Credendo Vides.

Loosely translated, Credendo Vides means "By believing, one sees."

I'm a big fan of this phrase. It's rife with possibilities.

Image of the Stars over Church of the Good Shepherd, by Neil Creek.

In this weeks' readings, we see the recurring themes of Belonging, as the faithful belong to God, of Home, in an "eternal hereafter" sense, and of Preparation, because none of us know when the final boarding call will ring out. What is wonderful about the readings this week, is that they answer a lot of Human Questions.

What are we here for?

We're here as God's people, to work find His Truth, to live His Truth.

What are we waiting for?

We're waiting for when we see Christ again, for when we will be called Home.

What do we do 'till that happens?

We conduct our lives in such a way that shows the world that we know these things, that we believe them, that we hold them in our hearts.

Paul tells the Hebrews, "Faith is the realization of what is hoped for, and evidence of things not seen."

I like the idea of pursuing truth, pursuing Truth, despite all odds.

And sometimes finding Truth takes a leap of Faith.

The funny thing is, because we're sensory creatures in a beautiful world, sometimes finding Truth is hard, sometimes we get distracted and confused, sometimes we are misguided by those with the best intentions, sometimes we don't want to take good advice, and sometimes we just get lost.

The important thing to hold on to is that God's Truth is in the world, and it's longing to be discovered.

And when the Conductor makes that last call, our ticket to get on board will be a life lived in preparation for His Coming, in recognition of His Majesty, in pursuit of His Truth.

Here's a little ditty by my favorite Folk Singer, Ellis Paul. It hearkens back to that rocky time in history when Truth was redefined. Change is hard for everyone. Ellis paints a picture of times when God's Truth came up against the established understanding of the world, whether it be during the Enlightenment, during Martin Luther King's marches in Alabama, or in Tianaman Square, when those who had been judges were called up on the witness stand, and what was misguided law was replaced with another glimmering slice of truth.

What I love most is the idea of Galileo, who held up the sparkling stars as a sign of the beauty of God's Truth, though he was punished by the church, still praying to God the Creator.

Find your truth, and live it. And if you're having trouble finding Truth, well, Credendo Vides.

Did Galileo Pray?

by Ellis Paul

When he looked into a starry sky upon Jupiter

With its cold moons making their weary rounds,

Did he know that the Pope would claim that he ran with Lucifer

And a prison cell would be where he'd lay his head down?

Was he wearing a thorny crown when he plotted the motion of planets

Was Mercury in retrograde?

But he found the truth when a lie was what was demanded.

When the judges asked him pointedly, he was a'trembling that day.

Did Galileo pray?

And he said,

"Tell Ptolemy, tell Copernicus that the Sun is at the core of us

You can't deny the Milky Way

And every flower that follows the sun has known all along what God had done

They whisper truth as the seasons each give way."

Don't shoot the messenger, the postman delivers Truth today.

And the Truth will march in Birmingham,

It will block the tanks in Tiananmen.

Put the judges on the witness stand, Let's see what they all say.

Did Galileo pray?

In the heavens you'll see it

As God has conceived it.

Oh, believe it.

Oh, what have you got to do to believe?

Did Galileo pray??

And to All a Good Night.

This Sunday's readings are diverse, but the overarching point is: Turn your thoughts toward God; do not be misguided by worldly things; do not forget that He is the Everlasting, the Eternal.

In the first reading, we are warned against vanity, the overarching-evil word that defies description. But what I want to pull out is a simple idea: All his days, sorrow and grief are his occupation; even at night his mind is not at rest. This also is vanity. It's a given concept that earthly things, when misused, are vanities. But even to fall away to sleep at night not trusting in the Lord is a form of vanity.

Mother's Angel, Cover of Literary Digest Magazine, Norman Rockwell, 1921.

In the second reading, Paul performs the duty of Air Traffic Controller for the thoughts of the faithful. Wherever you are focusing your energy, he says, unless it is in a heavenward direction, you are probably misguiding your efforts. Furthermore, Paul leaves us with a beautiful bottom line:

Christ is all and in all.

Freedom of Worship, Norman Rockwell, 1943.

