“A continuation of the overproduced, less musically intricate, lyrically lacking road Viva La Vida started. Under Brian Eno’s direction Coldplay has lost that raw, deep sound they had with Parachutes. If ever they were accused of trying to be U2, this is the clearest example. But Mylo X sounds more like a compilation of all U2’s b-side demo tracks that weren’t good enough to make an album cut. New Coldplay has programmed drums, auto-tune, dance songs, non-impacting lyrics, and Rihanna. The antithesis of what they once were, and what I believe good music to be. There are some “moments” on here, but never whole songs. It seems like all experimentation with no sustenance. Sure, guitars, but no solos, no comprehensible melodic soul. Just filler at parts. None of these short songs have anything to them or progress the thing as an album, or leave any impression (like the 46 second pretty “Parachute”). “Hurts Like Heaven” and “Up With the Birds” embody some of the best of what was the Viva La Vida album sound, but none of them reminiscent of P, AROBTTH, or really X&Y… (on the whole, their best stuff).
If there was ever such a thing as selling out, we witness it here. Rock/Alt icons, going techo/electric dance. Dumbing down their musical virtuoso and subtle passions (like Yellow) for a bouncy tune. The shock value of the sell-out will give it its sales, and its attention, maybe even praise. But those who know what we have lost (as with Songs About Jane, Maroon 5) feel this sting very deeply. Paradise is the gooyest thing ever (da butterflies…. every time she closed her eeeeyeees).
‘Rock this club like dynomite’ finds its way to my subconscious when I hear “Every tear drop is a waterfall” …. and my tear drops just maybe that. Some gems, at most, but nothing meriting the hype and expectations placed upon this supergroup is delivered from this album (they already did a graffiti cover with viva anyway? why the same thing?) Thanks for reading. Sorry to be a “hater”. I just don’t lower my standards. Otherwise the music industry will lower theirs right with me.”
I remembered today that Coldplay had a new album coming out soon or just did not long ago. So I got on iTunes and saw that it had been released and wanted to test drive it. As I was listening to the 90 second previews I noticed that the first comment was long and immediately started tearing the album apart. I liked it so much I decided to start my blog with it, credit going to the writer Elijah Lewis.
As I read his review I immediately connected with him, he put into words so perfectly my feelings towards the mainstream music industry. I agree entirely with all of his points. The sad thing is most of what he said can be applied to a plethora of other artists. Synths and electronic instruments/sounds are taking over the industry. I’m pretty sure the most recent Black Eyed Peas album had auto-tune in every song, it sounds nothing like their Elephunk album, let alone their pre-Fergie albums (bet some of you didn’t know BEP first existed without her and they were still awesome then). All of Hip-Hop artists are becoming less and less distinguishable, even ‘non’-Hip-Hop artists are sounding like Hip-Hop artists. Sometimes I really can’t tell if I’m listening to a song by Maroon 5 or by Rihanna. Synths are taking over the industry.
Obviously there is something to be said about that. Synths are like a musical drug, they help you live in a fantasy dream world. But people, that’s what listening to techno is for. Whereas when synths meet H-H, R&B, rock, etc., the music becomes more about the synths and ‘killer beats’ and the listener’s gut reaction of pleasure to it and less about lyrical prowess, amazing instrumental talent, or the group's foundational identity. All of Red Hot Chili Peppers’ songs on their new album sound very similar to each other and there is a lot of background music (noise) in each song that makes any appreciation for instrumental talent go right out the window.
A couple reasons that come to mind on why groups/artists change their music are money, the ‘need’ to evolve, and being in the limelight. Any band will know that a 40 year-old’s taste in music will be different from a 20 year-old’s. So, if your band has a heavy middle-aged following you might try modifying your music to make more money. It’s also not uncommon for a band to change its sound as a matter of course. The issue is when a band sees what trends in music are becoming popular and they try to change according to that, they evolve according to culture, not according to the talent and brains within the band itself. And hand-in-hand with that is being in the limelight. I have found that bands that are rarely or never played on the radio will change their sound, but never in a way that challenges the original sound of the band. On the other hand, if a band is on the radio, or further more if, as an example, a rock band is marketed along with H-H artists, musical styles begin to mesh. The rock artist wants a piece of the H-H crowd and vice-versa. Artists are driven by competitiveness rather than their hearts.
Like I said, a lot of groups are changing their sound such that they don’t really sound like what they started as. Here is a non-exhaustive list of mostly contemporary artists/groups on my iTunes whose albums that I own I really like: Angels & Airwaves, Audioslave, Black Eyed Peas, Blink-182, Coheed & Cambria, Coldplay, Craid David, Explosions in the Sky, Girl Talk, Gorillaz, Green Day, Incubus, Jamiroquai, Jurassic 5, Kid Cudi, Maroon 5, Red Hot Chili Peppers, U2, Usher, Weezer, 311, Daft Punk, Massive Attack, Thievery Corporation. Of these artists, most of which are pretty well known, Coheed & Cambria, Explosions in the Sky, Gorillaz, Jurassic 5, Daft Punk, Massive Attack and Thievery Corporation are the only ones that I would consider buying a new album of theirs before listening to it, and not because they don’t change, but because they don’t change according to the changing culture. Most of the other groups are too far deviated from what they started as and/or just sound too similar to other, better, groups. Massive Attack is my flagship example in my second list. From their first album to their most recent there are changes all along the way, certainly noticeable, always new stuff, but they always sound like Massive Attack. By no means do they sound like they are being driven by popular trends in the mainstream music industry. Also, in the second list only two, maybe three, of the artists find their music in the mainstream, whereas nearly all of the mainstream artists in my first list didn’t make it to my second. Says something doesn’t it?
PS: This isn't my best blog, I didn't feel like thinking very hard.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Saturday, September 10, 2011
remembering 9/11
“Nine-eleven was a beautiful day. Everybody remembers it was a beautiful day.” Sounds like an oxymoron with images of death engraved in our memory when we hear the words ‘nine-eleven’. Even so, it was a beautiful day. The sun was out all day, not a cloud in the sky – neither too hot nor too cold. It was a day God gave to us that many would deem as perfection.
It was a Tuesday, the first Tuesday of my 7th grade year in fact. I was sitting in first period math class, Algebra 1 with Mrs. McKinney. Someone came to the room and handed her a pinkish red post-it note, from which she read to the class that the north tower of the World Trade Center was struck by a plane. We continued the day as usual. The next class was science class with Mr. Eimer. During this period he told us that the south tower was hit, and the possibility of terrorism was discussed. Even in Philadelphia, students in my class started having panic attacks. The Philadelphia school system shut down and sent students back home. So, our school closed too, and I went back home with my oldest brother, who had driven to school that day. I turned on the TV and watched. Went to the bathroom very briefly and in that short period of time the south tower fell. I don’t know why, but that’s when it became surreal to me…such huge, massive, strong buildings collapsing in mere seconds and the fate of thousands forever changed. As I watched the events unfold that morning I remember the immediate terrorist suspects were Osama Bin Laden and possibly Saddam Hussein.
