Poet Priest Vol. II is finally here and it's everything you hoped it would be. 144 pages of essays from Andy Squyres, enhanced by design from the miscreants at Choirgirl, making it the essential worker which the pandemic of your coffee table has been begging for. Part Guy Fieri tattoo, part Pentecostal revival, this new series of thirty-two manic contemplative essays on life, death, art, sex and faith carry all the pleasure and pain of volume one but with the additional satisfaction that a sequel superior to its predecessor brings.
Photographers featured:
Robert von Hedrich Rachel Soh Noah Bealand Savannah McAffrey Luke Treat
oooooooooooooooooooof. see now that is the kind of writing you feel in your gut.
2nd time around: I am so thankful for his writing. It feels like a friend to me.
“Perplexity is my metronome, but I praise you, God.”
“From every Dust Bowl of my life, I am gonna eat that frickin Eucharist meal, and I’m gonna sing, not as a man going through motions but as one who can actually feel his own belovedness.”
“My understanding of him has grown dimmer, but my love for him has grown brighter.”
“So we are going down into the unbalanced, unreasonable life of praise, where God is God, and where the empirical desire of his non-existence becomes the paradox of our doxology: God has been so good to us all.”
It’s not often that I read books that make me feel uncomfortable because they’re true. But he talks about how Christ is hard to follow because Jesus is often not who we think he is. And that God is way less concerned with me living my best life than I am…or at least he defines best life differently. His words are challenging and beautiful. I didn’t always love the font and formatting but it’s a book I’ll keep and read again (and again).
“Man cave? Why would I build an effigy of my inner isolation? I'm lonely enough in my mind already. Damn that curated life. Damn all the energy we put into searching for self-gratification.
Happy are those who are depleted, who do not exalt themselves. Self-care is important but self-sacrifice even more so. Drink wine and watch Netflix if you must, but drink a suffering cup too. In any attempt to pursue your dreams, make sure you're not just constructing a graven image of yourself, to yourself.”
Took me far too long to finally finish this. Wanted to savor every essay. Perhaps they are liturgies of everyday life. At least, through some grunge pentecostal fire way of Biblical living in a broken western culture. Andy has left an impact on me with his writing and music. He hits a chord many of us, the black sheep or whatever, resonate with.
I find Andy’s writing provokingly honest in a way that confronts and comforts the soul; like receiving a loving embrace while a glass of ice-cold water splashes across your face.
His reflections on life and following Christ are not tied up into neat, pretty, little packages (praise God!), but they are drenched in the beauty, tension, and mystery of Christ and Him crucified.
In an age of deconstruction, Andy’s words name what has felt needed to be named within the Christian faith while still pointing to our hope forever being Jesus. (Where else would we go?)
I wanted to devour each page while simultaneously savoring it as long as I could.