To the heart of rest

C. asked for a thousand words. I thought I'd provide this instead.

Stratford!

I first saw--or really, experienced--Shakespeare's As You Like It during my freshman year at PHC. It was the first play Eden Troupe did. (For a really old memory, check out this news story from PHC during those early days. In the plaid shawl is our very own Rosalind, who is marrying Orlando for real in November.) So today was a special treat: seeing the Royal Shakespeare Company perform As You Like It today in Stratford-Upon-Avon. The opportunity came up rather unexpectedly, and I am so glad it did.

I was hoping to see an insightful performance of Jaques the Melancholy. (Ever since I agonized over his costume back in our own performance, I've been curious about his character). In this I was disappointed, though; today's Jaques tended to strike statuesque poses and deliver lines like an orator. He did almost no interpretation of the "All the world's a stage" speech.

But what I did find fascinating was the RSC's presentation of the dukes. (I'm afraid I can't remember their names and don't have time to look them up. :-) ) Both dukes were played by the same actor, just as we did at PHC. But today's double-casting was obviously deliberate and highly dramatized. In the play's first two acts, almost every good-duke scene is followed immediately by a bad-duke scene. To change scenes, Good Duke merely changed his costume slightly to become Bad Duke, the lighting changed, and that was that. For instance, Good Duke had a scene wearing an overcoat, and when the scene ended he threw off his overcoat to reveal a red dinner jacket (the bad-duke costume), the lighting became more harsh, and behold, he was Bad Duke. The change of scene was easy to follow. And it raises some interesting questions about the character of both dukes.

The Royal Shakespeare Theatre is on the bank of the Avon. On a bridge across the Avon, there's an inscription commemorating some extensive waterway repairs. The inscription itself brought back lots of memories. Those of you who remember the early Eden Troupe days will appreciate it: "We were not experts, and therefore we did not know what could not be done."

The Great Tower

The Great Tower of Magdalen College is 144 feet tall, and it has a properly medieval key: a long, heavy iron key that turns a huge lock in the massive wooden door. Once you enter the Tower, you must unlock another door leading to the spiral staircase, so narrow that you must climb it single-file. About 150 steps up you reach a ladder, and at the end of that ladder is a wooden door that opens onto the top of the Tower. And there you are: far above Oxford's streets and spires, gazing down on meadows, gardens, shops, and college quads. No rain in our faces on this day; the sky was bright blue and the sun shone on the green fields below.

To climb the Great Tower, you must go with a Magdalen student who has climbed the Tower before, and who has a signed form allowing him to obtain the key from the college porter. We went up with Chris, a Magdalen student who first went up with his friend James. I don't know who taught James to climb the Tower, but Magdalen students have been showing each other up this Tower for hundreds of years.

Beneath our feet the Magdalen bells were ringing. Every year on May 1st at sunrise, the college choir assembles at the top and sings to welcome the May. (Then, according to tradition, students who've watched the ceremony jump off Magdalen bridge into the Cherwell, which they're technically not allowed to do, but they do anyway.)

I want to come back next May.

Blenheim Palace and its back forty

On Wednesday we went to visit Blenheim Palace, where Churchill was born and where he proposed to his wife. It's an elaborate palace surrounded by lavish gardens and a beautiful estate. But the entrance fee is pretty high. So we were very happy when, at St. Ebbe's Bible study the night before, Reuben (our Bible study leader) said, "Have you heard how to get into Blenheim Estate for free? It's perfectly legal."

And that was where the adventure began. Wednesday morning we caught a bus to the little village of Woodstock and started looking for the Green Gate that would let us in for free. Apparently the public has right of access onto the estate (not the house itself), but you have to know which gate to use. We wandered past tea shops and through alleys and past the ancient stone church. Finally, in a stone wall by the road, there was an unmarked gate. And it was Green. We tried the latch and it opened, and there we were, in Blenheim.

There's a road that winds through Blenheim's sheep pastures, past the Monument of Victory erected to a former Duke of Marlborough, over the big stone bridge across the lake, and right up to the palace's front gate. (Okay, so I was tempted to climb the gate, just for fun.) We got lots of pictures, had a picnic lunch, and even visited the estate gift shop. On our way back we hopped the electric fence and traipsed through the sheep pastures (you have to be careful where you step when you do that), which, again, was perfectly legal. It would have felt exactly like Lizzie Bennet visiting Pemberly, except that Mr. Darcy wasn't home.

