Category Archives: hope

Time and Treasure

Some things come home in your soul. Some things stick, like a stake in the ground that determines a trajectory towards the ultimate. Some of these things are surprising, difficult, even unasked for and therefore all the truer. How does any one of us even know what is really true? What will last that is significant? I have some musings today, which support why I made this piece some years ago on old brown paper using gesso, graphite and pastel. The making of this didn’t take me long, you can see the fast fat brush stroking. But the thinking that prompted this image has been lifelong.

There are universals we all wrestle with: like suffering, choices, the struggle in relationships, the reality of how things fall apart, and the passage of time. When I was young, I used to wonder why things fell apart so easily, it really bothered me. Then in a High School physics class I learned there was actually a thermodynamic law over natural things: the organic systems in our lives: micro and macro are all winding down to randomness. Strangely this gave some comfort knowing this was admitted in science. The thermodynamic law didn’t offer any solution — at that point maybe I didn’t even expect solution — I was just glad there was some reason for what I was observing.

Now I am decades older. I have come to value time for what it offers any one of us while we still have it. Like gravity, time holds us here and allows the opportunity to reflect on things that are bigger than our words or our boundaries. And there are many musers through time who have also recorded their ideas on what is lastingly true. What is over the hill from randomness? And how we can approach that with some integrity?

A 2nd century theologian named Irenaeus posited that objective truth could be known through the attestation or the witness of several distinguishers:

Real things, on the ground that we can see and test and touch (not just imagined nor manipulated) are markers. Real things are the basis for reasoning and how we can make decisions, rationally grounded.
Then there are things we cannot touch, shared transcendent concerns which are universal, beyond culture and subjectivities. All humans, no matter where living or when living feel fears and longings. These make our hearts beat faster and they can direct decisions too. But unseen things need careful evaluation. ‘What’s the cause, where is this going, what is sure, what can I do now…?’ If we’re alert, we know there’s more than just what is materiel and touchable, we just know little about how to resolve these bigger unseen concerns well.
And then there’s things that line up in time. Evidences that direct solidly from the seen to the unseen. One needs the courage or the urgent curiosity to follow the leads. This involves direct engagement with the world but also with the bigger questions that the world can evidence.

Irenaeus said that objective truth enfolds individual subjectivites through the witness of love in time and through time. He began where it all begins in John’s gospel chapter one.

Basically the Creator who made all matter’s systems entered within it all! He came into a certain period of time and pierced it. He took on flesh and in dying He died for all of us. For those who listened to the Hebrew prophets earlier, not all was clear, much was surprising, but then specifics precisely lined up. For those who look back in time to that event, and are alert, can see evidence which is historically incontrovertible in time, on the ground, though still so surprising. He pierced time and lived in time.

He was as fragile as a bird’s nest on purpose, so that He could offer with His own sacrifice of blood what we could never do. We know about flesh and blood and time and cruelty. We don’t know how to break out of it. He did. This was the ultimate intervention into and out of randomness. And what He did in abject love is everlastingly sufficient. This was the stake in our ground. It can be ours simply for the apprehending of it. This is where courage comes in and turns the tables. This is where the unseen things get answered.

This large gesture drawing hangs currently in the lobby at Medical Care in Elizabethton, TN.

Reflection on a Muddy Road

Well, I just counted, and I have 555 photos I took in one short week, early March, during a teaching stint in Kenya. I have a visual collection of everything from students’ gorgeous smiles to interesting meals and village life, from handmade teaching visuals to the amazing fabrics the women wore. We saw Lake Victoria, the beautiful verdant tea highlands, the precarious motorcycle loads, the children walking to school in their differently colored uniforms in every town, the famous Tenwek hospital grounds, the Zebra patterns, and the contours in the vast Rift valley. But one photo of one moment is my very favorite. I attempted to replicate it here just last week; and let me explain why this moved me to get the paints and brushes out.

This is a simple reflection on a muddy road, late afternoon, close to Maasai land. We were in a big jeep which could handle the terrain. Exotic animals could turn up anywhere and it was an adventure at this point which is part of the feel, and then the contrast with this sudden, common, quiet beauty laid out before us on the road. Often, I can’t get my iPhone out fast enough when I see the moment, and yes there were better glimpses than what I finally could catch. Maybe that is why I wanted to try to memorialize the vision in paint.

