Anglican

Nature & Grace, and What We May Learn About Beauty
Found Beauty: a colorful palette in front of a local garden store

I continue to be grateful for things I have learned from my former teaching colleague, Ralph McMichael. Among the insights I have gained from him is one way to sum up some basic understandings that people have of the relationship between Nature and Grace. Whether by these names or not, we all seem to have a concept of this relationship. Nature, an all embracing category, is the common term widely used to refer to what Jews and Christians call Creation. Grace is a term that some use to refer to the presence of the supernatural realm, as it may touch upon or be found in Nature.

There are many ways of thinking about the relationship between these terms, and what they represent. Among them are four basic concepts or models of the interaction between them, which Ralph McMichael often presented in his teaching at the seminary. His articulation of these four ways can be summed up with four words: Compatible; Opposition; Identification; and Fusion. The most common understanding of the interaction between the supernatural realm and the natural world is represented by the first two terms. I will explain.

Many of us were raised in social environments where this interaction was seen as one in which the supernatural, or Grace, only episodically touches aspects of the natural world, or Nature. Based on the first model, some of us tend to see this interaction as involving the compatible yet occasional way that Grace touches Nature. It touches Nature here and there, unpredictably ‘gracing’ the natural realm in which we find ourselves. In this first model, Grace is a friendly presence to and upon those beings or things that it visits, making up for something of value that we seek or yearn for. 

In the second model of the relationship between Nature and Grace, the latter is once again seen as episodic, touching Nature just as unpredictably. But, in this case, Grace – although sometimes also friendly – can appear to be incompatible with some things it touches. In this view, while Grace may be friendly to Nature, aspects of Nature may be unfriendly to Grace, and opposed to it!

Found Beauty: Boat rudder in clear northern water

The third model for understanding the relationship between Nature and Grace might not be as familiar to many of us, and it may represent a reaction to the perceived inadequacy of the first two models. This third view has affinities with what is called pantheism, the view that Nature and Grace are so intertwined that they are indistinguishable. In this view, there is no separation between sacred and profane, or between God and the world, for – despite appearances and sometimes contrary experience – the two ideas or things are really one. Hence, according to this third mode of approaching the question, Nature is Grace.

McMichael referred to the fourth model as the Fusion model, one that he and many ‘catholic-minded’ thinkers commend. In this model, rather than seeing Nature and Grace identified as one entity, Nature is best seen as infused by Grace. With this understanding, we can see Nature and Grace as distinguishable but also as inseparable. Nature is graced. A theological extension of this idea is for us to say that ‘there is no place where God is not.’

In offering McMichael’s four models for understanding the relationship between Nature and Grace, I realize that I have presented a conceptually-dense set of ideas. Yet, I encourage you to consider them – and muse about them – for I believe you will come to recognize how you – like me – often assume one or more of them. Sometimes we think with these four models in overlapping ways, or at other times inconsistently when viewing one set of circumstances followed by another.

Found Beauty: A rainbow breaks through a late evening storm

These four models, because they so fundamentally shape our world-view, continue to play a role in my reflection upon Art, Beauty, and the theme of Transcendence. I invite you to join me in reflecting on how these models for understanding the relationship between Nature and Grace might inform our thinking about Beauty, its presence in the world around us, and how Beauty is a fundamental aspect of our experience of the natural realm in which we find ourselves every day.

Here is one way to apply McMichael’s four models to how we think about Beauty:

  • Beauty graces Nature episodically, in a compatible way.
  • Beauty appears in Nature episodically, and challenges that which is other than beautiful.
  • Nature is identified with Beauty.
  • Nature is infused with Beauty, and thoroughly permeated by it.

If we identify with the fourth view, as presented here, we of course need to do some thinking about those circumstances when we are confronted by an encounter with ugliness, as well as with evil. We must then try to explain our experiences of these latter real aspects of what we encounter. Here, both-and thinking will serve us in a way that either/or thinking will prove unsatisfactory. And, hence, we must be sure to distinguish the Identification model (which tends toward pantheism) from the Fusion model (which can be consistent with traditional theism).

Found Beauty: A quiet early morning at the same marina

Additional note: the photos included in this post were taken in Charlevoix, Michigan, in the summer of 2025

A Church by Errol Barron in Gulfport
St Peter’s by the Sea, Gulfport, MS, designed by Errol Barron

Errol Barron’s work as an artist may be familiar to readers of this website based on some of his evocative New Orleans water color paintings previously featured here. His paintings of that city as well as of Tulane University, where he has taught for many years, provide strong indications that he is more than a skilled painter and draftsman, but also a trained architect. He has taught generations of architectural students at Tulane, and he has practiced his profession to great effect not only in this region but also overseas, with some houses of his located in Greece. Given Barron’s evident sensitivity to historical architecture and design features characteristic of this region, I was surprised to learn about a notable but unexpected feature of his resume. He worked for seven years with Paul Rudolph, architect of the well-known and oft-criticized Boston Government Services Center and a partial inspiration for the movie, The Brutalist.

