Freshmen run the three-legged race during orientation at the Corban Games.

“Extreme Home Makeover” helps families in need by building them a new home, and they will be coming to Salem in the next few weeks. The Corban group will volunteer on Saturday, September 11.

The first 20 Corban Volunteers will work from 12 noon to six p.m. However, additional volunteers may be able to help on a morning shift. To sign up, students  should go to the Home Makeover website and fill out the forms before Wednesday, September 1 at  http://richduncan-emhe.com/donate-time-volunteers.aspx as well as the scheduling page to register for the appropriate shift at http://richduncan-emhe.com/scheduling.aspx

Students should also email Deleen Wills from the Alumni office to say that they have filled out the forms as she will be coordinating the Corban volunteers. While the webpage says that the afternoon slot is full, Corban students can still attend by signing up for the morning time slot according to Wills.

These links will be removed from their website by Wednesday, so to ensure a spot sign up immediately.

In order to qualify students must be 18 years old and have a valid driver’s license. Volunteers must arrive an hour before their scheduled shift and wear closed-toed shoes.

Day in, and day out, Dan Anderson works magic on Corban’s technological systems. From fixing students computers to making his staff laugh, Dan gives the IT department some magic every day.

But it’s another kind of magic that interests this 60-year-old Communications Specialist. Anderson has a reputation in the It department for his magic tricks.

“As a child, I enjoyed magic,” said Anderson, who was born April 16^th, 1949. “The first time I could hold a memory on [magic], was when I was 7. A man came to my church from Australia.” The man shared the gospel of Christ through a story line that included magic. Anderson was hooked. “He made a ping pong ball disappear, and then [moved it] from mouth to ear. He [even] sent the ping pong ball down the middle isle [of church],” Anderson recalled.

Since then, Anderson has had an appreciation for the strange and the unorthodox. During his college years at then Western Baptist, Anderson went to a magic seminary taught by the Fellowship of Christian Magicians. It was only a one credit course, but Anderson didn’t go to it for the credit. He went to it for the magic.

Since then, he has been “an associate member over the years – it’s been a continuing way of life.” He has remained a side member of that same organization of amateur magicians, using his unusual skills to share the gospel of Christ, usually at Sunday schools.

In college, Anderson began collecting, building, buying, and making his own magic tricks to create a message about Christ. Since then, he has dressed as a clown, gone to a parade, taught at VBS, and performed silly antics in front of hundreds of students, mostly in the Salem Oregon area.

“I try to bring my act to most every church. I [find] a means to be included in Sunday school, AWANA, and those kinds of things,” he said.

At home, Anderson’s collection of magic paraphernalia fills half of his two-car garage, as well two closets in his house.

“I probably need to condense, but I have lots of ideas,” Anderson said.

Anderson said he has many tricks, enough to fill more many presentations.

“This summer, I have six programs I will do. Each is an hour long, and they won’t all be magic, but I’m going to use magic some of the time, and the tricks will have to vary,” says Anderson. Like most magicians, Anderson is careful to space out his tricks so that audiences will not see the same trick more than once or twice. At times, he will even space out his tricks two years apart. Some tricks, however, are the bread and butter of illusion.

Anderson has a coin trick, for instance, he can use at any time to amuse folks. Many times, students at Corban have seen him pull out a coin and flip it from hand to hand showing only a heads. When the student thinks Anderson has a two-sided coin, Anderson will take the coin and show the tails side.

When it comes to magic, Anderson is serious; but when it comes to the gospel message, he is a perfectionist.

“There are many magic tricks that I have learned…some I make, some I buy, [but] some have no use for the gospel,” says Anderson. For Anderson, a magic trick’s value is completely wrapped up in its ability to present the gospel.

 Although he doesn’t like to divulge his secrets, Anderson did mention a few of his favorite gospel tricks. Anderson has a sucker die box, a trick where the audience is supposed to think one thing, until Dan proves them wrong. Anderson takes a block or similar object, puts it into a larger box, and tips the box back and forth. The audience can hear the box rattle in the larger box, and guesses which side it is on. At the end of the trick, Anderson shows the audience that the die block is not inside at all, but somewhere else in the room. He usually associates the trick with Jesus’ disappearance from the tomb after His resurrection.

When I was a small child, my mother gathered the neighborhood children and had us memorize skits and monologues, which we performed in front yards.

I never thanked my mom (who went to be with her Messiah in 1990) for those experiences, which led to my interest in drama. So, “Thanks, Mom.”

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My sixth grade teacher, Miss Ziegler, wrote and directed a new “operetta” every year. When I was in the fifth grade, she cast me as Titania, the queen of the fairies. I was jubilant! I was double-cast with Elena Dewar (who just happened to have glorious, curly white hair and baby blue, sparkly eyes).

All went well until the principal said the production was taking too long to perfect. The director was instructed to limit the cast – no longer were we “double-cast”; now we were “actor” and “understudy.”

Whom would you choose to perform as Titania, the queen of the fairies, if it were up to you? Would you choose Elena, with the beautiful white hair and those ridiculously blue eyes? Or Ellen, with dark curly locks and brown cow eyes, as my father called them?