Poet and Anglican priest Malcolm Guite asked in a lecture “what is the relationship between the knowable and the known?” I think he was musing on those things which are simple in front of us, made of matter which easily we understand — and also what these things can point to?

Maybe my own moment represented something known which I tried to semblance in paint. On a 10×8 paper panel, this is a reminder of a deeper thrust into my heart; possibly close to what Moses saw: an ordinary bush, burning in a known desert, yet the “bush was not consumed”.

Philosopher Owen Barfield asked about these things we tag, (and maybe too easily dismiss) by calling them metaphors. He said metaphors may well be more than just stand-ins for a presumptive idea. He asked, (considering bigger and more real things) “Is it really there?”. He said this was the first question and called these things we see “figurations”. He posited that poignant figurations were important. He also called them “forgetives” which was an old Shakespearian word, derived from the word “forge” describing something which has quick, forged and imaginative power. These forged impressions he said can be “the material manifestation of an immaterial unity”.

I am quite confident that immaterial reality shows up in unique moments because Solomon spoke of this which is knit deep in every human heart. We just need to be on the lookout. And so for me, on a muddy road with some wet ditches there was a bringing down of the sky’s brilliance. Vastness came to visit and laid down right before us into the dirt. It was beautifully striking, and for me a vivid picture of how God comes into our commonality. He is Light after all. But the Messiah who entered in, didn’t stay here on the ground. After doing His glorious visitation, and He left me a sign as an open door for response.

In the 19th c. Emily Dickinson selected words, in three separate fragments which catches this for me. I think she too was onto something.

“If I’m lost – now
That I was found –
Shall still my transport be –
That once – on me –those Jasper Gates
Blazed open –suddenly — (#256a)

“A transport one cannot contain
May yet a transport be –
Though God forbid it lift the lid –
Unto its Ecstasy! (#184a)

Oh Sumptuous moment
Slower go
That I may gloat on thee –
T’will never be the same to starve
Now I abundance see – (#1125a*)

*Dickinson’s excerpts are from Johnson’s Chronolgy

the bride who is waiting…

On exhibit currently at the Blue Spiral Gallery in Asheville, NC is the work of a Spanish painter, Rafel Bestard. If you are local, I highly suggest visiting or at least looking at his work and reading his statement. He is a philosopher painter and I don’t believe necessarily a Christian one. However, his work is touching on themes that I find deeply arresting and pertinent. Look into him and see what you think.

He is dealing with perception, with willful blindness as well as with truly seeing in different ways. In his own words: “My work explores the relationship between fusion and fundamental opposites: Light and Shadow, Love and Death, through a painting technique in which the tradition of the old masters, through influences as diverse as Bachelard philosophy and Kobayashi films, brings forth new representations of eternal concerns.”

Eternal Concerns! And I was moved by what he was articulating on canvas right away.

An art critic said, “the beauty that emerges from Bestard’s paintings is always disturbing.”

What I highlight here is what the artist titled “What is Present”. I can’t claim any knowledge of the artist’s own intentions here with this piece, or with his chosen title, but I know how this painting moves me!

With expert paint handling and rendering of feminine form, the artist confronts us with a beauty behind a veil. She seems to be lifting away the veil in the present, though her face is dark and moody. She is not looking upward, but the light source reflected on her gown, her hand and fingertips is directly above her. I choose to think of her as a bride, though the artist may just be rendering a woman in a negligee. She is placed in a narrow interior, a tightly gabled enclosure with no evident light source.

My most recent post is how time seems to be escalating. Here an artist is depicting What is Present. He, unbeknownst to him, is rendering my own present as if I were standing outside myself and looking at my position.

Here is why this so informs me. Jesus spoke of returning for His bride. He was specifically symbolic about this event referencing Galilean wedding custom with His disciples on His last night with them. He made them a promise. And earlier that week, when they had directly asked Him ‘when’ he spoke of virgins who needed to wait for their bridegroom. He suggested through parable (and with literal words just earlier) that the waiting would be difficult. But He was also clear that the return would be finally surprising, in their real present, and consequential. I suggest you look into that too.

