Guest Post: Julie's Director of Music Report for the Annual Meeting at Church (in its entirety)

Reflections on a Benign Dictatorship:

A Music Director’s Sonnet of Thanksgiving

I’ve been music dictator 13 years—

How lucky am I to have all of you?

To sing and play and do those things you do

So well and to God’s glory, festive cheers!

In thanking you, I might be in arrears.

Allow a shout out, first and foremost, to

The choir, week in and out, rehearsing, who

Up front, (LOOK UP!), sing as our Christ comes near.

Hey band!  You rock the sanctuary space,

True testament to multi-age: Believe!

When soloists enrich our worship’s verve

And pianists say “yes,” it seems like grace.

For Tim’s dual keyboard skills (please, never leave):

This congregation’s thanks you all deserve.

Respectfully submitted way past the deadline,

Julie Steiner

February 7, 2010

A Sonnet for Auntie and Jean Montrevil

Upon a hill, wind-swept and bitter cold,

in milky light of bleak mid-winter’s sun,

we buried Auntie in the frozen wold,

in sure and certain hope, Thy will be done.

Small fingers twined, enfolded in small hands

Is this the church? Is this the steeple tall?

Is this the Shepherd on the hill who stands

with rod and staff to comfort people, all?

At Varrick Street and Houston, down they lay.

No pastures green, just biting wind, pale sun.

Forgive us, Father, of our debts, we pray.

For Brother Montrevil, Thy will be done.

A table set before my enemy;

In paths of righteousness you leadeth me.

A Guest Sonnet and Sermon for a Belated Conclusion to My Advent Blogging

The Christ-child has arrived again, and so ends my Advent daily blogging challenge to myself. I count this Advent discipline to write (almost) every day a perfect success in that it really got me writing again; and while I most certainly won't be writing every day through Christmas and Epiphany, I do plan to be focusing more on my writing this winter. So stay tuned. And thanks to all of you who are my faithful readers (and an especial welcome to any of you who became faithful readers during my Advent blogging!) It still feels like a bit of a paradox to offer one's writing with humility, on the one hand, yet to be so eager to be read on the other. All of you smart, kind folks out there who read me and say thoughtful, generous things make it somehow feel like less of a paradox.

But enough of my sappy reflections. I know I punted several days in Advent, and failed entirely to post on Christmas Eve, so I offer a couple beautiful things as penance.

First, you may have noticed on the right a link to my Facebook profile (I have SO drunk the Facebook cool-aid; if you are inclined, please send me a friend request letting me know you're a blog reader, and it would be my pleasure to "befriend" you!). There is also a link to Old First's Facebook fan page (go ahead, become a fan -- you'll find a delightful mix of silliness and seriousness! But please note you can read the page even if you're not officially a fan.) Here I offer you a link to Michael's wonderful Christmas Eve sermon called Isn't It Ironic? about the dynamic tension between tradition and change at Christmas time. I loved it; I hope you will too. So, I hope that makes up for my absence on Christmas Eve.

And, for those two or three (four or five?) lame days in Advent when I technically posted but not really anything worth reading, here is a sonnet more worth reading than any that I've noodled around with this Advent (though I have to say thanks to Shannon for getting me hooked on writing sonnets; it's been super fun, and I doubt I'm done!) This is written by a friend at Old First, highlighting once again what an insanely talented and thoughtful bunch we are. Marjorie and I are are not, as far as we know, related, though we do share a last name and a Michigan birthright (among other things), so who knows? I hope you enjoy her Advent Sonnet as much as I do:

Advent Sonnet

The hurried mind is kin to Advent dreams

And darkness does to ghost’s what angels hope

Would be their mission; crafting fear, it seems.

Ghouls hearken now and meld their lifeline rope

To spirals, hoping errant sheep might wind

Along its tendrils; some might lose their way.

