I had a birthday gift awaiting my inbox on the honeymoon a few weeks ago. A friend in Dothan, AL has a family member of the Catholic tribe, who reads Greek (much better than I), and is versed in deciphering icons. Here was his bit of translating work:

Fortunately, I was able to translate the the name in the upper right hand corner.
C=S W=O Z O N.

I was informed that the icon (see a previous post below) is none other than that of Saint Sozon of Cilicia, (died c. 304). Here is Sozon’s rather compelling (but crazy?) story of martyrdom…

Sozon of Cilicia M (RM)
Born in Cilicia; died c. 304. A young shepherd boy name Tarasius was baptized, despite the persecution that Christians were undergoing, and took the name Sozon. While he was sleeping in the field one day, he dreamed that Jesus told him to lay aside the weapons that he used to protect his sheep and–taking only his shepherd’s crook–prepare himself to die for his faith. Sozon knew exactly what to do. He walked to the town of Pompeiopolis, where there was a pagan temple with a golden idol. He broke off one of the idol’s golden hands with his crook and gave pieces of it to the poor of the town. He might have escaped punishment, except that some other Christians were arrested and unjustly accused of damaging the idol. Sozon could not allow them to suffer in his stead, so he confessed his crime.

With nails driven through the soles of his shoes, Sozon was forced to walk to the amphitheater. The magistrate wanted to release the courageous prisoner and asked him to play a tune on his pipe to the crowd. Sozon refused. He had, he said, once played to sheep. Now he would play only to God. He was then burned to death at the stake (Benedictines, Bentley).

Saint Sozon’s emblem in art is a pair of shoes with spikes through them (Roeder).

Saint Sozon’s feast day (9/7) is just 2 days after my spiritual birthday (9/5). I can feel the connection to my ancient brother from another mother.  St. Sozon’s story seems to level all the faux-radicalism that’s hyped up these days.

Helen and I had a lot of fun putting together our wedding ceremony playlist.  We were going to go with live music, knowing a couple of stellar musicians, but alas, we were unable to get them music as early as we wanted to, so we pulled the plug on going live, and went with mp3’s.  Still, I think it turned out great, with much thanks to DJ Duer and DJ Will-the-Thrill.

Several of our friends knew almost all of the music we played at our ceremony.  And several other friends said they loved the music but wanted to know what it was.  So I’m posting our ceremony playlist here.  Note that I edited several songs in GarageBand (typically just simple looping or cutting and fading).

Prelude

• Veni Sancti Spiritu by Taize Community Choir (Songs of Taize) 3:46
• Holy Holy Holy by Sufjan Stevens (Songs for Christmas [5]) 3:33
• Ain Leuh (VPRO) by Gregor Samsa (Over Air) 5:09
• Untitled 3 by Sigur Ros ( ( ) ) 6:33
• Agaetis Byrjun by Sigur Ros (Agaetis Byrjun) 7:56
• Godan Daginn by Sigur Ros (Med sud i eyrum vid spilum endalaust) 5:15
• The Dress Looks Nice on You by Sufjan Stevens (Seven Swans) 2:32 (edited in GarageBand)

Processional

• song: Olsen Olsen by Sigur Ros (Agaetis Byrjun) 2:49 (beginning of song, edited in GarageBand)

o Groom’s grandparent
o Bride’s grandparents

• song: Concerning the UFO Sighting Near Highland, Illinois by Sufjan Stevens (Come On Feel the Illinois) 1:32 (edited in GarageBand)

o Groom’s parents
o Bride’s parents

• song: Reckoner by Radiohead (In Rainbows) 2:31 (edited in GarageBand)

o Groomsmen: Kirby Priest (Best Man), Kyle Priest, Brian Harrison, Paul Bannister, Sam Howell
o Groom, ministers

• song: Lake Yarina by Josh Garrels (Jacaranda) 2:37

o bridesmaids: Claire Howell (Matron of honor), Darby Priest, Jessica James, Emily Kochetkova, Nathalie Cordoba

