In my dream last night, i was traveling from city to city and country to country, but I had infinite time in each to get to know them! It was so pleasant to have no time pressure or logistics pressure, so i could just listen and really resonate with each place and it’s story! When i woke up, i thought, wow that really is one of my dreams! To get to have endless time with each person, city and nation to get to know them, and love them forever. Great dream anyways!

Some people make you look at the world with more gratitude. Others, more astutely, and accurately. Some just make you wonder more. I love borrowing my friend’s lenses, and seeing through them what I couldn’t see alone. Life is diademic. We each see in part, and each part is so sacred! Learning that again this week. How to see more whole-y, or holy.

Jesus as the Ultimate performance artist!

Jesus was always discipling as performance art. Teaching in every direction! Doing things, but aware that everyone was watching, so giving each person and culture, the part they needed to understand, step closer, and become-to enter in!
My friend got me thinking about Jesus as a performance artist today. That He was symbolizing what He was saying all the time, so it had both types of content in each gesture.

Teaching those who were close students and those who were watching from afar (including us). Using words and symbol in tandem. What a great teacher, aware that His Life itself was the ultimate teaching, so how He lived was also His message. He was constantly symbolizing Himself and pointing to His Father!

Nothing He did wasn’t symbolic as well. They were one in Him. Jesus was integrated! King David said, “I have become a living portent or symbol!”

Great fresh insight again today as I spoke with my art pastor friend in Rotterdam today! The prophets did is also of course, but even where Jesus slept was a teaching, and how fast He walked, and where. Each gesture a symbol! What a great artist. For Him symbol and idea weren’t separate. He was One, and is making us one like that!

Good reminder today! Love chatting with friends who have integrated their creativity and their spirituality, always gives me fresh insights!

“Ebed-Melech is mentioned in the Book of Jeremiah chapter 38 as an Ethiopian official at the palace of king Zedekiah of Judah during the Siege of Jerusalem.”

Everyone needs an Ebed Melech in their story! He was the advocate for Jeremiah the prophet, who pleaded with the authorities to get Jeremiah out of the pit. There is always an advocate in our stories, someone who sees the heart of God in the situation, and pleads the cause! An advocate for the prophets—what a cool role in the story!

Without that guy, Jeremiah, would have had a hard time finishing his story! Good reminder of the importance of those friends in our lives today! Interesting also that in this story, the advocate was a “foreigner”. That rings true also! Good meditation today as I was reading my favorite lamenter Jeremiah today! I love all the painting of Jeremiah, he is always in a cave, half collapsed from emotional fatigue! And from wearing his heart on his cloak, so to speak!

Some of my friends are parables. Dave is one! He’s a spiritual director arts pastor, teaches on depth formation, teaches workshops on discovering and sharing your personal life story, but also just reads great stories on his porch to friends each Sunday night. What a gift to listen in this week. And to visit his hand made fish aquarium. He always models an integrated life. Thankful for friends who do.

We are stewards of the unseen as well.

From an article i’m working on about art:

There is this implied transcendence with art. It makes you aware there is more than meets the eye to everything. That’s part of its role, to suggest that there is more around us than is literal, or merely utilitarian—to remind us everything is also resting inside a poem. That taking out the trash can be prayer. (And prayer is itself a similar activity to art).

A thing or simple activity is more than itself. Art reminds us that. Or, as the comedians reminds us a pocket comb is also a plow for farming, in the right hands and imagination. Seeing the possible layers of meaning of each thing is part of what art sharpens in us. In this sense, it offers a fuller interpretation of the world around us. That’s another part of its role.

To know there is an enormous room everything is in, brings hope that in fact, this is not all there is. And these days, if this is all there is, we are in trouble! So if the surface is depressing, we probe beneath it to find more layers, and that brings hope. Making art is an act of hope, especially in times of tumult.

In this sense, art does more than ritualize collective grief (which is does and needs to be doing), but it offers hope by showing us the larger setting of the play, and therefore other possible outcomes.

Art also implies transcendence, or as Paul Tillich put it: “A symbol participates in The Reality to which it points.” Art offers a portal or gateway into something higher.

The act of art also, models trust there is something to hold me, once i let go, as L’Engle (“Walking on Water”) put it: “To be an artist means to approach the light, and that means to let go our control, to allow our whole selves to be placed with absolute faith in that which is greater than we are.” That vulnerable tight rope act, models hope for others, and that artist becomes a living sign.

