My award-winning photograph

Movement 1: Amen de la Création, "Luz Ascendente"

"If I knew how to take a good photograph, I'd do it every time."

-- Robert Doisneau

Not since 8th grade when I played the lead role in the musical Androcles and the Lion have I been this excited about an outcome of work I created. Maybe I should include a few arts festival, film festivals, conferences and plays that I either directed or wrote while in Austin. But still. None of these won me an "award." And while it wasn't National Geographic or Annie Leibovitz jurying the work (tho' we didn't win easily), I'm psyched. My photograph won Olivier Messiaen's sixth movement, "Amen du Jugement," from his work for two pianos, Visions de l’Amen, in Duke Divinity School's photography contest.

Messiaen's work is comprised of seven movements, beginning with "Amen of Creation" and ending with "Amen of the Consummation." Seven winning photographs were chosen corresponding to each movement. One of these was chosen as grand prize winner. (That person, Kate Roberts, gets a round trip to the UK for Holy Week 2012, with a total value of $1900--tre cool.) All seven photographs will be professionally printed and mounted for exhibition both in the Great Hall at King’s College, Cambridge and in the Corpus Playroom theater on Maundy Thursday of Holy Week at Cambridge this coming April.

Movement 5: Amen des anges, des saints, du chant des oiseaux, "Avian flight"

The contest is part of a really cool collaboration between Duke and Cambridge. As Jeremy Begbie explains:

"The Duke-Cambridge Collaboration began in Holy Week 2010, when a group of scholars from Duke met with a group from Cambridge at King’s College, Cambridge, to collaborate on a research project centering on artistic engagements with the Passion story. The Consultation ran alongside King’s College’s Easter Festival of Music and Services, and a Duke-led concert was incorporated into the week’s events. A similar collaboration will take place during Holy Week 2012, including the Maundy Thursday performance of Visions de l’Amen that will provide the context for the Illuminating Messiaen exhibition."

Since the competition was open to all current students, alumni, faculty and staff at DDS, potentially, I figure, this would have involved 6,000 people (excluding the dead of course). So I didn't get my award that easily. And because it was an award, I received $100 worth of Amazon glory. Totally killer.

You can read the details here, including the jury process. That's also where you'll find all winning photographs as well as the batch that earned honorary mention. They're all quite beautiful, so I feel pretty lucky to have won, especially because I only was able to devote two afternoons to the project--a Sunday afternoon outing with Erik Newby as jedi friend and one hour at dusk the following day. I don't normally take photographs at their highest resolution possible, so nothing I'd taken previously was suitable.

So in the immemorial words of Tim Gunn, I had to make my two all-too-brief days work.  I've included a few of the other photographs I submitted. At the bottom of this entry is the winner. If you click on a photograph, you can see it in near-full screen size.

Movement 3: Amen de l’agonie de Jésus, "Solitary Figure"

Because my strongest artistic skill is playwriting and because I've done nothing with it over the past six years, I guess you can say that I've been a little bummed out in the artmaking department. On the encouragement of my wife, the lovely Phaedra Jean, I've adopted photography as my new outlet.

The 20th-century American photographer Edward Weston once said:

"If I have any 'message' worth giving to a beginner it is that there are no short cuts in photography." 

It's good advice for all the arts, of course. In my case it encourages me to keep at it, to keep looking, to keep shooting, to keep asking questions from those who know more than I, to keep taking risks and to keep enjoying the experience. Many thanks to the good people who made this all possible (JSB et al).

Movement 6: Amen du jugement, "Fruit on the wire, 125-foot smokestack"

The Conditions for the "Successful" Formation of Worship Art

Ever wonder whether a particular work of worship art, whether musical or visual or poetic or otherwise, is forming a congregation in the way "that it's supposed to"? Ever wonder what it is forming in them? Is it forming them theologically, spiritually, relationally, emotionally or missionally--or in a combination of these and more besides? How would you determine whether it formed the people rightly or fully? What conditions would need to be considered in order to determine an answer to these questions?

Over the past year I've created a handout in order to explore these questions. I've handed it out at various conference in which I've spoken. I thought I'd go ahead and share it here. This will be part one of two entries. Feel free to use it in your own church setting. Whether it's as a pastoral staff or worship team or arts committee, these are the kinds of questions that are useful to ask in order to assess the complex fashion in which the worship arts form a given congregation.

For what it's worth I use the terms "worship" and "liturgy" to mean exactly the same thing in this entry.

A diagnostic to discern how the worship arts form us 

While the arts in the context of corporate worship form us “in their own way,” they should not form us “on their own terms.” They should always form us on the terms of the worship service; or to use Wolterstorff's language, they should always serve the particular purposes and activities of the liturgy. The logic of art must always be seen to serve the logic of the liturgy.