Preoccupied is Gabriel; her find

Is pure, while others’ load is apt to sway

Beneath the burdens of this season’s press

Archangels’ work is frantic in the stars

And shepherd’s crook is gentle herd’s redress

The infant’s cry is fertile balm for wars

If lamb were general and ghost be pawn

Then angels’ charge is nothing more; ‘tis dawn!

Marjorie Rose

December 24, 2009

Christmas Menu: A Sonnet

Of brie and gouda, comte, let us sing!

Of marinated mozzarella balls!

Oh kalamata! Ascolano calls!

For French baguette our peals of joy shall ring!

Oh turkey stuffed with Cajun pepper bread!

Bring potch* and corn and roasted Brussel sprouts!

Pour wine and cider, winter ales and stouts!

Come one, come all, that none shall go unfed!

Rejoice! Key lime -- oh cranberry delight!

Corn muffins, macaroni and (good) cheese!

This tart with pear and frangipane will please!

Let cream puffs, coffee, tea round out the night!

Oh glorious day! Oh silent night of joys!

Upon the island of the misfit toys!

edited to add: *potch (not sure if this is how it's spelled) is mashed potatoes and rutabaga, which Aunt Beth brings every year

A Purpose Driven Sonnet

The Rev’rend Doctor Warren, seems to me

would like to have his cake and eat it too

regarding homosexuality.

Alas, his fork-ed tongue is nothing new.

“Let me be clear what God’s own Word intends:

that sex outside of marriage is a sin.”

And marriage as a union he defends:

no other than a man and woman, kin.

But killing gays perhaps does go astray;

let’s not forget what Jesus did command:

that dignity for all be his new Way,

upon that rock the church must take a stand.

Um, Rick? My sexuality is ME.

Shut UP already ‘bout my dignity.

‘mkay?

edited to add: This is my second submission to Shannon's InSoWriMo (International Sonnet Writing Month) challenge.

triple dog dare you

Edited again to add Myra's (my ... sort of.... what would you call yourself, Myra? My aunt-in-law?) sonnet (and oh be still my heart, how happy am I now??):

From festival to festival we yearn
To leave undone the many tasks that beckon.
Perhaps the earth, with every global turn
Grows weary of her solstice tasks, I reckon.

So if the leaves can put on different hues
When Autumn struts her stuff, I guess I can
Devise a new display, as I may choose
With green and gold and scarlet as my plan.

If stars can glow, as still the snowflake drifts
I'll add my contribution to the night.
If heaven can devise celestial gifts
I'll twinkle with a small domestic light.

So toss your list and fret not on your chores.
Here's wishing Love and Peace to you and yours!

Edited to add Jeff's response:

Sometimes when evening drapes it's fingers round
And squeezes thoughts and fears from someplace deep
When whispers of my spring cannot be found
And winter's snow so close now seems to creep
I watch my babies blankets rise and fall
And feel those fingers tighten harder still
As women's forms sleep soft on pillows tall
More beautiful than I could wish to build
Their faces speak of summers dreams and plans
The innocence of those living in spring
My winter's heart begins to understand
And slowly evenings fingers set me free
I lie back down contented in the fall
And winter doesn't seem too bad at all...

And now my happiness is complete....

***

My friend Jeff responded thus on Facebook to my challenge:

I can not write a sonnet

I will not wear a bonnet

Keep such dares inside your mouth

Before there's duct tape on it.

To which I respectfully reply to my dear friend, a talented photographer and father of some astonishingly lovely girls:

you can you can you can you can you can

a sonnet is not really difficult

please try and i will be your biggest fan

i do not fear it will lead to tumult.

indeed a sonnet could be just as fun

as taking photos of your lovely girls

okay well maybe not if there is sun,

or if their bonnets let peek raven curls.

but still and all a sonnet you can write

and i believe today is just the day

for such a form in you to take its flight.

duct tape is no defense from what i say

so put your bonnet on your pretty head

and send a sonnet 'ere you go to bed!

