The opposite of an ordinary fact is a lie. But the opposite of one profound truth is complemented and given life by another profound truth.” ~Nils Bohr, Nobel Award winning physicist This Sunday we are doing something different. While we will not worship in our traditional manner, we are following the Lenten invitation to open ourselves to a spirit of learning and discovery. Led by experienced presenter Yarrow Durbin, we will learn about polarities and how to map them and explore how they play out in our own life together and shared mission. Polarity maps allow us to explore tough, persistent dilemmas that are not actually problems that can be “solved” - but ongoing polarities which can be navigated constructively. They involve a polarity—a relationship between two opposing ideas that each have some good in them. In fact, you need both sides to achieve your goals. And guaranteed, if you overdo one side, you get trouble. The good and bad news is that you can’t get rid of a polarity – ever. Based on the work of Barry Johnson, Polarity Management is a powerful yet very accessible model of thinking, assessing, planning, and acting that moves individuals and teams from resistance and conflict towards embracing the complexity of their challenges and working together towards their common purpose. When groups learn it, they are more able to work effectively with “opposition”, build stronger teams, make better decisions, and focus their energy where it will make a bigger positive difference. Come and join us Sunday morning beginning at 10:00am. We will finish at noon. If you can't make it in person, you can join us online on our livestream. About the Presenter: For 35 years, Yarrow Durbin has been creating stimulating, powerful and engaging learning experiences for individuals and groups, integrating state of the art approaches from many disciplines. Yarrow works with individuals, small and large groups in a wide variety of settings, committed to making a positive difference for children, families, and our diverse communities. Her focus is on transformational learning for leaders and groups facing conflict or breakdowns in trust, rapid change, and those desiring truly equitable and supportive environments in which everyone feels included. She launched CourageWork in 2005 to offer individual leadership coaching, team retreat and workshop facilitation, and change consulting in education, human services, government, health care, law, and social justice-oriented not-for-profits and businesses. She built on skills gained teaching high school for 18 years, working in adult professional development, and founding a non-profit based on the work of Dr. Parker Palmer. Yarrow has a master’s degree from the University of Washington in Curriculum and Instruction, as well as certification as a Courage & Renewal® facilitator, Integral® Coach, Certified Polarity Management® trainer, Immunity to Change® consultant and coach, Leadership Circle Profile and EQ in Action Profile, and many others.
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And the Lord said to Moses, “Make a poisonous serpent, and set it on a pole; and everyone who is bitten shall look at it and live.” ~Numbers 21:8 This obscure and even troubling story of the wandering Israelites finds new life amidst our preoccupation with health and well-being. It is no accident that both the American Medical Association and World Health Organizations have adopted the Rod of Asclepius—a snake on a pole—as the symbol for medical healing. One of the great wonders of modern medicine is that scientists have learned how to replicate viral forces, render them nonlethal, and return them back to the body as vaccines. The only sure cure for infection is exposure (and inoculation), which allows the memory to be activated to destroy what would otherwise kill us. The disease is used to cure the disease. The image carries well to our human condition more broadly. There is something essential at looking closely and squarely and lovingly at our stories. Like the snake on a pole, like the Christ on a cross, we must not look away, but steel ourselves for the story of who we truly are and what saves us. Attending to our choices and their results is an essential act that enables us to correct, redirect, and ultimately find our way to the new life Christ proclaims. Enter into worship. Readings: Numbers 21:4-9 † Psalm 107:1-3, 17-22 † Ephesians 2:1-10 † John 3:14-20 About the Art: Fantoni, Giovanni. Brazen Serpent, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=55664 [retrieved March 3, 2024]. Original source: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Brazen_Serpent_Sculpture.jpg. Atop Mount Nebo in Jordan, this serpentine sculpture represents the Old Testament story of the serpent on the pole in Numbers 21:4-9 integrated with the New Testament cross of Christ.
