Real-life priests become pop stars

http://www.cnn.com/2008/SHOWBIZ/Music/10/23/music.priests/index.html

Fathers Eugene O'Hagan and Martin O'Hagan, who are brothers, and David Delargy have been in the priesthood for some 20 years. But they've been singing together since their early teens.

In February they recorded a demo in Belfast which they sent off -- as Eugene O'Hagan puts it -- to "the powers that be." Sony BMG responded almost instantly with a very nice offering indeed, a record deal reportedly to the tune of somewhere north of $2 million.

The Priests' debut album will be released on November 18 and was produced by Mike Hedges, known for his work with U2 and -- ironically -- Manic Street Preachers (who, of course, are not clergy but punky Welshmen). Some recording took place in St. Peter's Basilica in Vatican City, and the priests maintain they'd like some of the profits from their music endeavors donated to a charity of their choice.

Father Andrew Trapp

Attended mass yesterday and was delight with Father Andrew Trapp, a newly ordained priest. Father Trapp grew up in Aiken, SC, and was a member of St. Mary's. He had a refreshing enthusiasm for his calling and his faith.

He described the hole in our heart that we constantly want to fill as being "God-shaped." And can only be filled by God even those we try other things. That ring true for me.

Another good day and now a new one starts.

Speaking Fron The Mountaintops

In the land of the Cheyennes, there is a mountain higher than all the mountains around him. All the Cheyennes know that mountain; even our forefathers knew him.
When children, we ran around wheresoever we wanted. We were never afraid to lose our way so long as we could see the mountain, which show us home again.
When grown up, we followed the buffalo and the elk; we cared not where we pursued teh running deer, so long as the mountain was in sight; for we knew he was ever a safe guide, and never failed in his duty.
When men, we fought the Sioux, the Crows, the white men. We ent after the enemy, though the way ran high up, and low down. Our hearts trembled not on account of the road; for as long as we could see the mountain, we felt sure of finding our home again.
When far away, our hearts leaped for joy on seeing him, because he told us that our home came nearer.
During the winter, the snow covered all the earth with a mantle of white; we could no longer distinguish him from other mountains except by his height, which told us he was the mountain. Sometimes dark clouds gathered above. They hid his head from our view, and out of them flew fiery darts, boring holes in his sides. The thunder shook him from head to foot, but the storm passed away and the mountain stood forever.
The mountain is the Black-robe.
(A Native American expression for a Roman Catholic priest.)
His heart is firm as a rock.
He changes not.
He speaks to us the words of truth.
We are always sure of our path, when we look to him for guidance.
He is the mountain that leads us up to God.

-- A story told by Old Wolf,
a Cheyenne chief from Montana,
in the 1880s.