Saturday, March 3, 2012
Thursday, May 26, 2011
The Debris of Life
We have recently moved our household. Moving is an experience unto itself. It is a time of testing and refreshing and closure and possibility. It is also a time of re-evaluating one's relationship to things and I do mean literal things - possessions - all of the stuff that one owns and either decides is worth the move or is ready to be offered up to the universe to fill up space in the home of someone else. This opportunity is always a mixed blessing in my world.
On one hand the evaluation of possessions offers me a chance to engage the things I own with an awareness to their utilitarian purposes in my life or with an openness to the embodied presence of deeper meaning that flings wide the doors of memory. Memories are mysterious gifts - they can bring the past alive in the present and they can spur us forward to action in the future. Memories can bring joy, pain, peace or discomfort and when things stir up memories those memories must be encountered - a process which takes both physical and emotional energy.
On the other hand I very often struggle with the base reality of owning stuff at all. I grew up in the Mennonite tradition - a tradition that, at its roots, values a simple life lived in community so that resources are not wasted on those with plenty when there are so many in the world without enough. This is a matter of social justice. Inevitably a move makes me aware that I do, in fact, own much more than I really need to live in this world and stirs up a whole vat of emotional and intellectual issues for me to work through on religious and social fronts.
So where does all of that leave me - other than exhausted from the physical, emotional and intellectual energy that is being drained out of me? Well, the optimistic side of me wants to say that it leaves me cleaned out with plenty of space for new experiences and attitudes - just as my old apartment is cleaned out and ready for new tenants. The tired side of me can only see the residue and debris of life straggling in the corners - all the little things that don't quite fit into any of the other tidily labeled moving boxes, physically or metaphorically. But the reality is, it leave me right in the middle of the fullness of life itself - a fullness that is exhausting, energizing, transitional and transforming all at the same time. A fullness that will never have all of the answers and for the most part only sparks more questions. A fullness that continues to keep my spirit engaged in the act of learning to live and challenging me to keep evaluating that which surrounds me and that with which I surround myself.
On one hand the evaluation of possessions offers me a chance to engage the things I own with an awareness to their utilitarian purposes in my life or with an openness to the embodied presence of deeper meaning that flings wide the doors of memory. Memories are mysterious gifts - they can bring the past alive in the present and they can spur us forward to action in the future. Memories can bring joy, pain, peace or discomfort and when things stir up memories those memories must be encountered - a process which takes both physical and emotional energy.
On the other hand I very often struggle with the base reality of owning stuff at all. I grew up in the Mennonite tradition - a tradition that, at its roots, values a simple life lived in community so that resources are not wasted on those with plenty when there are so many in the world without enough. This is a matter of social justice. Inevitably a move makes me aware that I do, in fact, own much more than I really need to live in this world and stirs up a whole vat of emotional and intellectual issues for me to work through on religious and social fronts.
So where does all of that leave me - other than exhausted from the physical, emotional and intellectual energy that is being drained out of me? Well, the optimistic side of me wants to say that it leaves me cleaned out with plenty of space for new experiences and attitudes - just as my old apartment is cleaned out and ready for new tenants. The tired side of me can only see the residue and debris of life straggling in the corners - all the little things that don't quite fit into any of the other tidily labeled moving boxes, physically or metaphorically. But the reality is, it leave me right in the middle of the fullness of life itself - a fullness that is exhausting, energizing, transitional and transforming all at the same time. A fullness that will never have all of the answers and for the most part only sparks more questions. A fullness that continues to keep my spirit engaged in the act of learning to live and challenging me to keep evaluating that which surrounds me and that with which I surround myself.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
That's Theological - A Mishmash of Adjectives
There are many times when I find myself trying to find words to express my response to a moment of living and the string of words that comes out is a mishmash of adjectives that seem simultaneously contradictory and all encompassing. How is it possible that something can be simple and complex, powerful and gentle, or create a deep sense of peace and anger at the same time? These moments of mishmash, when things seem to make perfect sense and yet open up a world of confusion are signals of holy moments. Signs that we have stepped into the rushing river of the spirit and that, if we follow the flow - or even if we move against it - we are sure to catch glimpses of God.