I would love to speak with this artist. He may have been in the room when I was there at the opening and I didn’t know it. I expect my interpretations may have been foreign if we had had the chance to speak. But what I believe he is addressing is cosmic.

escalations

Recently I emailed a friend about something on which I needed a follow up. We’d both gotten kind of rusty on the task at hand and she said in reply “it’s been a minute”. I laughed understanding her for it had been several months — not minutes. But we use this phrase and everybody gets it, for it feels like time is speeding up. Months are minutes, and minutes sometimes are packed with consequence. The word “moment” is another current word used. I see it in artist’s statements sometimes, it sounds trendy and alert to say “in this moment” as if what we’re sensing will soon rev right on by. Eras and epochs are out, they are no longer spoken of. Moments and minutes are in. Is your head spinning?

The piece I’m showing therefore is one which speaks to this idea of time’s slow-to-fast accelerations. Holding layers and a quick emergence of moment, there’s a lot hidden in the symbolism. This is a very small oil impression from a trip I took to Israel. In Caesarea by the sea we walked thru the impressive physical remains of a large Roman port. After the Romans disappeared, the Crusaders built their own stone structures. Their era is long gone as well. Alongside one of the paths under that Mediterranean sun was a small fig tree. It had fruit on it soon to emerge for the picking. It was alive. One part of a leaf caught the light and enchanted me midst the bramble of greens and browns. The stone path is suggested just slightly on the left. The energy of the moment was felt in the chaos of all that has been laid down and fought over on that very ground, including the choice of red behind the blooming bits. But my focus was on what is emerging. That’s what captivated me and still does. There is history here but there is also so much significant promise yet to be seen. It’s coming. It’s weighty. And it feels to me that we are in an escalating moment toward what the Hebrew prophets spoke so repeatedly of.

The fig tree was important in ancient Israel, not only for sweet sustenance, but also as a sign for when the nation itself would flourish or instead be in regression. There are two yearly harvests of figs with the later harvest being much richer. There is promise even in that reality. But in times of terror, the fruit withers and dies in the trauma. That has happened repeatedly in the past and it will happen again more consequentially in the future. But that future is not the promised end.

I had a rich conversation with one of my grandsons this past week. He’s on a campus where there is all the same clamor you’re hearing about. He was thoughtful about it, so I spoke of what the building take-overs were like when I was a student. How I was involved and what emerged as a result. There were boisterous chants then too, same rhythm different words. How robotic? Are we just in some kind of cyclical reiteration or are we heading somewhere? A French Philosopher observing human cycles said “the more things change the more they stay the same”. That’s similar to what Solomon said 3000 epoch’s earlier: ‘there’s nothing new under the sun’ it’s all been seen before. There is some comfort in the wisdom there. But after my conversation with my grand I thought about the revving speed of the cycles. In 1969 no one was shouting death to the nation they were standing in from our campus; and no one was taking down the national flag and replacing it with something else. We’re witnessing immolation, litterally and figuratively. We are in a different moment now. In our time the protests were about ending a war or adding a certain studies programs to the curriculum. In this present iteration there is a more consequential binary being shouted: choosing life or choosing death.

What makes the news headlines however, is missing the real story (and that was true then too). For many are quietly observing, grappling with the import, and thinking for themselves. Others will just follow the crowd, for wide is that way and easier for them (in the moment).

But where I return my heart (often) is that the Grand Maker of light and figs and tastebuds supervises times and histories. He still allows the glimpse of sunlight on a leaf and the emergence of life for the hungry. He comforted the weary, saying with otherworldly authority “blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be satisfied.” And when a soul can grasp the depth of that: His promise — it only takes a nanosecond.

‘next level’

There is a phrase that I’ve heard bandied about so much that it has made me cringe, like nails on chalkboard. You’ve heard it often also “let’s bring this up to the next level” as if everything that went before was value-less. As if we must drag ourselves up to a new version before we can be effective. Especially irritating has this verbiage been for me when I’ve heard a Pastor say this, using the parlance of modern promotion to sell an idea. It’s an inside joke in our house now. ‘Next level’ stuff feels like sleight of hand.

Why? because all that went before has intrinsic value. And it not only remains but is the source for what follows. Authentic growth comes from somewhere real and is not dragged or pushed but rather emerges with the remnants of history incorporated into it.

It was interesting therefore for me to hear a British artist I follow on Instagram say something similar this week. I guess in Britain the catch phrase for jump starting improvement is “leveling up”. It’s the same promotional idea. Cringeworthy. And this artist counters that instead of this expectation that we all must be lurching forward with giant steps, rather she allows a gentler recognition of stages and growth in our work.

