Orthodixie

What a difference 3 years makes! When I originally posted this piece (back in 2007) Michael Jackson was alive, Paula Abdul was a judge on American Idol (and Simon wasn’t leaving), Barry Bonds was relevant … and Barack Obama was a relatively unknown brown man with peculiar ears running for President. Anyway, I’ve corrected some of the broken links and left the outdated, but active, ones in.

Imagine my surprise when, upon the opening of the door, I realized I was at the home of the notorious Simon Cowell. (You know, the brutally-honest-bad-boy of American Idol fame?) Anyway, he said: “Come on in …”

I’m pretty sure it was a dream, but —

… and as soon as I started crossing the threshold, he critiqued the way I walked, the look of my shoes, and even asked if, being from North Carolina, I was inbred.

“No sir,” I replied, “but I am a little flat footed and, thanks to a bit of scoliosis …”

“Stop it. Stop it. Stop it!” he interjected. “You are not auditioning! You’re here, I presume, to bless my abode: Show me what you got.”

“Okay, where should we start?” I asked. “On the kitchen table?”

Simon: “That would be fine.”

Lo and behold, Randy Jackson was in there eating a big ol’ turkey with both hands.

“Goodness, Randy!” Simon said. “Would you like a shovel?”

Randy saw me and said something like: “Wab bub dug?” (Which translates, of course — minus the bird — to “How are YOU doing?”)

I nodded, sat my priest’s “doc kit” down on the table, and began setting things up for the house blessing. Simon, in a fit of rage, with one swift motion of his $480 t-shirt clad arm, swept all the food off the table and sat beside Randy. I couldn’t help but think that all they needed was Paula Abdul and … as all dreams invariably do … there she was! (Oops! I mean, HERE she is.) She was already crying. She said house blessings always got to her. Anyway …

Mr Potato Head George Bush — whoops! (dream, remember?) — George Bush walked in and sat down at the table with them. I surmised he was the guest judge. That’s when it really got weird … I guess I thought of Hillary Clinton when in walked none other than Mr Potato Head Barack Obama …

” … I guarantee … you try my vacuum cleaner for 14 days …”

“Hhaaaaaaaaaaaaa, gha!”

“Scuze me,” said Randy, “had sump’m stuck in my th’oat.”

“What are you going to do for us today?” asked Simon.

“Well,” I said, “the House Blessing begins with the Trisagion, ending with the Our Father.”

“Mister, can you spare a pence?”

Whhaaa?

Simon: “Debtors.”

FrJ: “Oh … well … I was going to use ‘trespasses’ …

Simon: “Very well then: Trespassers!”

“Was the Earth really created in only six days?”

Sue-Sue-Sue de ooo! SUE SUE SUE DEE OHH, OHOOOO!

FrJ: “What the …?”

Simon: “Phil Collins …. You know, Genesis.”

Any way, dear and patient reader, we finally got around to blessing the house. It was a pretty big spread and I could have done without Paula’s imitation of Barbara Eden. (Whoops! Here ya go.) Randy had to take a few breaks, stopping at the Starbucks and McDonald’s — which were, bizarre enough, all found in Simon’s bathroom.

Yet, it was during the singing of “God grant you many years” that things got really weird.

Simon interrupted me, saying: “You hit me with water. I think that rather rude and totally uncalled for.”

Paula started crying cuz her make-up was now running …

And Randy (you know how dreams are) had morphed into a familiar version of another Jackson.

Okay, so maybe 5 pieces of cheesecake, 7 cups of coffee, in addition to three full meals and bits of baklava, chocolates, etc, throughout the day plays havoc on the noggin? Maybe it’s just Pop Culture in general — or the fact that I [was] reading James Joyce at [that] moment …

House Blessings. 8 or so down; 70 more to go. Goodnight.

Most mornings I get up at 4:20 AM. By 4:30, I’m doing Morning Pages (3 pages, college-ruled, long hand). Why so early? Because the Missus and I walk from 5-6 AM; from that point on, the day’s a roller coaster. The last thing done each evening, before either a crossword puzzle or leisure reading, is writing in a journal. The latter I’ve done throughout my life — but since 1992 without missing a night. The former, Morning Pages, even the walking, is fruit born from reading Julia Cameron’s works. (Yes, I know there’s some New Agey stuff in her works — but, hey, I wasn’t born yesterday; been there was that.)