And thus it happened. Elena was Titania; I became a simple fairy with one line! Only one line: “Where art thou, fair Titania?”

I prayed that Elena would become ill – not severely, seriously life-threateningly ill! Just ill enough that she wouldn’t be able to perform. (Disclaimer: I was not a Christian at this time. I was an extremely self-centered child, who thought my “cuteness” would take me far. I cared little for others’ feelings.)

The next year, maybe because of my pathetic experience as a fifth grader (and probably because of my nagging!), Miss Ziegler cast me as the Chinese princess in “Honorable Aladdin.” I wore a shiny satin Chinese outfit and had to shuffle when I walked because, as Miss Ziegler explained, Chinese girls had their feet bound to keep them tiny. (I never pointed out the fact that I wore a size 9 shoe at the time; hopefully, no one noticed.)

This was a great part. I remember “shuffling” down the aisle with my entourage leading me onto the stage. I remember the costume because I have a photo.

The actual performance has escaped my memory, but I do remember putting on false fingernails and painting them black, then explaining to my sister, “I can’t do dishes tonight. I have on my fingernails and I might mess them up.”

Miss Ziegler was a saint, an “old maid” who lived with her mother. She put up with so much from me as a sixth grader. Not only am I sure I drove her up the wall because I was so conceited and thoughtless of others, but at one point she told my parents at a meeting: “Ellen not only orders her fellow students around, but she also tells me what to do.” When my mom sat me down after the conference and gave me this report, my response was, “But I know what everyone ought to do.”

See? Now you know what life was like for Miss Ziegler. But somewhere in my teaching career (1968-2003) I found her address and wrote her. I apologized for the grief I caused her, and she forgave me. (Though she did relate that she hadn’t forgotten me! I, too, have not forgotten the students who made my life miserable!)

In my entire teaching career—junior high in Southern California, senior high in Australia, Klamath Falls and Camarillo, Calif.—I have had many students who reminded me of me in Miss Ziegler’s class. And when that obnoxious student tells me what to do or what I should have done, a little voice in my head says, “You deserve this.” And I silently send another apology to dear Miss Ziegler.

And that’s what video games provide – a time to unwind. Or is it more than that?

Video games provide guys on campus with common ground, a way to build camaraderie, and a way to just be boys.

“Video games are a way for guys to bond, especially when playing together,” says freshman Rob Douglass. “I think the appeal of video games is that they are fun to play if you get the right game, and they provide an alternate reality where guys can escape to.”

That alternate reality Douglass refers to is often the source of controversy about video games, as it can cause guys to ignore others while engaged in a battle, race, or whatever else they are attempting to pursue in the gaming world.

Senior Farrar RA Dan Morrow agrees the main appeals of video games are entertainment, stress relief or the need to escape. But he also says he has seen that escape turn into an addiction at times, even on campus.

“An addiction to video games is characterized by a need to play them,” says Morrow. “My friends have sacrificed relationships, food, sleep, and so much more. Everyone develops coping mechanisms. Video games are just one of them.”

Although video games can be potentially addictive, they don’t have to be. 

“In a way, while playing videos games you do ignore people around you and enter into an alternate universe,” admits Douglass. “Some of my best bonding times have been while playing video games.”

Douglass and Morrow agree the most popular video games on campus are Call of Duty and Halo.

Although video games are a way for guys to have fun together in the dorms, they aren’t the only way.

“I don’t play video games that often” says Morrow. “I don’t have a problem with them. I would just rather do other things like hang out with people or watch movies.”

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If the art workshops offered during the Caulkins Lectureship had been graduating seniors, I would vote the dance class seminar Most Intense, maybe the miming class Quietest and the computer art class Most Technologically Capable. But I wasn’t expecting the drawing class to receive the vote for Messiest. Maybe Most Fun – which it certainly was.

The Caulkins Lectureship workshops offered last Friday provided several opportunities for Corban students to dabble in the arts.

In order to experience this rare offering to Corban students, I joined my artsy friend Kyle and we made our way to the drawing class at 6 p.m. (an hour early due to the limited number of seats).

Scott Kolbo, the director of the workshop, arrived a few minutes later to set up. We made small talk as he drew the outlines of human bodies onto art paper, turning AC4420 into something like a horrendous crime scene. Students started trickling in, wondering what kind of manslaughter they’d be required to participate in. Eventually, around 20 people arrived.

At 7 p.m. Scott kicked off the hour with a few tips. And explanations, which were definitely in order, as any crime scene investigator knows.

Scott introduced us to the concept of the Exquisite Corpse, an art piece centered on one human figure that is sliced into several pieces (which, counter-intuitively, can be a pretty sight), each piece drawn separately from the others. So, this was the deed which we were to perform.

Kyle set to work on a head while I began on a pair of feet, working carefully to bring a Bible verse into the piece somehow, as Scott encouraged us to do. I thought of Proverbs 1, which compares the person who always reads God’s word to a tree planted next to a river. So, the legs of my exquisite corpse would be trunks; the feet, roots.