And while Aesop had his fables, Jesus left us with parables. These working metaphors, analogous to our lives, offer a story line for us to interpret and relate to our experiences. In Luke 12: 13-21, the moral of the story is clearly: Do not put your trust in material things.

Saying Grace, Norman Rockwell, 1951.

And so it seems that the readings are warning us away from the misuse of material goods. Life's possessions are not meant to be taken for granted, and they are not meant to be the goal of living. But when used as a means to the end of God's will, the wealth of the world is magnified.

Let me explain. With the help of Norman Rockwell.

Rockwell painted idyllic America. Not an ideal America. But an America that understood its place in the world, and gave thanks for the good things it had. I don't know that those days really existed, but Rockwell's point was that the simple joys of life were what we should cherish and strive to perpetuate. The message of the girl looking in the mirror isn't one of fame and celebrity, but one of the power of the dreams of youth.

Girl at the Mirror, Norman Rockwell, 1954.

The message of the prom dates with the soda jerk isn't one of sex and status, but one of innocence, and the power of love.

After the Prom, Norman Rockwell, 1957.

The message the of boy with the watchmaker isn't one of impatience and greed, but of value and wisdom.

What Makes it Tick, advertisement for Swiss Watchmakers, Norman Rockwell, 1954.

And sometimes Rockwell didn't leave us parable paintings to interpret. Sometimes he painted pictures of people living the life that God calls us to, in just the way that He calls us to do it.

Because The Golden Rule gives you the golden rule, and reminds you that, yes, Christ is all and in all. A figure that looks very much like a young Rockwell himself, stands among a beautiful diversity of humanity. Something to think about: The only people who break the 4th wall, or look directly at the viewer, are minorities. Many of the figures have their eyes closed or lowered, glassed over with a pensive quality. But the little school girl in the bottom left, the African American man in the top right, and the South American woman wrapped in garb reminiscent of Our Lady of Guadalupe all look directly at the viewer. Christ is all and in all.

The Golden Rule, Norman Rockwell, 1961.

Because the family that is gathered at table is there to celebrate the bounty of a harvest, together. There are no silver candelabras on the table. That isn't Waterford crystal or china. There were no maids to prepare the feast, nor was the bird paid for by bartering on Wall Street. And those smiles are not I-can't-stand-my-family grins. The pride in the faces of grandpa and grandma is palpable. And grandpa has worn his suit, because his family is well worth dressing up for.

Freedom from Want, Norman Rockwell, 1943.

Because these two children have probably just finished saying, "As I lay me down to sleep." And while Rockwell painted Freedom from Fear as a companion piece to three other American Freedoms (Freedom of Worship, Freedom of Speech, and Freedom from Want) as inspired by FDR's January 1941 speech to Congress, he is reiterating the blessings of the common man. Though dad holds a war-time newspaper in his hand, though unimaginable terrors are happening across the ocean, this moment is about saying bedtime prayers, trusting in the freedoms afforded by our Nation, but also trusting in God.

Freedom from Fear, Norman Rockwell, 1943.

Here is a song that I'll be singing for my parish's Offertory Hymn. It is taken from the same text as the Responsorial Psalm, and has the same message: we trust in a God who is eternal, who is omnipresent, who is in all people, and all things, and who endures long before and long after we spend our days on this earth. The last verse is all about learning to avoiding vanities, to, just as the children in Rockwell's painting, sleep peacefully, so that in the morning, we can rise up strong.

Long before the mountains came to be,

And the land, and sea, and stars of the night,

Through the endless seasons of all time,

You have always been; You will always be.

In every age, oh God, You have been our refuge.

In every age, oh God, You have been our hope.

Destiny is cast, and at Your silent word

We return to dust and scatter to the winds.

A thousand years are like a single moment gone,

As the light that fades at the end of day.

Teach us to make use of the time we have.

Teach us to be patient, even as we wait.

Teach us to embrace our every joy and pain,

To sleep peacefully, and to rise up strong.

In Every Age, Janet Sullivan Whitaker.

From Now Until the End of Time.

Sunday, July 25 is all about The Nations' relationship with God; how to ask for help and forgiveness, and what we can expect in response.

