nature and grace

A Beautiful Place Where I Went to School
A view from the campus farm across the Connecticut River valley

 

In the fall of 1971, I was truly fortunate to be able to head off to Northfield Mt. Hermon School for my sophomore year of high school. After growing up mostly in Japan, and returning to the States for a couple of years, I was ready for a new challenge. I was yearning for an educational opportunity that would build upon my earlier experience at the Yokohama International School. When I arrived at Northfield Mt. Hermon (NMH) as a scholarship student, this inviting place opened the world for me, and changed my life.

Rooflines of a dorm, faculty house, and the student center in early evening light

Recently, I attended the 50th reunion of my NMH high school graduation class, which numbered about 365 in May of 1974. After graduating from this wonderful place for learning and formation, many of us at our reunion had not seen one another in fifty years! Anticipating being with school friends after such a length of time was a bit unsettling for me, given my awareness that – like others, as I came to see – I was not the same person I was when we last saw each other. I soon felt more at ease when greeted graciously by fellow members of my class and by our school hosts.

Two of the remodeled “Cottages” that serve as dorms

A theme periodically voiced during our weekend together was how troubling were the years in which we were students at NMH. The Vietnam War was still a concern; our President was in political if not legal trouble; the society around us was deeply divided and appeared to be coming apart; and large numbers of our fellow citizens seemed either unaware of or uncaring about the precarious state of the air, water, and food supply in the world around us. [In some ways, the world has not changed!]

Being the largest class in NMH’s history, at such a time, provided another challenge. Could we – from our multiple and differing backgrounds – find or make a community built of more than passing relationships upon arriving at a place that was – for some of us – far from home? To my astonishment, my first roommate was a former Yokohama classmate with whom I had last attended 7th grade, halfway around the world. And yet, I also remember my surprise at how I felt when observing the sudden absence of everyone from campus on graduation afternoon, many of whom I would not see again until our recent weekend together.

A wonderfully large green space at the center of campus

Here are a few things that distinguished my (and our) experience at NMH during those years, which are strong features of our school. The legacy of our founder, the 19th century evangelist, D.L. Moody, continues to be manifest in a strong emphasis upon spiritual and ethical values that have the power to transform both individuals and the world in which we live. Moody’s own commitment, to address not only the spiritual needs but also the social and educational needs of marginalized youth, remains central to our school’s mission. For we as alumni are rightly proud that among the first NMH students after our 1879 founding were 16 Indigenous Americans and a freed African-American from a formerly enslaved family.

The new science building

These themes are evident in our school’s mission statement, in words regarding an education that seeks to form the head, the heart, and the hands, of all those who share life together in the beautiful surroundings of the Connecticut River Valley. Fundamental to this commitment is the requirement for every student to have a work job, 3 – 5 hours per week, participating in dish crew, cleaning dorms or classrooms, or working on the school farm. These work jobs save the school a considerable amount of money that is directed toward the substantial scholarship funds that enable many students from a modest financial background to be at NMH.

Again and again during our reunion weekend I found myself saying to Martha, “I was so lucky to go here!”

Our Head of School, Brian Hargrove, speaking to us at the Alumni Convocation, in the chapel also featured in the recent film, The Holdovers

A welcome sign in the nearby historic town of Northfield, Massachusetts

 

Note: NMH provided a fitting setting for the movie, The Holdovers, and for many of its memorable scenes. The film was set in the time period when my fellow classmates and I were in attendance at NMH. One fellow alumnus at the Reunion was celebrating the 75th anniversary of his graduation!

Memorial Day: Finding Beauty in Remembering

For this Memorial Day, I am re-posting part of a piece first published in January.

The grave of Hamilton Sawyer, U.S.C.T. (a Civil War casualty)

 

A few months ago, I found an unanticipated beauty in a wintry place a short drive from my home. Port Hudson National Cemetery is easy to overlook, though one of many created by the Federal government during the Civil War to provide for proper burial of the Union dead. It helps us remember those who lost their lives during a prolonged siege along the Mississippi River in 1863.

Among several thousand headstones, some include the initials, U.S.C.T. Wondering about them, I discovered they signify membership in a former United States Colored Troops regiment. Hamilton Sawyer (died 2 Feb 1864), and Samuel Daniels (died 19 Jan 1864), were two of many young men about whom history seems to have preserved only these bare facts. And yet, as a nation we remember them. Away from home and family at the time of their deaths, they surrendered their lives to help secure freedoms already declared, yet far from actualized in the lives of so many. Obviously, no contemporary visitor to the cemetery could have known either of these men. But we can – if we choose to – remember their names, and for what they died. The beauty of remembering lies in how we make present what we value.