I therefore am happy to post this painting, accomplished this week in a matter of hours. It surprised me. It is not “next level” but rather evidence in paint of where I’ve been practicing and hoping to go. The lights and darks stand out and relate in interesting ways. I was able to keep to a simplicity of composition without messing it with fussiness. That and gestural suggestion are what I’ve long hoped to achieve. I used enough paint. I took my time mixing up the values I selected to form the space. And the color holds interest. It expresses the warms and the cools which were so beautiful on a Fall hike recently. I caught something here in the rendering of a remembered day that makes me smile with hope. It’s like I could die tomorrow and be satisfied. No levels needed.

It’s the season of Christmas and Mary’s humble song has been rolling through my mind too. She identifies her lowly position while her relationship with the Most High is what gives her reason to exult. She references all that has been laid down before, she incorporates past words and present pressures into an exclamation of future surety. This was not promotion, this was praise. This was confident expectation spoken from the young private voice of a peasant woman. Cosmic consequence would emerge gently, slowly, and then the whole world would be adjusting to the import. First a seed, then a bud, then full bloom, then a multiplied harvest. This is the way the Creator works. He takes time. He uses all that has already been laid down. Then He surprises. It’s all a piece. How fortunate that through her words , recorded so carefully, we get a glimpse of how glory comes.

face to Face, or shadow for Substance

Wrestling with God — whether with words, with images, even physically is not a new thing. Jacob could be the archetype for this struggle on the ground. And though that man in the biblical account was scrappy, even brash, in the end he was commended! God, who knows the heart and the end game, sure sees things differently than we do. And He says so in many ways.

So, I could stop right here, humbled by this all.

But I can’t stop here; for I am compelled to keep-on in this greatest of quests: how to tangibly represent with physical materials the wonder of God Himself? On the ground, with what I am and have: my skills are simple, but my aim is not.

I recently came off an amazing opportunity to consider and to process in my own work what the most lasting thinkers, artisans and theologians (through the last 2500 years) have had to say about the efficacy of making images which might communicate that which is ultimately ineffable. There is rich history in this vein, littered with hard fought integrity, with evident brilliance along with tragedies and personal failings all along the way.

The early church, adorning their house-church walls and burial places, began with symbols to signify their convictions. Clement of Alexandria (just one generation later than the image packed book of Revelation) cautioned that makers of images would only provoke false worship. Tertullian countered “We know that truth is apprehended by means of visible images, that is, the invisible through the visible. For, St. Paul tells us: ‘The invisible attributes of God from the Creation of the world are understood from the things that are made.’”

The centuries that followed continued this debate about how or whether to represent God through materials that others could view.

Clement’s concern about the dangers inherent in image making was not new either. Plato (six centuries earlier) said similar. And often for religious folk, whether Hebrew, Muslim or Christian the 2^nd commandment’s statement against images, signaled that any physical representation, at any time must be a non-starter. But a careful look at Scripture recognizes that it is full of imagery from the poets to the prophets. And God Himself directed specific imagery with the fiery serpent set on a standard and the fibers and ornaments in the tabernacle. A thoughtful look at God’s 1^st commandment lays forward God’s primal concern as delivered to Moses in physical stone: “You shall have no other gods before me”. In other words, it is not the thing, or any other thing that should be placed in front of, or in place of direct interaction with this personal God who speaks.

He wants our attention: our mind and soul, not our made stuff. Made stuff can function as decoys from really facing Him alone in the heart. How can I say this with such assurance? Here’s how: it was centrally Moses and God’s interaction, not the inscribed stone that ignited the relationship. “Thus the Lord used to speak to Moses face to face, just as a man speaks to his friend.” Think about this remarkable description. This is what the heart of God is after: yours.

For Jacob too, he was given a dream vision as a much younger man, before his wrestling match with the One who eventually blessed him. In his dream, Jacob saw an image of an active and mysterious ladder. If images were hazardous, then a good God would not have used one to prompt this troubled man. Yet the God behind that dream sustained Jacob’s courage through this encounter.

Fast forward 3200 years from Jacob, when another troubled young man faced a simple wooden Byzantine cross. With his heart and soul ignited, Francis of Assisi heard the voice of God right there (though others did not) and he thus moved forward into the task God gave him. Francis’ life, Moses’ life, Jacob’s life all evidenced a significant interaction with their Creator that can’t be explained apart from a face-to-face encounter. Physical things were involved in all these interactions, but it was the direct initiative from a communicating God that changed their lives from the physical to the eternal.

