Category Archives: meaning

entering the test

The walking rhythm has been established. The first set of three Psalms in this series has set the pace and shown us an overview. Yet the journey has really just begun.

In his allegorical series The Chronicles of Narnia, British writer C.S. Lewis articulates a similar view to what we’ve just glimpsed in Psalm 122. Lewis’ tale has a mythical unicorn, Jewel, speaking for all when she says “This is the land I have been looking for all my life, though I never knew it til now…” she then calls out to the company around her to keep going. ”Come further up and further in”, repeating a phrase she’d just heard from the lion figure, Aslan. “He turned swiftly round, crouched lower, lashed himself with his tail and shot away like a golden arrow. ‘Come further in! Come further up!’ he shouted over his shoulder. But who could keep up with him at that pace? They set out walking Westward to follow.”

The Psalms of Ascent, Psalms 120-134 are a walking journey into the mysteries of all God has planned for those who desire to follow Him. And each Psalm takes us into new territory, unexpected, yet keeping with the walking pace established in the first triplet. We now are entering the second triplet of this series of 15.

Allegorical fantasies, and semi-abstract paintings may get closer to the wild wonder inherent in such a trek as we find in the Psalms of Ascent.

The painting I accomplished for Psalm 123, pictured here, is unlike the postcard suggestions in my first three landscapes of this series. This one pulls the viewer right in and on some darkening ground in real space. There’s a sense of activity behind the tree stands; but the thrust is upward, above the hills and further up into the atmosphere.

The walking rhythm we’ve already experienced in Psalms 120–122: 1. Distress, 2. Reliance, 3. Resolution, repeats now into a new measure of this whole song. And what is fascinating in this 2^nd triplet, is that the Distress phase, the cry for help which begins each triplet is repeating some of the Reliance words we saw evidenced in the 1^st triplet’s middle Psalm. In other words, what the traveler learned to do after his first woeful distress, he now is practicing at the very beginning of his second period of distress. He is further in. His base camp is higher than when he began.

Many quick readers or bystanders might dismiss at this point, saying “been there, done that”. However, don’t miss how Psalm 123 is preparing the treker. Compared to the resolution just viewed in 122, Psalm 123 has the traveler right back into some of the mundane difficulties of what a serious adventure really is. The journey has soundly begun; but here the pilgrim’s journey shows some attenuated concern, here he is tested. And it is right here where many bail, for the trek is more than they assumed. In John Bunyan’s classic allegory Pilgrim’s Progress, the character Pliable gets into first trouble at this point — and retreats in disgust.

But the God-ward traveler trains his eyes past the trouble, he has to if he wants to make it through: “I look up toward you…” he says. He then adds a couple illustrative examples as he muses in his steps “until He shows us favor”. He is in difficulty, he is awaiting answer, but he has to wade through it in faith. This is the test.

This Psalm exemplifies how a continuing walk will keep on: straight ahead, straight through. “Show us favor, O Lord, show us favor!…” The road is not easy, he describes what it feels like. Like Psalm 120, he names the scoffing and the contempt around him, but his focus is higher for his trust has been established. At this point the traveler has an informed connection with His Lord.

The commitment to make the full journey gets a real try-out here. The purpose of any test is to reveal what (if anything?) has been learned. In fact, it can be said that the fortitude to finish the rest of the journey gets outfitted through the test in the experience of this Psalm.

I look up toward you,
the one enthroned in heaven.
Look, as the eyes of servants look to the hand of their master,
as the eyes of a female servant look to the hand of her mistress,
so our eyes will look to the Lord, our God, until he shows us favor.
Show us favor, O Lord, show us favor!
For we have had our fill of humiliation, and then some.
We have had our fill
of the taunts of the self-assured,
of the contempt of the proud.

_{Psalm 123, New English Translation}

The Pattern and the Pivot

In this series of 15 songs, called the “Psalms of Ascent” or the “Songs of Degrees” there is an evident pattern. Each set of three in the whole progression of 15 repeats a simple tempo, like three beats to a measure in a walking rhythm. And this, even as the circumstances described get increasingly more complex with each developing set of threes. It is in this rhythm, repeated 5x that the way is hinted for making it through the journey.