And speaking of Lizzie Bennet, the new Pride and Prejudice is out in the UK. Mary, Laura and I went ballroom dancing in one of the colleges and then over to a little Oxford theatre to see the movie. I liked it better than I thought I would. (The ballroom dancing was fun too, even if I did end up dancing with another girl for most of the class, until she had to leave early and the class intructor led me in sweeping steps across the floor for a few delightful seconds. :-) )

Snapshots

The last several days are difficult to describe. Each day seems full enough to hold a week. The short summary is that we saw London sights for the rest of last week, and on Saturday took a bus (or, as I was instructed to call it, a coach) to Oxford. As a blow-by-blow description is impossible, here are some snapshots...

Tuesday, 18 October
London Underground
They call the London Underground the city beneath the city. It’s true, only this underground city has a lot more staircases than the above-ground one does. And our suitcases are heavy. We haul them up ten stairs here, down twenty stairs there. Finally, at our last stop, I swipe my little ticket, walk through the swinging gate, and pull my suitcase behind me. The gate closes squarely on my suitcase. I pull. No luck. I pull again. Nothing budges. Finally someone comes along who has a special key to open the gate, and I am free from the Underground.

Finchley Road, Hampstead, London
My sister and I knock on the door of our little bed and breakfast. Our host opens the door and gives us something of a start; he is hunched over and wears a beret and twiddles his thumbs and eagerly asks if we want something to drink. “No!” we blurt out. “I mean, no, really, we’re fine, thank you… not thirsty at all…” In our tiny upstairs room a bright red embroidered elephant prances across the bedspread. A half-window overlooks the street. All the Sherlock Holmes movies I ever saw rush to my mind. Are there secret passages in this house?

Wednesday, 19 October
Wesley’s Chapel, The City, London
This church, built by John Wesley, is still in use. I don’t know if the English Methodists have gone down the same road the American ones have, but it’s exciting to be in the church John Wesley started. His pulpit is in a little museum in the church basement, and his grave is behind the church building. The inscription on his gravestone lists some of his accomplishments and then reads, “Reader, if thou art constrained to bless the instrument, give God the glory.”

Tower of London
The inimitable Josh Garboczi meets my sister and me at the Tower tube station, which (in typical London style) is built almost on top of an ancient Roman wall. We wander around the Tower and through back alleys to find a pizza shop for dinner. By the time we finish dinner it’s raining, and we have one umbrella between us. So we slosh through rain and puddles, laughing and telling old PHC stories and hearing about Josh’s Cornish pasties and his infamous midnight walk through London. It rains all the way from Tower Bridge to Westminster, but it’s fun to walk beneath dripping trees in the lamplight with good friends.

Thursday, 20 October
London Underground
We are hauling our suitcases through the Tube again, from the bed and breakfast to our friends’ house in northern London. Fortunately the suitcases have wheels, and today’s Underground stations don’t have many staircases. Our train arrives and my sister goes ahead of me to roll her suitcase on. But the suitcase wheels catch in the fabled gap between the station and the train, and the train doors are about to close. The next few seconds happen in slow motion. My sister pulls on the suitcase, with no luck. A polite man reaches out to help. I, barely seeing our polite friend, deliver a violent kick to the suitcase. The suitcase leaps into the train, and Mr. Chivalrous quickly retires. By the time I realize my abysmal lack of manners it’s too late, and I can only stammer out a belated thank-you.

And then there was Oxford:

Sunday, 23 October
Evensong, Magdalen College Chapel
The vaulted chapel is gently candlelit. As we are with a scholar of Magdalen College, we can sit in the carved chairs reserved for University members. My friend sits in C.S. Lewis’s chair. In the dim light overhead are stained glass windows and endless stone carvings, and in Magdalen tower the bells are ringing. Then the organ begins, and the choir sings the same prayers that have rung in this hall for centuries. Lighten our darkness, we beseech thee, O Lord; and by thy great mercy defend us from all perils and dangers of this night…

Monday, 24 October
University Church of St. Mary the Virgin
We climb up the spiral stone staircase, past the John Henry Newman room, past the church roof, past tall and narrow windows, and finally onto an observation turret halfway up the church tower. Our walkway is about one foot wide, and rain collects in hollows in the stone beneath our feet. Below us are Oxford’s “dreaming spires.” Laura points out Magdalen tower, Exeter’s steeple, Merton tower, Christ Church cathedral, and the Balliol quad. On one side of the spire we are protected from the wind and rain; on the other side we get it full in our faces. But the view is worth it.

