That’s just beautiful! <<dabs tears away>>
Glad to be of help.
That is very cool. Hopefully it goes over very well.
I still prefer Blikster.
There has got to be some way I can pass off Quenya and get this on the ticket for next Pentecost at my church!
It reads easier than my extremely rusty Korean. To read that fluidly anymore I’d have to transliterate the Hangul letters into Roman script.
I tried saying a few lines last night, and it flowed wonderfully off the tongue. My pronunciation might have made the Professor wince, and I’m not sure I could have made Elladan and Elrohir understand me, but it was fun.
Now I’m looking forward to doing the entire reading in church. Pentecost 2008 can’t come too soon!
I just hope your pastor doesn’t get all upset.
“Never before have words in that tongue be spoken here!”
He’s already seen the translation and was quite pleased.
Nice indeed. I recommend contacting Liv Tyler to help you with the, uh, pronunciation. 
An excellent idea. I’ll get right on her… I mean, it.
And here’s that sermon, which he refined from many years before when he first delivered it at another parish. He delivered it again on Christmas Eve. Very good stuff (.pdf file): http://www.stpauls-church.org/documents/Sermons/2012%2012%2024%20Star%20over%20Mordor%20Star%20over%20Bethlehem%20AMG.pdf
Oh that sermon was wonderful! I have a real respect for good preachers, it’s a very difficult job.
I once had to deliver two sermons. The church I was a member of was between clergy, and while we could usually get a supply pastor, a couple of Sundays nobody was available.
Yours truly was head of the Worship Committee, so it fell to me to conduct the services. Not so hard, I don’t have a fear of public speaking, once I have a speech in front of me. But writing a good sermon is harder than an ordinary speech.
I keep a file of good sermons I’ve heard and really liked, I’m going to add that one to it!
Oh, and I have done the Pentecost readings as one of the “tongues” for the past two years now, in Korean.
I’m so glad you updated this thread - somehow I missed the translation that had been posted earlier.
That is beautiful - so flowing and elegant. A perfect addition to the service, I think.
(I still want to see Klingon - I imagine it will end up being a bit more… insistent sounding. “Praise the Lord or I gut you like a khlath-fish!” 
)
Also, I don’t know if this is possible after all this time, but do you think someone who is reasonably fluent could post an audio of the Elvish up to YouTube? Personally, I think it would be lovely just to have it out there (I would love to see the reaction to someone translating it and figuring out what it was!) but also, I have to think that there are other reasonably geeky Episcopalians out there who would be all for using Quenya themselves, they just don’t know how to read the language properly or confidently.
Oh that is great. I’d never heard Tolkien’s voice before.
Long, long ago (ca 1970-72) my mother had a New Testament written in “Georgian” - replacing original terms with words your typical Georgian could relate to. So the Mount of Olives became “Peach Tree Hill” (what does an olive tree look like?), and there were several instances where “this here Jesus” walked from Atlanta to Macon or vice versa (how far is it from Nazareth to Jerusalem?).
I thought it was The Peach Tree Bible, but Google is being unhelpful…
Try The Cotton Patch Gospel, and example is in the link.
Oh my stars. That was impressive, that was.
I liked the link to the Christmas story in Luke.
I thought I’d post the sermon here in case it’s ever removed from the parish website:
[spoiler]
A sermon for Christmas Eve 2012
at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Cleveland Heights, Ohio
by the Reverend Alan M. Gates, Rector
“Star over Mordor, Star over Bethlehem”
“Okay, children,” said Dr. Rick Nelson last Thursday after the children’s choir rehearsal. “Before
we enjoy our dinner together, let’s sing the Doxology.” The children put on their best angelic faces, and
began: “Praise God from whom all blessings flow…” And then, as I watched one little girl, I saw her
sing earnestly: “Praise him all preachers here below!” (That’s Preachers, with a P.) And, why not?
Praise him, all preachers here below. My heart melted a little to think of the Doxology as a special
invocation for the preacher. But it is, of course, an invocation for all God’s people. Praise God all
creatures, here below. On this night of festive pomp and singing; on this night of light and joy, Praise
God. Praise God, from whom all blessings flow.
Travel with me to Middle Earth, that land so masterfully created by J. R. R. Tolkien. This month
we have been taken back to Middle Earth with the release of Peter Jackson’s film, The Hobbit, part the
first. The Lord of the Ringstrilogy was a remarkable piece of cinema in the last decade, while the books
captivated many of us decades before. So now, if you will, let us take up near the final segment of the
tale. It is a scene which did not make it into the film, yet has always been for me one of the most moving
passages in the entire cycle.
The hobbit Frodo Baggins and his faithful servant Sam are near the end of their long and bitter
journey. Their dangerous mission hastaken them from peril to deadly peril, and finally into the heart of
the Enemy’s barren, evil land. They are in Mordor, in the very shadow of Mount Doom. A strange cloud
has covered the sky for days – a shadow created as a weapon of the enemy. Exhausted beyond words, the
two hobbits have collapsed for the night under a curtain of brambles. Frodo has fallen asleep.
