Contributing Beauty

He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the LORD require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God. Micah 6:8

Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Colossians 3:12

“You must do something to make the world more beautiful” instructs Alice’s grandfather in the children’s book “Miss Rumphius” by Barbara Cooney*. Alice, the titular Miss Rumphius, accomplishes much during her lifetime but her grandfather’s charge sticks with her. By the end of the book, Miss Rumphius has become responsible for fields of lupine, planted all over her island community.

I like this for a few reasons:

We can all contribute to beauty in the world, regardless of income level, age, gender. Beauty can be many things, due in part to that oft-repeated phrase, “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder”. What beauty can one contribute? What can you do for others? What “beauty” can you share that may make someone’s life more beautiful? What simple thing can you do to make someone feel loved? What far-reaching impact can you set in motion with just a kind work or deed? In what ways can you act for justice in the world and your community?

Prayer: Dear Lord, help us to remember that there are many ways to “do something to make the world more beautiful”. Whether it’s being kind, working for social justice, giving generously to causes we believe in, volunteering where and when we can, sharing a smile, loving unconditionally, or even something like planting a field of flowers. Guide us to know when and how we can share the beauty of knowing you with others. Amen.

Donna Gustafson

*I recommend this children’s book, most recent edition shown below.

Easter Sunday Hymn (Seeking: Who are you looking for?)

 

Easter Sunday (Seeking: Who are you looking for?)

 

Rabbouni! | Rev. T. Denise Anderson Oil on canvas

read John 20:1-18

from the artist | Rev. T. Denise Anderson

In the days immediately after a loved one’s passing, we often muddle through life until the closure of the funeral, when it will all—or mostly—be over. What happens when it doesn’t appear you’ll have that closure anytime soon, or ever? Some of us have experienced delayed burials due to difficult circumstances. The closure the funeral provides helps us begin piecing life together in our loved one’s absence. Without that ritual, it’s incredibly difficult to move on.

This is the space in which Mary Magdalene finds herself. She arrives at the tomb to provide burial services for her dear teacher, only to find his body is gone. What grief that must have thrown her into, having her last act of love for him arrested like that! There is no reason to expect that the stranger speaking to her is her beloved teacher, and maybe that’s why she doesn’t recognize him immediately. It’s in the intimacy of him calling her name that she realizes what’s happening.

Here, I attempt to convey the grief, befuddlement, and ultimate realization that I imagine Mary experienced in this encounter. The light source is above her, as Jesus’ simple address—“Mary”—invites her to shift from any potential navel-gazing and to pay attention to the heaven-crafted phenomenon before her. Moreover, Jesus’ address to her comes from a deeply intimate place and is the only thing powerful enough to pierce through her grief. She is profoundly seen and known by her teacher. I want us to behold her the way that Jesus might have in that moment.

reprinted with permission from A Sanctified Art

Easter Sunday (Seeking: Who are you looking for?)

read John 20:1-18

commentary | Rev. Danielle Shroyer

Nine questions have guided us on our Lenten journey. And this Easter morning, they bring us to the culminating question: “Who are you looking for?” All this time, we have been seeking: seeking answers, seeking guidance, seeking Jesus. But the responses we get depend very much on what—or who—we are looking for.

In every question, a picture of Jesus has been forming in your mind. Who is he to you? What is he capable of? What does he want? The way you feel about that determines greatly how you hear his response.

As Mary weeps at the empty tomb, the picture she has formed in her mind is one of tragedy. Jesus has died, and now someone has gone so far as to steal his body. I imagine she thought enemies of Jesus did this, the same who wanted to squelch his voice and end his movement. This is her cry, even in the face of two mysterious figures robed in white. And then she turns around. She sees a man standing there. She does not see that it is Jesus. She sees only in her grief, and only through the lens of tragedy. (What else could she do?!) In the Aramaic translation, Jesus says to her, “Why do you weep? And who do you want?”

“Who do you want?” What an interesting question. Of all the versions of Jesus out there, which one do you believe? For which Jesus are you crying? Who do you want?

I believe the world heard the glad tidings of Easter because her answer revealed her wholehearted love of Jesus—beyond teacher, beyond healer, beyond savior. For Mary, Jesus truly became fully God and fully human. She loved all of him, because through him she had experienced a love that embraced all of her. This is the wholeness that heals the world and brings us into eternal life.

What would it look like for us to see Jesus as he is?