Almost exactly the year before, my 6th grade class visited Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty. It was my first ever visit to the Big Apple, even though we didn’t really go into the city, Manhattan. That was my only glimpse of the World Trade Center with my own eyes. It was a dark and cloudy day, but I remember those huge towers looming over the enourmous metropolis, seen from the crown. It feels like yesterday that I was in New York purchasing my Statue of Liberty and NYC shot glasses. It feels like yesterday that I sat at home and watched the events unfold. It feels like yesterday that I watched the uncensored memorial specials on TV the next year…and the year after……and the year after…
…ten years later and I still can’t help but watch the 9/11 specials. I don’t know anyone who was directly involved that day, nor do I know anyone who knew anyone involved that day. Though, the father of a classmate of mine was high up in his fire department and he was called to New York to help with the clearing of the remains. Still, it never gets easier to watch, if anything it gets harder. I can’t watch without tears anymore, and I can now more fully appreciate the emotions people went through. I just finished watching Voices from Inside the Towers on the History channel where phone calls made from within the towers are documented. Calls from men, women, fathers, wives, husbands… I don’t have kids, and I’m not married, but I do have a girlfriend, and we are talking about marriage, and about kids – and putting myself in the shoes of the callers from inside the towers makes the events of that day very real.
Many of the calls highlighted were delivered with courage and boldness, without great indication of fear. The quote I started with came from an old woman, mother of a man who died that day. Sad as she was to go through that day and lose her son, she kept her head up. Her son Stephen died at the age of 33. She did not lament at the rest of his life being torn from him, but instead rejoiced at the 33 years of life he gave to her large family… “And now we have a feast to go back to – a feast of memories.”
There was one man, however, that emergency phone operators dubbed as ‘the voice of the towers’. Though not hysterical, he brought the reality of the situation inside the towers to the operators. “I have kids…I’m a husband…we’re young men…we’re not ready to die.” His wife was interviewed and she wanted to leave us with the words to make the most of your life, to spend quality time with the ones you love, because life is short and you never know when it will end. And I couldn’t agree more. I don’t claim to have found the balance between work and friends, but I see too many people buried in their work, schoolwork, etc., and not devoting enough time to fellowship. Work is great, and we should do it, but we were also made as creatures of fellowship. And that doesn’t mean partying all the time, it means getting to truly know people, caring about and loving them, times of laughter and times of conversation or simply silence, lasting bonds where you can find and give support. And let me tell you, this cannot be developed from a monthly cup of coffee scheduled between your overbooked life.
Today I was able to join in a pre-game ceremony at Pitt’s football game honoring the military. The Army, Navy, and Air Force ROTCs in Pittsburgh marched onto the field and presented salutes during the national anthem. I was proud to wear my Air Force blues, to receive the applause of the stadium, and to remember what our country fights for. Freedom. Approve, disapprove, cry ‘foul’ at possible ulterior motives for missions, wear yellow ribbons on your cars, doesn’t matter. Bottom line, we fight for freedom.
Currently, it is 10 September 2011. Tomorrow is Sunday. Fitting. In God We Trust.
It was a Tuesday, the first Tuesday of my 7th grade year in fact. I was sitting in first period math class, Algebra 1 with Mrs. McKinney. Someone came to the room and handed her a pinkish red post-it note, from which she read to the class that the north tower of the World Trade Center was struck by a plane. We continued the day as usual. The next class was science class with Mr. Eimer. During this period he told us that the south tower was hit, and the possibility of terrorism was discussed. Even in Philadelphia, students in my class started having panic attacks. The Philadelphia school system shut down and sent students back home. So, our school closed too, and I went back home with my oldest brother, who had driven to school that day. I turned on the TV and watched. Went to the bathroom very briefly and in that short period of time the south tower fell. I don’t know why, but that’s when it became surreal to me…such huge, massive, strong buildings collapsing in mere seconds and the fate of thousands forever changed. As I watched the events unfold that morning I remember the immediate terrorist suspects were Osama Bin Laden and possibly Saddam Hussein.
Almost exactly the year before, my 6th grade class visited Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty. It was my first ever visit to the Big Apple, even though we didn’t really go into the city, Manhattan. That was my only glimpse of the World Trade Center with my own eyes. It was a dark and cloudy day, but I remember those huge towers looming over the enourmous metropolis, seen from the crown. It feels like yesterday that I was in New York purchasing my Statue of Liberty and NYC shot glasses. It feels like yesterday that I sat at home and watched the events unfold. It feels like yesterday that I watched the uncensored memorial specials on TV the next year…and the year after……and the year after…
…ten years later and I still can’t help but watch the 9/11 specials. I don’t know anyone who was directly involved that day, nor do I know anyone who knew anyone involved that day. Though, the father of a classmate of mine was high up in his fire department and he was called to New York to help with the clearing of the remains. Still, it never gets easier to watch, if anything it gets harder. I can’t watch without tears anymore, and I can now more fully appreciate the emotions people went through. I just finished watching Voices from Inside the Towers on the History channel where phone calls made from within the towers are documented. Calls from men, women, fathers, wives, husbands… I don’t have kids, and I’m not married, but I do have a girlfriend, and we are talking about marriage, and about kids – and putting myself in the shoes of the callers from inside the towers makes the events of that day very real.
Many of the calls highlighted were delivered with courage and boldness, without great indication of fear. The quote I started with came from an old woman, mother of a man who died that day. Sad as she was to go through that day and lose her son, she kept her head up. Her son Stephen died at the age of 33. She did not lament at the rest of his life being torn from him, but instead rejoiced at the 33 years of life he gave to her large family… “And now we have a feast to go back to – a feast of memories.”
There was one man, however, that emergency phone operators dubbed as ‘the voice of the towers’. Though not hysterical, he brought the reality of the situation inside the towers to the operators. “I have kids…I’m a husband…we’re young men…we’re not ready to die.” His wife was interviewed and she wanted to leave us with the words to make the most of your life, to spend quality time with the ones you love, because life is short and you never know when it will end. And I couldn’t agree more. I don’t claim to have found the balance between work and friends, but I see too many people buried in their work, schoolwork, etc., and not devoting enough time to fellowship. Work is great, and we should do it, but we were also made as creatures of fellowship. And that doesn’t mean partying all the time, it means getting to truly know people, caring about and loving them, times of laughter and times of conversation or simply silence, lasting bonds where you can find and give support. And let me tell you, this cannot be developed from a monthly cup of coffee scheduled between your overbooked life.
