Fully Alive: The Beauty of Human Nature

A photo of a print given to us years ago

Those familiar with my writing and ministry may not be surprised by how I choose to address the theme of beauty in relation to the human nature we all share.

My response is captured in a quote with words I have long loved and have frequently cited. The quote is from the second century Christian theologian and Bishop of Lyons (in present-day France), Irenaeus. “The glory of God is the human person fully alive.” To which he added, “and to be alive consists in beholding God.”

What an audacious statement! I believe that the fundamental insight here, latent within Irenaeus’s words, stems from the Gospel of John, with whose author Irenaeus likely had a personal connection. That would have been through Polycarp, Bishop of Smyrna (presently, Izmir, Turkey), the city where Ireaneaus was born. One writer has described Irenaeus as the spiritual grandson of the apostle John.

Another calligraphy print, this one featured on the website of Holy Cross Monastery

What does it mean for any one of us to be ‘fully alive’? I believe that the Gospel writer, John, would respond by echoing words from Paul, whose letters frequently employ the phrase, “in Christ.” Through Baptism, we come to be in Christ. Through Baptism, we are re-born in Christ; we live in Christ – and he in us – and we will leave this mortal life in Christ. Indeed, in John’s compelling witness to Jesus’ teaching, we are told that those who believe in Jesus have already died, and now, will never die! All of the Gospel readings appointed for funerals in The Book of Common Prayer are from John. This is the Gospel that is so centered upon the themes of God’s incarnation within our shared human nature, giving us God-given light, and eternal life.

Words found in the daily pattern for Morning and Evening Prayer, as well as in the Eucharistic pattern used on most Sundays in Episcopal Churches, help amplify this point but in a subtle way. These several patterns for corporate and individual prayer include forms for confession. Using these forms, and after we acknowledge our sin, we pray that we may delight in God’s will , and walk in God’s ways. In the absolution that follows, we hear these remarkable words:

Almighty God, have mercy on you, forgive you all your sins through our Lord Jesus Christ, strengthen you in all goodness, and by the power of the Holy Spirit keep you in eternal life.

In words that may be easy to overlook, we pray that by Holy Spirit power, God will “keep us in eternal life”! Being fully alive involves delighting in God’s will, walking in God’s ways, and being kept by God in eternal life.

Christians believe that the beauty of our human nature was and is found in the Gospel Jesus, and as the Risen Christ comes to be found in us. Our human nature, created in the image and likeness of God, and transformed to become an icon of Christ, is therefore all about the fulfillment of our divinely-given and imbued potential. When by grace we see it happen in people’s lives, it is a beautiful thing to behold.

Yet, human nature, being still what it is, prompts us to look for beauty in outward terms when we view others, as well as ourselves. Jesus, as the Gospels imply, always looked for beauty within – the kind of beauty it was his vocation to share and re-enable in us. This is what we should be looking for, both within ourselves and in others.

The archetypal biblical example of the glory of God beautifully manifest in human nature is found in the Gospel Transfiguration stories. James Tissot, one of my favorite painters, offers us glimpses of Jesus manifesting this same glory on several occasions, a glory that was otherwise often hidden within him.

James Tissot, Jesus Goes Up Onto A Mountain to Pray

Tissot, Jesus Being Ministered to by the Angels

Paul’s remarkable words to the Corinthians bring these themes together nicely. For we want to be among those who are:

seeing the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God… 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, by God’s generous grace, the same may be seen in our faces, as well.

Note: Kenneth Kirk, the esteemed 20th century Bishop of Oxford, and former Regius Professor of Moral Theology at the historic university in that city, titled one of his still-used books (The Vision of God) based on the Irenaeus quote, featured above. Kirk presents Irenaeus’ words in this (now dated) way: “The glory of God is a living man, and the life of man is the vision of God.”

Geoffrey Jellicoe: Finding and Creating Beauty in the World

Sir Geoffrey Jellicoe at his London home shortly before his 90th birthday

Discerning beauty always presents an opportunity to experience joy. As many find, though, creating representations of beauty, as a chosen task, can be difficult.

Alive in my memory are images of areas of New York City and decaying areas of urban New England, during my high school years in the early 1970’s. I remember asking myself, as an aspiring architect and artist, how might I meet the challenge of creating examples of beauty in the world as we presently find it? Well, after some years, I discovered the life and work of Geoffrey Jellicoe, which provide an example of one way of answering questions that stay with me.

Late in his life, at a time when many seek the solace of retirement from actively pursuing such questions, Geoffrey Jellicoe took on a significant challenge. How might 150 acres of a seemingly forlorn stretch of a barrier island, adjacent to an urban area that has long surrendered to the declining effects of industrialization, be redeemed and transformed into a place for renewal by a humanistic vision of what might yet be?