Mishmash moments like this can very often lead to what Mary Farrell Bednarowski, Emerita Professor of Religious Studies at United Theological Seminary of the Twin Cities, has coined "Lump in the Throat" stories. Stories that "stir up both the head and the heart at the same time." And when both emotion (heart) and intellect (head) are simultaneously activated they meet in the middle giving rise to a lump in the throat. [For more insight into Bednarowski's work on this subject see her essay "Lump in the Throat Stories" in the book Arts, Theology, & the Church, edited by Kimberly Vrudny & Wilson Yates, published by The Pilgrim Press, 2005]
What else should we expect in encountering God than a moment that engages both the body and spirit leaving us more grounded and uplifted than we were a moment before. After all it is God's nature to be a mishmash - God, the creator of all things, who offered to Moses the simple yet intensely complex self identifier "I Am Who I Am." It makes sense that a mishmash of adjectives would be the only offering our linguistically limited human intellects could offer to try to encompass that which is in and beyond all.
So, in those moments, when I am simultaneously feeling and thinking synthesized and contradictory things I very often pause and smile and realize that there is something going on in that moment to certainly take note of - even if that note is a mishmash.
Mishmash moments like this can very often lead to what Mary Farrell Bednarowski, Emerita Professor of Religious Studies at United Theological Seminary of the Twin Cities, has coined "Lump in the Throat" stories. Stories that "stir up both the head and the heart at the same time." And when both emotion (heart) and intellect (head) are simultaneously activated they meet in the middle giving rise to a lump in the throat. [For more insight into Bednarowski's work on this subject see her essay "Lump in the Throat Stories" in the book Arts, Theology, & the Church, edited by Kimberly Vrudny & Wilson Yates, published by The Pilgrim Press, 2005]
What else should we expect in encountering God than a moment that engages both the body and spirit leaving us more grounded and uplifted than we were a moment before. After all it is God's nature to be a mishmash - God, the creator of all things, who offered to Moses the simple yet intensely complex self identifier "I Am Who I Am." It makes sense that a mishmash of adjectives would be the only offering our linguistically limited human intellects could offer to try to encompass that which is in and beyond all.
So, in those moments, when I am simultaneously feeling and thinking synthesized and contradictory things I very often pause and smile and realize that there is something going on in that moment to certainly take note of - even if that note is a mishmash.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Rectangles
When people ask my partner what my artistic medium is she will very often reply "Rectangles". I laugh at this response but only because I know it to be a slight truth. A lot of my art for the past several years has been variations on the theme of rectangle. I am not exactly sure why this is the case. Perhaps it is because of my obsessive compulsive tendencies which are soothed by the right angles and crisp lines of a rectangle, but this cannot be the only reason as some of my rectangles are created out of smeared and wobbly lines and I like those rectangles with equal measure. Perhaps it is the infinite compositional possibilities that exist when you put a couple of rectangles on a page and move them around in relation to one another. Even the smallest shift in height, width or overlap can open up a brand new sense of space and feeling within the composition. Or perhaps it is because my world if visually full of rectangles - I live in an urban area with buildings and signs and streets which are all rectangles and I sit in front a rectangular computer screen which showcases data in rectangular windows for much of each day.
Is it any wonder then that I go to the rectangle when I engage in visual artistic expression - if it makes up so much of what I visually intake in the world - it seems to also makes sense that I would express interpretations on that theme in my creative output in the world. Sometimes it seems like sheer laziness to use rectangles instead of seeking out a more literal subject matter and other times the simplicity of the unencumbered shape seems to open up a depth of expression and meaning not available in more defined imagery. A rectangle is familiar and comfortable and jarring all in the same breath. It is stable, strong and subtle. It is a simple plane open to interpretation and interaction with whatever it frames or is surrounded by. And if nothing else, it is an invitation to whatever you make of it and whatever it reveals to you.
Is it any wonder then that I go to the rectangle when I engage in visual artistic expression - if it makes up so much of what I visually intake in the world - it seems to also makes sense that I would express interpretations on that theme in my creative output in the world. Sometimes it seems like sheer laziness to use rectangles instead of seeking out a more literal subject matter and other times the simplicity of the unencumbered shape seems to open up a depth of expression and meaning not available in more defined imagery. A rectangle is familiar and comfortable and jarring all in the same breath. It is stable, strong and subtle. It is a simple plane open to interpretation and interaction with whatever it frames or is surrounded by. And if nothing else, it is an invitation to whatever you make of it and whatever it reveals to you.
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