Making a whip of cords, he drove all of them out of the temple, both the sheep and the cattle. He also poured out the coins of the money changers and overturned their tables. 16 He told those who were selling the doves, “Take these things out of here! Stop making my Father’s house a marketplace!” ~John 2:15-16 No animals were harmed in the making of this scene. When Jesus overturns the tables, he drives out both the sacrificial animals and the merchants. Both groups are liberated—the sacrificial victims and their victimizers and the religious system of sacrifice to feed the appetite of a vengeful God is effectively shut down. “For I desire steadfast love and not sacrifice, the knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings,“ says the prophet Hosea. Jesus preaches a similarly revolutionary message, but in this case, no words are necessary. As we consider in our own time the disruptions within our own religious and institutional systems, how are we to think about the uses of our buildings and our resources? How are they being used for liberation and freedom from the bondage of our own age? How might they? Enter into worship. Readings: Exodus 20:1-17 † Psalm 19 † 1 Corinthians 1:18-25 † John 2:13-22 About the Art: Koenig, Peter. Christ Overturns the Tables of the Moneylenders, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=58520 [retrieved February 26, 2024]. Original source: Peter Winfried (Canisius) Koenig, https://www.pwkoenig.co.uk/. About the artist: Peter Koenig is a Catholic artist whose goal in life is “to paint the drama, romance and poetry of the sacred book” (https://www.pwkoenig.co.uk/). In this modern representation of the cleansing of the temple, Jesus holds a whip as he drives away the sheep being sold for sacrifices. The doves have been released and are chaotically flying around above the people, whose expressions are mixtures of shock, horror, irritation, and anger. Jesus has turned over the tables and money is scattering all around the moneylenders. This painting inspires viewers to reconsider what it means to be a church in today’s society. Should the church be a place of profit (a den of thieves) or should it use its resources for the good of people? Should it exploit the needy or should it help them? Should the church be an exploitative economic institution or one devoted to alleviating the suffering of all oppressed peoples?
“If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. ~Mark 8:34 This is tricky—an invitation spoiling for misuse. Slippery ground. An abusive relationship, a medical affliction, racial and economic inequity, unnecessary suffering of any kind. Could any of these ever be described as a cross a disciple, or anyone, should bear? We pray not. The scriptures insist not. Suffering due to abuse of power is never redemptive and is antithetical to the character of God. Indeed, to bear one’s cross is first about the elimination of suffering by following the trail Jesus blazed. We resist evil as he did, rather than accept it. We join in solidarity with the crucified; even when it unsettles and inflames the status quo. To do these things, to follow in this way is to go the way of mutual blessing, the way of Abraham and Sarah, a promised way to flourishing for humanity and creation alike. This is, simply, the way to life from the one who calls all creation beloved. The Lenten way: new life comes through the denial of our worst selves, of what destroys us. In his very next breath Jesus says, “For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.” What are we to make of this in this season of strife and inequality and the unavoidable truth that suffering, and denial seems to be borne by some far more than others? What are we to make of this call for the healing not only of this heartbroken and luminous world, but for our own selves...for we who would dare be disciples? Are these not one and the same question? Enter into worship. Readings: Genesis 17:1-7, 15-16 † Psalm 22:23-31 † Romans 4:13-25 † Mark 8:31-9:1 About the Art: Bergner, Joel. Global Refugee Mural, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=56930 [retrieved February 20, 2024]. Original source: https://joelartista.com/about/. About the artist: Joel Bergner is an artist, educator and organizer of community art initiatives with youth in conflict-affected and marginalized communities around the world, from Syrian refugee camps to American prisons; the favelas of Brazil to an orphanage in South Africa. His elaborate, large-scale murals weave smoothly between realism with an urban art sensibility and the honest expressions of children and community members. In each project, he guides participants through the process of exploring issues that are important to them, designing their own composition and then collaboratively painting a public mural in their community. Joel travels the globe with his wife, CJ Thomas, who leads dance and theatre workshops, and their two young daughters. Based on actual interviews, the Global Refugee Mural tells the story of three refugees who live in Maryland. Donation by photographer Anne Richardson.