The first reading from Genesis reveals an angry but merciful God, something different than the Fire and Brimstone Deity that predominates the Hebrew Scriptures. God will smite the cities of wicked people, but he will spare the cities with even 10 righteous men. The Psalm, in typical Davidian style, joyfully recounts the incessant Marco-Polo quality of the human relationship with God: We call, He answers. The second reading is Paul reminding us that God grants us the salvation we seek through the Son He sent. And Jesus himself tells us, in Luke's Gospel, both how to pray to God (with His legacy of The Lord's Prayer), and how to be persistent in our pleas, faithful in our reverence, consistent in our praise.

This relationship between God and humanity is a recurrent theme throughout all the Bible and all of Salvation History. And it calls to mind the Prophets of Old.

Frieze of the Prophets (West Wall) by John Singer Sargent. Boston Public Library, 1895.

Here is the West Wall portion of John Singer Sargent's Frieze of the Prophets, located in the Boston Public Library. The use of highlight and shadow in this piece is gorgeous, and it offers a visual metaphor for the Light and Dark in the messages of the Prophets.

In the piece, we see four prophets. First is Zephaniah, whose name means something along the lines of "YHWH Lies in Wait." Zephaniah, depicted in obvious frustration, clutching his breast and his head, the homes of heart and mind, had a very clear message: religious and moral corruption, and idolotry, warranted Divine punishment. YHWH lies in wait, indeed, to pass judgement. Repent, said Zephaniah, and be saved.

Frieze of the Prophets (Detail of Zephaniah and Joel) by John Singer Sargent. Boston Public Library, 1895.

Next to Zephaniah is an impressive depiction of Joel, whose name means "One to Whom Jehovah is God." Joel hides his face from the light of God, in shame for his people. Yet his throat and arms, instruments of God's work, are brightly illuminated. His message was a call to repentance, but with a hopeful promise of future blessings. Repent and be faithful, and you will not only be saved, but you will be showered with the joys of the Kingdom.

Frieze of the Prophets (Detail of Obadiah) by John Singer Sargent. Boston Public Library, 1895.

Crouched in distress, we find Obadiah, the "Servant of YHWH." Obadiah, too, had a hopeful message. He prophesied Ultimate Victory for the children of Israel, if they maintain their faith and show love to their neighbors. His message bears some resemblance to Luke's Gospel: While in Luke's Gospel, Jesus represents God as the neighbor or father from whom good things are solicited, Obadiah encouraged those who heard him to be the hands of God on earth, to act with kindness, indeed, with generosity. Look at Obadiah, looking something like the destitute beggar on the street, hair disheveled, clothing in ruins. Obadiah was a rich man, but he distributed all his wealth to the needy, in service of God, and ended up a poor man himself. Be generous with your fellow man, just as God is generous to you, and you will be rewarded.

Frieze of the Prophets (Detail of Hosea) by John Singer Sargent. Boston Public Library, 1895.

Finally, a gorgeous depiction of white, we see Hosea. Hosea, "Salvation is the Lord," also proclaimed an important message through example. Hosea preached that Israel was the Wife of God the Husband, something like a forbear of the "Church is the Bride of Christ" metaphor. Hosea's wife left him and slept with another man, but Hosea sought her out, forgave her, and took her back. In modern times, this would be a hard pill to swallow. Can you imagine the import of his actions in ancient times? And so his words paint the metaphor - Israel is the unfaithful wife, who wanders off and finds illicit and false gods to worship, and God is the forgiving husband, who finds her, forgives her, and welcomes her back. Sargent paints Hosea cocooned in white, the virtuous man, willing to restore virtue to his unfaithful wife. His face, shadowed, may show us that his thoughts are troubled and dark. But his message is clear: he manifests the generosity of God. *Sargent used the face of Major George Conrad Roller, a rather accomplished Golden Boy at the time, as a model for Hosea. Roller served in the Boer War and in World War I, was an accomplished artist, and Steeplechaser.

Sargent's expressive Frieze of the Prophets reminds us of the messages of great men and the trials they faced, carrying the weight of the world on their backs (much like Atlas, who is also located in the Boston Public Library.)

Atlas and the Hesperides by John Singer Sargent. Boston Public Library, 1922-25.

