibition features more than 120 priceless objects from the British Museum’s famed collection of Greek and Roman art. Iconic marble and bronze sculptures, vessels, funerary objects, and jewelry are among the treasures that explore the human form, some dating back to the second millennium BC. Make your plans now to see The Body Beautiful. Admission for students is $12.00 with student ID or you can purchase an annual pass for only $15 with your student ID, what a steal.
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Photo By Matthew Howen
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