Today I was able to join in a pre-game ceremony at Pitt’s football game honoring the military. The Army, Navy, and Air Force ROTCs in Pittsburgh marched onto the field and presented salutes during the national anthem. I was proud to wear my Air Force blues, to receive the applause of the stadium, and to remember what our country fights for. Freedom. Approve, disapprove, cry ‘foul’ at possible ulterior motives for missions, wear yellow ribbons on your cars, doesn’t matter. Bottom line, we fight for freedom.
Currently, it is 10 September 2011. Tomorrow is Sunday. Fitting. In God We Trust.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
connections
We all get connected to people over the years. Connections come from blood, some connections come from marriage, other connections come from dating, others from having grown up with someone, some from church or a campus ministry, from going to school together, or from being in the same organization, or from working together....the list goes on. Most people, though not all, become deeply connected with their own blood - sister, brother, mother, father - deep and intimate conversations and feelings can be expressed here. Rarely does a connection like this end outside of death. Similarly, the connection created between lifelong friends and from marriage is deeply rooted, sometimes more so than that created from blood, and it too lasts a life time. Some relationships remain merely at the acquaintance level, you stop to talk to them at church or on the street if you happen to see them, but no connection outside of that exists, your life goes on without them. Connections like these are easy to deal with.
However, not all connections are easy to deal with. Suppose you're dating someone and the relationship ends horribly in argument and bitterness. Do you simply throw that person in the trash? Certainly the easy thing to do. Or do you hope to become casual friends again? What about a relationship that ended peacefully? Some may try to date that person again - often I've found, though not always, it is met with failure. Or, maintaining a casual friendship after that is easy. Should you though? What if the next person you date is uncomfortable with you talking to your last partner? Or suppose one of your best friends, maybe one you grew up with, became addicted to "sex, drugs, and rock n' roll" as it were. Do you stay and help them, try to bring them back from that life while maybe risking your own well being? Or do you write them out of your life and simply pray for them each night before you go to bed? What WOULD Jesus do?
However, not all connections are easy to deal with. Suppose you're dating someone and the relationship ends horribly in argument and bitterness. Do you simply throw that person in the trash? Certainly the easy thing to do. Or do you hope to become casual friends again? What about a relationship that ended peacefully? Some may try to date that person again - often I've found, though not always, it is met with failure. Or, maintaining a casual friendship after that is easy. Should you though? What if the next person you date is uncomfortable with you talking to your last partner? Or suppose one of your best friends, maybe one you grew up with, became addicted to "sex, drugs, and rock n' roll" as it were. Do you stay and help them, try to bring them back from that life while maybe risking your own well being? Or do you write them out of your life and simply pray for them each night before you go to bed? What WOULD Jesus do?
Thursday, March 10, 2011
my dad's open heart surgery
Since my dad's open heart surgery somehow came up in conversation in a hot tub last night, and since I just watched a Nova episode on the electrical system of the heart, I figured I'd talk about my dad's heart surgery, something that rarely crosses my mind.
I'm honestly not too knowledgeable on what exactly happened, it's not something I bring up much to ask about, but about seventeen-and-a-half years ago my dad underwent open heart surgery. He had to have a metal ring placed into a collapsed vein or something. On the rare occasion he sets off metal detectors walking into stores :-). So at the time I was four years old and clueless, which now I greatly appreciate. Even with today's extraordinary technology, no one ever wants to have open heart surgery - it's scary and can be quite risky. I would probably not be doing too well if someone I knew had to have it today. So rewind 17+ years ago and, even as advanced as the technology was back then, it's all that much scarier.
At the time I thought, if anything, it was a cool experience. I only remember visiting my dad at the hospital once, not sure if it was before or after the surgery. He was watching the Phillies and wearing those sweet red socks with the rubber grips on the bottom...I wanted them. The only thing that served/serves as a reminder of the surgery to me was the scar on his chest. It was a big scar, a manly scar, a scar to be proud of. I always thought it was the coolest thing. And my dad had a breathing apparatus where you have to make ping-pong type balls rise to the tops of their tubes by inhaling really hard on another tube, each ball heavier than the next. Somehow it was supposed to help his recovery. I loved that thing, thought it was a toy and used it myself. He gave it to me to keep when he didn't need it anymore.
I'm guessing my middle brother wasn't too effected by the event either, being 7, but my oldest brother at 9 may have been, I don't know. I can't imagine how my mom felt, not only because of the deep concern for the well being of her husband and the risk of the surgery, but also the money. I know we have at least halfway decent medical insurance, but no surgery is cheap, not even a routine one like pulling my wisdom teeth - about $2600 if I remember. Open heart surgery? A LOT more. And chances are after something like that you're gonna be rather afraid to spend money on anything non-essential, doing lots of fun things, now that you realize that life isn't so comfortable and something very bad can happen at any moment, taking money from the bank.
I wonder how my life may be different had nothing gone wrong with his heart. Until last night if you would have asked me when his surgery was I would've said '93 or '94, with moderate confidence. But last night my friend, who is only four days older than me, told me with complete confidence that my dad's surgery was in '93. I gave him the hairy eyeball and a raised brow. Apparently his dad frequently talks about how my dad said that going through the surgery and recovery in the hospital was made much more bearable because he was able to watch the Phillies when they were in the '93 World Series. I never realized that. Is it any wonder why I am the Phillies fan that I am? Haha.
Incidentally as I watched the show on Nova tonight with my dad, I knew he'd be interested, one of the doctors was talking about a certain heart condition and said something like, "Something shocking, even something like closing the door a little too loudly, can cause someone instant death." ...my dad started laughing and said, "I guess I should stop scaring my students!" I'm glad he's alive.
I'm honestly not too knowledgeable on what exactly happened, it's not something I bring up much to ask about, but about seventeen-and-a-half years ago my dad underwent open heart surgery. He had to have a metal ring placed into a collapsed vein or something. On the rare occasion he sets off metal detectors walking into stores :-). So at the time I was four years old and clueless, which now I greatly appreciate. Even with today's extraordinary technology, no one ever wants to have open heart surgery - it's scary and can be quite risky. I would probably not be doing too well if someone I knew had to have it today. So rewind 17+ years ago and, even as advanced as the technology was back then, it's all that much scarier.
At the time I thought, if anything, it was a cool experience. I only remember visiting my dad at the hospital once, not sure if it was before or after the surgery. He was watching the Phillies and wearing those sweet red socks with the rubber grips on the bottom...I wanted them. The only thing that served/serves as a reminder of the surgery to me was the scar on his chest. It was a big scar, a manly scar, a scar to be proud of. I always thought it was the coolest thing. And my dad had a breathing apparatus where you have to make ping-pong type balls rise to the tops of their tubes by inhaling really hard on another tube, each ball heavier than the next. Somehow it was supposed to help his recovery. I loved that thing, thought it was a toy and used it myself. He gave it to me to keep when he didn't need it anymore.