• song: Floral Duet by Lamke 1:44 (edited in GarageBand)

o Bride and Father

Holy Communion Song

• Christ, We Do All Adore Thee (sung a capella by community)

Recessional

• song: Olsen Olsen by Sigur Ros (Agaetis Byrjun) 2:46 (end of song, edited in GarageBand)

Dismissal

• Window in the Skies by U2 (Window in the Skies) 4:01

I’ve posted a few of my parables here, and have recently thoroughly enjoyed reading 33 parables from my friend Pete Rollins which he entitled “The Orthodox Heretic and Other Impossible Tales.”  Pete and the folks at Paraclete Press, in hopes of reviving the art and craft of parable, are hosting a parable writing contest.  I love to see this, and got to pick Pete’s brains about the topic when he was in town back in February.

I was asked to spread the word, so here are the details.  I’m contributing a parable or two myself, and plan on opening the invite up to my students.  I hope you’ll submit something, too.  This is the invitation from Pete:

To mark the US release of my latest book, Paraclete is running a writing competition. The idea is to get you, yes you, to write a parable dealing with pretty much anything. It should ideally be between 100 and 1000 words in length. Oh, and you can enter as many times as you like.

First prize is a beautiful limited edition print entitled ‘New Life‘ by the artist Jared Robinson (Jared is currently collaborating with me to create work inspired by my writings). You will also receive $100 worth of Paraclete books of your choice and the adoration of your friends and family.

Second and third prize will receive $50 worth of Paraclete books, and our eternal gratitude for your enthusiastic participation!

My desire in running this competition is to help people rediscover the importance and power of parable. So, if you attend a writing circle, church community, youth group etc. you might want to take some time to explore the theme of parables (suggested reading below) and then encourage everyone to write one.

So what are you waiting for? Send your entries to Carol Showalter (cshowalter@paracletepress.com), no later than August 1, 2009.

The entries will be judged by myself and the winners announced on September 1, 2009 both here and at Paraclete Press.

Tips:
A parable can be loosely described as a short, fictional narrative that draws the reader into an insight concerning some aspect of faith and life. Parables often work best when they challenge commonly held attitudes and unmask the poverty of some widely held value. Parables are generally structured in a very simple and stark way, with a narrative that avoids any unnecessary detail that may detract from the central, evocative message.

Some books, apart from my own, that might help get you in the mood include,
The Song of the Bird, by Anthony DeMello
The Parables of Kierkegaard, edited by Thomas C. Oden

Helen and I were at lunch today celebrating with our graduating seniors and their families at Village Tavern at the Summit.  We caught wind of a funnel cloud that had supposedly come near the Galleria area and was moving eastward.  Knowing that we were in its path, I did what any normal person would do—I went to the door, whipped out my phone, and snapped a few pictures.  The few I got really didn’t do justice to the swirling activity, and the greenish hue that filled the sky.

If you can see the very bottom of what appears to be the formation of a funnel, the misty part was really active, and shortly after this pic, it quickly went up into the mass of the cloud.   Reports on the AM radio said that later on a funnel cloud was seen near the Greystone area, just down the road from where we were.  I think this picture (almost) captures what they were reporting. Less than thirty seconds after this pic, massive torrential rains hit, and we couldn’t see anything after that.  The storm cell moved on to the east.

I love to witness phenomena that I cannot control, that I must surrender to, or attempt to escape altogether.  It reminds me of encountering the divine.

Are there any ‘iconographists’ out there that could name the icon above?   I’m not at all versed in Eastern Orthodox icons, but I really dig this.  I found it at a rockin thrift store in Alabaster, AL (America’s Thrift = Glory!) still in a plastic covering, for like two bucks.   Judging from the face, I suspect it’s Jesus, but the short hair doesn’t seem right, and isn’t the royal garb uncharacteristic of common Jesus icons?  You’ve got the staff in one hand and the cross in the other, so there’s the pastoral/shepherd image, tipping me off that if it’s not the Christ, it was an early Eastern bishop or something.

