Mark 31:1

Yes, I'm in a Markan mood; this title is meant to reflect the experience my husband and I had as we stepped out of Central Station in Sydney yesterday and looked up at all the tall, tall buildings.*

Since my grandparents followed us to Adelaide in the mid-1980s, I haven't regularly spent time in Sydney, but it was exciting to re-visit familiar places like Hyde Park and taste familiar names on one's tongue: Pitt Street; Castlereagh Street; Circular Quay. Yum.

Of course, people are people, wherever you go, but we encountered two of the least helpful information booth attendants I've met in a long time yesterday.

An example of our interactions:

"Excuse me, what bus do I catch to get to Sydney University?"

"Anything with a four."

Oh ... and it turns out I was on the wrong street, anyway. Thanks, mate.

But today we have some time for tourism, so we're going to 'Simpson it up' on ... The Monorail! Looking forward to it.

* The NRSV translation reads: 

As he came out of the temple, one of his disciples said to him, "Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!"

Jesus then goes on to foretell the destruction of said buildings, a sense of impending doom Peter and I didn't share yesterday!  

 

(You're right; I'm not a Christian any more. However, Christians don't exclusively own ancient texts. And sharing is a virtue.)

It's a Sibelius day today

There's been a return to the romantic in Catie's car over the last twenty four hours. With a couple of long drives yesterday afternoon and this morning, I've been able to listen to Sibelius' Violin Concerto in D Minor (Op. 47) three times in just over twelve hours.

I am so fortunate! What an age we live in; when the first version of this piece was originally performed (in 1904), not only would I not have been able to listen to a concerto at my convenience inside my own, personal vehicle - but I would not have had the social freedom, as a woman, to live my life as I choose to now.

Back to the music. My head is buzzing - there is just so much which I could write! I'll limit myself to one comment on each movement.

I remember writing about a year ago 'somewhere' (facebook? an email? I can't recall) that the first movement ("Allegro moderato") brought to mind the Australian landscape, with its sweeping broad openness and sometimes-bleak beauty. Then, a few months ago, I decided that was all rubbish. Today, what strikes me is its otherness: the soloist takes us on a voyage to a land that is almost alien in its soundscape, but safely brings us home.

The third movement ("Allegro Ma non Tanto") has always been a favourite of mine, hope springing from a dark place ... though sometimes the heaving waves of sound three quarters of the way through make me feel a little seasick!

And the second movement ... ah, that's what caught my heartstrings this time round. This "Adagio di Molto" seems to me to be speaking of love, reminding us that all love - even deeply, heatedly passionate love - is essentially a question asked and, if we are fortunate, answered.

As I begin to engage once more with Mark's gospel, this time from a radically different perspective, this reminder of "love as question" will give me yet another lens through which to regard that most dearly beloved text.


Endnotes

1. After drafting this, something good happened: listened to the second movement again, then went to yoga class. Catie's recommendation for today's transcendental experience.

2. My favourite recordings of this piece:

• Pekka Kuusisto (no surprises there!) with Leif Segerstam and the Helsinki Philharmonic Orchestra
• Viktoria Mullova with Seiji Ozawa and the Boston Symphony Orchestra.