So if you're still not sure, here's a little tutorial I offered to another friend:

it's like a puzzle, because it has a really strict form. so first, there's the rhythm of the poem, which is written in what's called iambic pentameter. an iamb is what's called a "foot" in poetry, and it's two syllables, the first unstressed, the second stressed. so like "da DUM." pentameter just means there are five of these feet in each line.

da DUM da DUM da DUM da DUM da DUM

so that's the rhythm of a sonnet. all the lines are in iambic pentameter.

next, there's a really strict rhyme scheme. well, actually there are several, but the one i used in my sonnet is the easiest and most typical. it goes like this (with the letters representing the rhyme at the end of each line; i've put the rhymes in my sonnet here too):

A (dog)
B (child)
A (agog)
B (reviled)
C (fear)
D (foreigner)
C (pier)
D (in her)
E (magnifies)
F (now)
E (clearer eyes)
F (vow)
G (then)
G (amen)

so the fun of a sonnet is making it all fit in the strict form, but still saying something meaningful. here's a really famous one from shakespeare:

Shall I compare thee to a Summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And Summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And oft' is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd:
But thy eternal Summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wanderest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

cool huh? you should give it a try!

Triple dog dare ya, Jeff. I'm not afraid of your duct tape, but you should be afraid of the bonnet I'm going to make you wear if you don't send me a sonnet by the end of the day.

I Dare You

Mark has challenged me to write a post on how the Bible can be true without being factual, and whether it means anything at all if we start picking and choosing what is factual, as opposed to stories that can point to important truths. This is not a simple task, especially for someone as unschooled in the Bible as I am. But I would like Mark and others to understand how I read the Bible, and why. So I'm working on it.

I think this post will dovetail nicely with the question Suzanne has asked, which is how can rational people believe in a religious faith based on a tale of virgin birth? So I'm working on that too.

In thinking about both these posts, I asked Michael to send me a copy of his sermon titled "People Matter," because at the end of the day, I'm pretty sure that's the key to both questions. So last night, I was reading his sermon and thinking.

At the same time, and totally unrelated, I had asked Julie to write a sonnet for Shannon, who is writing a sonnet a week in the month of December, and has challenged her readers to do the same. I have never fancied myself much of a poet, but Julie is a bit of an idiot savant when it comes to sonnet-writing. I think she dreams in iambic pentameter. So in about thirty minutes, Julie whipped this off:

A “dona nobis pacem” frame of mind

eludes me and the world this time of year:

no peace on earth, no tranquil hope may find

free lodging absent stealth companion’s fear.

The bleak midwinter challenges my mood,

A dilatory penchant for stiff drink,

The promise of vast stores of festive food,

I cannot draw a breath nor even think

About the 40 thousand items on my list

of absolutely musts and shoulds and mights

…How is a girl to stave off being pissed

About responsibilities’ mad flights

through quantum realms of things still left undone?

I fear the race is o’er before ‘tis run.

Yeah, Julie's feeling a little cranky these days, but she was a sport to crank out a sonnet anyway. She made it look so easy, I decided to try my hand. Since I was reading Michael's sermon, I thought I would rewrite it as a sonnet. Almost three hours later, this is what I came up with:

Syrophoenician woman, like a dog

you wait for crumbs of bread to heal your child.

You break convention, touch the man, agog,

insist that no one should be spurned, reviled.

In you Jesus confronts the demon fear:

of woman, gentile, unclean foreigner.

Not just the food he shared beside the pier

is clean, but also now the soul in her

your child. Her soul, your courage magnifies

the Lord, expands his heart and shows him now

what love can make us see through clearer eyes,

and hearts can strive to make their solemn vow:

with no exceptions, never, now nor then,

all People Matter. Lord we say amen!

Julie points out that "Jesus" in the fifth line is not really an iamb, but that it's actually a "substitute foot" that focuses your attention on Jesus. And I just want to be clear that was totally intentional on my part.

I don't think I've ever written a sonnet before, but it was kind of fun. I might write another one soon. I double dare you to give it a try!