There’s always the possibility that it could be a more recent piece of art, and not a traditional ancient EO icon.

I’m a little rusty on my Greek, so I can’t quite make out what the letters might stand for.  It says (very roughly) ” ‘o ap z”  (not sure about the squiggly zeta) on the right, and roughtly “co zo n” on the left.  So can anyone solve the riddle?

Either way, I appreciate the image of ‘pastor’ with a cross in one hand, and a staff in the other–the sign of peace and reconciliation, and the sign of guidance and care.  It’s beautiful art, and he’s found a nice place on my office wall.

bread, wine, and the least of these
by tyler priest

we are more religious
than we think
we celebrate the Eucharist
quite often
if it is true
that the Christ is found
in the least of these
we are more religious than we think

we consume the poor
day to day
buying things they made
for us to enjoy
low prices, better living
brought to us
by the least of these
we are more religious than we think

we consume their body
we consume their blood
and the earth-ground cries
on their behalf
(but our ears are stopped)
and in the process
we’ve also stripped the ground
we are more religious than we think

here in the West
consumption is the new
Eucharist
we eat their bodies
and drink their blood
with the swipe of the card
such sweet libations (not poured, but drank)
we are more religious than we think

we are more religious
than we think
we celebrate the Eucharist
quite often
if it is true
that the Christ is found
in the least of these
we are more religious than we think

There lived on the outskirts of a city, in a quaint cottage, an old, retired professor. This professor’s life’s work had been an attempt to disprove the existence of God–especially the existence of the Christian God. His library, in which he took great pride, was full of the works of well-known atheistic philosophers, biologists, psychologists, physicists, sociologists, textual critics, and theorists.

In his zeal, the professor took every advantage he was given to disprove the existence of the Christian God to his students and fellow faculty. In short, the professor simply believed that the world was devoid of the numinous and supernatural, and that human life was an ironic cosmic accident, and that at the end of life one was greeted with nothingness. The world, as the professor saw it, was a black one, void of hope and meaning beyond what we conspired to make up for ourselves. And he reveled in his certainty that it was so.

One day a rapping of three times came at the professor’s cottage door. He set down his pipe and slowly arose from his reading to answer. Upon opening the door, he was surprised to see no one. He walked down the steps, looked around, and still, no one was to be seen. But strangely there at his feet lay a box wrapped in black, tied with a black bow. Curious, the professor picked up the box, feeling its light weight. Guessing its contents, he shook the box, took it inside, and began to unwrap it.

It was what he thought it to be—a large puzzle. And as he took the blank lid off the box, he began to heartily chuckle to himself that there was no picture on the lid, and all the puzzle pieces were black—every last one of them. This delighted the professor of course, for he saw in this puzzle a metaphor of reality as he believed it to be. Beyond this life, nothing would greet us but a great dark void. Indeed, as he saw it, covering up this reality was the aim of religion—to construct a myth that proclaimed that the vast emptiness of our world was not so—that there was light, there was meaning, there was hope, all of which was fabricated to help us cope with our meaningless existence.

Giddy with satisfaction, the professor rubbed his palms together and took to solving the puzzle. With each piece he put into place, he chuckled to himself, as each puzzle piece symbolically confirmed the certainty of his view of life. And so the professor worked on the large puzzle late into the night, slowly putting it together.

As the puzzle slowly took over the desk table in his library, he worked his way down to the last pieces. Laughing aloud more and more, his delight came to a triumphant crescendo. The fifth to last piece… The fourth to last piece… The third to last piece…

And suddenly, his joy began to subside, his laughter began to dissipate.

The second to last piece… And finally, the last piece.