It’s funny how someone, or someone’s work, can change your life.

I subscribe to two Internet email services: 1) The Writer’s Almanac; 2) Robert Genn’s Twice Weekly Letters. I recommend both.

Today, I received a belated Christmas present from the Missus: The Letters by Robert Genn — a big book containing all the twice-weekly letters over the past 10 years. That will, I suppose, be my nightly reading for a while.

Before publication, Mr Genn solicited guest Forwards for the project. My submission did not make publication. But, FWIW, here it is:

Else they fruitlessly struggle against the current, every artist eventually understands: the muse only works when you’re working. Waiting for inspiration, like a slow day fishing, can equal just plain waiting. Robert Genn’s The Twice-Weekly Letters are a total waste of time. That is, when you’re not working. And who’s not working these days? I mean, thanks to the immediate media of the omnipresent Internet, we can surf and work at the same time, right? Wrong. Ask any real surfer and you’ll find that, when the waves aren’t there, you can be merely all wet.

When you are working, The Twice-Weekly Letters are a total wave of time. Not that the confines of time are abrogated, rather they make for the creative exercise of muse surfing. That’s the sensation I get whilst reading these wonderful gems of inspiration. Sometimes I’m on the shore, witnessing the fast swerve and swagger of the surfer, when stationary admiration is enough to wash me elsewhere, to that fruitful place. Other times, I am gliding on the board, fast and furious, when even a cursory scan of The Twice-Weekly Letters is enough to slow me toward a rendezvous with the patiently waiting shoreline muse.

Then there are those times when, hater that I am, I get jealous reading of Mr Genn’s fabulous travels. But, no fault be his, he didn’t steal my muse, for she is oft times stirred even amid envy. (Incidentally, Mr Genn seldom refrains from mentioning water: the sea, the lake, the tear, the fog, or the steady drizzle rain.)

There’s another truism that artists come to know: The art is in the craft, the craft is in the art. For writers this is watered down to: “A writer writes.” You write when you don’t want to write. You write when you should be doing something else. You write when you could be spending time with loved ones. A writer writes because he has to! But muse-less creativity may often be only an addiction in drag; it, too, can leave one fruitless and all wet.

Saint Augustine, obviously working toward a specific end, wrote words nonetheless applicable to all who struggle toward the bountiful waters of beauty: “So then, my brothers, let us sing now, not in order to enjoy a life of leisure, but in order to lighten our labors. You should sing as wayfarers do sing, but continue your journey. Do not be lazy, but sing to make your journey more enjoyable. Sing, but keep going. What do I mean by keep going? Keep on making progress. This progress must be in virtue; for there are some … whose only progress is in vice. If you make progress, you will be continuing your journey, but be sure that your progress is in virtue, true faith, and right living. Sing then – but keep going.”

The Twice-Weekly Letters are like songs to the soul, waves for the ears, and music to the muse. Though they’ve appeared like clockwork, I’m always pleasantly surprised when that grand swell toward shore comes in twice weekly. Now that they’re all presented here together, in this wonderful reservoir, come with me my love: Let us sing – “Surf’s up!” – and keep going.

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by Tom Breen

Orthodox Christianity has a tradition of saints who are known as fools-for-Christ, people who have attacked the sin of pride by behaving in ways that seem, to the casual observer, insane. To date, there is no tradition in Orthodoxy of wiseguys-for-Christ, which is a shame: that would be handy category for Fr. Joseph Huneycutt.

A Houston-based priest, blogger, and podcaster, Fr. Joseph’s book We Came, We Saw, We Converted is more or less the perfect template of a “holy wiseguy”: filled with wry asides, surreal dream sequences and silly song parodies, it wears the guise of humor but in reality contains a payload of genuine, moving Christian spirituality.

That description probably makes the book seem like a well-intentioned but limp attempt at “Christian humor,” but make no mistake: Fr. Joseph is a seriously funny guy. There are plenty of laugh-out-loud moments in this book, ranging from a parishioner’s distress at an observant family’s wild children (“They are very, very faithful – attending every service – much to the disappointment of most of the congregation”) to a recounting of a visit the youthful Huneycutt made to a Pentecostal church in North Carolina.

