Concordia Preparatory - Concordian Yearbook (Bronxville, NY)

Page 86 text:

.Ms ar y s are THE CHAPEL In the midst of classroom hustle and bustle . . . A quiet sanctuary . . . A place for medi- tation and worship . . . For drawing nigh to the source of all knowledge . . . The source of wisdom . . . And all strength . . . A place to bow one's head and plead, Lord, help me. The one place on campus which came close to embodying the essence, spirit, and ideal that we called Concordia,

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Across the road was the Bronxville Y p'9' . ' r Q , Y . , 4 B, K THE CONCORD STAFF Wlio put out the bi-weekly product of Editor Everett K 1 linsiiill in ha dl' ' wr' ers ns,wtg,lFKa5 thei . Ally li Vzther, ed? ncbtxjzfddeaitlfiie fM ir- ' -'J 4 A . ,. ore iecrs r the diior if U flfglyiofe nf forlnk. . . And M, :uygood jxtwli-nglout for guys , fp W' T it T s s In I 0 N, like e who didnt have their Band! English Can Bo llnqbdfesjginfg JL f fe mJ.y713ia if was frm. rl ff -' i pf if 1 1 f' fr! , ' i I, l lf ,fx d ,gyf L f 1 , in ,,,-ff' ,af T QOQDIAN STAFF XX tried iiard, anyway . . . H !Af',,50Vbrkitg'ii,wliole year on what ,,f took ls all just two mintes to ,Dread . . . A few good pictures . . . A good word or two . . . About me . . . But it was the same old thing . . . In spite of itself . . . I gave mine to the Salvation Army '... Good reading for the blind. Community Chapel - Lutheran . . . Wliere most of us attended services . . . It had been located in three rooms of a large house . . . Then the congrega- tion had begun to build a church . . . You could see it out of the front win- dows of the Administration Building if you tried . . . An odd structure, unlike any I'd seen before . . . But beautiful in its own way . . . And the House of God . . . Quite a sight to see as it rose up out of the ground . . . It was not finished when I left . . . But then, is a church ever really finished? 83 awp-vw .0

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Epilogue f The mellow half-light that entered through the tinted rear windows of the chapel created an at- mosphere of melancholy peace and calm. Twilight, the silent forerunner of Night, settled slowly around me, and the shadows of the aging day grew deeper and deeper until the altar in the chancel merged with the blackness surrounding it and I could scare- ly discern the outline of the old wooden crucifix with the gilt corpus that shone so brightly in my memory. ' I closed my eyes for a moment in silent medita- tion. And when I awoke from my reverie some time later, the twilight shadows, the altar, and even the wooden crucifix with the gilt corpus were gone, hidden by the overwhelming, all persuasive black- ness of night. Groping in the darkness, I made my way to the door. For a moment I turned and stared back into the blackness, recreating in my mind's eye those last few moments of the twilight. Then, turning, I descended the stairs to the first floor and left the building. The rain had ceased. A blanket of mist had covered everything and obscured the very black- ness of the night. It was a world of gray-cold, empty gray. And I found myself a solitary figure in the midst of it, walking alone. I made my way between the checker board pud- dles on the front drive toward the pale white glow of a streetlight. The gravel crunched as I trod on it for the last times. When I reached the street, I turned around to catch one last fleeting glimpse of all that I had left behind. I squinted and strained my eyes, but I could see only the swirling, rolling mist and the reflec- tion of a bush on the surface of a puddle. It was as though the curtain had fallen on the last act of my reverie and apparently there was nothing left for the audience to do but pick up its program and leave. I wonder, I thought, as I walked on into the wet, misty night, whether they ever really found out who threw that orange through the window. lFiiniis 85