The New Testament writer to the Hebrews spoke about physical things on earth being only prompts or “shadows” “of the good things to come, and not the very form of things”. We know about shadows. They signify that a substance is near or behind in ways we can grasp. Shadows help frame and then point to the Light.

Gregory of Nyssa (4^th century) said “each individual needs his own eyes to see the beauty of the true and the intelligible light. The one who does see it through some divine gift and unexplainable inspiration is astonished in the depths of his consciousness; the one who cannot see will not realize what he has missed. For how can anyone confront him with the very good he has run away from?”

Oh my friend, This maker of light is still shining and communicating if you are hungry for a face to face.

I call this inked monotype, “Shadow for Substance”. I was in a dark wooded area near a low wall, with a vista beyond and delightful brights on certain planes and through the trees. The shadows were strong but the light dancing through was absolutely enchanting. In a few moments, I tried to capture the edges and shapes of this in sketch and then later with ink. I don’t know if this black and white translates to anyone else, but I know it does to me; for I sensed His presence in this physical place.

night soundings

This monotype started out with a bit of a plan but lots more panache. I mixed up a pile of dark blue-black ink. Then I took my largest plexi plate and rolled a solid sky over most of it with a large brayer. I was thinking night sky and of the phrase “night to night reveals knowledge” from Psalm 19. I next chose to set some context. So I mixed up some dark earthen brown and more thickly laid that down on the bottom fourth of the plate. Marking into that brown base with a scribe, I suggested some distance with hill lines.

Then I cut a paper stencil to cover that brown section and prepared a fine mist sprayer of mineral spirits. This is where you hold your breath, for I could have ruined the whole with too much spray. The experiment held promise as I removed the stencil, held the plate vertical for a few moments to let the mineral spirits break into the ink by gravity.

Lastly, I lifted the plate up to the light over my head, looking through it to see if the ink layers had balance and enough interesting mystery on the top part. The cool thing about monotypes is that you are working with less control than direct painting. What you’ve worked up on the plate gets pressed onto paper under a huge roller on an etching bed. Magic or mess is what you see once the cranking of the press is done squeezing the ink you laid down. The paper is then finally freed to release off that painted piece of plastic. The paper is the recipient of all this process. And you as the artist get to see what happened in the pressure which had been applied on top of your marks.

Voila or…hmmmm: try again. In this case I had a keeper, and this painting on paper hangs in my home, not for sale.

This scene references a vivid memory I had when I was about 18, sitting on a log in Canada and peering up into the deep night sky. No one sitting around the campfire was speaking. I had no prior information about God which was at all meaningful, so I was not prepared with any assumptions or pre-conditioning. I just looked up silently at the dark vastness sprinkled with an array of stars. Soon, unbidden, I was covered with awe. The depth of sparkling bodies suspended way above me in the heavens was beyond beautiful. It was calling me in some kind of gentle way to awaken to what seemed suddenly obvious (!) that there was a Creator who was way beyond what I knew sitting there on the earth. I said nothing to anybody, but my heart gained something important that night.

The Psalmist says that this is the way God speaks, through what He has made. And He does this without words. He does this mercifully, continually; and He does this all throughout the earth in every generation. The sound waves are ever present, just aiming for receptors. “He who has ears , let him hear” It’s an invitation. It is done for us.

As I surveyed my monotype creation, the day it came off the etching press some 40 years after my night sky epiphany, I remembered how that 18 year old vision had awakened me. But then with this new image on my paper, I also wondered if what showed up through the mineral spirited forms in front of me was also a closing!

It’s as if human bodies are being lifted up in my painted version; multitudes joining the resurrection. This is in fact a promise for awakened believers, that the graves will one day release them just like the paper I pulled off my plate. Jesus who was raised from death right after Passover became the first fruits of a greater gathering to come. Hallelujah! Something’s coming that is far far greater than I know here on earth, and I am longing for His sudden appearing.

Taking Root

Last week I poured out onto my palm some lettuce seeds from a little packet, then after that arugula seed, kale, then radish and spinach seeds. I marveled at how unique these tiny kernels were. Each kind so different from the next package I opened.

