Looking back at SqHalo24

Some seven months ago I met the Square Halo team. Well, sort of. It was through emails. Since then, I’ve read several of the books and written some blogs, but in March I met them, and the broader Square Halo community, in person at the annual Square Halo Conference.

As a first time attendee and a stranger to the city of Lancaster, it felt something like stumbling into a warm tavern and being met by a hundred and one delightful conversations and sounds. How could I not see things this way? There was music, drinks, laughter, storytelling, food, and shelter from the rain. This is essentially the recipe for any tavern scene in a story.

Here is something I now know about Square Halo. The community they have created is composed of some of the most brilliant and loveable people I know. Writers will say something on the lecture stage that will astound you and then you will think how have I never thought of that and how beautiful that was. Then you will be stacking a chair or drinking a beer at pub night and a stranger (who has most likely not written a book, but perhaps has because you really don’t know with this community how many writers there are) will say one of the most profound and kingdom like things you’ve ever heard leaving you with a great smile and sense of inspiration.

I'll also say there was much cheerfulness, laughter, and excitement in the conference. Gathering people who share a love for good books and art should have that effect. There was a button-making station where I cut out a sentence from The Voyage of the Dawn Treader with a small drawing of a lamb and pressed it into a button. My button sits on my desks and reads, “ ‘Come have breakfast’, said the lamb.” There was an art gallery with Narnia-inspired art by a variety of artists (including Ned Bustard’s linocuts from the new book Aslan’s Breath ) where people stood before the prints for quite some time till they stared themselves in and out of the images. The songwriters shared the personal histories of their songs and encouraged the many hobbyist musicians to keep creating whether or not you are the only listener. Ned even hosted a live linocut pop-up printing studio which gave a lot of people (like myself) a first-hand experience with the process that was demonstrated.

I feel there was also a shared concern throughout the conference for how a follower of Christ lives in a sometimes harsh world that makes the acts of creation, laughter, and intimacy with the Father feel impossible. From David Bisgrove’s opening lecture to Sarah Sparks’ closing concert, there was a very honest admittance that we often live in what St. John of the Cross called the “dark night of the soul”. I’m thinking especially of a lyric from Sarah Sparks’ song, The Artist. She says to the artist,

Use the brightest of the pigments
The most beautiful of hues
But the first stroke a dark shade of blue.

It was special to be in a room where communally it could be admitted that this whole Christian thing is not easy. It was comforting to see a speaker share a tear with his audience. I think these moments made this year’s theme of the Holy Spirit in Narnia feel so real. The “dark night of the soul” that obscures hope like Eustace’s dragon skin can’t be escaped by our own efforts and we ought to look elsewhere. If we look close enough in Narnia we would see the Holy Spirit was there all along and with it moments of comfort, grace, laughter, and warmth.

This year's theme—and the conference itself—was to me, a great breath of fresh air and a great welcome into the warmest, most bookish, and creative community I have known.

—blog post by Iman Mozoffarian | photos by Drew Nyguist

(Not so ) Tiny Thoughts

This week marks the release of a new book, a passion project from Square Halo called Tiny Thoughts That I’ve Been Thinking: Selected Writings of Leslie Anne Bustard. In the forward Théa Rosenburg editor writes:

[Leslie Anne Bustard] wrote poems and essays with startling abundance—more of them and more beautiful than seemed reasonable for a woman fighting two kinds of cancer. Though she had published a few pieces before her diagnosis, she spent her last three years publishing consistently in the writing communities that encouraged and supported her work, in addition to editing a book of essays and publishing a collection of her poems. The warmth and welcome of her writing drew others toward her, as though she’d thrown back the curtains in a dim room and readers couldn’t help but turn toward the sunlight.

This is the heart and soul of this book, but also only the beginning of it. Leslie’s collected writing is bound for hearts, not just for the pages they are written in. Her words had the incredible capacity to take on a whole new form of truth in my heart as I read this wonderful collection of essays, poems, and recipes. All the “tiny thoughts”.

Many of Leslie’s writings in this book come from her time in what she called “cancer-land” and despite the barrenness and bleakness one might expect of such a land, she maintained the sight and expression of the “goodness of the Lord in the land of the living”. As I read her writings and of her battle with two kinds of cancer, stage IV melanoma and stage II breast cancer, I couldn’t stop thinking about the land of the living and all the questions I had about it as a Christian. Where is it? Where isn’t it? When is it? My humanity is bound to certain answers. Maybe it’s where things are easy and stress-free. Maybe it’s where money isn’t a concern and where good health is aplenty. Or maybe it’s where one feels accepted, loved, and relevant. Rarely have my answers been good.  

This book answers those questions of where and when the land of the living is the way Frederich Buechner does when he says the kingdom of God is “now and then” and “already and not yet”. The Gospel gives us the good news that the kingdom of God has come down to earth, but in the course of our human lives we experience some very bad news that dims this trust of the kingdom’s presence here. We see homelessness, teen depression, forest fires, and cancer diagnoses. Pets go missing, our favorite restaurants close, and our aging bodies ache after tying shoes. What do we make of the “goodness of the Lord in the land of the living” when we experience all these reminders, great and small, of our broken and dying world? What does it look like to live the abundance of the kingdom in a world that is often barren and bleak.

Here is a book written by a saint who daringly did just that. She did it in her poems which saw beauty in faded yellow curtains and in her recipes that were each a little feast, meant to be tasted and shared with others. She did it in her commitment to community and in her blog posts that called a day in “cancer-land” a good day because she noticed the ordinary beauty of a cheesy omelet. Scholars can write all the theologies they want to with some beautiful words and convincing translations, but I think my favorite theology of the goodness of God belongs to Leslie Bustard who summarized it in remembering a good cheesy omelet in the midst of battling two cancers.

