Knowing When to Stop and When to Begin Again

Aurora with Angels Ascending  (Acrylic Ink on Yupo paper)   

Nothing’s lost forever. In this world, there is a kind of painful progress.   ---- Harper Pitt from "Angels in America" by Tony Kushner

Feeling a little lightheaded from blowing ink onto my paper with an atomizer, I step back from the table to survey the results.  "I like that," says the woman next to me pausing one paint encrusted hand over her creation. "Sometimes, you just have to know when to stop, to know when it is finished," and she returns to wiping her paper with a cloth.

I am new at this. I dreaded art class in Junior High School. Remembering my sad attempts at perspective drawings, the poorly constructed clay sculptures, and how my color mixing ALWAYS resulted in brown, I marvel that I actually drove 40 minutes to be here in this room surrounded by paint and water and alcohol and implements of creation. Going into High School was a relief for me. NO MORE ART CLASS. Yet here I am.

I do not know what spurred me to sign up for Aletheia Schmidt's Painting as play, prayer, process event, except that at 50-something I am trying to move away from I-am-not-ness.  I can't followed by the words because I am not ____ enough. I knew that Aletheia would not accept the statement I can't because I am not an artist. Somewhere in my brain a little voice said, If you know Aletheia wouldn't accept that, then why should you?  I signed up, it's PLAY I told myself.

In mid-afternoon when I learned of the bombing at the Boston Marathon, I was tempted, sorely tempted, to stay home glued to the television.  Why should I play when bad things are happening. I conveniently ignored the prayer and process part of the event. "We are still on for tonight aren't we?" says my husband and I couldn't say no.

I clear my mind, grateful that Aletheia prayed over the gathering as we begin. Trying to release preconceived notions and simply play with the myriad of color and implements spread around the tables for us, I vow not to look at anyone else's work. I will not judge myself.

 I complete one painting and start on another. Dry paper and drops of blue & yellow ink. Humm, now where is that nail brush? Finding the brush I spread the colors across the paper, creating a pleasing green color with glimpses of the yellow showing through. What next? I am going on impulse now as I drop teal and magenta randomly on the paper and then I lift it, holding it by a corner allowing the ink to run. This is kinda cool... Laying the paper back down I see what could be tree branches maybe? I step back and take a deep breath. The woman next to me glances over and says, "Nice colors" and I find my hand reaching for the alcohol. Am I actually enjoying this and trusting to go where I feel the leading? I wonder what would happen if I stood several feet away from table and sprayed my paper with a light spritz of alcohol. Small dots appear on my dark tree branches. I stop.

I return to creation #1.  I hate it. "It looks contrived," I say to Aletheia. And it is slightly BROWN. Smiling brightly she replies, "Is there anything on the other side? No? Well then turn it over and start again." Turn it over and start again. Duh! Whack with the holy 2x4. Just begin again. Isn't life about new beginnings? After Wednesday comes Thursday and always I can begin again.

Red on the paper, followed by blue and then I let it drip in long streaks. I add a fine mist of pink and silver with an atomizer. It's not quite finished. Pick me. Pick me, whispers the gold from across the room. Three drops on the paper and I am blowing on them with a straw. They take on shapes. The paper, as well as the wise advice from my neighbor, tell me it is finished.

I paint the words "Bearing Fruit" on the now dry tree branch creation. It is a title the painting called me to give it. For tonight's process was abundant with fruit for me, learning lessons about listening to the still small voice that clues me in on when to stop AND when/how to start over.  My prayer of expectation is that there will be more fruit to come, if only I say YES to letting it ripen.

I watch my "begin again" dry. The colors remind me of the Aurora Borealis photos I have been looking at recently and my three golden shapes appear as angels. I am "Aurora with Angels Ascending" it says to me. SO BE IT.

This morning "Aurora with Angels Ascending" tells me more about its name.  I remember a monologue from Tony Kushner's "Angels in America."  Harper Pitt is on a flight to San Francisco describing what she sees from the window:

Souls were rising, from the earth far below, souls of the dead of people who’d perished from famine, from war, from the plague and they floated up like skydivers in reverse, limbs all akimbo, wheeling and spinning....In this world, there is a kind of painful progress. Longing for what we’ve left behind and dreaming ahead.

I think of the three dead (as of this morning) in the Boston bombing. I know we will mourn for them and so many other victims of violence, war, famines, and disease. I will still grieve for those I've lost. Sometimes I long for life I left behind, there are days when I still desperately want it back the way it used to be, but I am dreaming ahead.

My prayer in the Desert

My faith community, St Paul's Episcopal Church, put together a booklet of Meditations for the Lenten Season.  Various members, along with friends and family of members, contributed brief meditations on the lectionary for each day.  Most of us chose our scriptures at random by merely signing up for a day on the calendar or pulling a day that our editor, John, had placed on slips of paper we pulled "from the hat" one Sunday in January. 