St Peter’s by the Sea, interior

I was recently delighted to discover the Episcopal church in Gulfport, Mississippi, St. Peter’s by the Sea, and that Errol Barron was its architect. It is a gem of a church, and a very successful design that incorporates traditional ecclesiastical elements associated with European Gothic churches along with features reflecting contemporary liturgical renewal. I have heard people refer to this style of church building as Carpenter Gothic, and as Southern Gothic, and the labels seem to fit well. The worship space exudes an appreciation for traditional forms while harmoniously blending them with a contemporary focus upon light, color, and the greater participation of worshippers in flowing open spaces.

The main altar with the ornamental rood screen

Visitors to the Washington National Cathedral, and similar churches of Gothic-revival style, may recognize the particular heritage that stands behind the floor plan of St Peter by the Sea. At the National Cathedral, and in its medieval forebears (such as London’s Westminster Abbey), an arched stone ‘rood screen’ separates the chancel and choir (beyond the screen) from the nave where the congregation is seated. When, in the 1960’s, the liturgical renewal movement began to influence changes in the worship arrangements of these buildings, a new main altar was often then placed in the nave, on the congregation’s side of the rood screen. Smaller gatherings for weekday services could still occur in the choir side of that screen, while Sunday gatherings for the principal Eucharist would be celebrated in the nave, with the clergy, altar, and liturgical action proximate and visible to the congregation.

A view of the ceiling and woodwork above the choir

Though St Peter’s by the Sea is a comparatively recent building, its design reflects something of the historical sequence described above. Instead of an imposing stone rood screen, shielding the chancel and choir spaces beyond, Barron has designed an ornamental arched screen of light-colored wood that suggests rather than imposes separate areas within the overall space. This allows the evocative blue canopy of the ceiling over the chancel to draw one’s eyes forward, toward the visible clear windows at the liturgical ‘east end’ of that space behind the chapel altar, facing the seashore.

Further, the notably narrow, even sharp-looking, wooden ‘spires’ protruding above where the choir chairs are placed enhance the upward sense of lift in the nave, complemented by the radiant cream and white color scheme above where the congregation sits. Light pours in through clear windows above, while delicately fashioned and dangling wrought iron fixtures provide supplemental illumination for evening services and in poor weather.

A view toward the nave from the choir, through the rood screen

On the Sunday of my recent visit, I was told that the congregation numbered about 145, and I estimate that the nave would comfortably seat about 200 people, though it could probably accommodate more. With the Gothic-inspired longitudinal floorplan, evident when one approaches the exterior of the building, a visitor might expect a rather narrow and linear worship space. Such an initial impression of the likely effect of the interior spatial arrangement is overcome by a number of subtle but effective design choices made by the architect and those who worked with him.

Accompanying the verticality of the large open area above the center of the nave are the seating areas adjoining the side aisles, taking the places of side chapels found in many medieval Gothic churches. The relatively low height of the box pews enhances the sense of horizontal width created by these adjacent seating areas, which provide relatively unobstructed views of the altar and lecterns. I also found the acoustics within the worship space to be well-suited for music as well as for public reading and speaking.

I am drawn to the ethos of historical churches; I am enthused by many examples of modern architecture; and I appreciate the fruits of the liturgical renewal movement. In my experience, a successful blend of these three things is not always found in contemporary buildings designed for worship and intended for the enhancement of congregational life. In his design for St. Peter’s by the Sea, in Gulfport, Mississippi, and in his supervision of its restoration after Hurricane Katrina, Errol Barron has achieved just such of a desirable synthesis.

A representative side window incorporating stained glass window fragments recovered after Hurricane Katrina

Our Prayers and God’s Blessing
Christ Retreats to the Mountain to Pray, by James Tissot

I have become fond of quoting a particular question and response found in the Catechism included in our Book of Common Prayer. The question is straightforward: “What is prayer?” The first part of the extended answer to this question is also put plainly, and it is instructive. “Prayer is responding to God.”

Consider the significance of those words. If we gained our concept of prayer during childhood, we probably still think about this activity in the same terms – terms which are rather different from the way that the Prayer Book Catechism sets forward its definition. For it seems almost universal that we associate our concept of prayer with ’petition.’ Petition is the formal name for prayers that ask, in which we make our personal requests to God. ‘Intercession’ is what we call the prayers that we offer for other persons and their needs. The frequency with which we might engage in these two forms of prayer may help explain why we are so accustomed to seeking what we call “answers to prayer.” If answers to prayers are sought, it suggests that prayers are posed to God by us unidirectionally, as questions and or as requests.

