To the Unapproachable One, the earth offers a cave

In North Carolina we get rain on Christmas. Somehow, this is is inevitable. If we lived anywhere else, this would be snow, but we don't live anywhere else. Stupid North Carolina and its typically crappy winter weather.

Today was busy at work; I took in 4k in 4 hours. I was originally scheduled to work until 6:30, but a coworker and friend, knowing that I'd been engaging in a fast for the past 40 days, decided to take my slot for the remainder of the day, enabling me to leave early for my Christmas eve vigil service. This was a good Christmas gift, and I appreciate it greatly. The service itself was new to me, although I got the sense that everyone - especially the children - were very tired tonight. There was much crankiness and crying from the babes. The adults seemed to be sick, if their lack of singing and constant coughing was any indication.

As a result, the service was long and burdened by constant physical failings: cracking voices, missed cues, and even one of the altar boys was stricken with a sudden attack of some sort and forced to sit down. I suspect he had just gotten overheated, since it was rather hot inside the church. The lights came on and off; babies cried; children were rolling around on the floor in a daze. Irate fathers stormed out with their crying children; spankings were administered. One man, a guest, kept checking his watch. Is the service really this long? There was so much human frailty and petty concern on display. I myself was developing a headache, and my voice was also not at its best. Everything just felt sleepy.

This is the world into which Christ came, with all of its frailty and lack of attentiveness. To those familiar with the icon of the Nativity, this world of frailty and petty concern somehow fits perfectly. The icon is a scene of busy activity: onlookers come, craning their necks to get a peek, midwives work, an old man (representative of Satan) converses with Joseph in an attempt to get him to abandon Mary and the newborn Jesus. And in many versions, including a famous one attributed to Andrei Rublev or one of his followers, Mary is looking away from Christ, perhaps in exhaustion, wrapping her robe about her. It's anything but a scene of reverence. It's almost quotidian. But as with the icon, there were moments during the service that my self and all that was around me, the world of frailty and pettiness, were pierced like a spotlight by the reality of this feast.

To the unapproachable one the earth offers a cave.

The Orthodox don't depict Christ as being born in a stable - the typical image one finds in the west, made of wood and with a thatched roof - for a number of reasons. For one, ancient stables weren't likely to be built out of wood. Bethlehem, for anyone who's ever been there, isn't populated by many sizable trees. Typically, caves were used as places for stabling animals. The transformation of the cave into the western-style wooden stable is largely cultural, although I think it unintentionally does violence to the tradition. Why does it matter whether Christ was born in a cave or in a more "traditional" stable? Because it foreshadows Christ's mission on earth. Christ was born into a cave because he was born to be crucified and buried in a cave. It also symbolizes Christ's descent into Hades and victory over death.

This is not to detract from the fact or deny that Christ was born into a place where animals were kept. The "dumb beasts" recognize their creator. This is one of the facets of the icon of the nativity that I admire the most; out of the cleft in the rock appear the cows and sheep, and they look down on the Creator of All, Whom they recognize, as a tiny child. My heart leaps at this thought, that the beasts know him as he lays in the manger.

The manger is also something we don't contemplate. It speaks to the great poverty and humility of Jesus - his perfect humility - but we typically don't go beyond that, if we even contemplate that at all. The word "manger" comes from manducare, which means "to chew." In Greek, manger is phatne, from the word pateomai, "to eat." Christ, the Bread of the World, receives a trough where animals take their food as his first bed. As the cave illustrates that Christ has been born to die and descend into Hades, trampling down death, so also the manger symbolizes that he has been born to offer his body as nourishment to all. "Unless you chew (trogo) my flesh..."

But I digress. My favorite moment in the service was when Father Christopher came down to the choir niche and stood and sang a hymn in a stark Byzantine style with Judah, a catechumen. A sort of sparse, flat, 2 part harmony that sounds like it's straight out of a desert cave:

We magnify thee, O Christ, Giver of Life, who for our sake now art born in the flesh of the unwedded and most pure Virgin Mary.

Funk break

I have a weakness for early 80s Soul/Disco/Electro Funk and D-Train Williams is one of the artists I most enjoy. The sound is a blend of disco beats, funk instrumentation, and soul vocals. Some might characterize it as formulaic and soulless because so much of it is done with synthesizers and drum machines, but I would strongly disagree. The song "Keep On" came out the year I was born, so that must have something to do with why I enjoy it so much. I may have been nodding my zygote head to it in my mother's womb - assuming it was bumping anywhere in the Greensboro area during 1982, which is likely.