Tuesday, 25 October
St. Ebbe’s Church, Oxford
My friend’s church, St. Ebbe’s, is in central Oxford and is a living, rejoicing, Bible-centered church. Sunday morning’s meeting was explosive with fellowship, like Grace Community in Ashburn. Tonight is their Bible study called “Christianity Explored,” which seems to be like the Alpha course. Around our table are Oxford students studying Mark to find out who Jesus is. There’s N., who’s quiet but seems to be listening carefully; my friend L., who co-leads the study; C., a Christian who brought his friend; B., a fifth-year medical student; and W., a graduate philosophy student who is reading the Bible, learning Greek, reading Lewis and Piper, asks dozens of questions and answers most of them himself, and still isn’t quite convinced that Christianity is true. We sit around the table and talk long after the meeting officially ends. Finally we leave as the pastoral apprentices clean up leftover cookies and coffee cups. I wish I could be here for the next three months to see these people come to know Christ.

Quaint London

Well, our bed and breakfast has free internet access, yes, but computers, no. So I'm typing this from another British keyboard in a little internet cafe. Our B&B has lots of character--an embroidered elephant on the bedspread, a Chinese painting of a galloping horse on the wall, a tiny breakfast table for two, and a green garden out back.

Yesterday we walked by Parliament and found one of the entrances surrounded by press and onlookers. I suppose a VIP was about to come out, but we never did see him. Maybe we just missed seeing Tony Blair. But we did see Big Ben, and hear it ring as we walked over the Thames.

Tonight, we meet the inimitable Josh Garboczi downtown. Looking forward to it!

I may not post again until we get to Oxford this weekend. By then we're sure to have more stories...

For those of you who look at quotation marks...

... I'm not trying to be pretentious. I just couldn't find the double quotation marks on this British keyboard. I guess that's when you know you're really there!

Some Pond

We're here. We spent last night in cramped airplane seats, trying to rest our heads on tiny pillows, flying east, racing toward the sunrise to meet it halfway. Ireland slid underneath us in the darknesss, too far away to see. We met the sunlight and London at the same time, both partially hidden in fog.

This afternoon my sister and I discovered the small neighborhood bakery, where we ordered Cornish pasty and tea and the lady behind the counter called us 'my love.' (The Scottish stewardess last night kept calling me 'darling,' rolling her R's.) Tonight, dinner with our kind hosts, a Christian couple who'd never met us but agreed to have us for the night. Spaghetti in a charmingly cluttered dining room, a few roses still blooming in the garden outside. Then after-dinner chat in front of the tiny fireplace in their yellow-curtained sitting room.

And we did pack the apple pie after all. Just two slices in tupperware. But it made a good breakfast at 6:30 a.m., which was really 1:30 a.m... You have to convince yourself that it's morning somehow. Apple pie and tea are a pretty good way to do it.

We're off

The rush of getting ready is finally slowing down. My sister and I have packed one suitcase, realized we couldn't share a suitcase and re-packed almost everything into two suicases, made plane and bus and insurance and lodging reservations, checked and re-checked lists, and tried to figure out a way to pack apple pie. In a few hours The Trip begins. I'm beginning to believe it's real.

Apparently our bed & breakfast in London has free Internet access, so I hope to blog while we're there. Cheerio!

Time magazine and deep magic

It’s been a while since I saw so much Scripture quoted in Time magazine. Today’s online edition features an article by David van Biema titled “How to Tell if The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe is a Christian Film.” Van Biema actually nails what some Christians don’t fully understand: Christian theology is about atonement. So, he says, if Walden Media’s new movie carries certain crucial lines about a willing victim being killed in a traitor’s stead, then it’s a Christian movie.

I quibble with van Biema’s definitions (biblically speaking, only people are described as Christian, so I don’t think there’s such a thing as a Christian movie). And he seems compelled to make the story all about money (how much will Christians pay for a Christian movie?). But hey, when was the last time you saw a Time writer try to explain the gospel, complete with Scripture references?

Come on, I know you always wondered

Remember that scene in The Swiss Family Robinson where the python swallows the donkey? I’ve always wanted to know what would happen in real life to such an optimistic python. Well, you can now lay your questions to rest. According to BBC online, there was a python who tried to swallow an alligator. (Don’t feel bad—I laughed too.)

(The other thing I wanted after reading Swiss Family Robinson was to ride an ostrich. Still waiting on that one.)

Blogging to resume shortly...

Big transitions of the last couple weeks (see last post) have interrupted my blogging routine. Poems, news, and reflections will return shortly. For now, I'm ironing clothes and packing lunch for my first day at my new job tomorrow.

In the meantime, welcome Lee Ann to blogging!