But perhaps most importantly, Jesus gives us the simple words to frame our pleas to God. Simple things can sometimes be the most beautiful. And we know from St. Augustine that "To sing well is to pray twice." So here is a little of both simple words and simple melody, with beautiful results. Steve Warner, Music Director at the University of Notre Dame in South Bend, Indiana composed this version of The Lord's Prayer. Here is a performance of the Notre Dame Folk Choir from over 10 years ago. The message, and its beauty, are clear. Perhaps my favorite part of this clip is when Steve Warner says, "We are a Folk Choir, which means that our music doesn't belong to us. It belongs to you."

Live the Life.

So let's talk about what it is to live your life with an open heart; open to the wonders of the world, and open to God's promise.

This Sunday's readings offer us a veritable grab-bag of Christian ideals: reverence, justice, faith despite persecution, quiet willingness to listen to the will of God. We see the Beatitudes in action, from Abraham's faithfulness to Paul's faithfulness to Mary and Martha's very different faithfulness.

In the Gospel this coming Sunday, we see the busy hospitality of Martha, something like the Biblical precursor to Martha Stewart, and the assiduous attention of her sister Mary. Which brings to mind a different Mary, who also lived the Beatitudes before they were ever uttered by her Son.

Take a look at Botticelli's Annunciation:

The Annunciation by Sandro Botticelli, 1489-1490

I love this painting... Here we see the grace of Mary, imbued with the Grace of God, as she receives news of His will. We see a world of order, clearly and strictly delineated by the directional lines on the floor, the severe window casement, the details of the scene beyond. The figures contradict all this linearity. Gabriel has literally just alighted- the diaphanous cloth that was Botticelli's specialty is still in motion behind him. As his momentum is absorbed by the floor, he reaches up to Mary, in greeting, holding the Annunciation Lily, a common symbol of Marian Purity. The line of his outstretched hand continues up the arm of Mary, the gaze of the angel and the direction of these visual lines drawing the eye to the face of Mary. She recoils slightly, leaning back in wonder with a graceful sway of the hips. Her head is bowed in reverence, in prayer, in meekness. She stands beside an open book, meant to remind us that this moment has been prophesied in the Hebrew Scriptures, and she is garbed in red and blue, remnants of the Byzantine Icon world that hint at her connection to both the mysteries of Heaven, and the vitality of Humanity.

What strikes me most about this image is the two hands, untouching, but reaching toward each other. This painting was completed a few years before Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel, and, in fact, Botticelli had also done some work on Pope Sixtus's amazing chapel in 1481. Whether or not Michelangelo had seen Botticelli's Annunciation before leaving for Rome in 1496 is doubtful - The Annunciation was painted for the Florentine convent of Cestello.

The Creation of Adam by Michelangelo, Sistine Chapel, completed between 1508 and 1512.

But just as, in the ceiling fresco, God reaches out a benevolent hand to lend life to Adam, Botticelli paints another moment which captures God's promise to renew the world; His heavenly messenger reaching out a hand toward The New Eve, the woman who will bring life to the Body that will bring Life to the world.

Something to think about this Sunday when you listen to the readings: How do you accept and perform the will of God in your life? Like Abraham, excited and eager? Like David, writing the Psalms, determined to rule with Justice? Like Paul, resolute and inspired? Like Martha, distracted yet determined, or her sister Mary, quiet and full of awe? Or like Mother Mary, with absolute Grace?

Go Out to All the World and Tell the Good News...

Let's have a little lesson in etymology, shall we? Catholicism. Root word: catholic. Meaning of the adjective catholic: 1. including a wide variety of things; all-embracing.

St. Peter's Basilica, Rome

It is so important not to secularize the message of the Catholic church. However, let's not forget the fact that the message is meant to be universal, accessible to all, available for the masses to partake. And the most important role of a Catholic is to preach the Gospel, using words if necessary. (That's St. Francis, right?)

Suchitoto, El Salvador

We enter edifices of brick or of stone, architectural snapshots of history or the result of eclectic modernity, every Sunday. We hear a beautiful message that is as new as it is ancient, meant to be as timeless as it is universal. But what is important to remember is that even as we find refuge for our wandering hearts and beckoning prayers within the shadowy cool refuge of the physical church, we must remember that we are the Church, that as we recess toward the doors at the end of mass, we are charged to venture into a brilliant world, a world rife with the joy and beauty of God, and to be eyes for those who cannot see it.