Jellicoe, at the age of 80, and to the surprise of some, accepted the opportunity to submit a proposal for what might become the Moody Gardens. In the process, he embraced the idea of working with a hundred-plus acres of neglected sea marsh and dune land on Galveston Island. This site even included a need to take into account an existing but under-used local airport. Nevertheless, the esteemed landscape architect, Jellicoe, envisioned a large facility centered on the nurture of human flourishing by designing what he hoped would become a significant botanical garden. Its plan would be dedicated to re-creating documented historic human efforts to re-shape areas of the world through the practices of horticulture and landscape architecture.

The Texas-based Moody Foundation, a philanthropic organization committed to education, health, and community development, found in Jellicoe the person they believed was best equipped to provide a master plan for what might become Moody Gardens, in the vicinity of Houston. And he brought to this challenge a lifetime of learning and accomplished work, which fitted him well to address this auspicious opportunity.

Encountering Moody Gardens as it has come to be, a vibrant, attractive, and an apparently successful facility, we may be mislead about Jellicoe’s orginal concept for the project. In presenting itself now as a tourist destination with resort-like amenities, Jellicoe’s early proposals for the Gardens seem fanciful if not also highly visionary. Yet, there may be significant things we can learn from his initial plans, and the concepts he sought to embody in his hoped-for realization of the project.

I can suggest a few of these potential learnings by posing some rhetorical questions – questions that I hope to address in future posts.

What is ‘our human nature,’ that we hope or believe we all share? What environments are most suited for nurturing the flourishing of our human nature?
What is Nature, and what humanly-created environments are most true to Nature? What things or places do we consider to be ‘natural’?
Why does it require human effort, financial capital, and institutional resources to facilitate, maintain, and preserve ‘natural’ environments? (Consider here the scope of the funding for the National Park Service, and the United States Forest Service.)
And, why is concern about the natural world- the ‘environment’ – properly a matter for serious theological reflection, and one especially related to our regard for Beauty? Why do our concerns about the natural world have theological significance?

Geoffrey Jellicoe at work in his garden

Beauty, Transcendence, and Personal Transparency

In preparing to offer an autumn class through an LSU seniors learning forum, I have been reflecting on the general themes that animate this blog website — art, beauty, and transcendence. The link between art and transcendence is intriguing, and for many of us, it is something we experience. Yet, the alluring and knowable significance of beauty – linked here with art and transcendence – is harder for us to get at. Relying upon a famous historical quote that some will recognize, I will paraphrase the matter this way: I can’t define Beauty; but I know it when I see it!

Readers of this blog will have noticed my prior exploration of what may be a common sequence or pattern in life experience. Through it, we move from encounters with Beauty, on to reflection about what may be Good. This then can lead to a search for, and reflection upon, what is True. These three facets of this transitional sequence, Beauty, Goodness, and Truth, are also referred to as the “Three Transcendentals.” They have been portrayed in art history as the Three Graces, in the form of three young women appearing together as in a dance.

We may infer something from this common association between Beauty, Goodness, and Truth, in relation to the further category of that which is transcendent. The three so-called ‘Transcendentals’ at least verbally have something to do with our human interest in the compelling category of transcendence. [Note: transcendental and transcendence obviously come from the same root word.] For our experiential encounter with some objects and or events can lead us to describe them as having been memorably beautiful, very good, and or compellingly true. Why? Because when remembering these encounters as occasions in which we glimpsed, sensed, and or apprehended something real and beyond sense experience, we have had an engagement with what we may best describe as having a ‘transcendental’ quality.

One way to help account for the above is to recognize that we are ‘spiritual’ beings, and not merely animate beings whose significance can be explained solely in terms of bio-physical data and analysis. To help get at the questions we are exploring, we can refer to the long-recognized brain-mind question. Does human conscious experience terminate with brain function? That is the blunt way to put a matter that can be so much more suggestive and evocative. Our human experience – here and now, in our conscious awareness – clearly depends upon brain function. But what if it also transcends brain function?

Here, we can fall back upon a basic principle of received Christian doctrine: we are embodied. In life beyond, if it is granted to us, the New Testament tells us that we will remain ‘embodied,’ though not in the same form as we are now. So, if brain function demonstrably ceases upon physical death, and if consciousness may transcend the cessation of brain function, what might we make of this?

My reflections on these ideas have led me to a further perception, which may call for additional consideration. When we have encounters with objects, experiences, and or events, that we describe as highly beautiful, movingly good, and or compellingly true, we have experiences of not only what is here and now, but also of what may be transcendent. In having such experiences, we often feel more true to our selves, to who we are, and to whom we hope to become. And the world feels more real and true in an expanded way. In the process, we may become more transparent to ourselves.

Stemming from such experiences, I find that I am also more open to being transparent with others. How? Sensing I have encountered something truly beautiful, genuinely good, and or fundamentally true, I feel more alive, and more in touch with the way the world really is. These experiences leave me more sure about my perceptions of what I have sensed. I then find I am more confident about these experiences, and more willing to share them – and myself – with others.

