Long Ago and Far Away

©A. Rutherford

Long ago and far away, but not a fairy tale.

Maundy Thursday, or Holy Thursday, in the Christian faith is a day to observe the last meal Jesus shared with his disciples.  It is a solemn day, a day lived out under the shadow of betrayal, a day for reflection and personal questioning.

 "When evening came, he sat down with his twelve disciples, and, while they were at table he said: “Believe me, one of you is to going to betray me.” 

They were full of sorrow, and began to say, one after another, “Lord, is it I?” He answered, “The man who has put his hand into the dish with me will betray me.” 

For the Son of Man goes on his way to die, as the scripture foretells of him; But how terrible it will be for the one who betrays him; better for that man if he had never been born."          Matthew 26:21-24

This scene in the Easter story has engaged the imagination of artists throughout the centuries, but the most famous painting of the event is that of Leonardo da Vinci.  However, his Last Supper is not the usual static tableau of figures frozen in time, but rather Leonardo has rendered each disciple caught up in the emotions of shock, anger, agitation, or fear.  Their gestures and expressions have reverberated through time, and one cannot look at the painting for long without being caught up in the question too—”Am I one of them, Lord?”

The Last Supper (ca. 1492/94–1498)

Leonardo's Last Supper, on the end wall of the refectory of Santa Maria delle Grazie in Milan, is one of the most renowned paintings of the High Renaissance. Recently restored, The Last Supper had already begun to flake during the artist's lifetime due to his failed attempt to paint on the walls in layers (not unlike the technique of tempera on panel), rather than in a true fresco technique.  Even in its current state, it is a masterpiece of dramatic narrative and subtle pictorial illusionism. 

Leonardo chose to capture the moment just after Christ tells his apostles that one of them will betray him, and at the institution of the Eucharist. The effect of his statement causes a visible response, in the form of a wave of emotion among the apostles. These reactions are quite specific to each apostle, expressing what Leonardo called the "motions of the mind." Despite the dramatic reaction of the apostles, Leonardo imposes a sense of order on the scene. Christ's head is at the center of the composition, framed by a halo-like architectural opening. His head is also the vanishing point toward which all lines of the perspectival projection of the architectural setting converge. The apostles are arranged around him in four groups of three united by their posture and gesture. Judas, who was traditionally placed on the opposite side of the table, is here set apart from the other apostles by his shadowed face. 

Source: Leonardo da Vinci (1452–1519) | Thematic Essay | Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History | The Metropolitan Museum of Art

The poet Rainer Maria Rilke upon seeing Leonardo da Vinci's Last Supper in Milan in 1904 was moved to write the following poem:

The Last Supper

They are assembled, astonished and disturbed

round him, who like a sage resolved his fate,

and now leaves those to whom he most belonged,

leaving and passing by them like a stranger.

The loneliness of old comes over him

which helped mature him for his deepest acts;

now will he once again walk through the olive grove,

and those who love him still will flee before his sight.

To this last supper he has summoned them,

and (like a shot that scatters birds from trees)

their hands draw back from reaching for the loaves

upon his word: they fly across to him;

they flutter, frightened, round the supper table

searching for an escape. But he is present

everywhere like an all-pervading twilight-hour. 

                                           _________________

While not a “last supper” poem, the following excerpt from a poem, “Rice,” by Mary Oliver makes a salient point.   She uses the metaphor of a rice field to make a powerful statement about what our response should be to the gift of risen Life.  Are we to be observers only, satisfied that our bellies are filled?

. . .

I don't want you to just sit at the table.

I don't want you just to eat, and be content.

I want you to walk into the fields

Where the water is shining, and the rice has risen.

I want you to stand there, far from the white tablecloth.

I want you to fill your hands with mud, like a blessing.

Yes,  something that happened long ago and far away . . .  but its meaning is just as relevant today.

"Like as Christ was raised up from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life." Romans 6:4b

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The Journey toward Renewal

primroses growing wild in Cornwall during the Lenten season, ©A.Rutherford

Ash Wednesday

I was not raised in a faith tradition that gave any attention to Lent, certainly not the tradition of giving something up for Lent.  Of course, I often heard people I knew who did observe the tradition speaking of giving up chocolate or Pepsi or some other treat they dearly loved and thought would be a sacrifice to do without for 40 days.  But that never appealed to me as I couldn’t make sense of the point of giving up such things.