Beyond this, we can say that the worship arts do not rightly form us in any kind of isolated or automatic way. For right formation to take place, the worship arts need to be intentionally integrated into the larger parts of the church's life, and they must be allowed to form dispositions in the congregation over time.

How would we discern whether any given work of liturgical art formed a congregation rightly, that is, according to the purposes for which it was created and to the context in which it is employed? Bearing in mind that we can never fully quantify the work of the Spirit and that our formation often happens unevenly, eight factors can be considered significant here.

 1. Its context. I have in mind here two kinds of context: spatial and chronological. Spatially: Where in the sanctuary does, for instance, visual art occur? Does it occur on all sides? Is it concentrated in any one space? Do different kinds of visual art occur in different spaces, and are these different spaces invested with different meanings?

Chronologically: At what point in the order of service might the visual art become especially useful? Do banners process? Does an ornate wooden cross recess? Is an icon paraded around the congregation for worshipers to kiss? Does a stained glass window or a group of photographs await the congregants as they leave the building? Is the space left “artistically bare” on purpose?

 2. Its use. I can imagine, for starters, four kinds of uses for liturgical art: didactic, performative, “service” and contemplative. If the stained glass windows along the nave of the church are intended to instruct the congregation, what kind of instruction is intended? If a dance is performed prior to the Eucharist, what performative value is sought here—as a celebrative act or a prayerful one or an act intended to symbolize the movement of the people before God?

Some kinds of music are called “service music,” whose purpose is musically to enhance different parts of the service. In an Anglican church I once attended in Vancouver, the music director ended the evening service with around five minutes of music, played either on the piano or the organ. The congregation was expected to sit and listen. The purpose was not to attend to the music as such but rather to create a contemplative space within which a person might prayerfully absorb the contents of the entire service.

 3. Its content. Is the art traditional or contemporary? Is it, say, a William Cowper hymn or a Chris Tomlin psalm? Is it a familiar song or an unfamiliar one, and how often is the congregation exposed to unfamiliar content? Is the song sung in the indigenous tongue or a foreign tongue—English, Latin, Swahili, Spanish? Is the music aesthetically difficult, as with the compositions of Orlando Gibbons, or is it aesthetically simple, as with the modern hymns of Keith and Kristyn Getty?

 4. The participants. Who is doing the art and how is the congregation intended to perceive those who do the art? In the case of a choir, is the choir adult, of one or both genders, of children, or of a combination of these? Is the choir perceived as “doing the work of worship” on behalf of the congregation? Are they perceived as “servants” or “leaders” of the worship? How do they dress? What symbolic meaning is vested in that dress? Is that meaning clearly understood by the congregation? Are artists the performers and the congregation the spectators? Is the congregation perceived to be a constant participant in the worship, as might be the case in certain African-American churches where dancing and clapping are seen as integral to proper worship?

Church planting, Dallas, Texas, March 6-8: A video

Below is what I had to say in a little promo video for the Anglican 1000 Church Planting Summit. I'm super excited to be a part of this gathering. I think it'll be fantastic, not just because I'll be sharing the stage with Scot McKnight, David Breen, Archbishop Robert Duncan and David Roseberry, but because I'll get to meet a whole bunch of folks that I don't normally cross paths with here at Duke University: church planters. (Usually folks around here "get appointed" to a church.) I have the greatest respect and admiration for folks who plant a new church. What a courageous bunch.

A year ago November I spoke to a group of church planters in Chicago (see here and here). This past May I gave a lecture at Regent College's pastors conference (see here and here). In my talk at the Summit I'll be crafting a combination of these two talks and making full use of the audience for my illustrations. This will be a full-body contact talk. So get ready. It'll be a lot of fun, and hopefully I'll be able to share a few things that will serve the real and fundamental needs of church planters.

Register for the conference here.

This event will be taking place immediately after our totally awesome Laity Lodge retreat.

And, yes, I wholeheartedly believe the 1976 Dallas Cowboys were and always will be America's Team.

Charlie Peacock: the piano man who is definitely not a muppet but who will be speaking at our retreat

"All Art House programs promote community, life, and world engagement, helping students become more and more interested in the same things that Jesus is interested in." -- Charlie and Andi


I first met Charlie in the summer of 2003. His book, New Way to be Human, was just published and he was two years away from releasing his jazz cum improvisational music CD titled Love Press Ex-Curio. We had invited him to be our guest performing artist at the 2003 HopeArts Festival.  In this role he led a songwriter's workshop, performed on a Saturday night, along with a virtuosic but a little kooky bass player, and then I interviewed him Sunday morning during the worship service.