Here is that rhythm: The first in each triad is a cry of distress. The 2^nd is what I have named a pivot. It’s a hinge, or a turning point evidenced from the difficulty just referenced which then pivots to a decided reliance on God. Then the 3^rd in each set is an experience of resolution voiced by the traveler.

Simply put: 1. Distress 2. Reliance 3. Resolution.

As we move through all 5 sets you will see this repeated. And just so it is not missed, note the first verse of the first Psalm in this whole series: 120:1 starts out with the summary this way:

“In my distress I cried unto the Lord, and he heard me.” (emphasis added) Distress, Reliance, Resolution.

This is not a formula, nor a religious mantra. (How easily we either cheapen or conversely complicate important things!) This is just the simple way through. It is not an empty promise, but owning this is not easy, nor is it automatic; for a heartfelt connection is required in the hinge Psalm. This pivot takes some humility. The progression typified in each triad is the personal experience of any authentic God-follower, over and over again. No matter the time period, the culture or the distressing particulars. The pattern has to be walked through. This is, in fact, how anyone gets real with God.

Notice how this pivot is displayed in the example given us from Psalm 120 to Psalm 121. In the first articulation of distress, God is mentioned but the focus is on the problem. This is typical for each of us in distress. But at the pivot is where the spiritual engagement happens. Without this turning, things stay the same, or worse. However, with a legitimate connection to Creator, “the LORD” is named here, “Who made heaven and earth”, there is dynamic change.

Notice the words that follow for the one who is expressing this. The focus has shifted beyond the distress, even above all the religious distractions. (“the hills”, in the history of ancient Israel, were the places where all kinds of aberrant rites and idolatry were practiced)

The Psalmist here is making it clear where his confidence is being placed by pivoting. He’s making that contrast, and he’s voicing where he will look instead of whatever else is around him. His hope is now in Another, the One Other. And, he even exults in expectation of longevity. This is the first pivot.

A song of ascents.

121 I look up toward the hills.
From where does my help come?
²My help comes from the Lord,
the Creator of heaven and earth.
³May he not allow your foot to slip.
May your Protector not sleep.
⁴Look! Israel’s Protector
does not sleep or slumber.
⁵The Lord is your protector;
the Lord is the shade at your right hand.
⁶The sun will not harm you by day,
or the moon by night.
⁷The Lord will protect you from all harm;
he will protect your life.
⁸The Lord will protect you in all you do,
now and forevermore.

re-vision

Have you seen it for yourself? Have your eyes seen at least the clips of those claiming utopian dreams — yet themselves dazed, stoned, and de-constructing? The darkness is being revealed, and it will soon have its fullest hour.

Righteousness came and was rejected long ago. He was hung up, and they thought they’d extinguished Him. This is the most important thing to know: there is no other trustworthy name by which any soul can be secured out of this present and growing delusion.

The prophets all spoke of what is coming, very specific words. But Jesus added two watchwords for the years, the months, and the days before it all comes down: “Don’t be deceived”, and “don’t be afraid”.

How is that possible, especially as things get freaky? There is only one Way. He is that Way and He voiced it clearly, urgently, graciously Himself. This is your only reliable lifeline. He is the only door into real utopia.

But to get there, you must die. Die to your own ways, your own strategies, your own long-term assumptions. Go down with Him, and He will bring you up.

This beautiful photo came to our door in a magazine. This is an individual counterpoint, to what your eyes are seeing from all other media. This is more real, unfiltered though shrouded. And it’s happening all over the planet, but under the radar of the power-players. Baptism is a sign of relinquishment, however it is symbolized, wherever done, whenever a person realizes his true need — and gives in to the One who said He can provide that need. Trust His words, backed up by His perfect life. Re-vision means setting your sights (again and again) to what is real.

image used with requested permission: Voice of the Martyrs

repulsion

I “came to Jesus” because I was repulsed by religion.