Reflect: What would it mean for you to love Jesus with your whole heart, and live for him from that wholeheartedness?

Easter Sunday (Seeking: Who are you looking for?)

lost and found

Mary wept.

Standing in the garden,

soft dirt under her feet,

sun still tucked away,

sleeping under the horizon.

The other disciples left,

but Mary stayed.

Mary wept.

Shoulders shaking,

tears running down her face.

She said, They have taken my Lord away,

and I don’t know where they put him.

But here’s what Easter taught me:

if you think you’ve lost God,

if it feels like heaven has slipped through the cracks,

if you feel like the night will never end,

then know, there is no hide-and-seek with the divine

that doesn’t end in you being found.

Stay still.

Keep breathing.

God is closer than you think.

Poem by Rev. Sarah (Are) Speed

reprinted with permission from A Sanctified Art

Holy Week / Good Friday (Seeking: Why have you forsaken me?)

 

Why Have You Forsaken Me? | Rev. Lauren Wright Pittman: Digital painting

read Matthew 27:27-50

from the artist | Rev. Lauren Wright Pittman

My study for this piece began with revisiting different images of Christ's crucifixion. One art piece that was particularly intriguing to me was Christ of Saint John of the Cross by Salvador Dalí. It has such a harsh downward angle on the cross; it visually connected me to Christ's mockery in a new way. It pushed me to consider different perspectives from which artists and people of faith have been engaging with this horrifying event.

One visual perspective I couldn't find in my research was one looking directly down on Jesus’ face. At first, I thought this would be the ultimate position of mockery, looking down Jesus' nose. But as I began to sketch Christ from this perspective, my thoughts and feelings about the piece took a hard turn. I was thinking about the text as I was holding my five-month-old little boy. He had a fever and was inconsolable. I felt desperate to offer him comfort and solace; it felt like my heart was breaking open. And then it occurred to me: this perspective I was drawing was not a position of mockery, it was metaphorically the perspective of God the Creator looking at her son who was screaming out in agony. This perspective shift reveals something profound to me about the heart of God, and I connect with it in a new way after becoming a mother.

One of my colleagues, Denise Anderson, reminded me that in Jesus' crying out, "Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani," he is quoting scripture. So instead of creating a mandala with mockery closing in on Jesus, I imaged the verses of Psalm 22. These images of grief and gratitude ripple out from Jesus' mouth and become a foundation, a grounding in his faith in this moment. In the visual, the moments of lament are faded while the images of praise shimmer a bit more brightly. The psalm gives him the fortitude to rest and offer up his last breath.

reprinted by permission from A Sanctified Art

Holy Week / Good Friday (Seeking: Why have you forsaken me?)

read Matthew 27:27-50

commentary | Rev. Bruce Reyes-Chow

Have you ever experienced such pain in body, heart, or spirit that you felt that God had deserted you? While I sincerely hope not, many who will approach the cross on this day know all too well the kind of pain that could bring even Christ to plead to God, “Why have you forsaken me?”

I will never forget my moment. About 20 years ago, I had a bout of pancreatitis and as the doctors explained, my angry pancreas was digesting me from the inside out. When I first arrived at the emergency room, it was overcrowded and I found myself on a gurney in the hallway literally trying to climb the walls because I was in so much pain. They had not quite diagnosed my problem so there was no pain management plan. I distinctly remember asking God, “Why?” And from the depths of my soul, wanting an answer as motivation to not give up.

Eventually, they dealt with my acute pain, but for a month, I had to sit in the unknown and weather a pain that never seemed to subside. They tried everything, tested for everything, and still, they could not get rid of the pain. I remember how frustrating it was. I would weep uncontrollably as I anticipated another wave of pain about to engulf my body, and I would constantly ask God, “Why, God?” And, “When, God, will it end?”

They kept reminding me that I had to be patient and that it would be okay. They were right. Eventually, my pancreas stopped being angry, the pain subsided, and I went home.

Healing comes when it comes. Sometimes we are forced to sit in and with the pain longer than we want to. I am not saying that we should intentionally seek painful situations and then we must remain in painful situations at all costs, but on this Good Friday, let’s not rush to Easter joy without first sitting with the pain, despair, and lament of the day. We know that healing, hope, and resurrection will come, but let's not set our feet in that direction at the expense of failing to know from what we are being healed.

Reflect: On this day, what prayers of lament and grief do you bring to God?

reprinted with permission from A Sanctified Art