For Christ also suffered for sins once for all…in order to bring [us] to God. —1 Peter 3:18 In order to bring us to God. Here is the invitation of Lent in a nutshell—the gift of a season journeyed toward God that comes by way of…dying. Don’t let this be a morbid thought. Life has always come this way—a virtuous circle of life that is always brought on by death. Our own suffering, then, is not meaningless. Just look outside and let the tree buds and crocus and daffodil shoots testify. How did they get there, if not by way of a previous death? Consider the gospels and their slant toward faith. Mark was the first, written sometime around the year 65. John was the last of the four, around 90 or 100. Two full generations between them. And how different they are as the souls who shaped them tried to figure out how to respond to shattered expectations that Jesus had not returned, as they shaped a new coherence, an enduring faith amid radically shifting times! Today we have the benefit of wisdom across cultures that is easily available to us. That’s what Cindy Lee is offering in her book Our Unforming. This is, of course, not new to us. We’ve already been doing our work. Here Lee captures some key observations that may help us in our own reforming. From a linear to a cyclical understanding of time. From a default toward sameness to difference. From the transcendence of the individual to the collective and communal. Perhaps one of the greatest gifts of the unraveling of the moment and this season of history, perhaps the greatest gift of this Lent is the gift of moving us toward metanoia, conversion, the changing of our minds. That we would lean on God instead, that we find God once again for a new generation. …in order to bring us to God. Enter into worship. Readings: Genesis 9:8-17 † Psalm 25:1-10 † 1 Peter 3:18-22 † Mark 1:9-15 About the Art: Moyers, Mike. Reminder, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=57154 [retrieved February 11, 2024]. Original source: Mike Moyers, https://www.mikemoyersfineart.com/. About the artist: For years, I have illustrated, designed and directed many book covers, ads, logos, commercials and campaigns. However, my deeper side is the life of a fine artist. I love to paint with the palette knife to keep my work loose, textured and bold. You will see that I paint all kinds of subjects. My deepest passion, however, is to use fine art to communicate matters of faith. I firmly believe that art is a communion with the soul. Through my art, I strive to make known the beauty and wonder of life and faith. The pieces are inspired by things that have touched my life in a meaningful way. They range from plein air and impressionism to abstract and conceptual. My hope is to successfully communicate those inspirations so that you might be touched as well.
“Thus it is written, ‘The first human, Adam, became a living soul’; the last Adam became a spirit that gives life.” ~1 Corinthians 15:45 Humility, vulnerability, authenticity. Three words that draw us into this ancient practice of Lent, of lengthening, of extending and filling out our lives with newness in the same way that the light of day lengthens in Lent. Plants emerge from winter’s rest to explore new growth, new forms of possibility. Humility, comes from hummus—dust, earth, soil—from which we became and to which we return according to the stories of our elders: Dust to dust. Ashes to ashes. Vulnerability. From the Latin vulnus: wound. Indeed, to live is to be wounded, and to (be) heal(ed). To be subject to power and designs greater than ours. To be creature. Authenticity. From the Greek authentes: from two words, autos or self and hentes or doing. One acting on one’s own authority. We are agents with agency, actors with purpose to enact. We are powerful. So here we are, at the doorway to Lent, dusty, wounded, wondering, powerful ones seeking to be all that we are, all that we are created to be. Enter into worship. Enter into Lent. Join us this Wednesday evening at 7:00pm in person or online. Readings: Joel 2:1-2,12-17 or Isaiah 58:1-12 † Psalm 51:1-17 † 2 Corinthians 5:20b-6:10 † Matthew 6:1-6,16-21 About the Art:[i] An abstract painting depicting the words of the psalmist, “Let my prayer be set before Thee as incense, and the lifting up of my hands as the evening sacrifice.“ Mike Moyers loves to paint with the palette knife to keep his work loose, textured and bold. His deepest passion is to use art to communicate matters of faith. From his website: I firmly believe that art is a communion with the soul. Through my art, I strive to make known the beauty and wonder of life and faith. The pieces in this exhibit are inspired by things that have touched my life in a meaningful way. They range from plein air and impressionism to abstract and conceptual. My hope is to successfully communicate those inspirations so that you might be touched as well. [i] Moyers, Mike. Prayer, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=57148 [retrieved February 6, 2023]. Original source: Mike Moyers, https://www.mikemoyersfineart.com/. They were all amazed, and they kept on asking one another, “What is this? A new teaching—with authority! He commands even the unclean spirits, and they obey him.” ~Mark 1:27 Authority is grounded in truth-telling—in naming what is even when it hurts, even when it unsettles and storms, even when it seems to raise the temperature before it lowers it. And yet, there is from our faith, this: the truth will set you free. A True word, a divine Word does not need a temple or an army. It sings even in a foreign land. It is an antidote for hopelessness, for despair, for a people unmoored from faith and nation. A true word takes courage not to just hear, but to listen, not just to acknowledge, but to obey. These acts form and recreate the beloved community. They heal us of our dis-ease. They inspire and raise up newness. They connect us deeply with others. Courage breeds courage. Faith breeds faith. Love breeds belonging and peace. Enter into worship. Readings: Deuteronomy 18:15-20 † Psalm 111 † 1 Corinthians 8:1-13 † Mark 1:21-28 https://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu/texts.php?id=62 About the Art: Every Foul and Every Unclean Spirit—Xmeah ShaEla'ReEl, Enamel paint and glitter on wood. Smithsonian Museum of American Art, Washington, DC.