Not everyone appreciates the beauty we find in a National Cemetery. Though these burial grounds were created and are maintained to honor those who have served in our nation’s military, these settings do not celebrate armed conflict. Instead, they venerate the commitment of many fellow Americans to serve our country and its founding principles, and commemorate their willingness to put the interests of the wider community before those of self. Most of us can recognize this commitment and willingness, even if we are not all moved to prioritize these things among our choices.

Praiseworthy themes often characterize eulogies offered at funerals. On such occasions, people usually identify and highlight the admirable traits of those who have died, whose lives we seek to honor through acts of remembrance. When done well, eulogies provide portraits of people’s lives conveying an appreciation for ways that certain moral principles and spiritual values have been lived out by them. These occasions would be drab and shallow if they merely recalled how a person consistently obeyed civil laws or always observed proper manners and social etiquette. By contrast, we touch upon beauty as we seek to remember people when they were at their best. For as Irenaeus put it, “The glory of God is the human person fully alive.” This is how we desire to be remembered.

Here is something to notice. There is a discernible symmetry between the way different baptismal candidates wear similar white robes, the way that variously styled caskets are covered at separate events by the same pall, and the way our burial liturgies – sacred and secular – ‘clothe’ our departed with the same words, on occasion after occasion. We find a pattern similar to these examples at our National Cemeteries, in how formerly high ranking officers and the lowest ranking enlisted men and women all have essentially the same headstones. In life and in death, we are – in the end – all one. Remembering the people whom the stones commemorate, even those we did not know, makes bigger our appreciation for the beauty of God’s world, and our own place within it.

To remember, and be remembered, can be holy acts. In remembering – even with regret-tinged memories – we reflect our desire for things to become whole, and brought to their fulfillment by God.

 

Historical note regarding Port Hudson:

From the above information plaque: “In May 1963, Union Gen. Nathaniel Banks landed 30,000 soldiers at Bayou Sara north of Port Hudson {at St. Francisville}. A force of 7,500 men commanded by Confederate Gen. Franklin Gardner held the Mississippi River stronghold. General Banks’ May 27 assault on Port Hudson failed and nearly 2,000 soldiers died. Among them were 600 men from two black regiments–the 1st and 3rd Louisiana Native Guards.* The Port Hudson engagement was among the first opportunities for black soldiers to fight in the Civil War. Their determination proved to the North that they could and would ably serve the Union Cause.”

“Among those buried {at Port Hudson} are 256 men who served in the United States Colored Troops (USCT).”

*Additional note from an informative Wikipedia article: “The 1st Louisiana Native Guard was one of the first all-black regiments in the Union Army. Based in New Orleans, Louisiana, it played a prominent role in the Siege of Port Hudson. Its members included a minority of free men of color from New Orleans; most were African-American former slaves who had escaped to join the Union cause and gain freedom.”

Port Hudson National Cemetery on a summer day

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Justice Embodies Beauty

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Among the over-used and under-defined words prevalent in everyday conversation is that of ‘justice.’

There are at least three facets of justice long recognized in the western ethical tradition. The formal names for them are distributive, commutative, and social justice. It is important to distinguish them because the word justice is often used as if its meaning is confined to merely one or another of what are at least three of its facets.

Distributive justice can be simply defined as fairness in terms of results or outcomes. In a game of Monopoly, but also in processes or in policies of a more serious kind, the winner is generally determined by who has the most at the end of play. In current conversations where the concept of “equity” is invoked, distributive justice is often the reference point for evaluations of fairness as to social outcomes.

A second aspect of a Monopoly game then comes into consideration. In the way the game was played, did all players follow the same rules, especially in achieving the results they attained? This is what is meant by commutative justice.

The third commonly recognized facet of justice is social justice. With a game of Monopoly, the concept can be expressed in the form of a further question. Were all those who wanted to play the game provided a fair opportunity to participate?

As may be apparent here, these three facets of justice can be, and often are, interrelated. Indeed, the beauty that can be found in the idea of justice often appears when these several facets, among possible others, receive appropriate attention.

Clearly, beauty is never a merely visual phenomenon, recognizing that we find it in ideas expressed in poems, and in observations made by philosophers. The beauty I find in the concept of justice lies in the multifaceted nature of the idea, and in how it can bring enrichment to human relationships and communities.

One example can help make the point. In terms of the relationship between communities and individuals, justice is often expressed in terms of what communities owe to individuals, especially so that the needs of the latter are not overlooked or denied by the former. Yet defined merely in this mono-directional way diminishes the concept of justice when what individuals may owe to communities does not receive comparable consideration. There is beauty to be found in a two-way symmetry of respect and positive regard between individuals and their communities.