The fact is, I first encountered Charlie in the late 1980s. He was much younger then. I was a teenager. This was the time when he co-wrote with folks like Margaret Becker and produced music for The Choir, Twila Paris, Al Green and the just-about-to-be-controversial Amy Grant. (Today he produces work for, oh, small outfits like Switchfoot and The Civil Wars.) It was the heyday for CCM and I drank it down in stacks of cassette tapes. It was also the heyday for rolling up your stonewashed jeans so they fit like a cork screw around your ankles. Charlie was a hero. The fact that he was sitting in a chair across from me in the sanctuary at Hope Chapel was almost too good to be true.

For the record, that was also the summer that Josh Banner met Susanna Childress.

Susanna, aka, Strawberry Angel

Wha?

It was a very good summer, I confess.

What I love and admire about Charlie and his wife, Andi, is their commitment to seek the wellbeing of artists, their whole wellbeing. Never afraid to take risks, they founded Art House America in 1991. For twenty years AHA has invested in the lives of artists with a vision that is so compelling I'm tempted to jealousy, wishing I could do pretty much the same thing.

"Art House America was founded with the vision of nurturing creative artists and anyone looking to explore an artful, faithful life. In addition to promoting the seamless life of Christian discipleship and imaginative living, AHA also provides students with creative nurture, hospitality, and access to sound and exemplary vocational and spiritual counsel. AHA provides mentoring for artists of various art forms, resources that communicate the worth and necessity of all vocations (paid and unpaid)...."

Isn't that good? I think it is. And if one is tempted to think that Charlie and Andi have lived an idyllic life, they will probably be the first to share frankly their many experiences of heartache.

What do they have to offer our Laity Lodge retreat? Years of faithful though not un-costly service, insight into the lives of artists, from Bono to singer-songwriters trying to make a go of their craft (like our favorite Brooke Waggoner), a winsome, unassuming personal aspect, the pursuit of an intelligent approach to art and faith, stories of failure that instead of leading to an embittered cynicism have made them more compassionate to others, and a commitment as a couple to partner together even while respecting each other's distinct calling and gifts.

They'll be a part of our retreat at the Laity Lodge, March 1-4. Why not join us and get an opportunity to know them a bit? See here for all relevant information on the retreat.

Thank God for faithful servants like Charlie and Andi. Thank God for their wisdom and sense of humor. Thank God for the friendship that many of us have received from them. I'm excited to be with them again.

Here is the full meal deal bio note for Charlie.

Charlie Peacock co-founded the independent music company Twenty Ten Music with friend and entrepreneur David Kiersznowski in January 2010.  Peacock serves as producer and Sr. VP of A&R.  Peacock began his artist, songwriting and production career in the early eighties with recordings for A&M, Island, and the Sparrow Label Group. Peacock has played a lead role in creating major hits in three separate decades—most notably Amy Grant's "Every Heartbeat" (1991), Switchfoot's "Dare You to Move" (2002) and The Civil Wars' Grammy-nominated debut album Barton Hollow (2011).  

Charlie is the founder of the label re:think/EMI and former Sr. A&R consultant to Sony/ATV and EMI CMG. Named by Billboard's Encyclopedia of Record Producers as one of the 500 most important record producers in music history, the Grammy Award-winning producer has over 20 Million sales to his credit with a diverse roster of artists ranging from Al Green to Ladysmith Black Mambazo and Switchfoot.  Peacock’s director/producer credits include Any Day Now, Ten Out Of Tenn’s award-winning performance documentary feature, Brooke Waggoner's concert DVD And The World Opened Up, and The Legend Hank Cochran, a documentary tribute in collaboration with BMI and Sony/ATV featuring legendary songwriter Hank Cochran (Patsy Cline, Elvis Presley) and his famous friends: Merle Haggard, Jamey Johnson, Lee Ann Womack, Elvis Costello, Cowboy Jack Clement and others.  

Peacock recently scored original music for the upcoming film Searching For Sonny starring Minka Kelly and the documentary Wrestling for Jesus; and contributed music to Nicole Kidman’s Rabbit Hole, Vampire Diaries, Pretty Little Liars, and the NBC Family Movie Night telefilm franchise soundtracks for The Jensen Project, A Walk In My Shoes, and Change of Plans in association with producer Randy Jackson. Charlie and his wife, Andi Ashworth, are Co-Founders/Executive Directors of Art House America.

Bits & Bobs at the start of the year of the end of the earth

According to the writers of this Wikipedia entry, 2012 "is regarded as the end-date of a 5,125-year-long cycle in the Mesoamerican Long Count calendar." What do the Mayas really think about it? Check out your local Mayan Predictions to find out.

Myself, I'm going to keep eating dark chocolate malt balls and writing this blog till the brimstone burns up all the electrons that make it possible for you to read it.

Here then a bit of this and a bob of that at the start of 2012. I've got a series on the vocation of the artist that I'd like to begin and a "Best of" for 2011, but those will have to wait till the baby is fed, the diapers are changed, the bottles are boiled, Phaedra is loved on and the comprehensive exams are given first dibs on any energy that is left over for the day.

