Whew! I finally finished The Comprehensive Exam in Political Science this morning (which is where I have been for the last few days). According to the august researchers of this university, I now have a license to do research (does that make me a James Bond of the political science world).

Apparently, I flubbed the second section of the exam a bit, and it was the strong first section.

More disconcerting than the actual exam is the waiting afterwards. During the exam, they ask questions, you answer, they push, you push back. It's kind of intimidating, because you're often operating at the edge of knowledge. The edge of one's knowledge is a great place to be as you are learning or teaching something new to a colleague who wants to know more also, but it's really uncomfortable when one is being examined and evaluated on how well you hold up at that edge.

So now I'm at home, listening to the "sacrilege" that is Leonard Bernstein's *Mass*. The screeds of the congregation and celebrant run back and forth to despair and glimpses of the holy -- it's one of my favorite pieces of contemporary music. Faith is revered, reviled, torn down, built up, and reknown in the course of two hours.

What I love about the "theatre piece" is that it's full of contradictions that enrich its artistic tapestry. The congregants celebrating the mass (for the piece is based upon the Roman Liturgy, pre-Vatican II, so it's appealing to little pretty-high-church Anglicans like me) are sinners, drunkards, prisoners, swindlers, tricksters, believers, and doers. The words and music vary between the structure of the Latin rite and near-nonsense streams of angry consciousness, between formal riffs on traditional church music and Beethoven on one hand and West Side Story and cacophony on the other. The Celebrant presides, using the authority of his office, of his moral stature, of his possession of the sacraments, and ultimately his faith is broken, and he smashes the transubstantiated Elements to the floor, where they break and spill. But everyone is brought back together in the end by a simple song, a "Lauda, Laudete Deum" (Praise, Praise to You O God), that grows and swells to the full power of the choruses and the orchestra, a simple melody and theme that multiply like loaves and fishes to feed thousands. The "players" are broken individually, healed communally, and brought into Communion with one another. Even more interestingly, this work that on its surface is so Christian was woven by a Jewish composer. But he obviously understood the heart of faith so well as to be able to transcend the restraints of specific religion to engage the universality of life in faith.

It's probably this piece and U2's *All That You Can't Leave Behind* that are the best contemporary musical representations of faith, doubt, love, and grace.