Justice along with beauty are significant aspects of human flourishing, given how both contribute to our wellbeing as people made in the image and likeness of God. We find beauty when we discern what appears to be a ‘right relation’ between or among parts or aspects of a work of art or architecture, as well as among members of a community. Thinking carefully about such perceptions of right relation can enhance our comprehension of beauty in daily life and work, and our practice of the virtue of justice in our social affiliations.

The Eastertide “vine and the branches” Gospel reading can deepen our appreciation for this fundamental dimension of justice conceived of as right relation. The ‘right relation’ of the branches to the vine is predicated on the revealed, and literally embodied, right relation between the True Vine and its branches, and their living connection in him.

James Tissot, What Our Lord Saw from the Cross

We should not overlook how metaphors based on justice play a significant role in the Bible, especially in the New Testament, regarding our relationship with God. Self-justification often forms an unattractive feature of our relationship with others. Yet, it has no appropriate role in our relationship with God. We may try to secure right relation with others through self-justification, but only God makes us right with God. Since our practice of the virtue of justice has no role in securing our standing before God, we can only seek in humility to reflect our gratitude for God’s generous and unmerited favor.

Paraphrasing Paul, we have been made ambassadors of the one who embodied the beauty of reconciliation, or of graced right relation.

Pointing Toward Perception

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We live in a world filled with “data.” Disconnected bits of information, especially in great quantity, overwhelm our ability to see and to think. Accumulating additional data or more information does not produce knowledge. Knowledge has to do with seeing the connections between bits of information. When we see the connections, we begin to see a picture, we begin to hear a story, and we gain understanding as well as wisdom.

The unrecognized fellow traveler on the road to Emmaus asks the two disciples, ‘what are all these things you are talking about?’ The answer he receives from them amounts to information. But his question is pointed toward understanding, especially in relation to ‘the big picture. He is challenging them to discover something bigger. He is really asking something like this: ‘All these things’ that have happened… What do they have to do with what God has been up to, all along?”

Here is a basic Christian truth that we find in the Emmaus Road story: Things take on meaning in relation to the risen Jesus. It happens when we see events in our lives in relation to him. It happens also with things like bread and wine as we gather at table. And it happens with people like you and me as we gather in community.

Jesus helps our perception on the road to Emmaus, and reveals something even more profound at the inn. This ‘inn,’ unlike the one where he was born, has many rooms, many mansions. When we see things like past events and the bread in relation to him, we discern more about what they were or are, and what they yet can become. When we see ourselves in relation to him, we better discern who we really are, and who we are called to be.

Prayerfully, we can look around, between things, and within. We can look for the connections. When we do, we see and discern. We see more because we see more wholly. Then we see the holy.

 

The above painting, Supper at Emmaus (1958), is by Ceri Richards, and is used by permission from the Trustees of the Methodist Modern Art Collection (UK). The penciled notation at the base of this guache painting on paper suggests that it was intended as a study for an altarpiece painting for the chapel of St. Edmund Hall (or College), at Oxford, England. The Emmaus story can be found in Luke 24:13-35, and it is a traditional Eastertide Gospel reading.

This post is adapted from one first published in 2014.

The Beauty of Sister Wendy

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Paul left us with some of the most remarkable words in the New Testament: “For God, who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.” And so, we ‘behold the beauty of the Lord’ in each other. Especially If we have died with Christ in Baptism, and risen with him in his Resurrection. For we now live in him, and he in us. I am reminded of these truths when I see images of Sister Wendy Beckett’s face.

Readers familiar with this blog website will have guessed at the sense of affinity I feel when I see Sister Wendy’s videos, or read her books. Discovering her work, and gaining a sense about her perception of her vocation, have been a source of encouragement for me. She has glorified God by helping me to perceive and give thanks for beauty. And not just in art, but in faith and life, and in all the world.

We are often blessed with companions as we journey through our lives in this world, some familial and or some spiritual, some more proximate to us and others further away. When asked about these people, we are likely to offer praise for what they mean to us and for what we have received from them. Sister Wendy has been a companion for me because of what she represents: a life well-lived, one attentive to what is most important, while less distracted by that which is ephemeral.

I like a biblical metaphor with which to think about how things will be when we – as people like to say – ‘pass through the veil,’ ‘get to the other side,’ and experience being ‘in the nearer presence of our Lord.’ It is to consider with whom I might want to sit at table in the kingdom of heaven, along with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, with whom Jesus promised many would come to be present (Mt. 8:11). And at table with Mary, Martha, and Lazarus, with whom Jesus dined at an occasion commemorated on Monday in our Holy Week lectionary. Of those not personally known to me in this life, Sister Wendy is one near to whom I want to sit.