First things first, though: You gotta come to that Laity Lodge retreat, March 1-4, where we'll talk about the care of artists and swim in the Blue Hole of the Frio River and eat the best food you'll consume all year long. It's a win-win-win, people. Stay tuned for more info.

1. The Technology Loop.  You know you've been sucked under by it. You know you're a sucker for letting yourself be sucked again, over and over. You wish you had one technological gadget to organize it all. Here it is, courtesy of Portlandia.




2. Will art history majors save our economy? You betcha, and Matt Milliner has the goods on it.

3. The David Crowder Band is calling it quits, but David Crowder will keep doing his thing: making music in service of the church. Check out this fine interview over at CT.

What's next for your? What will you do for income? 
I'm going to be making music for the church in the future. I just don't know exactly what that will mean and look like. I just know that I love writing for the church and to help people express themselves to God in a very direct manner in terms of corporate or collective singing. If I'm not doing that in some fashion, I definitely would feel like there's a vacancy. And so I'm sure there's more to come.

4. Ever want to bust out in song on a plane 30,000 feet above ground level? I have. A bunch of times, most of which would have mortified Phaedra. But these folks have the chutzpah and the goods to pull it off with class (on economy class). Call it worship just shy of the heavens. And make sure you listen to the clipped-off comment by the woman sitting somewhere behind the video camera.



5. Stephen Colbert, the latter day mystic? It's hard to believe (or perhaps not) that these words are attributed to the padrone of "The Colbert Report," but they're worth chewing on, as reported in this piece by The New York Times Magazine.

"In 1974, when Colbert was 10, his father, a doctor, and his brothers Peter and Paul, the two closest to him in age, died in a plane crash while flying to a prep school in New England. “There’s a common explanation that profound sadness leads to someone’s becoming a comedian, but I’m not sure that’s a proven equation in my case,” he told me. “I’m not bitter about what happened to me as a child, and my mother was instrumental in keeping me from being so.”

He added, in a tone so humble and sincere that his character would never have used it: “She taught me to be grateful for my life regardless of what that entailed, and that’s directly related to the image of Christ on the cross and the example of sacrifice that he gave us. What she taught me is that the deliverance God offers you from pain is not no pain — it’s that the pain is actually a gift. What’s the option? God doesn’t really give you another choice.”

6. Andy Whitman goes to his Jesus Freak Reunion. See here, via Image Journal.

7. A thing about the liturgical arts.

He suggests that “liturgical arts will offer the best service to the church when embedded in something larger than themselves.” He maintains that the beauty inherent in art is valuable, but that the arts fulfill “a primary purpose in the actions and purposes of the liturgy.”

Yes, I said that. I said it in an interview for a publication by the Anglican Mission (now organizationally in a state of limbo, but, well, whoever let that stop one from loving the Anglican liturgy? Not me.) And Phaedra's art made it into the article too, so that's even funner.

8. Bruce Benedict's Top Ten Congregational Songs for 2011. I really enjoyed reading his list and the explanations that accompanied them.

Way to go, Cardiphonia. Keep up the good work.

9. The enchantment of simple, elegant lines. This is a really beautiful work of Chinese painting, which the artist has animated in three dimensions.

3D Chinese painting animation - Watch more Videos at Vodpod.

10. Three books I look forward to reading in the next month.

The Study of Liturgy, edited by C. Jones, G. Wainwright, E. Yarnold and P. Bradshaw (Oxford: 1992).
I'm thoroughly enjoying my readings in liturgical theology and this includes an anthology-like collection of essays by distinguished members of the field. It's organized around basic categories such as "theology and rite," "initiation," "the Eucharist," "ordination" and "the calendar." It'll be a great resource as a quick read of issues and concerns surrounding each facet of the liturgy.

Space, Time and Resurrection by T. F. Torrance (Oxford: 1969).
This spring semester Jeremy will run a seminar for his doctoral students on Thomas Torrance. This is the book we'll be reading for our first gathering. We'll also venture into The Mediation of Christ, "The Trinitarian Mind," "The Transformation of Natural Theology," "Natural Theology in the Thought of Karl Barth," "Theological Science" and "The One Baptism Common to Christ and his Church."  I'm excited to spend time with a man I first visited in seminary, with his Trinitarian Faith: The Evangelical Theology of the Ancient Catholic Faith, a book that awakened in me a love for the Great Tradition. The book hurt my head every time I picked it up, but I was a better man for it.

Veronica Roth's Divergent trilogy, because I can't justify reading The Hunger Games trilogy for a third time in a row but I can read another, perhaps just a wee bit too similar, set of dystopian novels featuring a spunky teenage girl, who just so happens to live in society that is divided into five factions--Abnegation (the selfless), Candor (the honest), Dauntless (the brave), Amity (the peaceful), and Erudite (the intelligent)--each dedicated to the cultivation of, yes, you guessed it, Aristotle, a particular virtue, in the attempt to form a "perfect society."