Yet, our Catechism begins its teaching about prayer by characterizing this activity as one in which we respond to God, rather than one in which we envision God responding to us and to our concerns!

St. James the Less (at prayer), by James Tissot

Putting the matter very simply, the Prayer Book presents prayer as something that is God-centered, God-initiated, and as God-enabled. Such a notion of prayer is fully biblical and properly theological. Yet, we like to be ‘in the driver’s seat.’ Habitually, we think of prayer as something we initiate, and for which we supply the purpose and direction. But if prayer is to be centered upon communion with God, then it ought also to be the other way around, so as to follow the words of Jesus. For he taught us to address “our Father in heaven” by saying “thy will be done.” When we follow his teaching, instead of so often asking God to please do what we want, we are more willing to let God be quietly present and foremost in our consciousness.

The Vision of Zechariah (while at prayer in the Temple), by James Tissot

In a similar way, I think we habitually also misperceive the nature of divine blessing. Two examples of blessing that admittedly are not everyday occurrences, but which sometimes receive mention in discussions about blessing, can help make the point. These examples are provided by occasions when our chaplains are asked to offer prayers for, and pronounce blessings at, the launching of military ships and submarines, or to offer similar words over the participants and their hounds at fox hunts. Such prayers should not be seen as providing sanction for or as necessarily implying divine approval of whatever we ask on such occasions. Blessings in such contexts can instead be understood as words that we offer so that what is prayed for might be in accord with God’s will, rather than as words offered in support of purposes that we prefer and will into effect. Therefore, prayers offered for persons seeking public office, or who serve in that capacity, would best be shaped according to this understanding.

In view of these observations, blessing as a spiritual activity can be defined in the following way. For those who desire a blessing in the context of the church, a bishop or priest might say words of this kind: “May God’s will be furthered in your life, to the end that our Lord’s revealed and known purposes may be brought to their fulfillment in you, and for you.”

Here, the parallel we can discern between engaging in prayer, and offering blessings, provides insight. If prayer begins with responding to God, rather than with inviting God to respond to us, then surely words of blessing pronounced by our clergy are equally contingent upon the revealed direction of God’s purposes rather than those of our own. Therefore, we should always seek to offer prayers and blessings that are in accord with God’s known will, with the aim that our wills and desires might be in harmony with those of our Lord. Prayers and blessings are most genuine when we are most open to letting God be God.

James Tissot, Christ Goes Up Alone onto a Mountain (detail)

The Beauty of Witness
Memorial sculpture commemorating the Martyrs of Memphis

This week, on September 9, we observed a significant date on our personal calendar by celebrating the birthday of one of our sons. September 9 was already a notable date for us beginning some years before his birth, after our move to Memphis in the summer of 1983. During those years, the date became associated with an addition to the Episcopal Church Calendar that has readings appointed for it in our Lectionary. September 9 is designated as the feast of The Martyrs of Memphis: Constance, Thecla, Ruth, Frances, Charles Parsons, and Louis Schuyler.

To those unfamiliar with its history, the official title for this feast day may suggest dramatic images of early Christian saints contending with ferocious animals and or human adversaries in the name of the Faith. Which then raises questions about whether, perhaps, the Memphis in question was the one in ancient Egypt. Yet, the name designation for this day can be instructive for all of us because it may remind us of something we once learned – that the etymological root of the word martyr lies in the ancient Greek word meaning ‘witness.’ Hence, those persons we commemorate on the Church’s Calendar because of their examples of Faith are remembered for being especially compelling witnesses to God’s redemptive mission in Christ, regardless of whether they faced circumstances that might have led to a heroic death.

The Martyrs of Memphis provides an occasion for us to remember the men and women who remained in Memphis to minister to those with whom they faced together the ravages of a severe Yellow Fever epidemic, from which they could have fled to safer places elsewhere. Unknown to them was the fact that this horrible plague was a mosquito-borne infectious virus, and not something arising from ‘swamp vapors’ or bad city air. Among the faithful persons who succumbed to the fever, and who are remembered on the feast day of September 9, are the four women named in the feast’s title who were community members of the Sisters of St. Mary, Father Charles Parsons, the last remaining Episcopal priest in the city, and Father Louis Schuyler, who came as a volunteer from New Jersey to take Parsons’ place and join the Sisters in ministry.

