The Power of Art

Quote of the Day:  My imagination can picture no fairer happiness than to continue living for art. — Clara Schumann

The artist alone sees spirits. But after he has told of their appearing to him, everybody sees them. — Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Last Friday, I mentioned that I'd gone to summer camp with my family. It's a church camp with a fine arts feel. The topics for discussion were on people who were inspired by God to create something that changed how people think. We had an excellent teacher, Nancy Koester, a religion teacher from Augsburg College in Minneapolis, MN, who loves history. We had an artist who used the above tools to bring stories to life through his painting. He is a science teacher turned pastor turned touring artist. (More on him later). We had fine musicians who filled the room with sound and invited everyone in. And, we had a preacher who had us singing the Psalms and showed us how they hold the messages and healing that get us through the hills and valleys of life.

On Monday, Nancy gave us some background on the composer, George Frideric Handel and his famous choral piece The Messiah. He spent much of his early career writing operas. Operas at the time were rowdy events, much like sporting events today. Really. People came and booed and cheered and jeered. So, when Handel wrote The Messiah, people didn't know what to make of it. Where should it be performed, they wondered? It's too much like opera to be performed in a church. It's themes are too spiritual and sacred to be performed in an opera house. He was rejected and criticized and pushed away. At one point in his life he was so poor, he nearly ended up in debtor's prison. And, now, you can hear parts of The Messiah in many types of churches, colleges, community choirs, and even on Youtube. This is where the Halleluiah Chorus comes from. (Comment below or on facebook if you've ever sung any part of this piece.)

On Tuesday, Paul Oman painted a murial while we watched and listened to a recording of The Messiah.

He preps the canvas the day before he paints for an audience.

Each brush stroke reveals the image he has of the story.

Watching Paul paint is like reading a story.

Each line and color adds more details.

I find myself trying to predict what he will make from certain parts of the painting. The "board" sticking out on the left seemed out of place, at first.

He puts his canvas on a rotating easel.

He paints upside down and sideways, getting the best angle, fascinating us with his perspective, and keeping us guessing as to what will be revealed.

All the while, the mighty chorus is singing some beautiful parts of The Messiah. Paul's brush strokes, at times, moved to the rhythm of the music. As Paul's vision became clearer, the music became more powerful, and we all sat in awe.

The Holy Spirit was shining down on all of us.

I have plans to write an article about Paul Oman's murial ministry, Drawn to the Word. He has painted in nearly every kind of church throughout the United States, and has hopes of going international. He said he can bring any story to life through his art, not just Bible stories. Do any of you know of a good publication for his story?

I'll write more this week on our education and fun at Mount Carmel camp near Alexandria, MN. On Wednesday, we learned about Harriet Beecher Stowe, author of Uncle Tom's Cabin.

Go. Create. Inspire!

Who knows where your inspiration will lead?

Journaling Prompt:  Have you ever felt so inspired to create something that you knew it came from a Higher Power?

Cafetorium Transformation

Quote of the Day:  Matthew 18 (The Message)
18-20 Take this most seriously: A yes on earth is yes in heaven; a no on earth is no in heaven. What you say to one another is eternal. I mean this. When two of you get together on anything at all on earth and make a prayer of it, my Father in heaven goes into action. And when two or three of you are together because of me, you can be sure that I'll be there.

To follow up on Thursday's Post, I did play for Palm Sunday worship service.  We are a newer Lutheran church in our area, a smaller congregation, and we gather at the middle school cafetorium on Sunday mornings for worship.  Yesterday, it was the site of a chess tournament.  Three of my boys played in the tournament, one earned a medal.  They all played great and had fun.  The one who didn't play, enjoyed being an individual, having free time, and reading a good book.

From chess boards, and serious concentration on Saturday, to a worship space on Sunday, this space is filled with the Holy Spirit.  With just a few symbols of our faith, a cloth over a folding table, candles, scriptures, and a piano, we come together as a congregation.  Members took speaking parts as we read out loud the script of the drama to the cross.  Verses of hymns broke up the dialogue, and I felt the Holy Spirit working through my playing, through the words spoken, through the fellowship of my faith community, and the spirit of this place. 

We had a larger attendance than expected, so I had to think fast for additional communion music.  I played a piece called Song of India, but you can only repeat and tag back so much.  When I saw that the servers ran back for extra communion wafers, I pulled out Beautiful Savior, our sending hymn. 

Monday, this space will be a cafeteria again filled with middle schoolers.  They will be loud and rough, or meek and quiet.  They'll spill milk on the floor and flirt with that girl or guy from math class.  They'll be thinking about grades and friends, and wishing for summer vacation, and worrying about their families, and trying to be grown up, but needing to be just kids.

And, the spirit lingers on.

Journaling Prompt:  How was your weekend?  Did you have any spirit moments?

Spring Thaw

Quote of the Day:

from The Message, Psalm 31:23-24

Love God, all you saints;

God takes care of all who stay close to him,

But he pays back in full

those arrogant enough to go it alone.

Be brave. Be strong. Don't give up.

Expect God to get here soon.

