Art for a Forgotten Faith

One of the striking aspects of the power of the Judeo-Christian tradition is the art it has spawned through the centuries. I recall being at Chartres Cathedral and being mesmerized by the stained glass and the many subtle and not-so-subtle statuary and architectural design that went into that magnificent place. The same experience can come from hundreds of other cathedrals across the world, one in particular comes to mind which is the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona. It doesn’t take much to see that faith has inspired artists like Chagall, Rembrandt, Matisse, Miró, Dalí, Goya, and countless others. From music to architecture, faith has inspired enormous creativity that moves the human spirit to ever-greater awareness of the beauty and wonder of the Divine in human life.


Today, spirituality and faith do not always seem to be the inspiring engine behind artistic creativity. Art has moved down a secular path. So, when I saw an article recently in the New York Times about an exhibition entitled “NeoHooDoo” at P.S.1 Contemporary Art Center, I was surprised to read that faith once again pops up artistically in unexpected places. In our world today religious art is relegated to museums and, often, religious faith is relegated to a bygone era. I find it refreshing that faith may surface in the art and imagination of young artists who seem to find a spiritual touchstone in aspects of the religious experience. I find this more refreshing than some of the so-called Christian art produced by a wooden imagination locked in the past. As the article said, faith may be not so forgotten after all. There is little question that contemporary art is changing yet again, and in ways that are subtle, yet profound. Put differently, this art moves in a religious way because it asks, “old questions about unanswerables - who are we, who were we, where are we going, what can we be - in slightly new ways, and that’s a start.”


Perhaps our own artistic imagination could use a jump-start, too?

Decanting Your Life

This summer Kathy, Allison and I visited family and some friends in California. Of course, when your foot touches

the ground in California, a different feeling rushes into your body if you’re me. A host of memories trigger off lots of experiences in my mind as I spent a good part of my early life there, never even leaving the state. The sun always shines, it’s warm and has a feel of the Mediterranean. It also does not take long to realize that you’re close to the epicenter of the source of magnificent wine. You will notice right away that you can buy wine of all quality in any grocery store. You can even get great brands for less at Costco. By the way, wine is significantly cheaper in California than anywhere else.

In a short break from family obligations we, along with my sister and her grown-up children, took a trip to Napa - St. Helena and Calistoga which are both located in the heart of wine country. We had been there before, of course, and love it. The fun thing to do is to go wine tasting which now has become a bit pricey, but you can still have a great time for not too much money. We visited a couple of places, but one was on our list, Clos du Bois, that we had failed to visit in the past, and I, for one, was not going to miss it this time.

So we began our journey to the back roads of Napa with a winery map in hand, looking at signs and pointing to the many wineries. We still missed it and had to stop for directions. For some reason, this winery is nestled very out of the way of the major thoroughfare; even the signs for it proved to be misleading. However, like buried treasure, we finally discovered it. It is an elegant place and appears to be popular. All six of us snuggled up at the crowded wine bar - with my sister buying cheese and crackers to eat between tastings. Our tasting expert from the winery was charming and delightful, telling us in great detail the various aspects of each wine’s properties. She was so good that you almost didn’t need to taste the wine. At any rate, with seven generous pourings and a glass that said Clos du Bois on it as a gift and part of the $5 charge, I was very happy and, for no extra charge, our guide gave us a lecture on decanting the wine. There is a lot more to pouring it than one thinks. If it is not done correctly, you can miss a lot of the richness and quality of the actual taste of the wine. Pouring it a certain way and letting it breathe can be very important. 

To me decanting means setting the wine free from the bottle that has imprisoned it an and allowing it to be enjoyed. Elizabeth Gilbert has written a book entitled Eat Pray Love which is an interesting biographical journey in the area of spirituality. She has coined the term decanting your life. It gave me pause to think of life in terms of pouring a glass of wine and allowing it to breathe and in wine connoisseur language “blossom into a life of its own”, striking your taste buds and releasing its wonderful flavors.

To me, faith is part of the process of decanting your life, setting you free from those things that imprison you and prevent you from blossoming into the person you need to become. In a certain sense faith enhances your life by pushing you out of the narrow confines of fear and worry that prevent you from taking risks and growing in new ways. Leaving the safety and security of your comfort zone means you are pushed out into a world where hope and appreciation move you into unfamiliar territory and personal growth. You don’t have to be the sediment lying on the bottom of the bottle, yours can be a rich, full-bodied life.

Frugal Luxuries on Sundays

There is an interesting column in the New York Times entitled “The Frugal Traveller”.  He recommends traveling cheaply with a budget of €100 per day.  He gives lots of tips for lodging, meals, and transportation. I did notice two interesting responses to his column by readers who also made recommendations. This one brought a smile to my face:

Go to church!  Not for religious reasons necessarily - but for cultural ones.  See how the local people spend part of their Sunday. Listen to the service and the singing and the ritual in that native language. And, it’s free!