Monument by Harris Sorrelle, in the Memphis Martyrs Park, overlooking the Mississippi River

Words from the collect (or principal prayer) for the feast day of the Martyrs of Memphis capture well why these particular individuals are named among so many others – known and unknown – who shared their faith as well as fate: “We give you thanks and praise, O God of compassion, for the heroic witness of the Martyrs of Memphis, who, in a time of plague and pestilence, were steadfast in their care for the sick and dying, and loved not their own lives, even unto death…”

The generic character of the title for this significant feast day was chosen to help us also remember that the number of those who died in the epidemic, not only in Memphis, but up and down the Mississippi River and beyond, numbered in the thousands. Memphis’s historic Elmwood Cemetery, its oldest, has a particularly moving monument that complements the contemporary riverside sculptural composition by Harris Sorrelle (displayed above). At Elmwood, instead of having an impact upon the use of anonymous and aptly dark-colored figurative silhouettes, as Sorrelle’s sculpture does, the cemetery monument provides just paragraphs of words, stating in plain but moving terms the reality that lies below where cemetery visitors walk (as the following image attests). As the Elmwood monument notes, at least 1,400 Yellow Fever victims are buried in nearby unmarked mass graves.

Martyrs monument in Elmwood Cemetery (clicking the photo will provide an expanded view of it)

The faithful witness of those who died ministering to and with others among the Yellow Fever victims in Memphis in the 1870’s can have the effect of prompting us to reflect on the very different circumstances in which we live, with our advances in medicine, healthcare, and social services. Nevertheless, the COVID crisis of 2020, and its lingering legacy, can also remind us of our mortality, our higher calling to seek godly life in its fulness, and to be faithful companions with and to those less fortunate than ourselves.

A state-provided historical marker that includes use of the word ‘martyr’

Additional note: a tragic-comic aspect of the Yellow Fever’s impact upon Memphis was another pre-scientific belief (in addition to the ‘swamp vapors’ theory regarding its origin) amongst those who remained in the city. It is said that those who seemed to have the lowest mortality rate were corpulent men who smoked cigars, the smoke from which may have warded off the mosquitos responsible for the plague’s transmission.

God’s Handiwork Inspires Ours
Stones found on a northern Lake Michigan beach

Labor Day is around the corner and some of us may receive and enjoy a day off from work. What we call retirement, a stage in life I am presently enjoying, tends to represent leaving work behind. Yet these and related ideas rest upon a common assumption, that work is different from, and in some ways inimical to, enjoying fulfillment in life.

I find a biblically based theological insight helpful when thinking about work. As with many matters that can be looked at from the perspective of Christian moral theology, our view of work can be enhanced by making reference to four specific reference points. These are, first, what we have learned about God’s purposes in Creation for this or that aspect of our lives; then, what impact sin associated with our Fall has had upon what we are thinking about; third, how God’s ongoing work of Redemption has restored and or transformed the matter presently under consideration; and fourth, to ask what future – if any – does this aspect of our lives have in Christ. 

Work provides a wonderful topic for engaging in this fourfold inquiry. Based on our common way of thinking about work, it may be hard for us to consider the meaning of work from any other vantage point than of attributing its role in our lives to the Fall and to the ongoing effects of human sin. Yet, we can also learn from many who have come before us who have distinguished work from toil. This can help us see how forms of labor, and pejorative associations the word may have for us, are surely due to our proclivity to link such activity with burdensome unpleasant duties.

For what we may overlook is the biblical view of how God has shared stewardship responsibility for aspects of Creation with us, as beings created in God’s image and likeness. This was symbolized by the way that our mythic forebears (Adam and Eve) were given their ‘work’ of naming the animals as a path toward fulfillment. It was not until their expulsion from the Garden that the first human beings are described as prone to acts characteristic of sin. Thereupon, in biblical theology, our heavenly ‘work’ of praise, and of divinely-invited participation in God’s Creation stewardship, ceased to be pleasingly ready pathways toward human fulfillment, and became energy draining and spirit-diminishing activities – such as we tend to find them to be now.

A growing segment of the wider Christian community shows signs of acknowledging how God’s work of Redemption is ongoing, quite aside from its ‘once and for all time’ episodic saving events. The pattern and purpose remains the same – nothing fundamentally new is added, nothing old of lasting value taken away. Preeminent remains God’s abiding purpose for us to become and be God-like in God-intended ways. For, as Athanasius taught us, the Son of God became the Son of Man, so that the children of men and women could become the children of God. Work – not toil nor burdensome labor but creative and fulfilling work – remains a vital part of our holy path toward wholeness.

And to remind us of this abiding truth, the loving Creator has spread around us an uncountable abundance. These are the signs of outpoured and participatory grace, some of them very small, like stepped-upon seashore pebbles and tiny blossoms among hurried-by roadside weeds.

Too quickly we dismiss the significance of our our small acts of selfless giving, not to be counted by us, but adding up to so much more than we imagine in the life-growth of others. This is our holy ‘work,’ overlooked but important stepping stones on our path toward living into the godly fullness with which Christ fills us.

If on our daily course our mind

Be set, to hallow all we find,

New treasures still, of countless price,

God will provide for sacrifice.