C'mon, you know that's going to be a good read. At least for the first 100 pages. Hopefully more.

My firstborn is a girl. I want her to be spunky like Katniss. I now need to check out her doppelgänger, Beatrice.

David's comings and goings in 2012

In addition to studying for my comprehensive exams, occurring at the end of this month, and writing a dissertation, occurring as fast as I can write it, I have the privilege of visiting folks around the country and participating in the ongoing conversation about the church's relationship to the arts. Here are a few stops along the way. If you're in the area, I'd love to see you or meet you.

February 5 -- Preaching at All Angels Church in New York City.

February 17-19 -- Giving three talks in Topeka, Kansas, for an arts festival sponsored by five churches, which on that fact alone deserves a hearty hoorah.

March 1-4 -- Speaking at the Laity Lodge retreat for ministers to artists, in the middle of perfectly nowhere in Central Texas. Also speaking will be Charlie Peacock, Andi Ashworth, Ginger Geyer and Sandra Organ-Solis. A musician, a hospitality maven, a visual artist and a contemporary ballerina and me.

March 6-8 -- Giving a plenary talk at the Anglican 1000 Church Planting Summit in Dallas, Texas. The fact that I'll be sharing the stage with Scot McKnight, Archbishop Robert Duncan, Mike Breen and David Roseberry only makes this a sweeter deal.

March 22-29 -- Giving a paper (Lord-willing) at the Society for the Study of Theology's annual conference in York, England.

May - June -- Studying Latin in Durham, North Carolina. This isn't geographic travel but it will involve travel across time, to the land of dead languages. Ecce beatus homo, or something like that.

July -- Travel to the mothership, Austin, Texas.

September 22 -- Giving a plenary talk in Wenham, Massachusetts, at an event sponsored by Gordon College, Gordon-Conwell Seminary and CIVA. The day event will explore the dynamic between the church and the visual arts. The tentative title of my talk is "The Problem of Sight and the Possibility of a Re-formed Vision."

November 1-3 -- Giving a plenary talk at a conference in Los Angeles that will explore the relationship between preaching and the visual arts, aptly titled "Preaching in a Visual Age." It will be co-sponsored by the Ogilvie Institute of Preaching at Fuller Theological Seminary, the Calvin Institute of Christian Worship at Calvin College, and Christians in the Visual Arts. See here for previous Brehm Lectures, which this conference will constitute. Mark Labberton is coordinating. Details to come.

Other things are in the works. Stay tuned.

The God who takes his time

Piero della Francesca, 1470

The God of Jesus Christ is a God who takes his time.

In the aftermath of Adam and Eve's rebellion, God pronounces judgment upon the serpent:

"And I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your seed and her seed; he shall bruise you on the head, and you shall bruise him on the heel" (Gen. 3:15).

Then this God takes an incomprehensibly long and to many of us, an upsettingly long, amount time to do something about it.

A bit later he speaks through the prophet Isaiah a promise to his people Israel, which the prophet dutifully writes down.

The people who walk in darkness will see a great light; 
Those who live in a dark land, the light will shine on them...
For a child will be born to us, a son will be given to us; 
And the government will rest on His shoulders.

Francesco di Giorgio Martini, 1460

Then this same God takes 700 years to make this promise see the light of day. If we go backwards seven hundred years, we land at the year 1311, the year that the Italian painter Giotto was in Assisi, painting frescoes in the transept area of the Lower Church, a year in which Dante Alighieri scribbled away at the Divine Comedy, Robert the Bruce roamed the lowlands of Scotland and the technique of knitting was being invented. If we go forwards, we arrive at 2711 AD, a year which only science fiction writers have imagined possible.

Our God takes seven hundred years to make good on his promises, and children innumerable are born to mothers and so many sons "are given" to the tribe that people stop counting because of the tedious quality of the ordinariness of it all.

Then the Messiah arrives, at last. As Gary Thomas describes this episode in God's history:

"This is the way of God: long waiting, intense action, followed by long waiting. Decades may come and go before anything seemingly significant takes place. The Gospels testify to a patient God who sometimes takes centuries to set up his move, and who then thinks nothing of sitting on it for another thirty years until everything is just right."

Our God is a God who takes his time, and if he takes his time with Adam and Eve and Israel and the disciples of Jesus, then, alas, he will do no differently with us, with me.

Our friend Margaret Thielman, with a desire to encourage us during our darkest days this past fall, said this:

"Just remember, the nights are long but the years are short."