Here is a proverb I like to quote, which applies to much of life: we move toward what we are looking at. In addition to the weekly texts from the lectionary and their related readings, I spend a lot of time looking at images of beauty, in its many forms. Having started my adult life as one aspiring to work in art and architecture, and then largely setting those things aside when pursuing ordination and theological work, I now find myself returning to my starting point. But with new eyes, and a wider horizon.

Sister Wendy, and the example she represents for me, have played a quiet but very important role in my growth and aspiration toward greater wholeness.

Thank you, Sister Wendy, for helping me and us see beauty, and by this to know God’s love in a fuller way.

 

During these forty days of our preparation for the Paschal feast, I have been finding quiet joy and peace in Sister Wendy Beckett’s, The Art of Lent: A Painting a Day from Ash Wednesday to Easter. The quote at the outset from Paul can be found in 2 Cor. 4:6.

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The Beauty of Gandhi’s Example

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Mahatma Gandhi remains one of the most revered and idolized figures in modern history. And yet, also, one of the least imitated. His life and thought provide a compelling example that may not be well understood. Asked about this, he might have said, “It’s all rather simple,” and summarize his life’s work with a Kantian principle derived from Jesus: treat one another as you would have them treat you.

“Simple” is sometimes another word for “naive.” In Gandhi’s case, it is otherwise. His journey through life, well-depicted in Richard Attenborough’s fine film, taught Gandhi many things and led him to a wise integrity few others seem to have attained. He learned much through arduous experiences. Gandhi’s uniqueness may lie in how he synthesized his learning with the result that he achieved greater maturity and a resoluteness of character. His personal growth involved a practiced disposition toward honesty, reasoned adherence to principles, and a profound simplicity of manner in life choices.

Gandhi in conversation with his friend, and India’s first Prime Minister, Jawaharlal Nehru

For many, Gandhi’s life story brings to mind the word ‘pacifism.’ More nuanced is the label, ‘non-violence.’ Yet both terms need further qualification. Pacifism and a non-violent response to aggression often reflect a belief that violence (and therefore war) is not governed by reason, and therefore cannot be disciplined or limited by principled reflection and deliberation. Hence, according to this view, no matter how destructive violence may be, responding in kind – even if proportionately – always compounds the evil.

Gandhi’s approach to the evil he apprehended and experienced was indeed reasoned and principled. It was shaped around a resolve that active, non-violent resistance must be distinguished from passive non-resistance, precisely because the former can provide a compelling witness to reasoned propositions. In this sense, Gandhi’s non-violent resistance serves as an active approach in antithesis to a passive, non-violent, approach of non-resistance.

Gandhi – demonstrating active resistance – deliberately harvesting salt in violation of British dominion law

James Douglass’ book, Gandhi and the Unspeakable, helps us understand Gandhi’s adherence to the concept of satyagraha, or truth-force. For Gandhi, this principle nullifies the pursuit of social and political ends through violence. Identified by Thomas Merton in an essay on Gandhi, satyagraha is conceived of as a universal, rather than individual, feature of what it means to be human, articulated in the words, “truth is the inner law of our being.”

This truth-force is manifest in substantive rather than sentimental love. It can be discerned and honored within oneself, while it can – and must be – discerned and honored within others, especially as one confronts evil in human relations. Because this is so, one who seeks to enact this principle can honor all others with trust. Even – counterintuitively – to honor one’s opponents and sworn enemies, because one’s trust becomes anchored in our shared humanity rather than in a calculation of the probable harm that may result from engagement with those others.

Giving primacy to this principle provides the courage to believe that we can die to all that puts us against one another, and therefore the courage to face the death that others may plan for us. Merton and Douglass find this truth-force embodied in the person of Jesus, and with Gandhi, see it as a powerful example of what can profoundly transform human social and political relations. As Douglass explains, Gandhi knew his assassins, and even invited the man who eventually killed him to live with him following that same man’s earlier attempt on Gandhi’s life.

Perceptive hearers of this past Sunday’s Gospel reading from John might wonder what Gandhi would make of Jesus’ actions in the Temple. John tells us that Jesus made “a whip of cords” and drove out those selling animals, or exchanging Roman coins for money acceptable as offerings in Israel’s house of worship. The ambiguity of John’s account makes clear that Jesus at least threatened violence even if he did not resort to it. For his whip was directed not simply to scattering the animals of those selling them, but also against the money changers. Readers may note that some actions of Jesus in the Gospels may have been intended less to model ethical conduct for his followers, and instead to give evidence of his providential and messianic role in history. Much may be inferred from this brief “Temple-cleansing” story.