There, on his desk, seemingly staring at him, was a hole in the puzzle, which appeared to be 3 missing pieces, or perhaps one large piece—he couldn’t be sure. But it was in the very middle of the puzzle, incomplete, void and undone.

The professor frantically began to search under the lid, beneath the box, under the desk, in the box wrapper, in the cuff of his pants, under his rug, everywhere. He began to curse at he knew not what, out of frustration of the missing piece(s). He systematically, and yet desperately, began to turn his house over, in search of that which was missing. This unfinished puzzle began to laugh at him, calling out his name, snickering at his vain pursuit. In a sudden sweep of emotion, this void in the puzzle began to drive him insane. He gave up on finding the pieces in his cottage, and went outside with a lantern, looking at the bottom of the steps, in the hedge and flowerbeds, through the grass. In what was utter madness he began pulling up grass, flowers and shrubs in his crazed state. His entire property lay overturned in a wake of his own undoing.

That night, the professor’s raving search then took him out into the streets with his lantern. And he never returned home.

My friend Dan (a high priest of the Priesthood) was telling me a story the other day about a conversation he had with his beautiful six-year-old daughter Natalie. A little context: Dan and his family don’t “go to church,” at least not in the American Christendom (read: Bible Belt) sense of the the phrase “go to church,” but no doubt they are a family that follows in the way of the Christ. So after learning about some different religious and political categories that day at school, Natalie comes up to her dad with a question:

Dad, are we Christians?

To which Dan slowly replies,

Um, well yeah Natalie, we’re Christians.

To which Natalie responds with a sense of relief,

Oh, good. Because I thought we were Americans.

I love how Natalie doesn’t realize that she can be both a Christian and an American. I want to say that intuitively, she knows something Jesus knew. Jesus said that if we had two masters, we would end up loving one and hating the other. Perhaps it’s true that if we have exclusively two of anything—wives or husbands, vehicles, toys, jobs, whatever—we find that we end up loving one and hating the other, because we tend judge one to be slightly better, and thus we psychologically create a greater distance of value between the two, since we humans are often more prone to err on the side of simplicity than on the side of complexity. We like to have something we can blame, something we can scapegoat. And so if we have two of a similar kind, typically one is good and typically the other is bad.

Yes, nationalism is a type of religion that would have us put Old Glorianity on the same playing field as Christianity, causing us to love one more than the other, or to simply conflate the two into one. In this case, conflation (read: syncretism) seems to be the most convenient way to handle the dilemma of having two masters.

But typically, as I said earlier, if we have two of a like kind, we’ll end up hating one and loving the other. Well, I hope that’s not true of kids, because Dan’s wife is pregnant with another girl soon on the way. Blessings Dan and Brit!

+   +   +

See me and Dan drum, strum and sing to My Morning Jacket’s Look at You at the Emergent SE Regional Gathering on Facebook here. You’ll have to become friends with us first…

And it’s some of the saddest lyrics, and obviously you can tell that was a person who felt like he was at the end of his rope. And the only thing I remember from that day about that session, was saying, ‘Jesus don’t love me.’…It was the saddest thing I’d ever said… And (someone) turned around and said, ‘I just want you to know, that verse—I’ve felt that weight my whole life.’

—Kings of Leon frontman Caleb Followill on the song “Cold Desert”

As we prepare for a liturgy of lament at Disciples’ Fellowship here in a week and a half, I am reminded of a psalm of lament by Caleb Followill and the Kings of Leon on their latest album Only By the Night. If you haven’t heard of the 3-brothers-and-a-cousin hailing from Tennessee, the rest of Europe—especially the UK—certainly has. And Bob Dylan has been championing these guys for a while now; Bono too. While their latest album Only By the Night seemed to crystallize some of their experimental directions of their early years by heading in a more pop-ish direction, I still dig ‘em. And there is one song in particular toward the end of the album that haunts me. That’s what it is—it’s haunting.