With God is my deliverance and my honor; rock of my strength, my refuge, is in God. ~Psalm 62:7 Let’s be honest. Jonah is a terrible prophet! Resistant, uncaring, easily angered. He wants nothing to do with these Ninevites—capital dwellers of the Assyrian nation. That’s the one that finally ripped the twelve tribes of Israel apart, after all (1 Chronicles 5, 2 Kings 17-18). He has reason to be angry. We might argue there is nothing that would make him happier than to see Assyrians wiped from the face of the earth. Indeed, Jonah admits as much in the story. But he knows the God he is dealing with: “That is why I fled to Tarshish at the beginning; for I knew that you are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and ready to relent from punishing.” (Jonah 4:2). In Mark, we find Jesus calling the first disciples—Simon and Andrew among them—and they follow. Immediately. Urgently. I remember a professor wondering about the ways in which we undermine ourselves and the very things we most desire: “What is it we want,” she asked, “and what will we do not to get it?” Jonah seems to go to great lengths. What do we want from this gracious and merciful God, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love? Enter into worship. Readings: Jonah 3:1-10 † Psalm 62:5-129 † 1 Corinthians 7:29-31† Mark 1:14-20 About the Art: Swanson, John August. Jonah, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=56549 [retrieved January 9, 2024]. Original source: Estate of John August Swanson, https://www.johnaugustswanson.com/.
About the artist:
JOHN AUGUST SWANSON makes his home in Los Angeles, California, where he was born in 1938. He paints in oil, watercolor, acrylic and mixed media, and is an independent printmaker of limited-edition serigraphs, lithographs and etchings. His art reflects the strong heritage of storytelling he inherited from his Mexican mother and Swedish father. John Swanson’s narrative is direct and easily understood. He addresses himself to human values, cultural roots, and his quest for self-discovery through visual images. These include Bible stories and social celebrations such as attending the circus, the concert, and the opera. He also tells of everyday existence, of city and country walks, of visits to the library, the train station or the schoolroom. All his parables optimistically embrace life and one’s spiritual transformation. John Swanson studied with Corita Kent at Immaculate Heart College. His unique style is influenced by the imagery of Islamic and medieval miniatures, Russian iconography, the color of Latin American folk art, and the tradition of Mexican muralists. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” ~ Luke 3:22 Jesus hasn’t done anything yet—at least not according to Luke. He has been the object of wonder and joy. He has been welcomed and sung over and presented as a reason for indescribable gratitude. But as of yet he has done nothing…this beloved one. What do you make of this? We know the territory, of course. Whether children or grandchildren, partners or even pets. We know belovedness—that positive regard, that hold on the heart, that gravitational pull of longing and belonging that draws us to shape our lives around someone just because they are, something just because it is. It is both nature and nurture, to be sure. But we know it to be true. How does a weary world rejoice? We trust our belovedness. Do you recognize your own belovedness? Do you believe it? Do you trust it? How does a weary world rejoice? I would guess soul by soul and day by day. But if you ask me, I bet most of it counts. ~Sarah A. Speed @writingthegood, December 4, 2021 Enter into worship this Baptism of the Lord Sunday. Readings: Isaiah 43:1-7 † Psalm 29 † Luke 3:21-22 About the art: Beloved. Lauren Wright Pittman. Digital painting and collage. Inspired by Luke 3:21-22. Used with permission.