Given how our culture encourages us to see life in an either/or way, we may be surprised to discern how much the Hindu Gandhi seems to have learned from reading the Gospels. We may also be surprised by how Gandhi’s beautifully lived example – regardless of his personal strengths or failings – may help us discern what the Gospels have yet to teach us.

 

The reference to the Gospel reading is from John 2:13-22, which helpfully can be compared to its Gospel parallels. James Douglass, with his personal history as a religious scholar of spiritual approaches to questions related to conflict, violence and war-making, brings an informed and insightful perspective to the study of Gandhi, as he did earlier to the wide-ranging circumstances leading to the deaths of Martin Luther King, Jr., Malcom X, and John F. Kennedy.

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The Beauty of Asking “Why?”

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Back cover photo from Natural Sustenance: Selected Poems, by Nick Fleck

 

“Why?” It all started in a seemingly innocuous way. “What do you want from this course,” he asked. A brave one among us ventured the answer that some of us were thinking, but were not honest enough to say: “an ‘A’.” Our English teacher, Nick Fleck, responded to my classmate in a neutral way, with a further question, “Why?” Our fellow aspirant to higher grades began to offer pretty typical answers, unoriginal and unsurprising. “I want a high GPA. (Why?)… I want to get into a good college. (Why?)… I want to get into a ranked law school. (Why?)… I want a good job at a high powered law firm. (Why?)…”

Gradually the pauses before our classmate’s answers became longer. And while his responses still sounded plausible, they seemed less and less assured. That first class session set the tone for the rest of term, as over time Nick prodded all of us to articulate answers to questions like these. And nudged us toward answers that were more and more our own, and less dependent on our peers, our parents’ expectations, and our perceptions of the uncertain world outside our rural New England prep school.

Why? The question at first provides an invitation to share acquired knowledge, display settled opinions, and voice aspirations. But the question can also be unsettling, especially when we begin to run out of platitudes and ‘safe’ answers that don’t require self examination or being open to adopt a different perspective.

I can’t fully explain why, out of a class of some 350 or so fellow graduates, I was one of only 3 or 4 who did not go directly on to college. But Nick Fleck’s persistence in challenging us to think for ourselves played a big part in it. Temperamentally, I was and am a self-learner, which disposed me toward pursuing that risky path (“…in a blind career…,” as in a line from a poem Nick had us read). Naive self-confidence also bolstered my willingness to undertake a journey on what appeared to be a largely untested road. I wanted to be an architect and to make art, and those whom I most admired had embarked upon their careers in earlier times by this same route through apprenticeship and self-study.

Having been so consistently asked why, I made the question my own and began asking it in a self-referential way. Why did I want so strongly to embrace and try to create what was beautiful? Why was this important to me… and to others apparently walking the same path? Why was I then beginning to wonder whether this was good and, if so, to what end? And why then was I going on to ponder what was good for its own sake as compared to things of passing significance?

Within a year, after living in New York City seeking non-existent apprentice drafting positions during the ‘oil crisis,’ I returned hesitantly to formal schooling. My college art studies were interrupted by another sideline, driving a forklift in a warehouse freezer for six months as a Teamster. Then, surely to my parents’ relief, asking why led me on a more traditional path, from art history to classics and medieval studies, during which I experienced an unanticipated spiritual conversion. All the while I was living with the same question: why?

Nick Fleck was not a religious man in any sense that I could discern, though he was clearly attuned to the ethical principles exemplified in Thoreau’s writing, and latent in poems he would have us read. I think it greatly surprised him when, returning for our 25th reunion, I gave him credit for setting me on the path that led to my conversion, ordination, theological studies, seminary teaching, and parochial work – experiences not readily familiar to him. But he was the one who persistently asked why, and who invited us to own the question for ourselves.

This week I realize that Nick’s great question was at the heart of the Disciples’ questions when Jesus predicted his forthcoming suffering and death. Nick’s question is simple, and perfect for Lenten reflection.

 

I was happy to see an article in the Greenfield Recorder noting how Nick Fleck had founded the Northfield (Mass.) Bird Club and was still active in leading bird walks. I trust that he continues to write and share his poetry, and help open new worlds to young persons. He helped us to discover the power latent in the word, “why,” especially when posed as a question.