It’s good to know the Kings’ story. The three brothers, Caleb, Nathan, and Jared Followill, are all three sons of a Pentecostal preacher who gave up the family’s traveling revivals and took up a gambling addiction and a fondness for strong drink, abandoning his then bereft family. The brothers then set out to put the pieces of their broken lives back together, and after a while, came around and started making music together with their cousin in a like fashion to what they had done during their father’s revivals. They moved to Nashville and the rest is history.

In the song “Cold Desert” I hear David in the Psalms. I hear Job raising his fists toward the heavens. And I hear the broken confession of a guy that’s now post-Pentecostal, a charismatic preacher’s son left destitute by both the church and the way of the rock’n'roll life. The story behind the song goes something like this here:

i’m on the corner waiting for a light to come on
that’s when i know that you’re alone
it’s cold in the desert; water never sees the ground
special unspoken without a sound

you told me you love me, that i’d never die alone
hand over your heart let’s go home
everyone noticed everyone has seen the signs
i’ve always been known to cross lines

i never ever cried when i was feeling down
ive always been scared of the sound
jesus don’t love me; no-one ever carried my load
im too young to feel this old

here’s to you
here’s to me
on to us
nobody knows
nobody sees
nobody but me

Peter Rollins articulates the difference between the said and the saying, explores the use of “meaningless” saying in the music of Sigur Ros, and sees the significance of Vonlenska-like language in pastoral action:

In academic life the said is often privileged over the saying. What is important is that meaning is communicated and, as such, the way it is communicated is important only insomuch as it gets the meaning across. Yet there are forms of communication that give emphasis to the saying over and above the said.

An interesting example of this can be seen at work in the music of Sigur Ros, a band from Iceland that employs what they call “Vonlenska” (or “Hopelandic”) in many of their songs. “Vonlenska” sounds like a language, however it lacks consistent grammar, logical structure, meaningful syllables, and often even discrete words. When a song is sung in Vonlenska, the words that you hear do not “mean” anything; nothing is said in their saying. Yet the saying itself invites a change in the sensitive listener. In contemplating the music, one touches upon a deep resorvoir of emotion that emanates from the song. This mode of “communication” is similar to what we see taking place between an infant and its parents. The grammatical nonsense that is communicated by the infant to the parent and by the parent to the infant is a discourse in which nothing is said, but a connection is established or deepened.

When we are facing difficult situations is it not true that the pastoral act is not one that offers some explanation for the suffering (the said) but rather is found in the act of who who offers presence to the other in the form of words and gestures (the saying)? Here it is not an explanation that brings healing and comfort, but rather the fact that someone is interacting with us, the fact that someone loves us and stands with us…

…This is pastoral care at its most luminous. 1

From Sigur Ros’ wikipedia entry:

Vonlenska

Vonlenska is a term used to describe the gibberish sung by the band,^[16] in particular Jón Þór Birgisson. It is also commonly known by the English translation of its name, Hopelandic. It takes its name from “Von”, a song on Sigur Rós’s debut album Von where it was first used.

Vonlenska is gibberish and differs from constructed languages that can be used for communication; it lacks grammar, word meaning, and even distinct words. Instead, it consists of emotive syllables and phonemes; in effect, Vonlenska uses the melodic and rhythmic elements of singing without the conceptual content of language. In this way, it is similar, to the use of scat singing in vocal jazz. The band’s website describes it as “a form of gibberish vocals that fits to the music”.^[17] Most of the syllable strings sung by Jón Þór Birgisson are repeated many times throughout each song, and in the case of ( ), throughout the whole album.

Sigur Ros’ employs Vonlenska in the song “Hoppipolla” from the documentary Heima, in which the band played in varied and unexpected venues throughout the countryside of Iceland:

______________________________________________________________

1 Peter Rollins, The Orthodox Heretic and Other Impossible Tales (Brewster MA: Paraclete Press, 2009) 40-42.