I'm guessing my middle brother wasn't too effected by the event either, being 7, but my oldest brother at 9 may have been, I don't know. I can't imagine how my mom felt, not only because of the deep concern for the well being of her husband and the risk of the surgery, but also the money. I know we have at least halfway decent medical insurance, but no surgery is cheap, not even a routine one like pulling my wisdom teeth - about $2600 if I remember. Open heart surgery? A LOT more. And chances are after something like that you're gonna be rather afraid to spend money on anything non-essential, doing lots of fun things, now that you realize that life isn't so comfortable and something very bad can happen at any moment, taking money from the bank.
I wonder how my life may be different had nothing gone wrong with his heart. Until last night if you would have asked me when his surgery was I would've said '93 or '94, with moderate confidence. But last night my friend, who is only four days older than me, told me with complete confidence that my dad's surgery was in '93. I gave him the hairy eyeball and a raised brow. Apparently his dad frequently talks about how my dad said that going through the surgery and recovery in the hospital was made much more bearable because he was able to watch the Phillies when they were in the '93 World Series. I never realized that. Is it any wonder why I am the Phillies fan that I am? Haha.
Incidentally as I watched the show on Nova tonight with my dad, I knew he'd be interested, one of the doctors was talking about a certain heart condition and said something like, "Something shocking, even something like closing the door a little too loudly, can cause someone instant death." ...my dad started laughing and said, "I guess I should stop scaring my students!" I'm glad he's alive.
Monday, February 28, 2011
choral music
Well it’s Monday night at 11pm, I have abstract algebra homework to be doing, an exam to study for, and probably other schoolwork that I don’t know about, and I have no desire to do any of that right now. So I’m deciding to do nothing productive and write. This time I want to try to share my thoughts on choral music.
**NOTE: As I talk about choral music throughout this blog I will be referring to a singer or singing ensemble, a cappella or accompanied, performing some sort of classical type music (‘classical’ rather loosely used). Something that wouldn’t fit into my definition would be music such as Straight No Chaser.**
Both my parents LOVE classical music. They both sing, my mom plays the French horn, my dad plays the tuba, piano, and organ. For about four years my dad was the director (and founder) of the Men’s Chorus at my high school. In fact, they got to know each other because they were both involved in the music program at Lehigh University. My middle brother was usually the lead in the musicals since middle school. I can sing classical music. My oldest brother……heck, I’m 22 years old and I still don’t know what his singing voice sounds like, not sure what happened to him. From Kindergarten through 5th grade I went to and from school with my mom, listening to nothing but WRTI 90.1 ‘Philadelphia’s Classical and Jazz Station’. The point is, classical and choral music has been a part of my life since day one. Now, I could write about classical music as a whole, but I’m not smart enough or a good enough writer to do it justice, it’s just too broad. So I’m sticking with choral music.
I’ll go right out there and say it: there is something richly profound about choral music, so much so that I believe that every person on this planet can, given the right circumstances, be deeply moved by it. There is a reason why songs like ‘Steal Away’, ‘Amazing Grace’, and the ‘Hallelujah Chorus’ are so popular in every choir’s repertoire. Singing is the most simplistic type of music a human can make, it requires nothing more than yourself, and yet it can create some of the most beautiful music ever. Period. It can range from a small, quiet canticle, to a large, bombastic opera, evoking feelings of sadness or great joy.
Like with any music, I am very particular about my choral music. I think a lot of people write off choral music or just actively choose to not listen to it because they’ve heard boring works and see choral music as all being the same. First of all, this is certainly not the case, but secondly, I certainly sympathize. There is a lot of choral music I have heard that I think is awful, boring, white noise. Barring very few works, I dislike the whole genre of opera. In fact, I would say the majority of choral music I have heard I do not like. This is due to one of two reasons: I think the composer wrote boring music, or, the particular group/conductor/arranger did a poor rendition of it. Sadly, I think the latter would be the primary reason for myself. Regardless, there is still a lot of great choral music out there, you just have to search to find it.
Another related, but separate, reason why I think a lot of people aren’t into choral music so much is the means through which they listen to it. One of the main characteristics of choral music is the force of voices, the fullness of the sound. Unless you were to triple the size of an orchestra, no music has a fuller sound than a choir. Though choirs greatly vary in size, most have between 20 and 60 members. Some even have 300. No single instrument has such a great representation in any musical ensemble in any type of music (except the group of 2,000 drummers at the opening ceremony for the Beijing Olympics). I may be getting technical here, but the majority of sound reproduction systems can’t produce this full sound of a choir, not by a long shot. Unless you’ve got a good set of speakers or headphones you will not being doing choral music justice at all. Case-in-point: my all-time favorite soundtrack is Gladiator. I’ve had it for eleven years and have listened to it religiously. My most listened to song on it is ‘The Battle’, which I would listen to two to three to four times a night (10+ min. long) before falling asleep in elementary and middle school. It wasn’t until I got my new Sennheiser’s over this past summer that I found out, after 11 years, that the entire opening to that song is backed by a choir, and it totally changed my perception of it.
But why can choral music be so powerful? Why can it get the adrenaline pumping? Why can it well up the tear ducts? Why can it send huge chills up and down the spine and make your face tingle like a soft fire? I can’t truly answer that. I like to think that a large part of it is because we were made in God’s image. When I hear good choral music I am usually brought to thoughts of heaven, images of worshipping with the saints, singing amongst the angels in ethereal halls of pearl. On more than one occasion do we read in the Bible about the angels singing to God’s glory, heavenly hosts singing “Glory to God in the highest!” The idea of singing with a host, a multitude, of angels is elating and hearing such music here on earth is to me a glimpse of what heaven will be like. I see it as a symbol of what a pure-hearted mankind will one day be like, coming together as one, operating as one, with no extra baggage. I also like to think there is some sort of innate desire to hear or take part in choral music because, to a certain degree, that’s the ‘original’ music of man, if you will. We would be singing in the Garden of Eden. Genesis 1:27 says, “So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them.” It doesn’t read, “…male and female he created them – and drums and trumpets and guitars and violins and synthesizers he created them too.” It has been a long time wish of mine to hear a choral work composed by God. But I also pray that he waits until I go to heaven for that…I wouldn’t be able to handle it still on earth.