So, now I understand what Frederich Buechner meant by saying “now and then” and “already and not yet”. The kingdom of God and the land of the living is right here and it is right now. It has been inaugurated on this side of resurrection, but not yet fully consummated. As Christians we are called to participate in the kingdom come. We participate in it by noticing the grand beauty of a child’s birth or the sun’s setting over the Sierra crest mountains, but also in noticing the smaller beauties of healthy wet dirt or a picnic table. And even then when we feel the especially painful moments of cancer, death, and loneliness, we participate in the kingdom by properly mourning with our brothers and sisters and holding onto the promise of resurrection.

I’m without a doubt convinced of the warmth and love of Leslie Bustard which I have heard and read of now and I attest that the pages of this book are teeming with it. It is a strange thing to feel the warmth of someone and be fully convinced of their love for others without having ever met them. My suspicion is that is what it means to be remembered as one of Christ’s saints.

—blog post by Iman Mozoffarian



Aslan's Breath and the Ruach of God

My favorite Johnny Cash song is a cover of a famous hymn. It goes:

. . . the voice I hear, falling on my ear,
the Son of God discloses.
And He walks with me, and He talks with me,
And He tells me I am his own

There is a deeply magical thing to breath. In the first act of creation, the spirit of Elohim or his breath, ruach in the Hebrew, tames the chaos waters ushering in the coming forth of all things. When God forms man, he breaths into him and calls him a living being and in Eden, the breath of God, his ruach, walks in the garden in search of man. In John’s gospel, he says of Jesus, “he breathed on them and said to them, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit’”.

I think it is too often the case that we have grown accustomed to seizing things in our hectic world that demands a constant state of doing and producing. Like worn out runners we are panting for breath. I see myself there caught busy between the moments of college, tiring work in a kitchen, the chores of a roommate, and finding moments amidst it all to write and pray. I find myself in the space between a great exhale and a great inhale. In the moment between letting out a great gust of breath and waiting to draw a new one, there is a silent space to reflect on the very first breath that man drew into his lungs. It was the breath of God breathed into him which he only had to receive.

It’s a funny thought which I like to think that God made us to breathe in and out so there is that sacred and magical space between breaths. If we quiet ourselves and sit in the pause after an exhale, we may remember the God that gave the first breath as a gift, not a thing to be seized. Space and presence are perhaps one of the greatest needs in our humanity. Creating space in our lives and trusting God to be in the business of filling empty spaces with his presence is how I often think of the Holy Spirit. I think of God’s insistence on showing up in places where people said surely, not here. Nothing can come from this.

One of the great beauties of the triune God is that. Christ comes from Galilee, a region where people scoffed and thought, no good thing can come from there. Christ makes wine in a place where no ingredients of wine are. Salvation is breathed into men and women who have none of it together and the Holy Spirit enters empty homes. Where culture tells me, prove yourself and you bring it all to the table, Christ says, receive my body and blood and receive the Holy Spirit too.

Matthew Dickerson has written a wonderful new book called Aslan’s Breath concerning the question of where the Holy Spirit can be found in Narnia. The title offers an answer, but more than that an invitation to return to a land. Not so that you may go through Narnia and know it better through scholarship and research, but so that Narnia may go through you.

Historian Kevin Belmonte observes:"How seldom, these days, do we meet with books that are genuine friends for the journey. In the pages of Aslan's Breath, we find an author's voice that is conversational and winsome—a presence that comes alongside the reader. Matthew Dickerson knows the realm of Narnia very well indeed and shares many insights that bring richness to walking the paths of this good country. An air of discovering pervades this excellent book. What's more, and what is best—the gift of C.S. Lewis' writing about the Holy Spirit, amid scenes of comfort, reassurance, and peace, shines in this book. So, in these pages, we have a true gift: one that illumines the seven books of the Narnian Chronicles."

Dickerson walks one through the land of Narnia with the wisdom of a guide well acquainted with the terrain of his land, but also with the excitement and love of an explorer for that which may lie ahead. In some ways, the book feels like an introduction to a wonderful new friendship with Aslan who is full of all sorts of mysteries and complexities which you didn’t see in him before. Dickerson’s reflections on the imagery of Narnia shows the warmth and wildness of Aslan experienced by the characters of Lewis and calls the reader to go “further up and further in” in their own experience of the Holy Spirit.

—blog post by Iman Mozoffarian

Return to Narnia — The 2024 Square Halo Conference

It is with great joy and excitement that Square Halo invites you to join us in a “Return to Narnia” at our fifth annual conference held in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. From the afternoon of March 8th till the evening of the 9th, we will experience creativity, collaboration, and community together.

Our keynote speaker is Matthew Dickerson, author of our newest published book, Aslan’s Breath. We have seen God the Father and the Son in Narnia, but perhaps we haven’t always been aware of the Holy Spirit in that land. Matthew Dickerson will be sharing reflections on finding the breath of the Spirit which fills us as we plunge into Narnia again.

The conference will also feature a songwriter workshop, a theatrical performance of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, a live recording of a Square Halo podcast, a book table with all Square Halo titles, and a concert by Sarah Sparks whose album Into the Lantern Waste was inspired by Narnia. The breakout sessions and collective lectures will consist of previous Square Halo writers and friends.

We believe the banquet hall to be just as important as the lecture hall so we will also have communal times like pub night and dinner at local restaurants.

Tickets and information on lodging can be found on the Square Halo website and will be available until they are sold out. We hope to see you there!

Photos above are from last year’s “Ordinary Saints” conference.

—blog post by Iman Mozoffarian