Jans tot Sint Geertgen, 1490

I've been repeating that statement out loud to myself over the past weeks. She's right, of course, and Phaedra and I have only begun to feel its meaning with Blythe. At the moment, we have more long days and long nights than short years. But we'll get those short years soon enough, and since we're melancholy people I imagine we'll feel bittersweet about the passing of time and wish we could rewind the tape and do a few things over or cherish moments which we treated perfunctorily.

As we bring another year to a close and anticipate the beginning of 2012, I wanted to share this poem by Dietrich Bonhoeffer. He wrote it at Christmas time, in 1944, from a Nazi prison camp. He was 39 years old, an age I now share with him. The last stanza has a "collect" quality to it and can of course be prayed or recited only in faith.

God did not spare Bonhoeffer death. God did not relieve his beloved Son of death. And he will not spare us death or suffering or travail either, as believers around the globe know firsthand, but he will give us the Holy Spirit without measure, to comfort and to encourage us while we travail, even as we wait for the fuller fulfillment of his promises. He also, thank God, gives us each other to bear our waiting together.

God bless you this Christmastide.

I offer this prayer as a prologue to Bonhoeffer's poem.

God of Adam and Eve, God of Abraham, God of our Lord Jesus Christ, you who sometimes take centuries to set up your move, grant us grace today while we wait for you to answer our prayers which we have prayed this year, this past decade perhaps--or our whole life even--and grace again to remain faithful to your calling upon our life, as difficult or inscrutable as it may feel. 

May we not only know afresh the Christ of both manger and cross but also come to love him more deeply, so that we might offer grace to our neighbor in need, whoever he or she may be. This we pray through Christ the lowly babe and exalted king in the power of your Holy Spirit. Amen.

Michael Pacher, The St. Wolfgang Altarpiece, 1503

Faithfully and quietly surrounded by benevolent powers,
wonderfully guarded and consoled,
thus will I live this day with you
and go forth with you into another year.

Still will the past torment our hearts
Still, heavy burdens of bad times depress us,
Ah, Lord give our startled souls
the grace for which we were created.

And if you pass to us the heavy, the bitter
cup of pain, filled to the brim,
we will accept it, without trembling
from your good and beloved hand.

But if you wish us to rejoice once more
in this world and the brilliance of its sun
then the past too we will remember
and so our entire life will belong to you.

With warmth and light let flame today the candles
that you have brought into our darkness.
If it can be, bring us together once again!
We know your light is shining in the night.

When the silence spreads around us deeply,
let us hear that full sound of the world
stretching out invisibly around us;
let us hear the children's praising song.

Warmly protected by benevolent powers,
with confidence we wait for what may come.
God is with us at evening and at morning
and most certainly at each new day.

Giotto, Scrovegni Chapel, 1305

A hymn, a poem & a bunch of Advent Devotionals

Advent and Triumph of Christ by Hans Memling

I sang the following hymn at a recent Vespers Service at Duke Chapel. As we moved from verse to verse I had two thoughts. One, why hadn't I sung this hymn before and, two, when can I sing it again? It's one of those theologically rich and poetically elegant hymns that deserves a prominent place in the church's worship during the Advent season.

I also wouldn't mind hearing a contemporary songwriter render it in a new musical style (like this [thank you, Bruce] and like this [thank you, Greg]), including pop-rock or symphonic rock or global music.

"Savior of the Nations, Come"

The words are by St. Ambrose, bishop of Milan (339-397 AD), translated into the German by Martin Luther in 1523, and then from Ger­man to En­glish by Will­iam M. Rey­nolds in 1851. The music comes from Jo­hann Wal­ther (Wit­ten­berg, Ger­ma­ny, 1524), while the har­mo­ny was scored by Jo­hann S. Bach.

Savior of the nations, come;
Virgin’s Son, here make Thy home!
Marvel now, O heaven and earth,
That the Lord chose such a birth.

Not by human flesh and blood;
By the Spirit of our God
Was the Word of God made flesh,
Woman’s offspring, pure and fresh.

Wondrous birth! O wondrous Child
Of the virgin undefiled!
Though by all the world disowned,
Still to be in heaven enthroned.

From the Father forth He came
And returneth to the same,
Captive leading death and hell
High the song of triumph swell!

Thou, the Father’s only Son,
Hast over sin the victory won.
Boundless shall Thy kingdom be;
When shall we its glories see?

Brightly doth Thy manger shine,
Glorious is its light divine.
Let not sin o’ercloud this light;
Ever be our faith thus bright.

Praise to God the Father sing,
Praise to God the Son, our King,
Praise to God the Spirit be
Ever and eternally.

The following is a poem by Malcolm Guite. He's taken it upon himself to write seven sonnets corresponding to the seven "Oh Great" antiphons or prayers that the church has traditionally prayed during Advent. Here is his explanation for the project. I think it's quite wonderful. I encourage you to read--or even better, listen to--all his sonnets.