Cool, I thought.  This will be great! My excitement for the project slipped a bit when I looked at the scripture texts for my chosen day, March 5th.  Uh-oh, not so great... I found my assigned passages to be dense and offered me little to which I could relate. I read them.  Still not so great.. I re-read them. I procrastinated a bit more. Then with the deadline looming, I put off writing even more. Finally 4 day AFTER the deadline I forced myself to the keyboard and penned the reflection below.

so that they should set their hope in God, and not forget the works of God,
but keep his commandments; and that they should not be like their ancestors,
a stubborn and rebellious generation, a generation whose heart was not steadfast,
whose spirit was not faithful to God. ----Psalm 78:7-8

All the texts for this day point to God’s unending provision and grace. The Psalmist, the Prophet Jeremiah, and Jesus in John’s Gospel all remind us that we are provided with food, water, and direction
(hope) when we were (and are) in the desert, even when we are less than grateful to receive it. Paul’s letter to the Romans continues to reinforce that God will not forget covenant made with Abraham and
that it extends to all who put their hope in God. Over and over we forget this promise and so we need to be reminded. For me this calls to mind a praise song I first heard sung in worship at New Hope
Community. At a time when I felt lost, this hymn from Hillsong Community in Australia, powerfully reminded me of God’s promises and that I “…should set my hope in God and not forget the works of God, but keep God’s commandments…”

This is my prayer in the desert
When all that's within me feels dry
This is my prayer in my hunger and need
My God is the God who provides
This is my prayer in the fire
In weakness or trial or pain
There is a faith proved
Of more worth than gold
So refine me Lord through the flame

CHORUS:
I will bring praise
I will bring praise
No weapon formed against me shall remain
I will rejoice
I will declare
God is my victory and He is here
This is my prayer in the battle
When triumph is still on its way
I am a conqueror and co-heir with Christ
So firm on His promise I'll stand

BRIDGE:
All of my life
In every season
You are still God
I have a reason to sing
I have a reason to worship
This is my prayer in the harvest
When favour and providence flow
I know I’m filled to be emptied again
The seed I’ve received I will sow

Little did I know how powerful that desert imagery would become for me in a few weeks! A week later my friend Barb encouraged me to go through a couple of boxes of books that had belonged to her mother. An avid reader of spiritual books, Barb's mother had recently gone into a nursing home, leaving most of her library behind.  "There are a lot of Celtic books in there you'd like. Mom made a pilgrimage to Iona," she explained. Along with books on Scottish and Irish high crosses, Celtic Saints, and the Lindesfarne gospels I pulled  David Adam's A Desert in the Ocean. I am grateful for such providence.  Thanks, Betty! Thanks be to God.

If you wish to see all the Reflections for Lent penned by the St Paul community you will find them posted on St Paul's The Ship's Blog.

What I am giving up for Lent

"The real miracle is not to walk either
on water or in thin air, but to walk on
the earth" - Thich Nhat Hah, Buddhist Monk

This year, for Lent, I am giving up being constrained by the belief that I don't have enough - enough money, time, or talent. I am fasting from I-am-not-ness, not young enough, not attractive enough, not good enough. I am giving up FEAR, that unhealthy fear that blocks me from the miracle of walking on the earth. Saying I can't followed by the words because-I-am-not is expressly prohibited.

I have been slowly reading and savoring David Adam's little book "A Desert in the Ocean: God's Call to Adventurous Living." Adam, Victor of Holy Island (Lindisfarne), writes extensively on the Celtic tradition and has published numerous collections of prayers and meditations.  This short volume (123 pgs) is a series of meditations based on a poem attributed to St Brendan the Navigator. It asks, no truly, it INVITES, the reader to consider whether God is calling us to live more adventurously.

In the early pages of the book a passage caught my imagination and I have been turning it over in my mind ever since.  Adam's introduction suggests connections between the early Celtic Church and the Desert Mothers and Fathers, especially in their world/church view.  He outlines several of the reasons the Desert Mothers and Fathers moved into the desert: to get away from a church growing in status, to seek a life defined by something other than wealth or power, and to seek God in all things.  They were not running away from anything, but rather toward something, toward a great adventure.

They may not have thought of changing the world, but they were determined to change themselves; they were determined to die FOR something rather than OF something, to show that life had depth, was adventurous and worth living.   -- David Adam, "A Desert in the Ocean", pg 4 (Emphasis mine)

I had to stop and take a deep breath when I read those words.  Apparently having fallen into a trap of viewing "adventure" as one of those things you do/have when you travel to exotic places, try extreme sports, wear trendy clothes or eat unusual food; I assumed it was only for those who had time, money, few commitments, and courage. Typically, I don't see myself as much of an adventurer, instead counting myself lucky to live in the digital age with friends who allow me to live vicariously through them.

Still pondering this notion as I stepped into my neighborhood coffee shop this morning, my husband and I sat down with two young women, recent acquaintances through mutual friends.  As the conversation flowed from women mystics, to fixing buttons, to neighborhood gardens I was struck at how these young women are living adventurous lives. Megan is an artist and musician who easily draws-in others with her creativity. Hanni's desire (call) to create and foster community is a thread that seems to run through all she does: planting a sustainable urban garden, publishing a 'zine, or experimenting with communal living.  They are running toward things that make life worth living, not only for themselves, but by extension for the rest of us.  I am grateful for them.

Suddenly, whack, I am hit over the head with the "Holy 2x4" as a friend calls it. God wants us to live an adventurous life, to LIVE and DIE for something, not just merely live and die! Adventure, me? This is not to say that my current life doesn't have depth or meaning, its just that I think there could be more.  There IS more, if only I will embrace it.  What if I went to sleep each night with the intention of being open to the work of the spirit in my dreams, knowing that the day, God's day, starts while I am asleep? How might my life be different if I woke up every morning with excitement and anticipation, thinking, What adventure will I have today, continuing God's work in the world, the work begun in my dreams? Is not this our real work, the work of the baptized, the work we followers of Jesus are called to do - to live and die FOR something?