The recent movie, The Holdovers, was partly filmed at my school, Northfield Mt. Hermon, and is set in exactly the time period I was there. During those years, I was in the chapel depicted within the movie a couple of times each week for required assembly gatherings. Seeing my school again during my 50th graduation anniversary year has obviously brought back memories.

A recent gathering in Northfield Mt. Hermon’s Memorial Chapel.

 

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Rousseau and Wilderness: Redemption in Nature?

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Henri Rousseau, The Dream (detail), 1910

 

What does it mean for God’s grace to be present in nature? Or God’s mission of Redemption to be at work in what Christians view as a fallen Creation? The Gospel for this coming Sunday, with Jesus tempted in the wilderness, might prompt us to think about such things. An unexpected way to do this is to juxtapose Mark’s surprisingly brief ‘temptation narrative’ with Rousseau’s jungle-like images of a state of nature.

How shall we understand Mark’s account of Jesus’ being tested in an inhospitable place? And how does Rousseau conceive of the natural state of what Christians think of as Creation? A painting by Rousseau helps set the scene:

The Sleeping Gypsy, 1907

In light of it, we can consider the two verses that Mark devotes to Jesus’ temptation:

The Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness. And he was in the wilderness forty days, being tempted by Satan. And he was with the wild animals, and the angels were ministering to him.

Only two verses are accorded by Mark to this rather pivotal event, to which Matthew devotes 11, and to which Luke gives 12. The way that Matthew and Luke refer to the wilderness of the temptation suggests that it is a hostile context for Jesus’ encounter with the Tempter. In both of these longer Gospel texts, three principal temptations are identified, which occur following Jesus’ forty days of fasting. The three were: to feed himself, to become a wonder-worker, and to receive the adulation of the world’s kingdoms. Matthew adds that Jesus received the ministration of angels following – rather than during – his period of trial.

Whereas Matthew and Luke present the wilderness as an unpromising environment for Jesus’ challenging encounter with his adversary, Mark’s spare account of the event and its setting allows for a rather different reading. We can pose the matter in the form of two questions shaped by Matthew and Luke’s narratives.

Does Mark present the wilderness temptation of Jesus as being in a difficult place due to the presence of the Tempter and because it is filled with prowling and potentially dangerous wild beasts?

Man Attacked by a Jaguar, 1910

Or, does Jesus’ desert encounter in Mark represent not so much the threatening last gasps of a rebellious and dying world, but the first breaths of a life-giving new one, just now coming to be?

The Waterfall, 1910

Rousseau’s painting of the sleeping woman and the nearby lion, above, provides an image of harmonious coexistence in a place shared by a human being and the proverbial king of beasts (an ‘alpha predator’). In other words, Rousseau – in some of his paintings – portrays an ideal image of the original state of nature, the biblical Eden, before nature became ‘red in tooth and claw.’

A Woman Walking in an Exotic Forest, 1905

If so, then Mark’s statements that Jesus “was with the wild animals,” and also that “the angels were ministering to him,” may reflect what Christians have come to think of as ‘the peaceable Kingdom’ and ‘the New Creation.’ Which then suggests that – in Mark – the wilderness was good place despite the presence of the Tempter.

I am drawn to how Rousseau depicts the natural beauty of what we often describe as ‘wild nature,’ portraying it in both inviting and in cautionary ways. He paints it as a context of harmonious interrelation between human beings and animals in a shared environment. He also paints it as being a context where animals are a threat to one another and to humankind. Rousseau’s painting of Eve hints at both possibilities, where she is charmed by the serpent:

Eve, 1907

In the painting below, which complements his image above, another ‘Eve’ charms the serpent. Rousseau fills the beautiful canvas with a limited color palette, largely green, expressing the same dimension of ambiguity. A woman plays a flute while a serpent is draped upon her shoulders and others hang from the trees or rise up from the ground:

The Snake Charmer (detail), 1907

Looking at Rousseau’s many jungle-like ‘exotic landscapes,’ one notices the evocative presence of mystery. The viewer does not immediately know what lurks in the shadows, beneath and behind dense and dark foliage, in scenes often featuring bright flowers or fruit in the foreground. And upon discerning animals and also humans among all the growing things in the thicket between the trees, we can’t be sure whether what we encounter is friend or foe.

Jaguar Attacking a Horse, 1910

Exotic Landscape, 1910

In these and other scenes, Rousseau portrays an invitingly beautiful world, but one that is not without the possibility of misadventure and harm. I may not want to live in some of these scenes. But I find joy living with their beauty. For they help me appreciate a new way of reading and thinking about Mark’s brief account of Jesus’ temptation ‘in the wilderness.’ Jesus possibly could have repeated the great mistake made by Adam in the old Eden. But in not doing so, ’the second Adam’ became the door to a new Eden, and our ‘ark’ to the New Creation.