The kale seeds were dark pinpoints, the radish little weightless white balls, and the spinach had an irregular oddness which looked nothing like what it will become according to the package picture. I carefully planned where each should root. I had prepared the soil; but I was sort of dreaming as I am not much of a gardener. This is an act of faith really for anyone — you sprinkle them in the dirt and then you wait. How do such tiny things hold so much promise, it’s almost like magic! Now, only a week later I am seeing a couple of these varieties coming up! This is a top view of the Kale I started. (woops correction this is the arugula)

The monotype which I highlight here and above relates; it is more a side view, a top to bottom slice of this same encouraging wonder: this miracle that tiny seedlings represent as they take root in mud. Pictured here is a core sample of growing things layered in the earth. Small, barely seen bits hold little weight in the world’s economy of measure, are easily dismissed, yet can have a direct relationship to big results. Full plants have not yet become visible above these fragile roots in my section depiction. But there’s a lot of atmospheric movement happening here. There’s a dynamic reality between fragility and surety, between heaven and earth, between night and day, between earth wind water and seedling, between start and fullness, between prayer and answer. Guaranteed and all of it is witness to promise.

Not only because it is Spring now, but because real hope is always possible with the Creator of the sun, the cosmos and the earth that I post this. Even and maybe especially as there is so much turmoil on the earth: wars and lies, boastings, bombings and intrigue abound, making urgent headlines. However also every day there is growth happening, and I am seeing evidence of it. There are surprising awakenings happening, healings, repentances and gatherings of goods going to those suffering, courage standing against the lies, rescues and comfort. I celebrate these things, am giving these things my attention. And I invite you to look around. The Maker of every soul and every seed is good, and He is uniquely at work.

One of the very last Hebrew prophets, Zechariah (paralleling many signs which culminate in Revelation) assured the same, saying “Who has despised the day of small things?” for “the eyes of the Lord range to and fro throughout the earth” over all that He has made. Join Him in the planting and the waiting.

“Veil” and looking through

Some things are too hard to see face to face.

This past week I’ve viewed numerous video clips trying to grasp the damage from the earthquakes in the Northeastern corner of the Mediterranean.

One clip haunts me still. With loud noises in the sudden collapse of a huge city structure, crowds start running and shouting, while one man just walks normally away, his back to the chaos as if a stoic. The man barely turns around to see. I’ve watched this several times. He does not visibly flinch. He is impassive, determinedly so, as if the reality across the street from him should not affect him. Surely he heard, smelled and felt the same thing upsetting those all around him?

What goes on in the mind and in the heart when hard things come down?

How would I respond? How would you? Is this why some people pay to go to horror movies so they can peer into the frightfully inexplicable? Is this one way to vicariously prepare from a safe seat? But that man in the middle of horror walked away as if nothing would deter his intention for the day… I don’t know anything about him truly from the seconds I viewed, but to me his manner was disturbing. His determination seemed a façade against reality.

We are peculiar creatures in trauma. And part of this I think is because we simply are not equipped to handle things which are way too big for mortals. We block or we freak. We all have self-protective tendencies, and we are living in increasing trauma. Some try to prepare, some dig in madly and some just try to walk away. Ok, people are different. But what if the issue at stake is a matter of critical importance? Would you know it? Would you want to know when what is happening around you is revealing matters of life or death? Do you have the courage now to investigate how in the world you might be able to face God safely, His face-to-your-face, no matter what?

This monotype is about that, about peering determinedly through the frightening chaos. It is simple but sure. This piece was done some years before the current global disruptions, but nevertheless anticipating them from my own already hard-won experience with personal trauma. This is a monotype (a painting on plexi which was then pulled through a press for a reverse transfer onto paper). It turned out! (You never know until you do it) and so I included this image in my Master of Fine Arts show. The disintegration in the foreground is what sets that back plane up. That’s important. In other words, the ripping apart in the front plane is why the back plane even becomes visible. The texture of the foreground was planned to look fragile, ethereal and even torn. I used inks which reticulated once I applied solvent on the plexi.

The background by contrast is a solid mass, stable, and to me a symbol of weighty timelessness. In a simple graphic I was aiming to suggest big things: about all that is temporally falling apart (the veil) and what is solidly available behind the immediate despair.