My prenatal preferences aside, I also love how empowering the music is. One of the reasons I enjoy soul music so much is that it is life-affirming and empowering. It's typically written by people who grew up with nothing and had to struggle to make it. McFadden and Whitehead, a similar act, had lyrics such as "ain't no stoppin' us now," which was picked up as a sort of theme song for the civil rights movement that carried on into the early 80s. Unfortunately, this has been eclipsed by a culture of excess, which these days seems to afflict the vast majority of R&B like a plague. A similar evil afflicts other forms of pop music, although I see it as a sort of ennui brought on by a life of comfort (a good example is Country Music, which went from a working class genre dominated by tough guys to a middle class, suburban genre dominated by models and a slick pop sound).

Beyond the philosophical and psychological aspects, you can dance to it. And I like to dance, at least in my room when no one is watching.

Another artist who reminds me of this sort of sound is Jamie Lidell, although he also has elements of Otis Redding, Sly & The Family Stone, and Stevie Wonder. Right now, as far as soul music goes, he's the best thing going. Jamie Lidell is just real. His songs are just real. I can't really articulate it other than by saying that he's authentic and that he's got soul. And this is one of my favorites:



And another, with a Stevie Wonder flow:

Nativity paradox

I had hoped to blog about this Orthodox hymn this week, but Father Stephen Freeman beat me to it.

Nevertheless, here are the words:

Today is born of a virgin
He Who holds the whole creation
In His hand

He Whose essence none can touch,
Is bound in swaddling clothes as a child.

God Who in the beginning
Established the heavens,
Lies in a manger

He Who rained manna on His people
In the wilderness
Is fed on milk from His mother's breast.

I had a meeting with Fr. Christopher today and we both agreed that this is one of the more powerful Orthodox hymns, along with Antiphon 15, which is sung on Holy Friday. The line which stands out for me is the last stanza, He Who rained manna on His people in the wilderness is fed on milk from His mother's breast. What can anyone say to that? Words fail when one contemplates what this means. Our God is a consuming fire, true. Our God is a great and mighty fortress, true. It's easy to sneer at that stuff about might and power. But what can one say to this? God comes naked into the world, totally at the mercy of those around him, utterly meek and powerless. God also condescended to make Himself tiny, to humble Himself out of love. Only when one ponders this does one understand the words "in weakness is my strength perfected."

Saint Ephrem the Syrian writes about this and other paradoxes we find in the Nativity:

Thy mother is a cause for wonder: the Lord entered her

and became a servant; He who is the Word entered

- and became silent within her; thunder entered her

- and made no sound; there entered the Shepherd of all,

and in her He became the Lamb, bleating as He came forth.

Thy mother’s womb has reversed the roles:

the Establisher of all entered in His richness,

but came forth poor; the Exalted One entered her,

but came forth meek; the Splendrous One entered her,

but came forth having put on a lowly hue.

The Mighty One entered, and put on insecurity

from her womb; the Provisioner of all entered

- and experienced hunger; He who gives drink to all entered

- and experienced thrist: naked and stripped

there came forth from her He who clothes all.

Lumps of coal

I had a crazy kid throw a tantrum at work today. You know those kind of children who are not whipped properly when they should be whipped? The children who are merely appeased when they throw fits? The children who deserve lumps of coal and yet all throughout their lives receive everything they want?

This very Noo Yawk-ish accented family came up to the register with their son, with the intention of purchasing a toy truck. I asked them how they were doing today and the mother responded with "How you doin'?" like she was Joey Tribbiani. I rang up the truck and she started to swipe her debit card, but the kid wanted to swipe the card himself and pretend he was a grown up.

"Maaaaaaaaam. I wanna paaaaay."

"No, sweetie, your name isn't on the cawd, moine is."

"MAAAAAAAM. I WANNA PAAAAAY"

So he started hitting his mom in the back with closed fists. The kid should have been pleased that he was getting the toy truck, but apparently that wasn't enough. The mom tried to shake him off. "Stop it! Stop it!" The dad stepped in to try and restore some order by pulling him off, but that only set the kid off into a fit of crocodile tears.

"Okay, we're not getting this now." And he started to pull the truck from the counter, in the hopes of getting the kid to calm down. Either not grasping that this was a trade-off (good behavior for a truck), or simply knowing that he could get away with it (I lean toward the latter), the kid yelled "NOOOOOOO!" at the top of his lungs and smacked the truck out of his father's hands, across the counter, past me, where it bounced off of the shelving behind the registers. I leaned down to pick up the truck, thinking for certain that the kid would be carried out of the store sans toy.

"Why do you have toys here?" The father asked me angrily. As if this tantrum was my fault. "We came here expecting to find books, not toys!"

"It's a store that has books in it," I replied. "Do you still want to get the truck? The receipt has already printed."