 

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The Beauty of a Small Boat

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A West Wight Potter 15 rigged with a second jib sail

 

Having recently featured a ‘tiny house’ on wheels, I find myself thinking about the beauty of small boats. Among examples, I love the West Wight Potter 15 (or P15). Originally designed and built in 1960 by Stanley Smith on the Isle of Wight, P15’s are found all over the world. Though not designed for ‘blue water’ navigating, some have been sailed across the ocean. In 1972, John Van Ruth sailed an early version of the boat from Mexico to Hawaii!

In a prior post, I shared how I discovered this venerable boat design through an article by Anne Westlund, in Small Craft Advisor, documenting her cruise on Lake Powell.

Anne Westlund’s Pea Pod, along with a friend’s P15, on Lake Powell

I was captivated by Westlund’s account of how someone could enjoy a week or more on and in the confines of a 15’ boat. Remarkably, Anne has spent whole summers on Pea Pod, her P15. The West Wight Potter has been described as having the buoyancy of a cork and the roominess of a pup tent. Undaunted by its potential size limitations, many value them, perhaps inspired by the famed ocean sailors, Lin and Larry Pardey, who said, “Go Small, Go Simple, but Go Now.” Though no longer manufactured, used P15’s easily can be found because so many have been built and remain in good condition due to their sound design and construction. Should replacement parts be needed, they are readily available and economical compared to components of larger and more elaborate boats.

Stanley Smith with his brother, with an early West Wight Potter like the one he bravely sailed from England to Sweden

A P15 fits in a garage and can be towed behind just about any vehicle. Two adults can sleep comfortably in the boat, and many P15’s are equipped with a battery, navigation and cabin lights, and other amenities including limited stowage space. Approached as if preparing for a backpacking trip (and with some of the same supplies), a weeklong cruise on a Potter is realistic, especially if going solo. The experience may be of a minimalist kind, but small boat sailing can provide for more time on the water with less maintenance. Sailing one may call for greater agility and balance (small boats can be ’tippy’), and calmer sea conditions. Small boat sailing may also be more physically tiring due to confined quarters and a more frequent need for sail and tiller adjustment.

My P15, Zoe, at the end of a glorious day of small boat sailing

For those who don’t mind getting dressed while sitting down, a safe and dry boat like a P15 is a great choice for sheltered waters and coastal sailing. I have cruised on Lake Charlevoix in northern Michigan for two weeks on Zoe, and 4-5 day trips on her in Arkansas. Water-tight dry bags for clothing and gear, and a cooler – on deck – expand the possibilities for longer cruises. During spells of bad weather and for leisurely evenings, I set up an awning over the cockpit with a large tarp and bungee cords. It’s good to have shore facilities nearby for restrooms and other necessities. Yet, a porta-potty (for use under the awning-cover) can be stowed aft in the cockpit. An occasional onshore meal and visits to a public library have also enhanced my times away on a small boat.

Sailing provides a good metaphor for our spiritual lives, as many have noted. When sailing, we don’t have any choice about the weather, but we can choose how we engage it. A motor is helpful getting into a marina in the evening, or out of trouble if a storm comes up. Yet, the beauty of sailing – especially in a small boat – lies in creatively engaging the wind to maintain a course and get somewhere. Small boat sailing is more susceptible to sudden changes in wind and wave conditions, as well as varying water currents. But this kind of sailing may be more energizing because of a greater need for the sailor to interact with these conditions, especially when they are challenging.

If we find peace in being close to the water and feeling the wind, a small boat is a wonderful thing to sail. For beauty can be found almost anywhere in God’s good Creation. Especially if we are open to it.

 

Additional note: My earlier post featuring the WWP15 can be found by clicking here. If you become enamored with the WWP15 as I have been, I recommend Dave Bacon’s book, The Gentle Art of Pottering: Sailing the P15.  A quote from Jack London: “Barring captains and mates of big ships, the small-boat sailor is the real sailor. He knows – he must know – how to make the wind carry his craft from one given point to another… it is by means of small-boat sailing that the real sailor is best schooled.”

Especially in a small boat, never go out without proper safety equipment. As Captain Ron said, “if it’s going to happen, it’s going to happen out there!”

 

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Finding Beauty in Remembering

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The grave of Hamilton Sawyer, U.S.C.T. (a Civil War casualty)

 

I found an unanticipated beauty in a wintry place a short drive from my home. Port Hudson National Cemetery is easy to overlook, though one of many created by the Federal government during the Civil War to provide for proper burial of the Union dead. It helps us remember those who lost their lives during a prolonged siege along the Mississippi River in 1863.