Lastly, art is a basic part of being human. We lose a dynamic part of being human if our lives are artless, if we do not dare collaborate with God. Again, as L’Engle puts it, and I’ll end here: “Thus we lose our human calling, because we do not dare to be creators, co-creators with God.” (Reflections on faith and art)

In times of great distress, far from being a luxury, art becomes like water again, essential, an act of faith.

From an article i’m working on about art:

There is this implied transcendence with art. It makes you aware there is more than meets the eye to everything. That’s part of its role, to suggest that there is more around us than is literal, or merely utilitarian—to remind us everything is also resting inside a poem. That taking out the trash can be prayer. (And prayer is itself a similar activity to art).

A thing or simple activity is more than itself. Art reminds us that. Or, as the comedians reminds us a pocket comb is also a plow for farming, in the right hands and imagination. Seeing the possible layers of meaning of each thing is part of what art sharpens in us. In this sense, it offers a fuller interpretation of the world around us. That’s another part of its role.

To know there is an enormous room everything is in, brings hope that in fact, this is not all there is. And these days, if this is all there is, we are in trouble! So if the surface is depressing, we probe beneath it to find more layers, and that brings hope. Making art is an act of hope, especially in times of tumult.

In this sense, art does more than ritualize collective grief (which is does and needs to be doing), but it offers hope by showing us the larger setting of the play, and therefore other possible outcomes.

Art also implies transcendence, or as Paul Tillich put it: “A symbol participates in The Reality to which it points.” Art offers a portal or gateway into something higher.

The act of art also, models trust there is something to hold me, once i let go, as L’Engle (“Walking on Water”) put it: “To be an artist means to approach the light, and that means to let go our control, to allow our whole selves to be placed with absolute faith in that which is greater than we are.” That vulnerable tight rope act, models hope for others, and that artist becomes a living sign.

Lastly, art is a basic part of being human. We lose a dynamic part of being human if our lives are artless, if we do not dare collaborate with God. Again, as L’Engle puts it, and I’ll end here: “Thus we lose our human calling, because we do not dare to be creators, co-creators with God.” (Reflections on faith and art)

Meeting local artist friends in evening….

And then, in evening again
we open our studio garages inside
and let one another in.
the skateboarders start trying to find the best hill to descend,
and there is that thrill of seeing what we have all been really
doing all day.

This friend’s been sculpting again in Mahogany memory boxes meant to carry all types of past stories,
or something even now cherished-some key which still matters, fits each lock
this friend tonight shared his treasure boxes.

Why do we wait til evening to show our secrets?
Why not share together all day, as birds do…in mid-air dew exchanges…

Still, and in stillness we do say to one another, finally,
here is what I’m really working on in life.

But it takes so long to say so to one another.
It takes many evenings, at least.

Yet, the wood of one another’s secret labors, is so smooth
your skin melts in its hand, and knows itself.

“i tried to listen to the wood and space here to tell me
what it wanted to become. Where it was
on its journey, and where it wanted to go.” my friend told me tonight.

We tried to steward things forth into their unique becomings…we
continued…

This friend whispered this evening, “the unseen labor is where i live.”
Not a bad address, i thought in myself.

What we were really working, on is akin to listening well
i think,
or at least honoring what was, what is, into what will be.
We are stewards of the unseen narrative of things.

Still, this evening’s glow was particular in my friend’s garage studio
lit by lanterns which he designed to match evening glow of sunset.

Wherever we were, it was worth noting, forever.

My friend’s boxes had three types of wood (each, in course, representing different seasons of his story, different weights of glory), each
carrying a different rhythm or density of memory, an inner pacing;
he then taught me this evening, as the sun started to make
us silhouettes,
each wood’s capacity for holding what it knows-
mahogany can do this, pine this, cedar another, oak a longer story-
what each is able to do (or contain of being)
or, what it was meant to do, once in listening hands
once, it finds itself, that is. Once, perhaps
a father cares or we receive what is already there
waiting in wood.

Once the right hands touch the wood, it knows itself
as we all somehow do, who we are, and what we are meant to do.
Things know themselves in the right hands.

Or as he put it, as things have room to become
they do, remarkably well.

Maybe this one, is for a skateboard for these kids
i suggested. He laughed. A good way to make quick memory of wood…
rushing down the hill in their descending glories
trying to glow before they crash.
But that’s another story, for another evening or day, perhaps.
This evening was simply about opening our studios
to one another in hope
and seeing my friend’s treasure boxes,
which somehow we all are.