Some of my choral favorites: (album/work, ‘song title’)
Gabriel Faure’s Requiem performed by Jeremy Summerly and the Oxford Camerata
Maurice Durufle’s Requiem performed by Robert Shaw and the Atlanta Symphony Chorus
Gladiator by Hans Zimmer
Handel’s Messiah
‘A Repeating Alleluia’ and ‘Steal Away’ performed by the Choir of All Saints’ Church
Best Loved Hymns performed by Stephen Cleobury and the Choir of King’s College
‘Dies irae’ from Mozart’s Requiem
‘Call of the Champions’ (theme for Salt Lake City Olympics) by John Williams
Carl Orff’s Carmina Burana performed by Andre Previn and the London Symphony Chorus
Any Christmas album by the Cambridge Singers
The Phantom of the Opera performed by Sarah Brightman and Michael Crawford
‘Hymn to Red October’ from The Hunt for Red October by Basil Poledouris
The Lord of the Rings by Howard Shore
Giuseppe Verdi’s Requiem
Revenge of the Sith by John Williams
‘Titans’ from Alexander by Vangelis
Avatar by James Horner
Let me know if you have any good choral works up your sleeves for me to listen to.
**NOTE: As I talk about choral music throughout this blog I will be referring to a singer or singing ensemble, a cappella or accompanied, performing some sort of classical type music (‘classical’ rather loosely used). Something that wouldn’t fit into my definition would be music such as Straight No Chaser.**
Both my parents LOVE classical music. They both sing, my mom plays the French horn, my dad plays the tuba, piano, and organ. For about four years my dad was the director (and founder) of the Men’s Chorus at my high school. In fact, they got to know each other because they were both involved in the music program at Lehigh University. My middle brother was usually the lead in the musicals since middle school. I can sing classical music. My oldest brother……heck, I’m 22 years old and I still don’t know what his singing voice sounds like, not sure what happened to him. From Kindergarten through 5th grade I went to and from school with my mom, listening to nothing but WRTI 90.1 ‘Philadelphia’s Classical and Jazz Station’. The point is, classical and choral music has been a part of my life since day one. Now, I could write about classical music as a whole, but I’m not smart enough or a good enough writer to do it justice, it’s just too broad. So I’m sticking with choral music.
I’ll go right out there and say it: there is something richly profound about choral music, so much so that I believe that every person on this planet can, given the right circumstances, be deeply moved by it. There is a reason why songs like ‘Steal Away’, ‘Amazing Grace’, and the ‘Hallelujah Chorus’ are so popular in every choir’s repertoire. Singing is the most simplistic type of music a human can make, it requires nothing more than yourself, and yet it can create some of the most beautiful music ever. Period. It can range from a small, quiet canticle, to a large, bombastic opera, evoking feelings of sadness or great joy.
Like with any music, I am very particular about my choral music. I think a lot of people write off choral music or just actively choose to not listen to it because they’ve heard boring works and see choral music as all being the same. First of all, this is certainly not the case, but secondly, I certainly sympathize. There is a lot of choral music I have heard that I think is awful, boring, white noise. Barring very few works, I dislike the whole genre of opera. In fact, I would say the majority of choral music I have heard I do not like. This is due to one of two reasons: I think the composer wrote boring music, or, the particular group/conductor/arranger did a poor rendition of it. Sadly, I think the latter would be the primary reason for myself. Regardless, there is still a lot of great choral music out there, you just have to search to find it.
Another related, but separate, reason why I think a lot of people aren’t into choral music so much is the means through which they listen to it. One of the main characteristics of choral music is the force of voices, the fullness of the sound. Unless you were to triple the size of an orchestra, no music has a fuller sound than a choir. Though choirs greatly vary in size, most have between 20 and 60 members. Some even have 300. No single instrument has such a great representation in any musical ensemble in any type of music (except the group of 2,000 drummers at the opening ceremony for the Beijing Olympics). I may be getting technical here, but the majority of sound reproduction systems can’t produce this full sound of a choir, not by a long shot. Unless you’ve got a good set of speakers or headphones you will not being doing choral music justice at all. Case-in-point: my all-time favorite soundtrack is Gladiator. I’ve had it for eleven years and have listened to it religiously. My most listened to song on it is ‘The Battle’, which I would listen to two to three to four times a night (10+ min. long) before falling asleep in elementary and middle school. It wasn’t until I got my new Sennheiser’s over this past summer that I found out, after 11 years, that the entire opening to that song is backed by a choir, and it totally changed my perception of it.
But why can choral music be so powerful? Why can it get the adrenaline pumping? Why can it well up the tear ducts? Why can it send huge chills up and down the spine and make your face tingle like a soft fire? I can’t truly answer that. I like to think that a large part of it is because we were made in God’s image. When I hear good choral music I am usually brought to thoughts of heaven, images of worshipping with the saints, singing amongst the angels in ethereal halls of pearl. On more than one occasion do we read in the Bible about the angels singing to God’s glory, heavenly hosts singing “Glory to God in the highest!” The idea of singing with a host, a multitude, of angels is elating and hearing such music here on earth is to me a glimpse of what heaven will be like. I see it as a symbol of what a pure-hearted mankind will one day be like, coming together as one, operating as one, with no extra baggage. I also like to think there is some sort of innate desire to hear or take part in choral music because, to a certain degree, that’s the ‘original’ music of man, if you will. We would be singing in the Garden of Eden. Genesis 1:27 says, “So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them.” It doesn’t read, “…male and female he created them – and drums and trumpets and guitars and violins and synthesizers he created them too.” It has been a long time wish of mine to hear a choral work composed by God. But I also pray that he waits until I go to heaven for that…I wouldn’t be able to handle it still on earth.
Some of my choral favorites: (album/work, ‘song title’)
Gabriel Faure’s Requiem performed by Jeremy Summerly and the Oxford Camerata
Maurice Durufle’s Requiem performed by Robert Shaw and the Atlanta Symphony Chorus
Gladiator by Hans Zimmer
Handel’s Messiah
‘A Repeating Alleluia’ and ‘Steal Away’ performed by the Choir of All Saints’ Church
Best Loved Hymns performed by Stephen Cleobury and the Choir of King’s College
‘Dies irae’ from Mozart’s Requiem
‘Call of the Champions’ (theme for Salt Lake City Olympics) by John Williams
Carl Orff’s Carmina Burana performed by Andre Previn and the London Symphony Chorus
Any Christmas album by the Cambridge Singers
The Phantom of the Opera performed by Sarah Brightman and Michael Crawford
‘Hymn to Red October’ from The Hunt for Red October by Basil Poledouris
The Lord of the Rings by Howard Shore
Giuseppe Verdi’s Requiem
Revenge of the Sith by John Williams
‘Titans’ from Alexander by Vangelis
Avatar by James Horner
Let me know if you have any good choral works up your sleeves for me to listen to.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
observations from riding the bus
For the past year and a half I’ve been living in Shadyside, two miles from Pitt’s campus. As such I take the bus roundtrip to and from campus at least once, sometimes twice, a day. Riding the bus so often one picks up on a few things. But first, let me share my first bus riding experience.