The latter episode qualifies as some of the funniest writing about American religion in years, from the moment “Uncle Ernie” gets the Spirit and begins running laps around the building to the unbelievable climax of the episode. I won’t spoil the surprise, but the “special guest” Huneycutt feared was a snake in a box turns out to be something so bizarre it could have sprung from the collective brain of the Monty Python gang.

The book laces together personal memories, stories from the life of a priest, and fictional episodes to form a set of tales about what it’s like to be an Orthodox convert in a country where “Orthodox” is usually understood to mean “Jewish men with old-fashioned hats” and where a hearty “Christos Anesthi” is more likely to be met with “gesundheit” than “Alithos Anesthi.”

Fr. Joseph, raised a Baptist in North Carolina, has both the All-American background (he even played high school football) and the priestly credibility to tell this story. Unmistakably an Orthodox book (there’s a whole section on fasting), it’s also a breeze for people who don’t know their orthopraxia from their orthodontist.

Because he’s a good storyteller and a perceptive observer, the book is not a triumphalist trashing of other faiths (although Uncle Ernie might want to have a quiet word), and is clear-eyed about some of the challenges Orthodoxy faces in the U.S.

The book tackles the uneasy co-existence between the Orthodox from recent immigrant communities and the “white boy” Orthodox converts who often display their new faith in ostentatious ways. He’s also particularly hilarious when interviewing a fictional antagonist named Fr. Danislav, who extolls the blessed quiet of an empty church and offers helpful tips on how to drive less-than-perfect believers away.

“He loved crossing his legs more than he loved obedience,” Fr. Danislav gravely concludes of one irreverently comfortable malefactor.

Underneath the belly laughs, though, Fr. Joseph explains Orthodoxy in clear, concise manner: prayer, fasting, devotion to the saints, participation in the life of the church, and above all, following Christ.

“Please, Greeks, listen up,” he writes. “Culture will not save you. Arabs: Food will not save you. Russians: Vodka will not save you.” Pretty funny, right? It is, until he gets to the heart of the matter: “Only love saves.”

It’s enough to make you remember that first part of “wiseguy” is “wise.”
____________

Tom Breen is author of The Messiah Formerly Known as Jesus

Holy Trinity Greek
Orthodox Church
13555 Hillcrest Road,
Dallas TX, 75240

Schedule:
8:00-8:45 am — Registration
8:45-9:30 am — Morning prayers
9:30-10:00 am — Coffee
10:00-11:30 am — Keynote address
11:30-12:00 — Book signing/break
12:00-1:00pm — Lunch
After lunch Floyd Frantz (see his example newsletters here and here) will speak about his work in Romania through OCMC
1:00-2:00pm — Break out sessions
2:00-3:00 pm — Summaries followed by questions/answers

Vespers follow.

Flyer & Registration

Download the Pre-Lenten Retreat Flyer for more information.

Those attending may bring canned goods for North Dallas Shared Ministry.

In the Dallas area? Join us!

Register online now.

Check out North Texas Orthodox Missions!

It’s that time again when I need to dig into the Orthodixie Mailbag.

This letter, a bit on the creative side, comes from Sonny in Toledo. He raises some serious concerns and issues – and, frankly, I don’t have all the answers.

[Feel free to comment on the blog.]

Dear Fr Joseph,

I hope you will permit a bit of creativity on my part, but I’m new to Orthodoxy and am really, really thirsty – “water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink” as they say …

Let me explain: I went out to a bar with Jesus. Like me, Jesus is a convert and has been a great help in my journey.

Anyway, I was out drinking with him one night when I saw a bottle on the shelf that looked to my liking. I could barely make out the label on the bottle, but was intrigued by it.

I said, “I’ll have a shot of that please.”

Jesus said, “No.”

I stared at the odd label on the bottle: a ladder with some climbers, our Lord, and some demons.

I looked back at Jesus and the queer look on my face elicited this response:

“That,” he said, “is an old bottle from nearly 1400 years ago. It’s too strong for you.”

“Whaddya mean?!” I said — “Look, how long have you known me? You know I can hold my Spirits!”

“It’s not that,” Jesus said, “It’s just that … well, you know … you might need to stick with more of the Starter Stuff.”

“Oh come on!” I was incredulous. “I’ve been drinking Gillquist, Hopko, Ware, FM-G, a little bit o’ Carlton, a dab of Vlachos …

The Orthodixie Podcast on Ancient Faith Radio.

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