I knew, of course, that the Lenten season begins with Ash Wednesday.  In fact, as a graduate student in English literature, I wrote a critical analysis of T.S. Eliot’s long poem, Ash Wednesday, which was the first poem he wrote after his conversion to Christianity.   Eliot, a recipient of the Nobel Prize for Literature,  is considered the most important English-language poet of the 20th century, but the theme of this particular poem rankled the secular intellectuals of his day, as might be expected.  However, after his coming to faith, Eliot was unapologetic about centering his subsequent work about the theme of redemption.  His genius was such, though, that it had to be recognized however much anyone might disagree with his Christian sentiments.

Ash Wednesday is the day the yearly journey begins toward the promise of Resurrection assured by Easter.

This year I have decided to take on the challenge of Lent, which is in essence a 40-day retreat, a time of renewal.  As I understand it, Ash Wednesday is the day you sort of take stock of your present position in your journey and face wherever you might be falling short.  Then with penitence and prayer, reading scripture and meditating, you enter more deeply into the process of renewal.  

An ancient tradition, to be sure, so what could it offer of benefit in the 21st century.   The culture around us is increasingly disorderly and clamors so for our attention, and its fast pace places demands upon us that often leave us unbalanced, and in this unbalanced state, our own individual lives easily become disordered.  So now more than ever, as individuals and as a society, we need the balancing and course correction which comes from a spiritual practice like Lent.   Self-denial is necessarily difficult, much more so than giving up treats, but more needed than ever.   We need a set-apart time when we look honestly at ourselves and determine what is impeding our physical, emotional, or spiritual progress in our journey.  However, the thing we should give up is the surrender of our Self in order to grow closer to the Divine Source.

With reflecting on Lent, I am set to thinking of a bit from Eliot’s poem:

Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden.

                                         -Ash Wednesday, by T.S.Eliot

The sad note here is the recognition that there are those that never make the journey, never enter the passage which leads to renewal, and thereby never open the door that leads to the garden blooming with new life.

This year as I observe Lent personally for the first time, I may not be wearing ashes on my forehead, but I will be wearing them on my heart. 

For each of us the journey is unique.  It is not a journey that we have to take.  Each of us must decide to set out on the journey.  No one else can take it for us, nor can they prescribe the route that we must take, as they cannot know precisely where we are.   That is a matter for the Holy Spirit.  Furthermore, we cannot take the journey for another, though we can offer each other support. 

The Journey 

One day you finally knew

what you had to do, and began,

though the voices around you

kept shouting

their bad advice --

though the whole house

began to tremble

and you felt the old tug

at your ankles.

"Mend my life!"

each voice cried.

But you didn't stop.

You knew what you had to do,

though the wind pried

with its stiff fingers

at the very foundations,

though their melancholy

was terrible.

It was already late

enough, and a wild night,

and the road full of fallen

branches and stones.

But little by little,

as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn

through the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice

which you slowly

recognized as your own,

that kept you company

as you strode deeper and deeper

into the world,

determined to do

the only thing you could do --

determined to save

the only life you could save. 

~ Mary Oliver ~

Joel 2:12-14

Yet even now, says the Lord,
Return to me with all your heart,
With fasting, with weeping, and with mourning;
Rend your hearts and not your clothing.
Return to the Lord, your God,
for he is gracious and merciful,
slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love,
and relents from punishing.
Who knows whether he will not turn and relent,
and leave a blessing behind him,
a grain-offering and a drink-offering
for the Lord, your God?

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Sabbath Thoughts: The Practice of Joy

©Greg Ferrell

             
                "If you keep a green bough in your heart, a singing bird will come."

Bad news!

There is much to cause despair in the world around us, whether it is a result of some human tragedy, the decline in the culture of our modern times, or some other such dire cause.  Most of us live out our lives affected to one degree or another by fragmentation or pain, either ours or that of loved ones.