Before classes started freshman year Holly Asher and I took the bus downtown to Duquesne University. We knew which bus to get and where to get off, but that was it. We didn’t know how to actually get off the bus. Prior to using Pittsburgh’s bus system the only form of public transportation I was used to was Philly’s regional rail train system. On the trains two things are true: one, the train stops at each and every train station, regardless if any passengers are getting on or off there; two, anything that can be pulled on the train is only pulled to apply the train’s emergency brakes. So, we soon realized that the bus wasn’t stopping at all the bus stop signs and something had to be done. But I was afraid to pull that yellow cord. It wasn’t until a solid six city blocks after our intended stop that I worked up the courage to
pull the cord and finally get off.
Now, here are some random observations I’ve picked up on from riding the bus a few hundred times:
-If you are a male sitting in a seat that faces the front of the bus, a young female is very unlikely to sit next to you unless there are no other seats. However, if you are a male sitting in the bench seats that face the sides of the bus, a young female is much more likely to sit next to you even if there are other seats available.
-If a bus is mostly empty, a male getting on the bus usually sits halfway back or further. A female getting on will usually sit right at the front.
-If you have to stand on the bus there are four acceptable places to stand, unless the bus driver is trying to pack the bus like a dumpster: the least desired place to stand is the aisle between the front facing seats, you’re always in the way of people trying to get by; the third most desired place to stand is between the bench seats at the front of the bus, considerably more side room to move out of the way with to let people by; the second most is between the bench seats at the back, for the same reason as the previous but with the addition that far fewer people have to walk by you when you’re at the back; and the number one place to stand is in the alcove next to the door in the middle of the bus, here you are completely out of the way of people trying to exit the bus and you don’t have to reach over seated people to pull the cord.
-As previously stated, unless the driver is packing people in, standing at the very front between the wheel wells is extremely obnoxious because even without people standing there it is the narrowest section of the bus, it annoys everyone.
-If you have a backpack and think you might have to stand on the bus, you better be able to twist your upper body, otherwise you are the Achille’s heal of everyone on the bus because they have to forcefully push through you like a revolving door to get by.
-These next two I’m not trying to stereotype, just merely stating observed fact. When lots of people are getting on the bus and people stopping walking to the back of the bus at the steps, the clog is usually caused by an Asian that is clueless to everyone trying to cram into the bus.
-Whenever I see someone running to catch the bus, nine times out of ten it is an Asian.
-Old people trying to catch a bus always hail down buses like a taxi, as though the bus driver might go right on by if they didn’t hail it even though there are clearly ten other people at the stop trying to get the same bus.
-Many CMU students pack the buses for a whopping three blocks. Use your legs! WALK INSTEAD.
-No one likes it when guys sit with their legs spread, taking up a seat and a half.
-And lastly, no one likes you when you don’t have your money or ID ready when you have to pay.
That’s it for me.
Before classes started freshman year Holly Asher and I took the bus downtown to Duquesne University. We knew which bus to get and where to get off, but that was it. We didn’t know how to actually get off the bus. Prior to using Pittsburgh’s bus system the only form of public transportation I was used to was Philly’s regional rail train system. On the trains two things are true: one, the train stops at each and every train station, regardless if any passengers are getting on or off there; two, anything that can be pulled on the train is only pulled to apply the train’s emergency brakes. So, we soon realized that the bus wasn’t stopping at all the bus stop signs and something had to be done. But I was afraid to pull that yellow cord. It wasn’t until a solid six city blocks after our intended stop that I worked up the courage to
pull the cord and finally get off.
Now, here are some random observations I’ve picked up on from riding the bus a few hundred times:
-If you are a male sitting in a seat that faces the front of the bus, a young female is very unlikely to sit next to you unless there are no other seats. However, if you are a male sitting in the bench seats that face the sides of the bus, a young female is much more likely to sit next to you even if there are other seats available.
-If a bus is mostly empty, a male getting on the bus usually sits halfway back or further. A female getting on will usually sit right at the front.
-If you have to stand on the bus there are four acceptable places to stand, unless the bus driver is trying to pack the bus like a dumpster: the least desired place to stand is the aisle between the front facing seats, you’re always in the way of people trying to get by; the third most desired place to stand is between the bench seats at the front of the bus, considerably more side room to move out of the way with to let people by; the second most is between the bench seats at the back, for the same reason as the previous but with the addition that far fewer people have to walk by you when you’re at the back; and the number one place to stand is in the alcove next to the door in the middle of the bus, here you are completely out of the way of people trying to exit the bus and you don’t have to reach over seated people to pull the cord.
-As previously stated, unless the driver is packing people in, standing at the very front between the wheel wells is extremely obnoxious because even without people standing there it is the narrowest section of the bus, it annoys everyone.
-If you have a backpack and think you might have to stand on the bus, you better be able to twist your upper body, otherwise you are the Achille’s heal of everyone on the bus because they have to forcefully push through you like a revolving door to get by.
-These next two I’m not trying to stereotype, just merely stating observed fact. When lots of people are getting on the bus and people stopping walking to the back of the bus at the steps, the clog is usually caused by an Asian that is clueless to everyone trying to cram into the bus.
-Whenever I see someone running to catch the bus, nine times out of ten it is an Asian.
-Old people trying to catch a bus always hail down buses like a taxi, as though the bus driver might go right on by if they didn’t hail it even though there are clearly ten other people at the stop trying to get the same bus.
-Many CMU students pack the buses for a whopping three blocks. Use your legs! WALK INSTEAD.
-No one likes it when guys sit with their legs spread, taking up a seat and a half.
-And lastly, no one likes you when you don’t have your money or ID ready when you have to pay.
That’s it for me.
Friday, January 21, 2011
peace in fear
It has been a little while since I wrote something last, I'm still trying to think of what I want to write about. In the mean time I received an email this morning that I have included here.
For over five years now a friend of mine, who has taught middle school science for twenty-two years at my old school, has been struggling with cancer. I have had many emails forwarded to me over the years in which he gives updates on his medical status and his walk with God. So much of his emails is riddled with sadness, enough to break the heart, but along side of it he writes of his ever changing and ultimately growing walk with Christ. Never in my life have I seen such a strong, beautiful Christian story that is constantly contrasted with the pains of this world - constantly reminding me of the Peace that Passes Understanding.
"Dear Friends,
Please forgive me for not writing you for so long. After each doctor visit over the past year or so, I fully intended on giving you an update, but I just could not pen the words. I wanted to fade back into obscurity, become a normal person again. I was tired of being “that guy with cancer,” weary of hearing “you look good” knowing the phrase “for a guy with cancer” was implied. But “that guy with cancer” has new cancer news that I must tell you about, and so I’m writing to you.
Before I give you the bad news, I must put it into context. I must tell you a bit of God’s story for my life. I share my story with you to encourage you, but selfishly, I write these words to calm my own fears. I need to see Jesus walking on top of the tumultuous sea of my emotions and hear him call out, “It’s alright! I’m here. Don’t be afraid.” From a doctrinal point of view, I believe in God’s providential care in every detail of my life, but in my day to day faith, I don’t trust him. Writing down the details of His care for me strengthens my faith. I hope it bolsters your faith as well.