I saw “revival” signs outside churches as a youngster and pondered: “ if they have truth why do they need reviving?” As a teen I saw a man talking about “being saved” but his manner was harsh. As a young college student, our team bus passed a sign on a hill saying “Jesus is the answer”. One of my friends said: “if Jesus is the answer, somebody please tell me, what is the question?” We all laughed. I was happy on my own and had no questions, thank-you very much.

Later that frosh year militant students stormed our campus student union…with machine guns. I joined a committee to better understand the disruption since the Newsweek Magazine reporter obviously didn’t. We were true eyewitnesses. We cared about the student’s grievances. We pooled our heads and hearts to better explain what had happened so the whole wide world would understand. We were going to “restructure the University”. Seriously.

There was one big problem: we couldn’t agree. Ten or so of us spent hours debating. We were a select group, and we were motivated. But it soon became clear that each persuasion to “tell the story correctly” had certain bias, even if slight. And like a one-degree difference on a line to the target it impacted the result. It dawned on me that it must be a truth that every journalist aiming to tell any story has bias. The confusion amongst my cohort was eye opening, disappointing; it sunk in deeply. And that lesson was worth the price of my entire undergraduate education. At the same time, it did not escape my notice that the presumptions of the student activists were starting to smell like religion of a different sort: certain behavior was expected, certain ways to think were required. I stepped out.

Just a couple months after that, a friend of mine was killed in a tragic accident. That was when my easy idealism completely halted and real questions deepened. The subsequent sorting out of what mattered and what was ultimately reliable was the pivot point of my entire life. I can sense so clearly that we in America are in a similar consequential time now. For this reason, even midst the confusion and the smoke, the uncertainty and the biases — that bigger more important questions are forming and being quietly decided. If every action has an equal and opposite reaction, then repulsion can be an important awakening.

I post today a detail of a painting I am delivering to a Gallery this week. The larger piece this is excerpted from is titled “Marking Magma”. The fire born volcanic rocks that inspired some recent work is, in this painting, all marked up on its surface with graphite. The markings are like historical notations on something birthed eons earlier by a great disruption. There’s contrast and random angles visible today, there’s beauty midst fear. There’s light and dark together. My bias is obvious. My fingerprints are all over this. But my hope has been forged by things long ago and things current. All that is visible here.

when your heart finally wakes

Most our lives we’ve moved right along to “the next thing”: school assignments, testing dates, graduations, interviews and invitations. Labor pains have led to births, births to nursing, to raising, to cheering and teaching, then finally to letting them go. Then doing that again alongside others. Both my husband and I are “to do list” people, and so this stay at home order has been good for getting simpler things done which have long missed our lists. We’ve taken walks on the empty campus near our home and marveled at the sprouting of spring. He has taught himself how to tie his own flys between zoom calls, and I have created an online story time with two of our grands as part of their homeschool. The attic has been cleaned out, and now my studio. Never in 70 years have we had to consider what to do with paused time. How has it been for you? We are mindfully grateful that we are not stuck in an apartment in some dense city, nor in the Congo where our friend tells us people are much more scared: where hunger at home is challenged by danger outside. Being older, we’ve been urged by our daughter who works in a hospital emergency department to “stay home!” But all of us, around the globe, no matter circumstance, have been given poignant pause to weigh “what do I do now?”

Pauses have a way of reaching us where the pace of normality never did, and never could.

I recently taught a Bible study on Revelation, and it is startlingly noteworthy that midst the horrors that sequence through that prophecy, there are valuable pauses. All heaven seems to wait while those on earth decide what it is they are going to do. In that I find a great sign of mercy. The time we have now is mercy. We’re all quite good at numbing ourselves through things just to get to “the next thing”; maybe that’s a mercy too, but easily we miss a lot that’s important when we do.