Living in the “real” world is tough.

How do we lift our hearts above the surrounding circumstances?  How do we find the cloudless night beyond the tempest, the calm beneath the turbulence of the sea? 

In Galatians 5, within a context that could easily describe much of what we face in modern life, we are offered the possibility of a different prospect— that we could bear in our lives the fruits of the Spirit in spite of anything going on around us.  The first two promised gifts are Love and Joy, but upon reflection we can see that whether or not we are able to experience those two is more often than not dependent on the presence or absence of the other seven, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.  Oh, but these remaining ones look more like disciplines to be practiced rather than wonderful gifts or fruits which are easily plucked from the tree.   And we know how hard it is to discipline ourselves. 

The poet Mary Oliver in the quote below describes the mixed bag of our situation.  But if you reflect a bit, somewhere in her words you will find a key.  

“If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate.  Give in to it.  There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be.   We are not wise, and not very often kind.   And much can never be redeemed.   Still, life has some possibility left.  Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world.   It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins.   Anyway, that’s often the case.  Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty.  Joy is not made to be a crumb.” ~Mary Oliver

What tip is she offering us?  Where is the place to start?

Perhaps we begin by understanding that Joy is not “made to be a crumb,” not a mere emotion to transport us temporarily above our circumstances.  Joy too is a discipline to be practiced, and from that disciplined practice will arise a transcendence, a lifting of our hearts in spite of anything we might be going through.  And I believe that there is a profound reason that the first fruit listed is Love.  You don’t work your way through the other fruits of the Spirit to arrive at Love as the grand prize . . . no, you are able to bear the other fruits in your life because you begin with acts of Love.  Acting in love leads to Joy, whether anything else is going entirely right for you at the moment.  

And the “good news” is the promise is that the Joy of the Lord is your strength” (Neh. 8:10), the strength you will need to practice peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control, all of which work together to change circumstances and offer hope.  

Let me remind you of a story you may know, one told by Mother Teresa who had taken food to a Hindu family that had not had anything to eat for days.  She had only a small amount of rice to give them, but she was surprised by what the mother did.  She divided the rice equally and took half to a Moslem family living next door.  When Mother Teresa asked her why, knowing that the mother wouldn’t have any left for her own family for the next day, the mother explained, “But they haven’t had any food for days either!”  An act of love on the part of Mother Teresa begat an act of love on the part of the Hindu mother . . . and can you imagine the Joy in the hearts of both that mother who gave and the Moslem mother who received?  And for a moment, they transcended suffering, through the giving and sharing of Love.  

“. . . Weeping may tarry for the night,
but joy comes with the morning.”  -Psalm 30:5

“Your words were found, and I ate them,
and your words became to me a joy
and the delight of my heart,
for I am called by your name,
O Lord, God of hosts.”   -Jeremiah 15:16

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Sabbath Thought: Stillness

watercolor from a photo taken on Silent Lake, Ontario ©A.Rutherford  

"Be still and know that I am God."  Psalm 46:10

It's Sunday . . . the Sabbath.  I've been thinking about the whole concept of Sabbath, perhaps because I have been taking a sort of sabbatical with my life.

Worth thinking about the way God ordered the time of our lives . . . to have a "set apart" time of rest and re-creation every seventh day.  I'm sure the benefits were to be spiritual as well as physical, yet the sad story is that more often than not our Sundays are as frantic as our weekdays.  We have substituted the modern concept of "leisure" for true physical and spiritual rest, and re-creation has become recreation, which we pursue so actively.     Hmmm . . .  so much was lost when that little hyphen is dropped, not the least of which is a natural rhythm to our days, a measured way of experiencing our lives like the ebb and a flow of the tide,  or a turning round and round of our time rather like a dance.  

"Be still . . ."   Stillness is a special sort of silence . . . an attentive silence not merely the absence of sound.

O'Donohue in his book on Beauty says:

      "Stillness is the canvas against which movement 

       can become beautiful.  We can only appreciate 

       movement against the background of stillness.  

       Were everything kinetic, we could not know 

       what movement is.  As sound is sistered to 

       silence, movement is sistered to stillness.