Among several thousand headstones, some include the initials, U.S.C.T. Wondering about them, I discovered they signify membership in a former United States Colored Troops regiment. Hamilton Sawyer (died 2 Feb 1864), and Samuel Daniels (died 19 Jan 1864), were two of many young men about whom history seems to have preserved only these bare facts. And yet, as a nation we remember them. Away from home and family at the time of their deaths, they surrendered their lives to help secure freedoms already declared, yet far from actualized in the lives of so many. Obviously, no contemporary visitor to the cemetery could have known either of these men. But we can – if we choose to – remember their names, and for what they died. The beauty of remembering lies in how we make present what we value.

Not everyone appreciates the beauty we find in a National Cemetery. Though these burial grounds were created and are maintained to honor those who have served in our nation’s military, these settings do not celebrate armed conflict. Instead, they venerate the commitment of many fellow Americans to serve our country and its founding principles, and commemorate their willingness to put the interests of the wider community before those of self. Most of us can recognize this commitment and willingness, even if we are not all moved to prioritize these things among our choices.

Praiseworthy themes often characterize eulogies offered at funerals. On such occasions, people usually identify and highlight the admirable traits of those who have died, whose lives we seek to honor through acts of remembrance. When done well, eulogies provide portraits of people’s lives conveying an appreciation for ways that certain moral principles and spiritual values have been lived out by them. These occasions would be drab and shallow if they merely recalled how a person consistently obeyed civil laws or always observed proper manners and social etiquette. By contrast, we touch upon beauty as we seek to remember people when they were at their best. For as Irenaeus put it, “The glory of God is the human person fully alive.” This is how we desire to be remembered.

Because of this holy desire, we choose patterns for Christian burial that anchor our remembrance of persons in the body of Christ, in the Eucharistic context of God’s redemptive work. Eucharistic remembering is both holy and thankful remembering. As such, we include an appropriate Gospel reading, and offer reflection upon it. Making connections between enduring Gospel truths and how they have become actual in the dear but transitory aspects of a deceased person’s life, is most fitting. For the sake of those gathered, the focus of a funeral homily will then best be upon what the Resurrection of our Lord has made real for all people.

To honor someone in this liturgical way upon his or her death is genuine remembering, and reflects our natural and common desire to respect a person’s unique memory. In the proverbial Anglican “both-and” way, we can keep a focus on the Resurrection, as we also express our regard for the deceased. We do this by centering our liturgical observance upon the Gospel, while focusing our intentional gathering before and after the funeral liturgy upon the person being remembered. For these different but interrelated aspects of the day belong together.

Here is something else to notice. There is a discernible symmetry between the way different baptismal candidates wear similar white robes, the way that variously styled caskets are covered at separate events by the same pall, and the way our burial liturgies – sacred and secular – ‘clothe’ our departed with the same words, on occasion after occasion. We find a pattern similar to these examples at our National Cemeteries, in how formerly high ranking officers and the lowest ranking enlisted men and women all have essentially the same headstones. In life and in death, we are – in the end – all one. Remembering the people whom the stones commemorate, even those we did not know, makes bigger our appreciation for the beauty of God’s world, and our own place within it.

To remember, and be remembered, can be holy acts. In remembering – even with regret-tinged memories – we reflect our desire for things to become whole, and brought to their fulfillment by God.

 

Historical note regarding Port Hudson:

From the above information plaque: “In May 1963, Union Gen. Nathaniel Banks landed 30,000 soldiers at Bayou Sara north of Port Hudson {at St. Francisville}. A force of 7,500 men commanded by Confederate Gen. Franklin Gardner held the Mississippi River stronghold. General Banks’ May 27 assault on Port Hudson failed and nearly 2,000 soldiers died. Among them were 600 men from two black regiments–the 1st and 3rd Louisiana Native Guards.* The Port Hudson engagement was among the first opportunities for black soldiers to fight in the Civil War. Their determination proved to the North that they could and would ably serve the Union Cause.”

“Among those buried {at Port Hudson} are 256 men who served in the United States Colored Troops (USCT).”

*Additional note from an informative Wikipedia article: “The 1st Louisiana Native Guard was one of the first all-black regiments in the Union Army. Based in New Orleans, Louisiana, it played a prominent role in the Siege of Port Hudson. Its members included a minority of free men of color from New Orleans; most were African-American former slaves who had escaped to join the Union cause and gain freedom.”

Port Hudson National Cemetery on a summer day

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