In the summer of 2005, I discovered a lump on my throat. Surgery revealed it to be the rarest form of thyroid cancer, literally a one in a million type of cancer. Outside of surgery, this cancer was terminal with a three year life expectancy. If it escaped my neck area, all treatment options vanished. An anxiety ridden two and half years followed this diagnosis along with two more surgeries. Slicing tumors from my throat, my surgeon tried to stay ahead of the cancer, but it had saturated my throat tissue.
Miracles followed me on this journey. Waiting for a crucial scan, I met an African man named Emmanuel (God with us), and seconds after meeting we clasped arms as brothers and prayed for each other’s healing. At one point, doctors were certain the cancer had migrated to my bones. While sitting in a hospital cafeteria waiting to complete my scans, God suddenly reassured me that my bones were cancer free. My anxiety left immediately replaced with an inexplicable calm. During these years, God gave me many small signs of his presence. Celtic history and lore is significant to me, and while running through the forest one day, I heard bagpipes. Following the music, I found the piper and asked him to play Amazing Grace. He filled the woods with that precious song just for me. We vacation each year in New England near nesting ospreys. After receiving some very bad news, I stood by my classroom window looking out over our school’s pond and spotted an osprey soaring over the water. In my twenty two years at the school, I never saw an osprey before or since. I wore the number eleven while playing college soccer, and my sons always choose eleven for their jerseys. We call it our family number, and it became a symbol to me of God’s care for my sons. I saw elevens everywhere during these years. During a radiation treatment, I had to live with my mother for a week because I could not be near children. On the first night, I slipped into a deep depression. I called my wife but could not even speak. She prayed for me. Her prayer opened my soul to God’s spirit, and the deepest imaginable peace came over me. I drifted to sleep and dreamed of heaven, of flying over a city of gold and sparkling waters and lofty towers. The moment I awoke, a friend called and offered further encouragement to me completing my spiritual healing. On January 1, 2008, while reading John 14-17 for my devotions, three verses seemed to light up on the pages like fire. A clear voice in my head commanded, “Call Judy.” Immediately, I called my wife’s friend, but getting her voice mail and not having a clue about what to say, I simply recited the three verses on her mail. She called hours later in tears. While enduring her own personal tragedy, her pastor had counseled her to read John 14-17 the night before, and she strongly felt God asking her to claim two verses as her own. They were two of the verses I left on her voice mail. While running through the forest another time, I felt God speaking to me, insisting that I speak in high school chapel. I resisted the message. I was a middle school teacher; I never spoke to high school. God persisted and I finally spoke in the last chapel of the year. I preached out of Romans 12 about God’s transforming power, and at the end, I invited students to come up on stage to pray with me. Fearing I would be suddenly very lonely, the entire chapel of students came to the stage, and for 40 minutes, 150 students gathered around me and prayed. Many times God’s Spirit moved with stunning power during my sermons at church and chapels at school. After one service, a Jewish lawyer sobbed uncontrollably as God’s Spirit washed over him and he received Christ as savior. These are the miracles I can bear witness to.
Then God’s providence manifested itself. On January 7, 2008, I received the news that two tumors were spotted in my lungs. There was nothing the doctors could do. Five months later, I had another throat surgery to remove more tumors, and the tumors in my lungs multiplied to five. Then I received an email from a friend who had embraced the charismatic movement. He told me to go to Florida to participate in a great healing phenomenon. Not being charismatic, I did not consider going, but God planted an irresistible command in my mind to call one of Gayle’s friends. I called, confessing my ignorance about why I was calling, and she replied, “I know why you are calling, Tim. God wants you to go to a healing service in Florida.” I discovered that this pastor was to be in North Carolina the week after school, and I drove down. During the service, I experienced nothing and was deeply disappointed, but a group of Christians adopted me for that evening and gathering around me to pray for my healing. When I returned home, we discovered a possible treatment option, a new experimental drug only found at my hospital. Had I been diagnosed just a couple years earlier or lived anywhere else in the world, the cancer would have taken me. But before starting the drug, I had to heal from my surgery, go through eight weeks of radiation treatment on my neck, and then heal from the radiation. Fearful of rampant tumor growth in my lungs, we were told five months later that there was no change in the lung tumors. God answered many prayers. I enrolled in an experimental drug program, and for two years, the tumors have remained dormant. As you may remember, the drug hammered me with horrible side effects, but in recent months, I have worked out hard to regain my weight and strength, and I am 98% symptom free.
Now for the bad news. Yesterday, I learned a new cancer, unresponsive to my drug, is growing in my lungs. Again God’s providential care steps into my life. A year ago, my doctor had no treatment options for this new cancer. Now, she has another drug that believes can work. Along with 15 other patients, I will start this new drug in two weeks. It has the same side effects as the old drug, which could make the end of my school year difficult. My boys (ages 8 and 10) have been so happy in recent months because dad is healthy and strong again. We now must tell them this news.
Many old fears crept out of the cellar of my soul last night, whispering lies to me. There is no God, they say. He is just a fairy tale. Or, there is a God but he has not chosen you. Your sin is too great, your soul unrepentant. Or, your God is a cruel God. He has set you and your family up these past months to be happy again, but now comes the ax. I covet your prayers. My soul knows that I am a cherished son of the King, the bearer of an invaluable spiritual inheritance, a man whose family is cared for by the almighty God, but my mind rebels against these truths clouding my emotions with fear and doubt. Like the disciples in the storm tossed boat, my faithlessness believes God will sink my soul with my savior aboard.
So that is my story and my news. I think I see God’s plan in all this. I have come to realize that I am a better man, a better Christian, with cancer than without it. I think this is why God spares me from death but does not heal me from this disease. Perhaps He wants me to share my utter helplessness with you because you feel the same way, or perhaps you don’t and should feel that way. I don’t know these answers, but I do know that He is speaking to me today, and He wants me to tell you this next chapter of my story. He also wants me to tell my students though this is the last thing I want to do today. In an hour, I will speak to grades 6-12 in chapel though I am not prepared to do so. Please pray.
Be strong and courageous.
Blessings"
For over five years now a friend of mine, who has taught middle school science for twenty-two years at my old school, has been struggling with cancer. I have had many emails forwarded to me over the years in which he gives updates on his medical status and his walk with God. So much of his emails is riddled with sadness, enough to break the heart, but along side of it he writes of his ever changing and ultimately growing walk with Christ. Never in my life have I seen such a strong, beautiful Christian story that is constantly contrasted with the pains of this world - constantly reminding me of the Peace that Passes Understanding.