I highlight a famous Baroque painting by the Italian dramatist Caravaggio. We studied this up close at the National Gallery in London in 2012. I had always wanted to see it, for it portrays in theatrical fashion the moment when Jesus (yet unrecognized by his fellow travelers) breaks bread at the table. They’ve been clueless as to who it is they have been traveling with in their distracted sorrow. Try to get past the early 17^th century garb and the insipid looking Jesus and place yourself at that table as Caravaggio intended. There is a place for you there. And it was only in that pause — in the tearing apart of what was common and basic, that the strangers finally understood who was sitting right there next to them. The real Jesus is still looking to join you where you sit too. Will you take the pause you have and allow Him?

living through interesting times

“May you live in interesting times” Are we there yet? What is ironic is that the assumed source of this quoted adage is said to be an ancient Chinese casting, clothed in kindness, while actually a curse. But checking it out, there’s less evidence about the true origin of this statement than there is about the origin of the coronavirus. Nonetheless, I’ll use it as a prompt. In fact, I’m changing that curse from living in to living through.

To start with, there is a huge difference between interesting and frightening. We’re each living on the edge of that difference; and sorting it out in the disruptions. Much more, living through interesting times is one thing, understanding them another and lies abound all around the globe. Check out your sources. Be sure of what it is you are trusting. Just two days ago I shared something I thought reliable on facebook only to have it exposed as an internet meme. I left it up as an object lesson for myself and for friends. For a better historical example I think of the sons of Issachar, and the Persian King in the time of Esther. We have some wiser ones around us now. Pay attention to those who demonstrate trustworthiness; the evidence of their track record is entirely informative. In Moses’ Israel, anyone who claimed to be a “prophet” needed to prove 100% accuracy. That would rule out a huge percentage of our talking heads. Not one of them knows the future. Not one who is mortal.

People who know me say I have a calm spirit! That’s been said several times and it always surprises me, for I know all the rumblings going on inside. Gratified by their perceptions, I say I have an informed spirit, layered by years of looking into things that are surer than fear. Do I fear? As sure as I’m born, and still breathing here; I do. But, I don’t like stuck-ness. I don’t like being paralyzed and that’s all that unhealthy fear does. So, understand that fear is necessary, but it can quickly become a paralyzer. Fear is simply an internal reaction to fear-full type things. It’s natural, and it needs respect and investigation. We stop and consider when alerted by fear, which is a great protection. But when we stay in any position of fear-full retreat we become dumb like turtles. And the internal rumblings multiply exponentially inside us more than the number of virus cases outside.

We’re in a season now, a revealing one for those paying attention, where people who are trustworthy have something that others see they want. The cream rises to the top. If you’re alert, you’re already seeing it where you live. For people like me have found an inexhaustible resource in the One who gives many reasons why “fear not” is even a possibility. There is someone better to fear and to respect. I direct my thoughts to Him in true gratitude. Curious? Do a google search for every time those words “fear not” are said in the Bible and observe, like your life depended on it, for the reasons given why. Or just read this Psalm portion with mindfulness.

So, I am working. And what is coming off my hands is informed by what I’m focusing on. Bayles and Orland, in their helpful handbook Art and Fear say “Basically those who continue to make art are those who have learned how to continue—or more precisely, have learned not to quit.” I have some good reasons to keep on alertly. And, some increasingly good results. This is titled “Laodicea and the Dragnet”.

words and specificity

We know of Van Gogh’s particularity, his struggles and his needs through the regular letters he sent to his sympathetic brother Theo. Without that written record from Vincent’s own hand, we might have guessed some by simply looking at his images. Like a blind man feeling the walls of a soul with fingers, we could have surmised from the artist’s visual leavings, but never would’ve been specifically sure of the man.

Vincent’s 2D exuberance is evident: his promiscuity with paint and brushwork, his exaggerated sometimes garish color, his bold and roiling sketches, his animated skies, his grasping cypress trees, his bandaged and somber self portrait all suggest much about this emotional man. He’s left an incredible legacy just from this record. But his letters tell more the whole of him, and our guessing gets grounded. I’ve read through the complete collection of his letters twice and referenced it often. My college copy is marked up with highlights, underlines, exclamation marks and turned down pages. I was stunned then and am still– getting close to his motivation through his own often tortured telling. His words anchor the story.