Sam struggled with his own weariness…. Then at last, to keep himself awake, he crawled from
the hiding-place and looked out. The land seemed full of creaking and cracking and sly noises….
Far above… the night sky was still dim and pale. There, peeping among the [clouds, high above]
the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he
looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the
thought pierced him that in the end the [evil] Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there
was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach. Now, for a moment, his own fate, and even
his master’s, ceased to trouble him. He crawled back into the brambles and laid himself by
Frodo’s side, and putting away all fear, he cast himself into a deep, untroubled sleep. [LOR, Book
VI, Chapter 2]
A hopeless journey. A foreboding cloud. A small, white star, twinkling in the darkness. A re-kindling of
hope.
Hear again tonight’s words from the prophet Isaiah: The people who walked in darkness have
seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness – on them light has shined…. For a child
has been born for us, a son given to us; … and he is named Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.[Is 9:2-4, 6-7]
Christians gather in churches everywhere this holy night to hear again the story of God’s light
come into the world. We hear how shepherds, in their own dark night, were startled by the brightness of
God’s glory. And did you hear what the angels said to the shepherds? In that first announcement of
Christ’s birth to humankind, the angel does not say, “Greetings! Merry Christmas!” The angel says,
“Fear not.” Be not afraid!
That is the Christmas message to us, my friends: be not afraid. For we are not strangers to dark
clouds and fearful forebodings. A cloud of grief covers the nation, as the Commemoration of the Holy
Innocents arrived early this year; a cloud of anguish and frustration, at our collective failure to keep safe
the vulnerable in our midst. A cloud of threat and fratricide hangs over the land of our Savior, where a
desperate dictator bombs his own people, and ancient enmities claim new victims in the name of religious
entitlement. A cloud of war hangs yet over Afghan skies, where would-be peacekeepers are entangled in
a deadly web. A cloud of sorrow hangs over our homes, where our dearly loved ones ail, and our broken
loves fail. Dark clouds we know, we know them well.
On this night a shaft of light shines down upon us. And reassurance is ours! Christ is born. God
is with us. The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light. A light of hope – for whom? For
the frightened child, crying out in the dark of night. For the spiritual kin to that hobbit, weary traveler in
the gloom of an evil land. For every person without roof or hearth. For the bread-winner who has lost her
job. For the soldier under Afghan skies. For the bereaved parent, whose grief is immeasurable. For the
one whose future is uncertain. For you and for me in our own loneliness, discouragement, or despair.
Jesus Christ was born for you and for me.
J.R.R. Tolkien was no stranger to sorrow nor to desperate circumstance. He lost his father at age
three, and his mother at age twelve. In World War I the young Tolkien saw combat, suffered from trench
fever, watched close friends die. He lived through the Second World War in a nation threatened by a dark
cloud of annihilation. No Pollyanna was Tolkien, but a man of deep Christian faith. He ardently rejected
the notion that his stories were allegorical, yet he was glad to assert that they declared deep truth about
reality.
And so, dear friends, in the reality of our own national life this month, in the reality of personal
blows that perplex us and global dangers that vex us, travel with me once more to look in on the hobbit,
Samwise.
Weary and feeling finally defeated, … he bowed his head into his hands. And then softly, to his
own surprise, there at the vain end of his long journey and his grief, moved by what thought in his
heart he could not tell, Sam began to sing. His voice sounded thin and quavering… He murmured
old childish tunes out of the Shire…, while words of his own came unbidden to fit the simple tune.
Though here at journey’s end I lie
in darkness buried deep,
beyond all towers strong and high,
beyond all mountains steep,
above all shadows rides the Sun
and Stars forever dwell:
I will not say the Day is done,
nor bid the Stars farewell. [LOR, Book VI, Chapter 1]
He would not yield to the darkness of despair. He would sing out the conviction of his hope.
Jesus Christ was born for us this night. And how shall we respond? We respond as Samwise did.
We sing out in hope. Perhaps the most important thing we do this night is sing.
In the face of uncertainty, loss, or grief, we sing.
Under the specterterror, we sing.
Into the darkness of the night around us, we sing.
Through joyous laughter, or through lonely tears, we sing: Gloria, in excelsis deo!
Oh, that star! Oh, that twinkling star! The beauty of it smote Sam’s heart. For it reminded him
that, in the end, the enemy’s cloud would have to be a passing thing. That higher, and brighter, and
beyond the reach of any evil Shadow, there was “light and high beauty.”
A star over Mordor said that to Sam.
A Star over Bethlehem says that to us.
The true light which enlightens everyone, has come into the world. [Jn 1:9 ] Higher, brighter, truer than
any cloud under the shadow of which we dwell, the Christ star shines on.
Sing out your joy, o Christian people![/spoiler]