After some huffing and puffing they just took the toy and stormed out.

The Horrors of BAM Christmas Music

At work we play the worst Christmas songs ever recorded. These aren't the old standards, or even the newer novelty tunes like dogs barking to the melody of "Jingle Bells" or "Grandma Got Ran Over By A Reindeer." I would welcome those songs; they would be like a breath of fresh air compared to the horrors we are subjected to, which amount to the most abysmal collection of soulless and humorless Christmas songs ever assembled. Why does Books A Million play these songs? Royalty free, of course. BAM doesn't strike me as the sort of company that would ever spend a little extra to have decent music playing in their store.

The only song in the collection which is remotely tolerable is a lame version of Bach's normally sublime "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring." Some nights I actually get embarrassed and have to close my eyes and pretend I'm not there; I don't like being associated with this music. There is one "song" in particular that always makes me sick and embarrassed, and that's a "tune" by the virtually unknown "songwriter" Mike Morucci entitled "Christmas Gift." The title is ironic, of course, considering that this is not a gift that you or anyone with an ounce of sanity or taste would want for Christmas. It's the sort of Christmas "gift" they give you in Hell.

The lyrics of this "song" are some of the most trite drivel I've ever come across. It's like a parody of a bad song, but it's totally serious. The instrumentation sounds like it was composed on a cheap Casio keyboard. It has nothing that resembles a melody, just an atmosphere that is reminiscent of what it feels like to be depressed. To make matters worse, Morucci cannot sing. His delivery is a flat, nasally drone, and not the Bob Dylan sort of nasally drone.

If you are so inclined, you can go here and listen to this piece of garbage, as well as a couple of other arrangements by Morucci, which are similarly terrible. Morucci gives the story behind the "song:"

I was never very expressive and with my family growing up, but was able to express a tremendous amount of feelings in a short song. I sat at the piano while my parents and sisters were at church. I was 22 at the time. They enjoy it. I hope you do too.

They "enjoy" it? Good Lord. Morucci considers this his "signature" track, which makes me retch.

Here are the lyrics:

December’s come
Another year’s gone by
Forget the past
We’ve made an honest try
For hope and love surround this family
We sometimes fight, but there’s nowhere I’d rather be
Than Home at Christmas Time (this last word is drawn out to "tiiiiiiiiiiime")
It’s Christmas Day again, I’m by the tree alone
You’ve made me think about the ones who have no home
I hope and pray that Christmas comes for them
I hope they share the love that we do At Christmas Time each year ("yeeeeeeeeeeear")
I’d like to thank you for all you’ve done for me
I really love you, my family
I hope to share my Christmas joy with you
I hope this song will show my gratitude
My love for you this way ("waaaaaaaaaaay")
It’s Christmas Day again, I’m by the tree alone
You’ve made me think about the ones who have no home
I hope and pray that Christmas comes for them
I hope they share the love that we do At Christmas Time each year ("yeeeeeeeeeeear")
At Christmas Time each year (YEEEE-eeeeeeear")
And every other day ("daaaaaaaaaaaaay")

Boy In The Striped Pajamas

Saw "Boy in the Striped Pajamas" with Ash today. It's a Holocaust film about the son of a camp commandant and the friendship he develops with a Jewish boy. Some aspects of it are quite wonderful and well done, but the concept isn't believable for several reasons (which I'll get to in a moment). Overall I enjoyed the story and especially liked the ending, which I didn't expect. Also Vera Farmiga, who plays the commandant's wife, is rather fetching. I spent most of the movie checking her out in her 1940s couture.

However, being a historian, I had a couple of problems with the film. First, near the beginning, there is a party in the home of an SS officer at which Jazz music is being played. The Nazis banned Jazz music. It seems unlikely that Jazz, or cabaret style music, would be performed at a party for higher-ranking Nazi functionaries.

My main issue with this film was the fact that the commandant's family lived so close to the camp. From my limited knowledge - and I've studied at least two camp commandants - it seems that families were kept as far away as possible from the dirty business of the Final Solution. Men like Franz Stangl only occasionally returned home from Poland or elsewhere to visit their families. All of the details in this film are left intentionally ambiguous. We don't know if this is Germany or Poland or Czechoslovakia or elsewhere.

Furthermore, it's not very likely that a little boy would be able to get near the fence of a concentration camp without being seen. Camps were constructed so that there was nowhere you could go within the yard or work area where you could not be seen. It is unlikely that the two boys could have had daily meetings by the fence without being spotted by a guard whether on patrol or in a guard tower. Also, the outer perimeters of camps were typically lined with tank traps, barbed wire, and mines.

Despite all of this it's worth sitting through the movie for the ending, which came as a surprise to me.