This all was hinted in my title. Veils cover things. Veils also protect things. They are put up in rooms or over faces to conceal for a time. They can be beautiful in an anticipatory sort of way, even alluring, for they suggest that something valuable is behind what cannot yet be seen. With a veil one has a sense that the wait might reveal something good, for what’s visible in front of any veil is only partial, preparatory. When the veil is finally removed, we get to see the substance which had been shielded. There is hope potentially here, but one must want to keep looking.

This is a biblical idea. For example, after his encounters with God, Moses hid his face in front of the people with a veil. His veil provoked them. But when Moses spoke directly again to God, it was face to face, the veil was no longer needed as a barrier between God and His friend. A veil had been prescribed by God as a protective cover between the Holy of Holies and the priests of both the exodus tabernacle and then later the temple in Jerusalem. Veils were necessary to shield what was temporal from what was Holy.

But here’s the kicker (if you stayed with the struggle and did not walk away) when Jesus died having taken into His heart the sins of the world, the veil in the temple was ripped open. The substance of His torn body became eternally significant. He always called Himself the door, the only door through. Now we understand what He meant. To look at Him is to look eye to eye into the very face of a willing, forgiving, available God who is far better than any cover which obscured Him.

In trauma, the ripping away of what we relied on or called “normal” is terrifying. But when that disintegration exposes something far greater to consider, would you really want to walk away? Any determined seeker is promised that he will find.

Binding Up the Fracture

“Broken” is a trendy word

Which gives us all a pass

To roll like Pollyanna

While blinding through morass!

Who wants to face the music though?

Who wants to buck the throng?

But no matter what your view of things…

We all know something’s wrong.

It’s bigger than we bargained for

It’s deeper than we know

We may whistle in the darkness

But despair is all the show.

There’s tension here with no way out

–play dumb and numb the pain

Or –work your way: ascetic death

No confidence of gain.

I’ll hint a third way pictured.

What if breakthrough gently came?

Though most are blind or working hard,

He still offers all the same (His remedy insane)

It took gargantuan sacrifice.

The work completely done.

The reach from out our system:

A perfect sinless Son.

The clean One came to right us.

No other god could do,

Before we knew our greatest need.

He entered: faithful, True.

To pass on this though it’s shrouded

Is to miss the greatest tie:

That God for man has made the Way.

The rescued testify.

This I wonder, how can any atheist or agnostic explain why human life has any value, even as they may want to hope so? And why is hope even a word, a human instinct, if it all does not matter? There’s tension here… but tension can surprise and birth beautiful things.

Ernest Becker, atheist and social-psychologist said “the plight of moderns is that they are sinners with no word for it” (The denial of Death, p.164)

The plight of God was to make a perfect way for sinners to be safe with Him. “The paradox of the cross is that it insists on highlighting our evil, in order to leave us with absolutely no doubt that whatever we have done, we can be forgiven.” (Becky Pippert, p.129 Stay Salt)

Image: monotype with muddy ink, 26×16″ by Mary Nees

Poem by Mary Nees

what Mary knew

it was a sudden intervention*
which startled her to fear
the words of hope familiar, longed for
but now through her God comes near

how could this be, she pondered —
She gathered all she knew
but came up short and so she asked,
her soul then given view.

a Holy golden seed was offered
though existing long ago,
Her permission yet was asked for, granted.
And wonder now would grow.

the daily changes subtle,
something within was true!
9 months with mercy mounting
she voiced out all she knew.

“Great things He’s able”, she rejoiced
“He brings down and lifts up”
She saw through corridors of time.
But more would be her cup.

the private becomes public
the darkness blind to light
the Caesar seems to be in charge
and delivery will be tonight.

sudden things — then slow things —
and pain at the pace of a mule,
but asking Him and waiting
would be her lifetime rule.

She couldn’t know, nor any
How grand His reach would grow
Or how long before fulfillment
of His promised final show

But what she did know kept her
Midst all that seemed undone
Midst all that pierced her heart in sorrow
This was God’s Holy son!

And then the One who turned the tables
Came back for every one
who granted, like Mary first, allowing —
then waiting, asking, holding the Holy One emplanted

* “intervention”= late 16th century (in the sense ‘come in as an extraneous factor or thing’; extraneous meaning ‘separate from the object to which it is attached’): from Latin intervenire, from inter-‘between’ + venire‘come’

Mary Barton Nees

Conceptual Landscape