Old friends, old scenes, will lovelier be,

As more of heaven in each we see:

Some softening gleam of love and prayer

Shall dawn on every cross and care.

[John Keble, “Morning,” from The Christian Year]

What Distinguishing Religion, Science, Magic, and Technology, Might Teach Us About Beauty
A book of essays by Peter Kreeft

Peter Kreeft has written an illuminating essay on the use of indirect communication by CS Lewis and Walker Percy. In it, and in a humorous recording of its content, he explores how both Lewis and Percy present the predicament of the modern person. We live as upside-down persons. And we are not among the first people in history to suspect this. (See St. Augustine, d. 430 AD)

As a way into the heart of his theme, Kreeft invites us to consider a hypothetical challenge posed to a child: take four common objects and sort them into two boxes. The four items are a baseball, a basketball, a baseball bat, and a basketball net. The two most obvious solutions to this challenge, based on the categories of being and doing, nicely set up a thought experiment that Kreeft intends for his audience to engage. He invites us to sort the following four things into two (undefined) categories: Religion, Science, Magic, and Technology. Try it. 

In taking up this simple quiz question, we discover one way that our contemporary thinking habits depart from those of our ancient forebears. Our common assumption that science and technology are sister fields, reliably distinguished by their empirical methodology from both religion and magic, reflects a misunderstanding. For what we may overlook in this supposition of an affinity between science and technology, as well as between the second pair of terms, is how our categorization of these four terms demonstates our understanding of what we consider to be real. And the key variable governing our typical way of sorting these four conceptual categories centers less on what is ‘real,’ and more on the significance of how we conceptualize our encounter with ‘reality.’

A theme that has surfaced from time time in this space, and which plays a large role in structuring my understanding of Beauty, rests upon my appreciation for the distinction between the meaning of the words ‘objective’ and ‘subjective.’ I credit my graduate research in ethics and moral theology for raising my awareness of what these terms can and do mean. With regard to Beauty, and more broadly about what is real versus what is presently actual in our awareness of things, ‘objective’ best refers to the objects of perception, and ‘subjective’ in a corollary way best refers to the subject of perception (I.e., to me, the observer, the knower).

CS Lewis in his Oxford study

Kreeft makes the case that both CS Lewis and Walker Percy shared a conceptual understanding with many philosophers and writers from the pre-modern era. In making the point, Kreeft quotes what he says are the three most illuminating sentences he has ever read about our civilization:

“There is something which unites magic and applied science [i.e., technology] while separating both from the “wisdom” of earlier ages. For the wise men of old, the cardinal problem had been how to conform the soul to reality, and the solution had been knowledge, self-discipline, and virtue. For magic and applied science alike, the problem is how to subdue reality to the wishes of men: the solution is a technique.”

And if we have not guessed where Kreeft is headed with all this, he puts the matter succinctly: “Technology is more like magic than like science.” It follows that he commends thinking of religion as being like science by also involving a search for what is real and true, even if differing in its methodology and content.  

Walker Percy at home in Covington, LA

A challenge related to Kreeft’s theme, regarding how we approach beauty, faces us as modern people. It stems from how – through the influence of our culture – we are inclined to think of art and architecture as being more akin to magic and technology, than to science and religion. For we tend to assume that artists and architects manipulate materials and space to stimulate certain responses from those who interact with their work. And, of course, they do. But is this all that these crafters of beautiful things accomplish? Are they not also among those who seek and make available to others instantiations of what is real, and more particularly of the beauty that is there for us also to perceive and come to know? I believe that they are. 

Artists and architects approach the world in a way that has an affinity with those who work in religion and science, while what they do may seem to be like the work of those who ‘practice’ technology or magic. For like all genuine seekers of Truth, Goodness, and Beauty, scientists (especially theoretical physicists) as well as religionists include dedicated persons who want to know these real aspects of the world that may be apprehended by those who look for them.

I continue to learn by reflecting on these themes.

Note: Kreeft develops at greater length than I have scope here to address the significance of these and related distinctions. He does this in his essay, “Walker Percy’s Lost in the Cosmos: The Abolition of Man in Late Night Comedy Format.” I commend an entertaining recording of Kreeft’s presentation of the essay’s content, which can be found on his website (by clicking this link).

Our Doorway Into God’s Trinitarian Being
William Holman Hunt, The Shadow of Death (1870-73)

When we as Christians pray, we don’t simply pray to God. With faithful assurance, we pray with and through God! As Paul tells us, “When we cry, ‘Abba! Father!’ it is that very Spirit bearing witness with our spirit…” This is because, when we pray “to the Father,” we also pray with and through the Son. We are enabled to pray with and through the Son following our Baptism. For after Baptism, we are assured that we pray in the Holy Spirit. We therefore pray to God not ‘from the outside,’ but ‘from the inside’ of God’s own being and nature!