Up here in the North Country, the Earth is still frozen.  Ice and snow are thick on our drive-ways and by-ways.  Our paths are treacherous. Our patience is thin.  We're longing for spring.  And, yet, before we see the first blooms of tulips and smell the fragrance of lilacs, we must endure the spring thaw. 

I'm from the Red River Valley of the North.  As I mentioned in my molecule post, this river flows north.  The spring thaw is a huge threat.  As the river ice melts, it has nowhere to go.  As the snow becomes water, it flows out, but not away, it pools in low lands and fields and farms.  It becomes the enemy and your instincts for fight or flight kick in.  My parents, sister and husband stayed on the farm and fought...and somehow won the battle of the flood of 2009.  My best writer-mama-pal fled to my house.  I'm preparing floor space and heart space right now.  The snowbanks are high.  The ice is thick.  Danger is looming.  And, yet, we long for spring.

I see barriers in relationships like the frozen ground all around me.  Although people long for deep, intimate relationships, they remain in a frozen state.  It's easier, they think, to stay cold and form ice sculptures on their exteriors that look "all good."  And, yet, they long for the spring thaw.  What if, the warmth of friendship started to melt that ice?  What if, God blew the fire of his love into our hearts and we began to thaw?

Darkness, death, suffering all come before the dawn of Easter morning when the lilies are in bloom.  The sun warms our faces, and we feel joy in God's deep, intimate relationship.  Jesus walks that dark path with us.  He knows our every pain, our every joy, and our deepest longing.  He wants us to have deep, intimate relationships.  What does that feel like?  I suspect it's like longing for spring, despite the fear of the flood.

Journaling Prompt: What are your deepest longings?  How do you remain frozen?  What if your heart started to melt?

Toes

Quote of the Day:

Oh yes, you shaped me first inside, then out;
you formed me in my mother's womb.
I thank you, High God—you're breathtaking!
Body and soul, I am marvelously made!
I worship in adoration—what a creation!
You know me inside and out,
you know every bone in my body;
You know exactly how I was made, bit by bit,
how I was sculpted from nothing into something.
Like an open book, you watched me grow from conception to birth;
all the stages of my life were spread out before you,
The days of my life all prepared
before I'd even lived one day.
- From Psalm 139, The Message Bible

Who likes feet? Some people are attracted to feet. Some are repelled. When I consider all my body parts, I don't list my feet on the "they look pretty good" side. They're really not that pretty. The size is fine, an 8, but I have hair on my big toe, and my baby toes are deformed. The pinky toe rests on the guy next to it who curls under the middle toe. You know the rhyme:

This little piggy went to market (that big one with the hair)

This little piggy stayed home (the normal looking one)

This little piggy had roast beef (middle guy)

This little piggy had none (the one hiding behind the roast beef eater)

This little piggy cried wee-wee-wee all the way home (because it had no muscle of its own and just lies on top of the hungry one)

I had a massage this week and the lovely spa people threw in a half price pedicure. I had one last summer, and it was time to file off the winter dry calluses on my heels. The massage was super. I told the gal that I liked the pressure firm to deep, but when she got to that sore and tense area between my shoulder blades, I had to tell her to ease up. She worked out some tight knots. There were times when I felt like the bread dough and her hands the rolling pin. I lift weights at a Group Power class at the YMCA, and I carry the weight of raising four boys and being single on my shoulders. She played ocean sounds while rubbing me down, and at times, her hands moved along my limbs with the sound of the waves. I'm a pianist, so I'll tell ya, the forearm and hand massage was fabulous.

Then, on to the pedicure. I often ask the spa gals about feet and try to get a feel for what they like, or don't, about their job. One sweet gal said, "I like doing pedicures because it helps people relax." I pointed out my crooked toes to another one. She said, "It's our imperfections that make us perfect. It's who we are." I thought that was profound. The young woman who rubbed my feet this week said, "Feet don't bother me. I'd rather give a pedicure than get one. My feet are too ticklish."

As you can see, I went with a wild purple polish this week. After all, I am a Minnesotan, and the Vikings are in the play-offs, and even though I'm not much of a football fan, I do live with four boys. One son is wearing a different Vikings shirt every day to school. At least, I think it's a different one. He's not above pulling an already-been-used one out of the dirty clothes pile!

We have a tendency to look at ourselves, often cringing, and criticise what we see as imperfect, aka ugly. Only the movie stars and super models are perfect, right? Or, are they? NO ONE is perfect. In fact, I think perfect is a dirty word. I'm trying to eliminate it from my vocabulary. We cannot be perfect in our actions, our bodies, our minds, our lives. We can only strive to do and be the best in any circumstance.

I rephrased a portion of that Psalm and wrote it on my mirror: You are beautifully and wonderfully made. - God

All of you - all your parts - lean or lumpy, hairy or smooth, tall or short, even or asymmetrical, are beautiful in their imperfections because they make you who you are.

A great book about body shapes is The Shape of Me and Other Stuff, by Dr. Seuss. To quote the end: Of all the shapes we MIGHT have been...I say "HOORAY for the shapes we're in!"

Journaling Prompt: What makes you beautiful and unique?