Suchitoto, El Salvador

These images are of a little church in Suchitoto, El Salvador. I have a friend who is currently saving the world in that tiny country. He's not Catholic. He's not big into organized religion. He's prefers Einstein's view of God over St. Augustine's. Yet, I'm pretty sure if he were to sit in a room with St. Francis, they'd get along famously (they're both marvelous writers, and they're both a little crazy...). I value this friend, because he sees religion very differently than I do. That challenges me to define and re-define what I believe, it challenges me to find the connections and the parallels between us, not just the differences, and it challenges me to remember the root of my Catholicism. A heart that is open to the wonders and joys of the world, even as it balks at the definitions of the unknown subscribed to by organized religion, is still a wonderful companion in the journey of life.

Suchitoto, El Salvador

Though my church is built of marble, my house is built of glass. Before passing judgement, share joy. The Glory of God, defined in different terms, is still truly magnificent.

You Shall Love Your Neighbor As Yourself.

Sunday, June 27, 2010

The second reading from Paul's letter to the Galatians, includes the familiar message: You shall love your neighbor as yourself.

It continues, But if you go on biting and devouring one another, beware that you are not consumed by one another. I say then: live by the Spirit...

Paul was in Galatia, working on the original catholicism of the faith- making the teachings of Jesus truly Universal, applicable to people of all origins. He was perhaps one of the greatest Christian Foreign Diplomats, carrying a message of understanding and love.

This message brings to mind two Spaniards, and two very evocative murals, completed a century apart from one another. Take a look at Francisco Goya's Saturn Devouring His Son. It's expressive, dramatic, drenched in folklore. At the time, Goya was near the end of his life. He started the mural, painting directly onto the wall of his house, in 1819, at the age of 72. Distressed by the harrowing Napoleonic Wars, Saturn is one of a series of paintings, called "The Black Paintings," which expressed Goya's fear of insanity, and his deteriorating outlook on the merits of humanity.

Saturn Devouring His Son, by Francisco Goya, circa 1819-1823

The painting itself is nightmarish. The blackness seeps. Saturn, the father of the gods, eats his own children in his desperation to maintain power. The old man's face is psychotic; he has lost paternalistic devotion and has been overtaken by the need for dominance.

Fast-forward 100 years. Pablo Picasso is repeatedly challenging the lexicon of art history and changing the definition of "art." A Spanish citizen living in gay Paris, Picasso hasn't escaped the terrors of war. Franco's Nationalists have incited civil war in Spain, and with the support of both Hitler and Mussolini, work to root out and subvert the fierce Republican sentiment of the Spanish citizens. In a horrifying display of dehumanization, the German Condor Legion sends planes on behalf of Franco into Guernica, a village vivid with culture and spirit, in the middle of the Basque region.

The town of Guernica, after the bombing in April 1937.

It was market day, April 1937. Everyone was in the town square. But when the church bells rang, they rang not for the Glory of God, but in desperate, clanging warning. For 3 hours, German planes dropped over 100,000 lbs. of explosives and incendiary bombs. 70% of the town was raized, and 1600 villagers were killed or wounded. Not a single bridge, railway station, or even nearby small arms factory was hit. Guernica was the testing ground for a new Nazi military technique: blanket bombing of a town in order to break the morale of dissenters.

Picasso painting.

15 days later, 56-year-old Picasso stretched his canvas and began working. A massive 26' x 11.5', the painting was a visual-political invective. Picasso decided against blatant Republican symbolism in favor of the classic depictions of the terrors of war. Think of The Rape of the Sabine Women or The Massacre of the Innocents or The Third of May 1808. We see the animals of the Spanish countryside, the might of the bull, the terror of the wounded horse. We see the woman wailing over her dead child, and the mighty warrior, whose courage could not stand against the evils of modern warfare. See his helpless outstretched hand. We see houses on fire, and citizens fleeing in fright. It is an onslaught of expressive images. The painting is all in black and white- like a wartime bulletin, or as though the evocative meaning of color has been wiped from the canvas, lest the message become too overwhelming.

Guernica, by Pablo Picasso, 1937.

So.

When the message is as uplifting as "Love," why site the gory glories of paintings inspired by fear, by war, by hate, by dissent?