Well, how can this be? As we can easily discover, every Eucharistic Prayer in The Book of Common Prayer has a common shape. For all of our Eucharistic Prayers are prayed to the Father, through the Son, in the Holy Spirit. This is not an accident. Jesus modeled this in his own life, and particularly at the Last Supper.

When we repeat Jesus’ pattern, offered at that supper, we stand with him around the same table. And by his graceful invitation, we join his prayer to the One he called, ‘Our Father.’ Our prayer with him, to the Father, is in the power of the Spirit, the same Spirit he spoke about at that table. He modeled at that supper what grace means in practice.

Through the grace of the Holy Spirit, Jesus shares with us his own particular intimacy with the Father. Inviting us to stand with him as he prays, he offers the whole world back to the Father-Creator. By this, Jesus – and us with him – fulfills the divinely intended-but-failed stewardship vocation of the mythical Adam and Eve. And so, this is also our vocation, to offer up to our Father all that truly belongs to the Creator. Sharing with Jesus the grace of the Holy Spirit allows us to join him, the Son, in his ongoing Eucharistic vocation.

A good way we can live into the saving implications of God’s Trinitarian nature, is to engage in some creative imagining. Imagine that, in this moment, Jesus reaches out his hands to us. In reaching out his hands, he does not simply extend his greeting. Extending his embrace, he invites us to join him by standing with him, closely at his side. By his invitation, and our acceptance of it, he shares with us his own intimate and particular relationship with our Father.

And with this invitation, he gives us the power of the Spirit, making it a reality in our lives. Because the invitation comes from him, the power of the Spirit he shares with us is God’s grace-filled power. Jesus makes all this actual and true, whether we feel it or not.

This Trinitarian shape of prayer is different from how we usually imagine prayer. Commonly, we think of prayer as our communication to God. When we feel aware of God and close to God, we speak to God of what is good and well and of that for which we feel thankful. And we often ask for help. But, when there seems to be a veil between us and God, we speak to God with lament or we complain, sometimes in anger. This concept and experience of prayer is ‘subjective,’ and therefore narrow. That is, it is a concept of prayer based primarily upon our personal, interior, experience. It reflects our experience of being the subjects of perception and action. Yet, as the Prayer Book Catechism teaches us, prayer is first of all responding to God.

As we learn from Jesus, and by the Holy Spirit, true prayer is not something we do, which we somehow manage to achieve through our faithfulness, devotion, or energy. True prayer is something we allow God to do within us. True prayer is the kind of praying that we find God already making real within us through the indwelling Grace of the Holy Spirit. The Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit are constantly engaged with one another, in what the Eastern Christian tradition calls ‘a dance,’ a perichoresis. Prayer involves being drawn into this dance. Prayer is sharing in the Trinitarian relational being of God. Prayer is participation in the community of fellowship that exists within God’s own being.

The Trinitarian pattern of our lives rests upon the Trinitarian shape of our prayers. We can accept Jesus’ invitation to stand with him. We then experience his own fellowship with the Father, in the grace-filled power of the Holy Spirit. This enables us to live truly. To live truly, is to live to the Father. It is to live with and through the Son. And true prayer is to live in the power of the Holy Spirit.

And so, we seek to live in the way that we pray: to the Father, with and through the Son, in the Holy Spirit.

Note: This post is based on the Western Church’s observance of Trinity Sunday, on June 15, 2025. My title is based on a well-known metaphor found in John’s Gospel. The text here is based on my homily for that occasion, which may be accessed by clicking here.

My goal is to commend the assurance of hope that lies within the Gospel. And while being aware of concerns about the so-called ’scandal of particularity’ associated with Christianity and Judaism, we should be aware that God is free to offer a similarly positive spiritual experience to those of other religious traditions, or of no particular tradition with which they may identify. I hope to address Hunt’s evocative painting, featured above, in a subsequent post.

The Challenge Posed by Eric Gill

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Eric Gill, Christ Crowned

 

To my mind, some of the most beautiful work in the area of graphic art was created by the British artist and craftsman, Eric Gill. The intractable problem posed by Eric Gill is not a legacy of his artistic output, but of his personal life. Largely unknown to those outside his family until about 50 years after his death, Eric Gill – by admission in his own unpublished writings – had engaged in personal behavior of a kind that most people would find not only abhorrent but, increasingly, as also criminal.

This is related to the larger problem posed by the work of artists, musicians, and architects whose work is seen as having been collaborative with tyrannical regimes (eg., the Third Reich, the Soviet Union). How do we view beauty in art that either depicts or is simply associated in some way with sin or with evil? (This is a matter I have previously tried to understand in relation to Picasso’s great painting, Guernica.)