From the artist:
Luke’s account of Jesus’ baptism is brief and vague. He was baptized among “all the people” (Luke 3:21) by an unnamed baptizer, and until he prays, the scene is rather unremarkable. During his prayer, however, an iconic scene unfolds with the heavens opening, the Holy Spirit descending in the form of a dove, and a voice booming from heaven. As I considered how I might visually respond to this text, it was difficult to imagine this event with a beginner’s mind. I’ve seen lots of imagery of Jesus in the water with clouds breaking open and a dove descending, or Jesus bursting out of water into a beam of light. These images are powerful, but I wasn’t sure if creating a similar image would be helpful, or if I’d be offering insight into the text that hadn’t already been visually explored. I began to meditate on what was unspoken and implied in Luke’s account, and one moment that stuck out in my imagination was the moment Jesus was underwater. How did Jesus feel when he held his breath and descended into the river? This image offers a snapshot of Jesus right before he steps into his calling, on the threshold of spectacular affirmation. He is completely suspended, embraced, and upheld by the waters of baptism. The water’s surface is choppy. The future is unknown and precarious. His path is a lonely and formidable one, eventually leading to his suffering and death. Despite what is to come, Jesus reaches toward the surface. Two fish are drawn to the light of his halo, foreshadowing his companionship with fishers and his miraculous feeding of the five thousand. All of creation is leaning into his call. This is what trusting your belovedness feels like—muscles and bones relieved of gravity’s burden, serenity, weightlessness, oneness with creation, and the warmth of God’s love permeating every cell of your body and every corner of your soul The old man held the boy, but the boy held the old man. ~ Antiphon from the Feast of Simeon Ritual is something of a dirty word in these days in which institutions and their traditions are in question. There is, surely, good reason for the distrust that has grown around our institutions—all of them, our religious ones among them! Traditions and their rites are designed to bless society, to pass on life-giving mores and practices, to ensure that justice and equity and wonder and peace have a firm hold on us, that we progress in the ways that make for life to the full. When they don’t, when they have lost their value, then a change is going to come. It must! The tension, then, that we are presented with in these ancient texts is deserving of our attention. Here this family, with their child of promise, their child of revolution—the “consolation of Israel” is presented, and Anna and Simeon, representing all that has been, all that was, see in this moment what might be: “This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed—and a sword will pierce your own soul too.” How does a weary world rejoice? I would guess soul by soul and day by day. But if you ask me, I bet most of it counts. ~Sarah A. Speed @writingthegood, December 4, 2021 How does a weary world rejoice? We root ourselves in ritual. In ritual, that is, that prepares us for what is to come, that opens us to the wisdom that holds us in our weariness, and that compels us to life abundant, no matter what must be sacrificed for it. Enter into worship this Advent Sunday. Readings: Isaiah 61:10-62:3 † Psalm 148 † Luke 2:21-38 About the art: Revelation. Lisle Gwynn Garrity. Acrylic painting on canvas with digital drawing. Inspired by Luke 2:21-38. Used by permission.
From the artist:
I wonder what Mary and Joseph expect when they enter the temple to dedicate their newborn son. This customary ritual quickly unravels into an astonishing scene. A stranger named Simeon pronounces Jesus to be a “light” and “revelation,” and his dying wish is fulfilled. A prophet named Anna also draws near to the child, praising God for the redemption he will bring. Simeon and Anna’s words fill Mary and Joseph with amazement. But that can’t be the only emotion taking up space in the room. For Simeon turns to Mary, perhaps privately, to continue sharing his message: the boy will also become the cause of great turmoil, the catalyst for opposition. He will expose the inner thoughts of many. A sword will pierce her innermost being. The mother of God will grieve as she bears witness to the suffering of the child she birthed. In this image, Simeon bestows his blessing and prophecy with the urgency of a man desperate to say everything that needs to be said before his time runs out. Anna looks off into the distance, as if peering into the future. Her devotion to God over the years has sharpened her gaze; she knows redemption when she sees it. In the top left, I depicted Jesus’ hand being cradled by the hands of his parents. This tender moment is frozen in time, like a Polaroid photograph placed in a scrapbook. Mary and Joseph treasure their child as they receive the fullness of his calling. I imagine them memorizing each wrinkle and tiny fingernail, treasuring the smallness of a hand that will one day become a strong fist, fighting for justice for the oppressed and liberation for those held captive. |
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