Because, despite our best efforts, we're still missing the original message of St. Paul. Though we strive heavenward, we still get so easily lost. War is perhaps the most blatant example, because it is clear, it is large, it is terrifying, and it effects multitudes all together, all at once.

But there is hope.

Can you find the flower in Picasso's Guernica? A simple flower, growing despite the blood and the horror and the distress. Growing past the shattered sword, beneath the dying horse's hooves. Reaching for the sun, and promising that Beauty will return to the earth, that we will move on, that we will try again, that tomorrow is a brilliant chance, just waiting to be taken.

Guernica, detail, by Pablo Picasso, 1937.

"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings."

In the Gospel reading on Sunday, Jesus poses an important question to the disciples: "Who do you say that I am."

Let's paint the scene: Luke tells us that Jesus and the disciples are in a fishing town. If we do some cross-synoptic research, Matthew 16 lets us know that they're in Caesarea Philippi at the foot of Mt. Hermon and the headwaters of the Jordan river. It's modern day Syria.

It's likely that the multi-deism religions of the ancient native civilizations had made their mark on the art of the region; the ruined visages of gods and demi-gods and mighty kings of yore decorating the sandy landscape.

The ruins of Nemrut Dag in modern-day Turkey, of the Kommagene Dynasty, circa 80 BC to 72 AD.

Such a scene calls to mind Percy Bysshe Shelley's 1817 poem, Ozymandias.

Ozymandias is actually another name for Ramses the Great, or Ramses II, of the Egyptian empire.

Statue of Ramses II at the Luxor Palace in Upper Egypt, circa mid-12th Century BC.

In the poem, Shelley depicts the tragedy of human civilization- that the great will inevitably fall, that men who fancy themselves as gods cannot withstand the buffeting of time, that the mighty among mortals will inevitably fall, and crumble to the dust from which they came.

And so it was with the Sumerians,

Sumerian Votive Statue from Ur, circa 2500 BC. Notice the enlarged eyes, an ancient forebear of the importance of the Eyes in the Byzantine art tradition.

And the glorious temple of Persepolis,

Apadana Palace of Perseopolis, in Modern Day Iran. Built by Darius the Great and Xerxes the Great. The palace was used to receive tribute from all the nations of the Achaemenid Empire, circa 500 BC.

And the Akkadian empire.

Victory Stele of Namun-Sim, Akkadian Empire, circa 2230 BC.

All these mighty civilizations left behind monuments of beauty and power and pride, which now offer only a distant echo of what once was great.

Akhenaten, or Amenhotep IV, Egyptian Pharoah circa 1360-1343 BC. Akhenaten was the first Egyptian Pharoah to eschew traditional polytheism and promulgate monotheistic beliefs.

They are beautiful monuments, to be sure. Though the hubris may have been overwhelming, the talent and skill that went into crafting the marble and the granite and the limestone bely the power of art. In this case, these ancient beauties remind us that man's power is sure to fade.

Akhenaten (left) and his wife, Nefertiti (right) with their children. Notice the monotheistic symbolism of the Sun reaching down hands in blessing upon the royal family.

And in this setting in the dry and distant lands of the Middle East, Jesus reminds us, "Do you realize? Though civilizations rise and fall, though great men create themselves and return to ash, who I am and what I offer will not change, and will not fade, and will not ever crumble."

O Beauty Ever Ancient, O Beauty Ever New

St. Augustine of Hippo always believed that the pen was mightier than the sword. A statue in Old St. Augustine's Church in Old City Philadelphia portrays the noble Bishop, brandishing a quill, with his foot planted squarely on a serpent-entwined Satan. Next to that statue stands an acanthus-bedecked ambo, from which the gathered faithful hear words of scripture, of song, of homily.

As he wrote in his Confessions, one of St. Augustine's many epiphanies was the simple fact that Beauty is a gift from God, and a conduit to Him. Whether in religious or secular work, in visual arts or performance arts or literary arts, in mankind's fabrications or Mother Nature's wondrous oeuvre, Beauty directs us to a nobility of heart, to a search for meaning, to a recognition of the Divine. Beauty strikes a chord within our Restless Hearts, speaking to us of a great and eternal restfulness.