To cite Scripture to the effect that “all have sinned,” may help us begin to locate the terrain upon which we need to address the problems stemming from Eric Gill’s biography, but it is not in any way to excuse his conduct. Though all sin is bad, and equally problematic in the eyes of God, not all sin is equal in its damaging effect upon others, and upon ourselves. The traditional distinction in moral theology between mortal and venial sins provides one way to try to parse some of these differences, while not excusing any forms or examples of sin, whether in ourselves or among others.

My purpose here is to invite reflection upon how we might appreciate Eric Gill’s religious art, as many did for several generations, without having our view of the merit of his work diminished by our moral evaluation of troubling ethical choices he made, and the lapses from good moral judgment they represent. In other words, and as an amateur student of the arts while also being a retired parish priest and former professor of moral theology, I wish to present some examples of Eric Gill’s art, letting his work speak for itself apart from ethical consideration of his personal life, and without ignoring the problems associated with the latter.

Perhaps my theme here can be summed up in this way: I invite you to benefit from the beauty of what Eric Gill created without asking you to overlook what we have learned about his private life. And I offer this invitation aware that some will not find it possible to accept.

A sculpted carving by Eric Gill above the altar of the Chapel of St George and the English Martyrs, Westminster Cathedral, London
Eric Gill, Crucifixion
Eric Gill, sculpted relief panel from a series of the Stations of the Cross, Westminster Cathedral, London

As we consider some of his art, we should not overlook Eric Gill’s impact, at least indirectly, upon much of the daily life of the population of Great Britain (and elsewhere), in the form of three type faces he created. The most well-known is Gill Sans, named after its designer, and evident at almost every Tube stop in London. An effort to erase his work from the public eye, and replace it with alternatives, would require removing virtually every train station sign in Britain. It could be done. Should it?

Three fonts designed by Eric Gill

To put the problem I have raised here most bluntly, how can we appreciate the beauty in the holy art created by someone who behaved in a way most people would describe as sinful? I do not have a ready answer to this question. Note that, in what I have written above about Gill’s behavior, I have not gone into detail. Would that make a difference? If so, in what way?

And even if we refuse to give any amount of attention to Eric Gill’s artwork, we must still grapple with a timeless question: are there any unforgivable sins? Is anyone, because of his or her behavior, beyond the power of God’s redeeming love? Is it not likely that someone having Gill’s religious inclination also possesses a glimmer of moral awareness such that he or she might be open to repentance when – at the end of life – the person faces the awesome and undiminished light of God’s truth-seeking love?

Here is one thing that we can do: pray for the repose of the soul of Eric Gill, and for God’s Providential mercy.

In beginning to approach the questions I have raised here, I would start with some of the distinctions I shared above. I do not think we can deny this reality – that we, as people who are created in the image and likeness of God, and who have lost that likeness through the Fall and human sin, still bear God’s image however marred it may be by the corruption resulting from our sins. And, that we are still capable while in this life of acts and works of uplifting beauty.

Leo XIV: The Beauty of Possibility

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Pope Leo XIV, upon his election

As an Anglican, I join other non-Roman Catholics in hoping and praying that the new Bishop of Rome will live fully into the beautiful opportunity he has been given. His new office brings with it a symbolic role for all Christians, to be a principled unifier and peacemaker. In this era, that will surely be a challenge.

People of good will seek truth where it is to be found. We want all persons to live in harmony with one another, and with the beautiful world in which we find ourselves. We see this spirit of inquiry and discernment exemplified in many Christian leaders, as well as in non-Christian leaders like the Dalai Lama.

At heart, we seek and desire to serve what Christians and Jews hold to be true regarding all human beings. For we believe that all persons were and are created in the image of God, and that despite the woeful effects of our sin, we all still bear that image, however much we may have lost likeness with God. This was the central insight that some Roman Catholic Christian thinkers, along with fellow spiritual travelers from other traditions, brought to the creation of the United Nations Universal Declaration on Human Rights.

Principal documents from the Second Vatican Council display this theme in abundance. These texts continue to inform and guide wise souls who are genuinely concerned about the numerous lingering and emerging problems within the worldwide Church, and in the many societies and cultures where Christians seek to serve Christ in all persons, and respect the dignity of every human being.

Pope Leo has in large measure the same opportunity that we all have. May he have grace to live and serve well, and may we remember the importance of our own often overlooked roles in seeking to do the same. Every day brings new opportunities to seek and serve what is true, especially as we come to know the source of all Beauty, Goodness, and Truth, in Christ.