Maybe that's why we fail to see the movement of God in our lives.  We are rarely truly still.  Maybe that's why we too often fail to see and truly experience each other at our depths, the kind of depth it takes to have real relationship.

‘“This is what the Sovereign Lord, the Holy One of Israel, says: ‘Only in returning to me and resting in me will you be saved. In quietness and confidence is your strength. But you would have none of it.’”  Isaiah 30:15

“The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still."  Exodus 13:14

Praying

It doesn’t have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch

a few words together and don’t try
to make them elaborate, this isn’t
a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.

                      -Mary Oliver

I suppose the “blue Iris” is the symbol or metaphor for perfection.  It doesn’t have to be the “blue iris” to deserve your attention.  The prayer doesn’t have to be perfect . . . sometimes you only need to “be still.”

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Taking Wing

Starlings in Winter

Chunky and noisy,
but with stars in their black feathers,
they spring from the telephone wire
and instantly

they are acrobats
in the freezing wind.
And now, in the theater of air,
they swing over buildings,

dipping and rising;
they float like one stippled star
that opens,
becomes for a moment fragmented,

then closes again;
and you watch
and you try
but you simply can’t imagine

how they do it
with no articulated instruction, no pause,
only the silent confirmation
that they are this notable thing,

this wheel of many parts, that can rise and spin
over and over again,
full of gorgeous life.

Ah, world, what lessons you prepare for us,
even in the leafless winter,
even in the ashy city.
I am thinking now
of grief, and of getting past it;

I feel my boots
trying to leave the ground,
I feel my heart
pumping hard.  I want

to think again of dangerous and noble things.
I want to be light and frolicsome.
I want to be improbably beautiful and afraid of nothing,
as though I had wings.

                                                                 ~ Mary Oliver

Isaiah 40:31 - “But those who trust in the Lord will find new strength. They will soar on wings like eagles . . .”

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Nota Bene:       It’s interesting how poetry works by compression— the careful diction, the nuance of the well chosen word that has multiple layers of meaning . . . the one word that if thoughtfully listened to has clues to so much more that is going on inside the persona of the poem.  For example, notice in the next to last verse . . . 
“I feel my boots trying to leave the ground.”  Why boots?  Why not simply “feet” or even “shoes”?  But “boots” connote something heavy and cumbersome, something that is weighing the person down, something totally incongruous with taking flight, with lightness of spirit.  But there is hope that with the rising of the person’s spirit, the heavy boots will be shaken off, and he or she will rise above whatever circumstances are keeping them earthbound.

Are there other words in the poem that can yield multiple layers of meaning within the context of the poem?   Any thoughts on that?

Sabbath Thought: Gratitude

Psalm16:5,11 

Lord . . .

The land you have given me is a pleasant land.
      What a wonderful inheritance!

. . .

You have shown me the way of life, and you will fill me with the joy of your presence. 

Mindful

                    by Mary Oliver

Every day

I see or hear

something

that more or less

kills me

with delight,

that leaves me

like a needle

in the haystack

of light.

It was what I was born for -

to look, to listen,

to lose myself

inside this soft world -

to instruct myself

over and over

in joy,

and acclamation.

Nor am I talking

about the exceptional,

the fearful, the dreadful,

the very extravagant -

but of the ordinary,

the common, the very drab,

the daily presentations.

Oh, good scholar,

I say to myself,

how can you help

but grow wise

with such teachings

as these -

the untrimmable light

of the world,

the ocean's shine,

the prayers that are made

out of grass?

To live content with small means; to seek elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion; to be worthy, not respectable, and wealthy, not rich; to listen to stars and birds, babes and sages, with open heart; to study hard; to think quietly, act frankly, talk gently, await occasions, hurry never; in a word, to let the spiritual, unbidden and unconscious, grow up through the common--this is my symphony.

                                   -William Henry Channing, 1810 - 1884

There are joys which long to be ours.

God sends ten thousands truths,

which come about us like birds seeking inlet;

but we are shut up to them,

and so they bring us nothing,

but sit and sing awhile upon the roof,

and then fly away.

                                        ~Henry Ward Beecher

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