Then, fifteen minutes later, the unthinkable happened. Yup, switch. The entire class had to leave their masterpieces behind and move to a new table with a new body. We managed to recover from this traumatic experience and get back to work, Kyle now working on feet and I trying to figure out how to add to a beautifully drawn heart.

At about this time, someone in the classroom discovered the charcoal sticks. As if dead bodies weren’t already messy enough, the entire class began finding ways to make use of this new and fascinating material – a material which ended up more often off the paper than on. Mental note: never use charcoal in the kids craft projects at church.

After several more switches, we found ourselves back at our starting points – almost unrecognizable now. It wasn’t what I’d hoped it would look like.

But the changes that three other people had made to my tree trunk feet looked pretty cool. Of course, there was tons of charcoal. And some jester-style diamond ribbons falling from the branches.

But that’s the way worship works, inside and outside the church. That’s the way art and expression work. We’re not individuals worshiping God; we are the Body of Christ.

Ash Wednesday

As a student, I spend a lot of time in chapel, Bible study and church, but I haven’t been prioritizing slowed-down, non-required time with just God and me. So in the hopes of improving my spiritual routine, I will sacrifice a time-consuming distraction – Facebook.

It’s not a huge sacrifice. Facebook isn’t a big deal. Nowhere in Genesis does it say, “And then God created Facebook, and called it good.” Maslow didn’t include it in his hierarchy of needs. Einstein, in all his genius, didn’t invent it. People have survived without Facebook for thousands of years; so can I.

Day 1: Instinctively, when I open Firefox, my fingers punch in the URL for Facebook, ready to sign into CIS and be on my news feed way.

As editor of Hilltop Online, I have to log onto Facebook to update the fan page. I train my eyes not to linger on my homepage, with all its relevant updates about homework overload, crappy cafeteria food and sunny weather. But I can’t help noticing, as I click on “Ads and Pages,” the little red boxes tempting me with 2 messages and 17 notifications.

Day 2: After 48 hours, my Scrabble opponents must be frustrated. I ponder whether ethics demand I log on to play my turns in the eight games I have going, or whether that’s Satan luring me into the abyss of social networking. Thank God I don’t have Farmville.

Day 4: The day of the Lord is finally here, and I’m ready to rejoice with a good round or eight of Scrabble. Unexpectedly, though, I log on and get bored pretty quickly. I don’t feel like stalking my wall through three days’ worth of news feed, so I “like” a few statuses, glance through some Winter Formal photos, and move on with my life. Absence, apparently, doesn’t make the heart grow fonder – at least not of Facebook.

Day 8: It’s working. Less distraction, more focus. It’s a simple matter of time and choice: when I have fifteen minutes of free time, I can’t squander it facebooking; instead, I devote it to less corporeal things: writing letters to friends, drawing, praying. I am investing my time, not spending it.

Day 11: Sunday again. I procrastinate more than I should clicking through photos, but I have a good conversation with a friend and score an 84 point word in Scrabble. And when midnight comes, I’m ready to log off for the week.

Day 13: I don’t want to read 130 pages of David Hume. I don’t want to fold my laundry. But neither do I want to admit I’m wasting time by watching “Glee” reruns. Mostly, I want to take a break from productivity for twenty minutes reading stalking my friends. But I can’t.

I read David Hume, grumpily.

Day 18: All that spare time I discovered 18 days ago? It’s gone. I’m not sure how I got things done with Facebook, because I can’t even get them done without it.

Day 21: They say it takes 21 days to break a habit. If I was addicted to Facebook, I guess I’m sober now.

Day 24: It’s Friday night, and I’d like to veg. The week was long, and I didn’t save the mental energy to spend my evening praying, feeding the homeless or helping lepers. I’m not Mother Theresa. I want to be lazy – preferably online.

Day 33: It’s the third day of spring break, and I’ve cheated three times. While this isn’t about working my way to salvation – my parents’ opinion of Lent – I am showing a lack of self-control. It’s not a sin to log on, but it is defeating the purpose of Lent, or at least part of it. I determine not to cheat anymore, even if it is spring break.

Day 41: There’s nothing to do online. So I read the news, some celebrity gossip, and my mom’s blog.

Day 43: Like any absence, the pang and thrill of living without Facebook has faded, as has my legalism. I’ve been logging on pretty much every day to check for event invitations and important messages. But I don’t linger. It’s four days till Easter; statuses can wait.

Day 46: I celebrate the resurrection of Christ with a good dose of social networking. But as soon as I flip through the 40 pictures I’ve been tagged in, it happens: I get bored.

Afterword: I won’t delete my profile. I like my pictures too much. I like bantering wittily on people’s statuses and stalking people I haven’t seen since junior high summer camp.

But I won’t go back to checking my profile ten times a day and surfing photo albums between class. Maybe I’ll only log on every other day or on weekends.

After all, I like having more time. I like valuing journaling, drawing and praying more than facebooking. I like remembering to pause and think during the day. I like pursuing God outside the classroom.

If there were a “like” button for Lent, I’d push it.

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Photos submitted by team members.