Of course, I am for going to church and for attending church for more than cultural reasons, but I do agree that it is a luxury. In today’s busy world people are cutting out this activity because it takes up too much time or they are too busy. I have always maintained that it is a luxury to be able to sit and meditate, pray, even sing. We do not often do this, especially not in community.  I mostly sing in the shower, so when I get to sing in church, it is a real luxury. If I get to hear a great sermon, it’s even better, although most time, I am the one who is giving it - I always hope it’s great.  

Sundays for many people are chores preoccupied with getting things done that they could not accomplish during the week. The concept of Sabbath/A Day of Rest is overlooked for the hurriedness of modern life. Maybe we are participating in a luxury, even if frugal, when we gather on Sunday mornings. I like to think so.

When Coffee is more than Coffee

The new Starbucks in Mamaroneck is closing. It just opened, but I guess there are too many coffee shops, bakeries and delis on the avenue that have people’s loyalty.

Nevertheless, designer coffee is popular today. My daughter Erin does not drink Folgers and we grind our coffee at home. You can get coffee from Seattle (it seems to be the center for brewing good designer coffee), Kona Coffee from Hawaii and Fair Trade coffee that we import through the ELCA / LWR fair trade recommendations (http://www.lwrcoffee.com). Of course, there is Starbucks, and if you are Kathy you go to Trader Joe’s for Ethiopian coffee. Many of us still like Dunkin’ Donuts coffee and it appears still to be popular. In addition to closing in Mamaroneck Starbucks has recently closed hundreds of locations. Maybe Americans are feeling the effects of a stalled economy and have less expendable cash to buy $4 lattes.

When I am in Sacramento I visit a donut shop with my father located in a small tired shopping area. It is run by a Korean family and is called MASTER DONUTS. I have my favorite donut that I have been buying for years. It is made there and is made of butter milk and tastes great. This little place is popular with locals, mostly an older crowd coming in for donuts and coffee and even for something more important—fellowship. The Korean woman and her husband are on a first name basis with almost everyone. They welcome me like an old friend and they are always smiling. I just enjoy sitting out on the sidewalk on some old plastic chair and a rusty table where I set my coffee and enjoy the morning. It is almost always sunny in Sacramento and the weather has a Mediterranean feel to it.  I am happy to be in a T shirt and sandals with my dad and looking forward to a refill that is free. A big cup of Joe couldn’t taste better.

This place sells more than coffee and you will always hear a friendly hello.

Sometimes I read the Sacramento Bee and sometimes I talk and sometimes I listen to what people are saying. You can overhear conversations on every subject from politics to religion. You get a different take on the world. Points of view are freely shared, there is always some laughter and people look forward to seeing each other on a daily basis. I guess you could call it just plain fellowship with a sense of community to those who attend regularly. It is a haven for retired people who have the time to slowly go through the morning in conversation. Others just stop in for a quick cup off coffee to go. We move fast these days and many don’t find time to convers.  We are on our way like the bunny in Alice in Wonderland—“I am late… I am late for a very important date”, he says as he looks at his watch and runs off.  Fellowship and community around a donut, it happens.  It also happens at another table around bread and wine.  Sometimes coffee is more than coffee, and bread and wine is more than bread and wine.

It’s Not the Years, It’s the Mileage

I was recently at a Mets game, standing at the concession stand to buy some beer. The girl politely asked me for my ID. I looked back at her with what I am sure was a surprised look on my face. She said, again, “I need to see your ID”. I smiled and said, “Thank you for the compliment. I cannot tell you how long it has been since I have been ‘carted’.” I am not going to tell you just how long it has been since anyone has asked for my ID with regard to purchasing alcohol and it felt great to be asked.

I was reminded of aging issues while visiting my family on vacation. My dad and I went shopping for a few things for dinner. Actually, we were picking up cantaloupes that are sweet and delicious this time of year. I dream about them when I am in New York. The grocery store that we go to is called SAFEWAY, a popular supermarket chain. It is a very nice store. My dad who is deep into his 80s, still drives and carries things. I call him the “energizer bunny”. Age to me is only a number—“how old would you be if you didn’t know how old you were?” is an interesting question. Of late people are saying that 60 is the new 40. Yet, as I look at dad, he has gotten slower and a little more bent over and time is not on anyone’s side. Al Gore who just turned 60 said—“60 is the new 59.”

As dad and I entered the check-out lane, we were greeted by the cashier who was visibly upset by the fact that actor Morgan Freeman was in an auto accident and at this time his condition was unknown. She said:” I hope he will be OK, I didn’t know he was 72 years old.” She made you feel that even though she didn’t know him personally she was greatly concerned about his welfare. At this point the old lady in front of us said—“Gee, he is young, I am 90 years old.” I took a second look and this lady talked as clear as a bell and looked great. She stood up straight and was writing a check with ease for her purchase. She could have passed for years younger. I said, putting my hands on my dad’s shoulder—“He is 88 1⁄2”. She looked at him and said: “You got to hang in to 100.” We smiled. The cashier said: “We all need goals.”