It’s the effort of articulation with words that anchors anyone’s ideas. This is where guessing has to give way. Poetry might give a fleeting suggestion. Painting or photography might allure with a silent witness. But prose leads with particularity. And it was for that reason that I thought it important to leave a record of words beyond the images I craft from my studio. My book Markers; Key Themes for Soul Survival has been out for two years now. The same motivation that moves me to paint is more specifically laid out with words. And like the paintings, my fingerprints are all over it– but it’s ultimately not about me, more about what it is that’s moving me.

near and far

My interest in landscape, or more specifically “what is out there!” began very early. Before I had much language or even any life experience I was captivated and heartened by what I could glimpse out the window from my nursery. Doubt me if you choose, but I have a visceral memory of this. The years have only reinforced this sense of ‘the beautiful bigness beyond’. I recognize, now in hindsight, that this memory is early indication of some kind of spiritual quest.

My mature work is driven by an informed and sorely tested confidence in the promise laid out by the maker of the horizon, the maker of the warming sun, the maker hidden behind all these things. And these ‘made things’ speak forth deeply through their substance.

As the year turns (and 2018 has been such a big one for us) we don’t have much idea at all about what 2019 holds. We can see some near things, but not what follows.

So today I’ll highlight here an oil sketch I did this past May. I love so the horizon in this piece: so dimly suggested but sure — though some distance beyond the entire articulated foreground. That’s why I will keep this one, for the contrast between the known and the yet unknown is a symbol to me. What is just over the next rise is what draws my attention. And because my heart has learned to rest in the capable hands of my maker, I am not afraid.

public/private/public/private

Some recent discussions in our town have highlighted the strategic importance of public and private partnerships. The potential result (after the hard work of collaboration) can be synergistic, meaning, the combined effect can be greater than the sum of the agencies involved. That’s creativity. And I’m reminded of something I witnessed this summer from another place and time that exhibited just this.

Barcelona’s National Museum of Catalonia has a collection of Romanesque murals that is unmatched by any museum in the world! Room after room gives one almost a time-machine opportunity to enter spaces that were situated in humble towns in the Pyrenees Mountains of Eastern Spain. These murals and sculptural pieces were then carefully removed to be preserved in the museum (imagine the public and private involvement to carry that feat out). Arranged in chronological (therefore stylistic) order, the spaces reveal the emerging imagery from small churches of the medieval period (11^th-13^thcenturies). What’s available then is a visualization of homegrown private conviction which was developed then displayed for public engagement. What was once internal became publically shared and what was then public becomes privately better understood. And this then down thru centuries for others to consider. Past into present. Imagine that ripple effect.

Here is a wooden altar panel I especially loved for its graphic punch, simplicity, and pattern. It’s a typical example of Byzantine flatness. Yet the abstraction of forms were rendered with human differentiation and quirkiness. The viewer of the time would have been able to relate. And the viewer now is carried into another world’s way of seeing, even if just catching a glimpse. What was private conviction of the artist became embedded in his public context, what simmered inwardly became visible for others to be able to look and see.

Here is an excerpted contemporary example (from a long but wonderful poem) I just came across from our own time. A. Underwood wrote “A Weight on Each Shoulder” after listening/learning/being in a church space in NYC:

It’s been veiled in plain sight
Big as all of our stories
Deep as mankind’s full plight
And as high as its glories

It’s the “veiled in plain sight” out-calling that keeps me looking/listening/working.

to strike, then to speak

The journey of Moses leading the Hebrews out of slavery and into the land has informed some recent visual work. There’s a curious episode with water coming out of a rock that strangely happens twice: once at the beginning of their sojourn and then again right before they enter the land promised them. Both times the people are thirsty and near riotous. Both times God gives Moses instruction. Both times Moses needs to take action. But the action the first time is to strike the rock and the second time Moses is only to speak to it. It’s a fascinating repeat with an important distinction.