O Adonai 

Unsayable, you chose to speak one tongue,

Unseeable, you gave yourself away,

The Adonai, the Tetragramaton

Grew by a wayside in the light of day.

O you who dared to be a tribal God,

To own a language, people and a place,

Who chose to be exploited and betrayed,

If so you might be met with face to face,

Come to us here, who would not find you there,

Who chose to know the skin and not the pith,

Who heard no more than thunder in the air,

Who marked the mere events and not the myth.

Touch the bare branches of our unbelief

And blaze again like fire in every leaf.


ADVENT DEVOTIONALS

Bliss Lemmon, woodcut

I have become a big fan of the congregational practice of an Advent Devotional. By no means do I think it's an easy undertaking, as you can see from the note I wrote to our church. Nor do I think there is only way to produce a solid Devotional. As my dad would say when I was a kid, De todo hay en la viña del Señor. Roughly translated: there's a little bit of everything in the Body of Christ. But when it comes to a practice that promotes a richly active way for members of a congregation to participate in the season of Advent, I can't think of a better one than a congregationally produced Devotional.

Here is a sample of Devotionals produced by congregations around the country (and in Canada too). If your church did one, or if you know of a church that did, please mention it in the comments.

1. All Saints Church (Anglican) Durham, NC.

2. Christ the King Presbyterian, Raleigh, NC.

3. Eastbrook Church High School Ministry, Milwaukee, MN.

4. Regent Colleget Advent Reader (while not congregational, still offers a helpful model for how it can be done well).

5. Grace Church, Bellingham, WA.

6. The Village Church, Dallas, TX.

7, All Souls Church, Charlottesville, VA.

8. Providence Church, Austin, TX.

9. Second Baptist Church, Liberty, MO.

10. The Gathering Church, Durham, NC.

11. Liberti Fairmont Church, Philadelphia, PA.

12. Christ Church Anglican, Austin, TX

13. Park Slope Presbyterian Church, Brooklyn, NY.

In Memoriam: Orlando DeAcutis (October 1921 - November 2011)

(This past Thursday we buried my grandfather, my last remaining grandparent, in Dallas, Texas. As far as Christian funerals go, it was a good one. We wept for things that deserved a good cry and we laughed in remembrance of things that warranted a happy response. This is the eulogy I gave during the funeral service. It was wonderful to share this experience with my family. It was also very stirring to witness the Marine Corps guard fire its three volleys in his honor at the interment. I have a feeling it will take me several months to properly process his loss, but I'm grateful for a family that will share this process with me and give me permission to do it well.)

December 8, 2011

Dallas, Texas

A Eulogy

When I was four or five years old, I remember sitting on the toilet lid in my granddad's bathroom watching him shave. For the occasion he almost always wore a white t-shirt.  I remember how his skin glistened with an olive oil tint and how his Roman nose took command of his face in the way that any good Italian took command of anything--with a self-assured confidence, like a Joe DiMaggio at the baseball plate or a Frank Sinatra on the silver screen. The bathroom, to my mind, was impossibly narrow, overrun by my grandmother's pink and cream cosmetic accessories, and my grandfather assumed an impossibly large place in it.

Lathering his face with a thick froth of shaving cream, he would cut across his cheeks and chin with a thick metal razor. He cut carefully but not fussily. The cuts were always clean and efficient, and I'm guessing that the engineer in him wouldn't want it any other way.

My grandfather did not allow me to interrupt him. I could watch but I was not to interfere with a man's duty. This was man's work.

Dallas, Texas, autumn 1974

Part of me was afraid of my granddad. He had been a colonel in the Marines.  His arms were muscly, and at 6'3" he seemed to always tower forbiddingly over me. He drank beer. He trimmed his lawn just so. He managed his finances punctiliously. He bluntly announced his opinions. And even as a kid I always felt that he kept at bay, perhaps just beneath the surface, a reserve of powerful emotions, some of them terrifying. He was my granddad, yes. He was my mom's dad. How much more intimate and normal could that be? Yet as I watched him shave, with nothing less than the kind of unqualified awe that a little boy could have for his granddad, he was more mythic figure than homey grandfather.

Yet there was also this. Behind the statuesque figure that was my Italian grandfather was a very tender man who loved his grandchildren with a commitment to invest in their lifelong wellbeing.

Granddad paid for Christine, Stephanie and me to get swim lessons in Guatemala.

Granddad gave money for us to take music classes in Bannockburn, Illinois.

He bought Christine a computer when she returned from England after her first year of college.

He made it possible for Stephanie to take ballet lessons in middle school.

He taught me to love the Dallas Cowboys, beginning in 1979.

During my senior year of college I passed the Foreign Service exam and had driven up to Dallas on my own in order to participate in a full day of interviews with officers who worked with the State Department. I knew my granddad was proud of me; I wanted him to be proud of me. I woke up early on a Wednesday morning in my grandparent’s house. As I got dressed I could smell the smoky fragrance of sausage patties floating in from the kitchen. They were my favorite breakfast food. They still are.