I smiled when I saw the interview with Dana Torres who, at 41, was representing our country as a champion Olympic swimmer in Beijing. When asked what she would tell her two-year old daughter, she said, “You’re never too old to achieve your goals.” Just ask Sara and Abraham.

We all need goals. Psalm 90 puts it this way: “Teach us to number our days and apply our hearts unto wisdom.” That’s a goal.

Where Do Sermons Go?

There is a recent article in the Christian Century questioning the importance and effectiveness of preaching. Where Do Sermons Go? is the title. It is an interesting question that I really had not given much thought to, mainly because I do not hear a lot of sermons - I simply give them. However, after reading this article I had a chilling feeling that perhaps all of the work I put into a Sunday morning could be for naught. I do not get a huge response each Sunday even though this past week I did get an email from someone saying that that Sunday’s sermon was excellent. Perhaps I should frame it or perhaps I should hire someone to take a video of the congregation while I am preaching. Could some be writing their grocery list or sleeping with their eyes open as their faces look a bit glazed over, or could people just be distracted by children making noises and moving around?

What really happens as people listen? I like to think that their lives are transformed, their hearts opened to new possibilities for loving others, and their minds stimulated to such a degree that endorphins are shooting off. Unfortunately, I know better.

People laugh and tell me, “Can’t you use an old one? No one will know.” Actually, when I look into the files and read an old sermon, I sometimes cannot remember I wrote it and, of course, I am almost shocked by what I wrote then. I have moved on…

Luther said, “We need a living voice of the Gospel”, or in Latin, viva vox. By this he meant the Gospel needs to be proclaimed from the heart. It is not something to be read from the Bible, it is to be proclaimed. I still have trouble sleeping the night before Sunday morning, and writing a sermon is always agony. I remain hopeful, however; I cannot worry about how effective I am. That is up to the Holy Spirit and to God. I am simply called to be faithful to this task, offering up the highest level of sincerity and effort as I open my mouth and words start to come out. My favorite quote on preaching is:

The preacher pulls the little chord that turns on the lectern light and deals out his note cards like a riverboat gambler. Two minutes from now he may have lost his listerners completely to their own thoughts, but at this minute he has them in the palm of his hand. (…) In the front pew the old ladies turn up their hearing aids, and the young lady slips her six-year-old a Lifesaver and a Magic Marker. A college sophomore, home for vacation, who is there because he was dragged there, slumps forward with his chin in his hand. The vice president of a bank who twice that week has seriously contemplated suicide places his hymnal in the rack. A pregnant girl feels the life stir inside of her. A high-school math teacher, who for twenty years has managed to keep his homosexuality a secret for the most part even from himself, creases his order of service down the center with his thumbnail and tucks it under his knee. (…) The stakes have never been higher. (From: Telling the Truth; The Gospel As Tragedy, Comedy & Fairy Tale by Frederick Buechner).

On Patriotism

Time Magazine ran an article on patriotism. Part of the article included a statement by both political candidates on what they thought patriotism meant. Barack Obama wrote that patriotism was faith in simple dreams that would allow all people to pursue their lives in freedom. McCain wrote that patriotism was more than holding your hand over your heart during the national anthem. Love of country was giving back and being a good citizen.

I am a child of the sixties and can remember when I was very much against the Viet Nam war. It was a very difficult time in the history of our country. I even demonstrated against that war in Golden Gate Park in San Francisco. I was very angry over what happened to our country during that time. Now, many years later, I am walking down the main street of Mamaroneck Avenue seeing that giant flag waving and dominating the street. It is something to behold. When I first saw it 30 years ago I felt I was in a small town in Illinois or Indiana.

Many years ago our church sponsored a refugee family from Laos. The Sayasaks … we found them a place to live, painted their apartment, found them jobs, gave them food, and gave money to start a new live. I remember they bought a car, an old taxi cab with well over 100,000 miles. It was a wreck and what I felt was a bad purchase. One day they stopped at my house to give me a gift and we noticed that the beat up old cab had no oil. It was burning oil and lots of it. I had a few quarts in my garage that I gave them. As I said goodbye to them, I notice a bumper sticker on the back of the car. It said: “I love America” with a big heart on it.

Not long after 9/11 had happened, Kathy and I traveled to the heart of Ground Zero wearing gas masks. The rubble was still smoking – we met firefighters who were friendly and worked for hours. We also visited with workers at St. Paul’s Church, very close to the site, who were passing out food and helping workers take naps on the pews. As we walked back to the site with tears in our eyes, I looked at a dusty old fire truck with a bumper sticker on it that said: “Proud to be an American”.

As I walked in this year’s Memorial Day parade I noticed that big flag over the center of the street. Wow…A big flag for a country with a big heart. It is big enough to say that civil disobedience could be an act of patriotism and to provide a sanctuary for those oppressed and in need.