"Dear Friends,
Please forgive me for not writing you for so long. After each doctor visit over the past year or so, I fully intended on giving you an update, but I just could not pen the words. I wanted to fade back into obscurity, become a normal person again. I was tired of being “that guy with cancer,” weary of hearing “you look good” knowing the phrase “for a guy with cancer” was implied. But “that guy with cancer” has new cancer news that I must tell you about, and so I’m writing to you.
Before I give you the bad news, I must put it into context. I must tell you a bit of God’s story for my life. I share my story with you to encourage you, but selfishly, I write these words to calm my own fears. I need to see Jesus walking on top of the tumultuous sea of my emotions and hear him call out, “It’s alright! I’m here. Don’t be afraid.” From a doctrinal point of view, I believe in God’s providential care in every detail of my life, but in my day to day faith, I don’t trust him. Writing down the details of His care for me strengthens my faith. I hope it bolsters your faith as well.
In the summer of 2005, I discovered a lump on my throat. Surgery revealed it to be the rarest form of thyroid cancer, literally a one in a million type of cancer. Outside of surgery, this cancer was terminal with a three year life expectancy. If it escaped my neck area, all treatment options vanished. An anxiety ridden two and half years followed this diagnosis along with two more surgeries. Slicing tumors from my throat, my surgeon tried to stay ahead of the cancer, but it had saturated my throat tissue.
Miracles followed me on this journey. Waiting for a crucial scan, I met an African man named Emmanuel (God with us), and seconds after meeting we clasped arms as brothers and prayed for each other’s healing. At one point, doctors were certain the cancer had migrated to my bones. While sitting in a hospital cafeteria waiting to complete my scans, God suddenly reassured me that my bones were cancer free. My anxiety left immediately replaced with an inexplicable calm. During these years, God gave me many small signs of his presence. Celtic history and lore is significant to me, and while running through the forest one day, I heard bagpipes. Following the music, I found the piper and asked him to play Amazing Grace. He filled the woods with that precious song just for me. We vacation each year in New England near nesting ospreys. After receiving some very bad news, I stood by my classroom window looking out over our school’s pond and spotted an osprey soaring over the water. In my twenty two years at the school, I never saw an osprey before or since. I wore the number eleven while playing college soccer, and my sons always choose eleven for their jerseys. We call it our family number, and it became a symbol to me of God’s care for my sons. I saw elevens everywhere during these years. During a radiation treatment, I had to live with my mother for a week because I could not be near children. On the first night, I slipped into a deep depression. I called my wife but could not even speak. She prayed for me. Her prayer opened my soul to God’s spirit, and the deepest imaginable peace came over me. I drifted to sleep and dreamed of heaven, of flying over a city of gold and sparkling waters and lofty towers. The moment I awoke, a friend called and offered further encouragement to me completing my spiritual healing. On January 1, 2008, while reading John 14-17 for my devotions, three verses seemed to light up on the pages like fire. A clear voice in my head commanded, “Call Judy.” Immediately, I called my wife’s friend, but getting her voice mail and not having a clue about what to say, I simply recited the three verses on her mail. She called hours later in tears. While enduring her own personal tragedy, her pastor had counseled her to read John 14-17 the night before, and she strongly felt God asking her to claim two verses as her own. They were two of the verses I left on her voice mail. While running through the forest another time, I felt God speaking to me, insisting that I speak in high school chapel. I resisted the message. I was a middle school teacher; I never spoke to high school. God persisted and I finally spoke in the last chapel of the year. I preached out of Romans 12 about God’s transforming power, and at the end, I invited students to come up on stage to pray with me. Fearing I would be suddenly very lonely, the entire chapel of students came to the stage, and for 40 minutes, 150 students gathered around me and prayed. Many times God’s Spirit moved with stunning power during my sermons at church and chapels at school. After one service, a Jewish lawyer sobbed uncontrollably as God’s Spirit washed over him and he received Christ as savior. These are the miracles I can bear witness to.
Then God’s providence manifested itself. On January 7, 2008, I received the news that two tumors were spotted in my lungs. There was nothing the doctors could do. Five months later, I had another throat surgery to remove more tumors, and the tumors in my lungs multiplied to five. Then I received an email from a friend who had embraced the charismatic movement. He told me to go to Florida to participate in a great healing phenomenon. Not being charismatic, I did not consider going, but God planted an irresistible command in my mind to call one of Gayle’s friends. I called, confessing my ignorance about why I was calling, and she replied, “I know why you are calling, Tim. God wants you to go to a healing service in Florida.” I discovered that this pastor was to be in North Carolina the week after school, and I drove down. During the service, I experienced nothing and was deeply disappointed, but a group of Christians adopted me for that evening and gathering around me to pray for my healing. When I returned home, we discovered a possible treatment option, a new experimental drug only found at my hospital. Had I been diagnosed just a couple years earlier or lived anywhere else in the world, the cancer would have taken me. But before starting the drug, I had to heal from my surgery, go through eight weeks of radiation treatment on my neck, and then heal from the radiation. Fearful of rampant tumor growth in my lungs, we were told five months later that there was no change in the lung tumors. God answered many prayers. I enrolled in an experimental drug program, and for two years, the tumors have remained dormant. As you may remember, the drug hammered me with horrible side effects, but in recent months, I have worked out hard to regain my weight and strength, and I am 98% symptom free.
Now for the bad news. Yesterday, I learned a new cancer, unresponsive to my drug, is growing in my lungs. Again God’s providential care steps into my life. A year ago, my doctor had no treatment options for this new cancer. Now, she has another drug that believes can work. Along with 15 other patients, I will start this new drug in two weeks. It has the same side effects as the old drug, which could make the end of my school year difficult. My boys (ages 8 and 10) have been so happy in recent months because dad is healthy and strong again. We now must tell them this news.
Many old fears crept out of the cellar of my soul last night, whispering lies to me. There is no God, they say. He is just a fairy tale. Or, there is a God but he has not chosen you. Your sin is too great, your soul unrepentant. Or, your God is a cruel God. He has set you and your family up these past months to be happy again, but now comes the ax. I covet your prayers. My soul knows that I am a cherished son of the King, the bearer of an invaluable spiritual inheritance, a man whose family is cared for by the almighty God, but my mind rebels against these truths clouding my emotions with fear and doubt. Like the disciples in the storm tossed boat, my faithlessness believes God will sink my soul with my savior aboard.
So that is my story and my news. I think I see God’s plan in all this. I have come to realize that I am a better man, a better Christian, with cancer than without it. I think this is why God spares me from death but does not heal me from this disease. Perhaps He wants me to share my utter helplessness with you because you feel the same way, or perhaps you don’t and should feel that way. I don’t know these answers, but I do know that He is speaking to me today, and He wants me to tell you this next chapter of my story. He also wants me to tell my students though this is the last thing I want to do today. In an hour, I will speak to grades 6-12 in chapel though I am not prepared to do so. Please pray.
Be strong and courageous.
Blessings"
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