As St. Richard, the 13th century pre-Reformation Bishop of Chichester (England), taught us to pray: “Dear Lord, of thee three things [we] pray: to see thee more clearly, to love thee more dearly, and to follow thee more nearly, day by day.” (text from The Hymnal 1982, yet familiar to many from the musical, Godspell)

We find the same words as part of a prayer found in the liturgy of the Roman Catholic Church:

MOST merciful Redeemer,
who gavest to thy Bishop Richard a love of learning,
a zeal for souls, and a devotion to the poor:
grant that, encouraged by his example,
and aided by his prayers,
we may know thee more clearly,
love thee more dearly,
and follow thee more nearly,
day by day;
who livest and reignest with the Father
in the unity of the Holy Spirit, ever one God,
world without end. Amen.

A stained glass window commemorating St. Richard of Chichester, found in the church of St. Saviour, Eastbourne, East Sussex, England

The Beauty of Redemption-Based Identity

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Fra Angelico, The Transfiguration, prefiguring the glory of the Risen Christ and the beauty of our redeemed humanity

 

There is beauty to be found when we base our identity or concept of ourselves upon the Redemption that has been freely shared with us. Yet, we can experience sadness when we rest our self-perception upon our ailments and disorders. Regardless of our feelings, these alternatives represent choices we can make on a daily basis.

We all have an innate disposition to sin, and in various ways we all enact this disposition. But, for Baptized people and all others, this is not ‘the be all and end all’ of who we are made to be. Our end is in Christ, and so our wholeness is in Christ. We may be sinners; we are also among those who have been redeemed and are being transformed by the power of the Resurrection.

Appreciative Inquiry teaches us that what we we focus on grows. This empirical fact can be seen in two readily observable ways. New soccer players, especially the youngest ones, tend to swarm around the soccer ball. And, when on a fast break to try to score a goal, almost inevitably they kick the ball toward the goalie, the apparent impediment on whom their eyes are affixed instead of upon empty areas of the net. Another example lies in how Drivers Ed instruction teaches aspiring drivers to keep their eyes on the road. Why? Because we steer toward what we are looking at, often with sad results when what catches our attention are the flashing lights of an emergency vehicle on the shoulder.

I remember an observant friend remarking about another person known to both of us, regarding how that person was “someone who dotes on his infirmities.” Not a recipe for health in light of our greater awareness about the symbiotic relationship between psychology and physiology.

These insights may have what I hope are obvious spiritual implications. They may lead us to ask, toward what end are we living? Upon what image of our humanity are we most focused?

Raphael, The Transfiguration (detail)

An ironic aspect of the way that we can associate our identity with symptoms or conditions from which we suffer is how we commonly speak about our embodiment. When we say things like, “my leg is killing me,” or “my head feels terrible,” we may unintentionally reinforce a kind of dualism. All too casually, we dismiss such statements as mere figures of speech, and we may wish to consider their further significance. If I say that ‘my leg is killing me,’ then I suggest that in some way ‘my leg’ is not ‘me.’ Because my words imply that ‘it’ is acting upon ‘me.’ In a slightly more abstract way, we make statements like, “my conscience is bothering me.”

When I am inclined to think and speak in this latter way, I suggest by my words that ‘my conscience’ is something other than ‘me,’ and that it has some power of agency over or against me. What we commonly refer to as ‘my conscience’ might better be described as my experience of ‘consciencing’ (an intentional neologism). Or about how I am the kind of being who experiences and engages in acts of conscience. As the older moral tradition recognizes, conscience must not only be followed; conscience can and must be educated.

So, to say that “I am powerless over sin” does not necessarily mean that I am powerless over my disposition to engage in the bad choices and decisions that I tend to make. Like my emotional experience, I may not be able to choose to have the various physiological conditions that I experience. But I can choose how I respond, or how I act in relation to such experiences and conditions. As John Wesley is remembered as having said about the vice of lust, “a bird may land on my head, but I don’t have to make a nest for it with my hair.”

Experientially, I can associate myself with the conditions that may ‘happen to’ me, and with which I may suffer. But conceptually, I can also choose to identify with the reality of the person I have been made to be and become. By grace, we have been made to become icons of Christ, who is the beautiful Icon of God. To seek to become so is to seek to become an icon of the goodness of God as well as of the truth of God, as these have been revealed to us in the face of Christ.

Rembrandt, The Ascension, an image prefiguring our redeemed humanity to keep in mind so that we may, as the Prayer Book’s venerable words put it, “thither thereto ascend.”

 

Note: The wisdom of our Holy Tradition is reflected in the fact that our Lectionary appoints Gospel readings about the Transfiguration on two occasions every year: on the last Sunday after the Epiphany (or the Sunday before Ash Wednesday and Lent, March 2 this year), and also on August 6, the Feast of the Transfiguration of our Lord. / In addition, readers interested in some of the ideas presented above might consider further material relevant to them in my book, Ethics After Easter, available from libraries and booksellers.

The reflections offered here may assist choosing a theme upon which to focus in preparing for and in keeping a Holy Lent.