When I walked into the kitchen I saw something I'd never seen before and never saw again. My granddad was preparing a lunch for me. With meticulous care, he placed a sandwich, an apple, some chips and a candy bar in a paper sack. He wanted to make sure I ate well that day. He wanted me to do well. The gesture represented a small but significant form of love for my granddad.

This past September, right around the time our daughter was born, granddad sent a generous sum of money to Phaedra and me. With the frequent challenges that we have faced since Blythe was born, I don't know what we would have done without his gift. Not a week has gone by this fall when we haven't thanked God for granddad.

Christmas 1973

In years to come we will be telling Blythe all about her great-granddad, who, when he met her over Skype in late October, his one and only time to see her, he immediately launched into the Bing Crosby song, You must have been a beautiful baby, you must have been a wonderful child. He sang those two lines over and over, and with the dementia that had recently taken over his memory, he looped back to the song throughout the entire course of our conversation. Phaedra and I received it as his final blessing to Blythe.

While it was clear to me as a little boy that I was not to interrupt granddad's morning shave, this didn't mean I was left un-involved. Even then granddad invested in my education. While I watched, granddad would narrate what he was doing--shaving cream here, the razor just so, a clean face washed down with cold water, not hot, and a splash of musky after-shave to make grandmother happy.

Granddaddy, thank you. Thank you for investing in all of us grandkids and great-grandkids. Thank you for being so very Christ-like in this manner. As someone who carries your name, this is a part of your character that I wish to emulate, with my own kids and grandkids. It is a part that makes me very proud of you, granddaddy, and that I think would make you proud too.

Granddad and grandmother with my mom and uncle

Uncle John, myself and granddad

PS: There is a strong stirring in me today to see my granddad on the other side of the veil. Come, Lord Jesus, come.

The Psalms and the Re-ordering of our Emotions

I'm posting here a summary of sorts of my second talk at Tyndale College. If you go here, you'll see a video of the event, "Faith Talk Lectures in Christian Spirituality," plus links to the audio recordings.

Seven resources I would recommend in light of the topic are:

1. Jeremy Begbie, "Faithful Feelings: Music and Emotions in Worship," in Resonant Witness: Conversations Between Music and Theology.

2. Matthew A. Elliot, Faithful Feelings: Rethinking Emotion in the New Testament.

3. Peter Scazzero, The Emotionally Healthy Church.

4. Thomas Merton, Praying the Psalms.

5. Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Psalms: Prayerbook of the Bible.

6. John D. Witvliet, The Biblical Psalms in Christian Worship: A Brief Introduction & Guide to Resources.

7. John Calvin’s “Foreword [or Preface] to the Psalter,” translated by Charles Garside, in John Calvin: Writings on Pastoral Piety, ed. Elsie Anne McKee, Classics of Western Spirituality (New York: Paulist Press, 2001).

(By the way, the entire All Saints Church Advent Devotional can be found here.)

Here, then, the precis of my talk, and in the helter-skelter of this season, may you find the psalms to be a constant companion to guide, comfort, order and perhaps even correct all that you will feel, alone or with others, over the next few weeks.

The Psalms and the reordering of our emotions
… Theologian Jeremy Begbie writes: “our emotional lives are messy… [they’re] tangled, they come and go, they jump out at us at odd times,” and we find ourselves alternately governed by them or petrified by them. Boys are taught to shut down their feelings, while girls are affirmed for their expression of the affections yet, according to recent studies, tend to experience more embarrassment, guilt, shame, sadness and distress than boys.

Each of you of course has your own story. Some of you may feel grateful for your family; others of you may feel embarrassed about them. Some of you may feel confident in your faith, while others of you may be doubting it. Some of you may be worried about your future or feel particularly alive at the moment or wrestling with depression. The fact that few of us have ever heard a sermon on the theological importance of our emotions probably doesn’t help matters. The fact that our society sends a steady stream of confused signals about the emotions only exacerbates our search for well-being.

How then should we as Christians think about the emotions? What place should we give them in our lives? Is there a positive role for them to play in our lives—a formative role rather than a passive or pejorative one? And what kind of help might the arts offer us?

What I’d like to suggest to you today is this: It is not when we let our emotions do whatever “they will do” that we are free. When we do that, in fact, we get into trouble. We lash out, we sulk, we envy, we covet, we resent--often in frightfully automatic ways.

Instead it is when we allow Christ to order our emotions by his Spirit that we are free. And God has given us the poetry of the psalms to aid us in this work. In the singing of the psalms, in fact, we get a taste of what it means to have our emotions ordered to the kind of true humanity that characterizes Christ’s life.

Let me explain what I mean... (listen here for the rest).