Patterns and parallels catch attention. When something repeats, be it sound or sight, there’s a resonance of some sort. There’s potential being built. We’re hardwired, I think, to be alerted when there’s a repeat. Curiosity gets engaged—something intentional seems to be happening. When a strange chirp repeats I know it’s more than random, so I go looking for it. When the 2^nd plane hit the towers, there was universal recognition that we were no longer dealing with accident. I watched that 2^nd plane hit, and was startled at how instantly that repeat was a game changer of terrifying consequence. Everyone who saw that knew instinctively.

I was in a workshop this past week with an artist who’s done a lot of reading about how our brains perceive and then recognize. He posited that we’re all visual learners; we all take in data and start making connections. But it’s in the investigating where real learning gets sealed in our memory. And that takes some time and consideration.

So back to Moses, why was he tasked to strike the first time but only speak the second? For me this parallel of two rock stories is really pregnant, there’s more here. Moses had learned about striking. And by the end of the long wilderness journey he was oh-so ready to strike again. Why twice this rock thing then at these completely different times/locations? There’s nothing particularly distinguishable about the rocks in either episode. What is God teaching here in the narrative? It’s not random. There’s much that is not explained in the text, but some particulars are very clear. Needed water came out of rock both times and the people were sated. God gave words, both times. But Moses failed miserably at the 2^nd rock because he applied an old instruction to the parallel. At the repeat episode, he was only to speak to the rock. Most find this biblical episode harsh, as if we gift-receivers have any high ground for critiquing the gift-giver. But God poured out that gift of water—both times, in spite of Moses’ fail. I am wondering if the parallel isn’t more deeply meaningful than our memories can yet gather in.

Moses personally addresses God later as “The Rock!” and he does so with overflowing praise at God’s perfection in all His ways. Moses had learned these ways of God, even through severe disappointment. I am not a good listener, so this story stills me. I am an activist who gets angry easily, therefore my empathy for Moses is pretty deep. But deeper still is the provision from the water giver, unseen but present within each of these common rocks. The first time the rock was to be struck. The second time: only spoken to.

deception (Lord, I feel it)

It was time to paint the walls of my husband’s office. And knowing that the color I had hand-adjusted for our other rooms was a winner, and that we still had a good amount left in the 5 gal. container, we set out to use it. Whew, it did not work in there! He has one window in that small room, and the lighting is completely different. My wonderful color looked dark and morose in a different placement. So, back to Lowes we went. Color is a fickle thing. It is entirely dependent on context.

The mid 20^th century Bauhaus instructor Joseph Albers was a master at helping his art students understand this. Using color chips and simple exercises, like “make five colors into six”, they learned the relativity of color. “In order to use color effectively, it is necessary to recognize that color deceives continually”, Albers said. Here is one exercise exampled. The brown squares are the same exact hue, but the reading of each is influenced by its surrounding colors. A dark context makes the center color lighter, a cool context makes the center color warmer and vice versa.

This relativity, this prone-ness to deception, is of interest in the time we’re in as a culture. Have you been in conversations with those who see things entirely differently than you do? It’s remarkable to me how a news story is interpreted so conversely by two folks with some of the same information. Context will determine whether the ‘facts’ being presented are orange or dark brown. I say, examine closely. Look at the context. Do some experimenting. Ask questions. You can stand and insist that orange is orange, but you could be easily wrong. Be sure about what is sure, and aware of what simply morphs. Be a humble sounding board, willing to test and to explore the assumptions being bantered and felt as ‘true’.

Deception is in the air. It’s good to do some work on this. Go back to the elementals. Albers’ students learned well because they were forced to wrestle with it. What is ‘color’ (changeable) and what is ‘fact’ (stable). What is surface charm and what is structure? What is emotion, and what is reliable here? What stands the tests of time, and what is a passing dew on the grass?

Mary Barton Nees

Conceptual Landscape