Experiencing Beauty, apprehending Goodness, and discerning Truth, may therefore open the doors of communication we yearn to have with others.

My thanks to a longtime friend, Chip Prehn, and to my brother, Greg, for the above photos. The first three come from Sassafras Farm, during haying season in Virginia, and the latter photo was taken while my brother was recently completing his fourth Camino de Santiago.

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.

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!

Hagia Sophia’s Wondrous Dome

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Note the triangular semi-spherical panels (with angel images) on either side of the central arch

The dome over the center of Hagia Sophia has since its construction been an object of fascination, as much for its design as for its size. To stand within the space it covers is awe-inspiring. Though not unprecedented in form, the support structure for this massive dome sets the building apart. The architectural challenge the church’s designers overcame arose from a desire to set a circular dome over a square structure, especially if and when the walls of that structure would feature sizable arches.

In a traditional four-cornered room, and one in which arches (spanning the side walls) converge at the corners, a vertical line from floor to ceiling defines the juncture point of any two walls. A circular dome set on top of such a four-cornered structure would rest upon the walls, but upon the walls’ center points, above the arches. Most likely resting, therefore, upon the weakest points of those arched walls. Yet, the dome would not receive direct support at the building’s corners, usually the building’s strongest points, because the perimeter of the dome’s base would sit away from the square corners.

The genius of Hagia Sophia’s immense dome was the incorporation of what are formally termed “pendentives.” This architectural feature can be seen in the photo at the top, in the triangle-shaped, semi-spherical corner panels that allow the four corner columns to support the essential load-bearing portions of the dome’s base. It is illustrated in the diagram below (with the letter “a” representing the pendentives).

An illustration of a dome resting above pedentives

Readers of my prior post, upon the Greek Cross plan for Hagia Sophia, will observe how this mosque-cathedral has a basilica or rectangular shape at the upper level, while yet featuring a Greek Cross-shaped floor plan (see below). This is due the absence of half or semi-domes extending from the north and south sides of the building as they observably do on both the west and east ends.

Hagia Sophia floor plan, showing semi-domes (indicated by dotted lines) over the east and west ends of the Greek Cross floor plan, on either side of the central dome

Instead of the presence of half or semi-domes below the great arches on the upper level of the north and south sides of Hagia Sophia we find what are called “tympanaum.” These are wall screens that are punctuated by windows (see below).

A view of the tympanaum (or wall screen) below the dome on the south side of Hagia Sophia’s prayer space

Subsequent mosque designs, such as the breathtaking Süleymaniye Mosque in Istanbul (see below), took the same design concept forward while emphasizing the overall square shape of the Greek Cross.

These are some of the ways in which Hagia Sophia’s design set the stage for later mosque architecture. Later mosque plans tended to incorporate half or semi-domes on all four sides of the central, full-dome covered portion of the prayer space. In turn, these plans, as well as those of their predecessors, continue to influence the design of Christian churches in ways that can enhance the whole congregation’s participation in liturgy. (For more on this point, please see my prior post, “The Beauty of Hagia Sophia, and the Greek Cross”).

The Beauty of Hagia Sophia, and the Greek Cross

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Hagia Sophia (late 19th century photo), showing a later-added (and no-longer-extant) marble paneled exterior

The first great church in Christendom, and the largest for a thousand years, was the Hagia Sophia in Istanbul. Many people think of this building as a mosque, the role in which it served from the Ottoman conquest of Constantinople in 1453 until it became a museum in 1935. The addition of minarets reinforces this historic identification of the building with Islam, and those tower-like structures once again serve (since 2020) as a means to broadcast the daily multiple summons to Muslims to attend the designated times of prayer.

This stunning building’s historical association with two of the worlds most prominent monotheistic religions has given rise to a paradox. The architectural form many of us readily associate with Islamic mosques, epitomized by present-day Hagia Sophia, is a form derived from a Christian house of worship. Most mosques, including those recently built around the world, have a structure reminiscent of this building, constructed under the reign of Justinian as the principal Christian cathedral of the late Roman or Byzantie empire, between 532 and 537 A.D.

Hagia Sophia as it sits today in modern Istanbul

The earliest Christian gathering places, before Christianity was officially recognized in the Roman Empire, were often in synagogues or in private homes as well as in safe outdoor places. Once Christians could build and maintain churches without interference, a common stylistic choice was to adopt the Roman basilica style of building, long used in Roman cities as locations for offices, courts, and for other public and business functions. They were usually designed with a rectagular floor plan, containing a central nave, accompanied by side aisles that were separated by columns supporting the central ceiling and roof.

Roof coverings over the side aisles were built at a lower height, allowing for clerestory windows in the nave above them, illuminating the central area. At one end was an apse, covered by a half or semi-dome. At the center of the apse was a dais where in Roman buildings magistrates sat, and which in later churches provided seating for the clergy.

Longitudinal plan for the Basilica of Maxentius and Constantine, Rome

Noticing how the above described spatial arrangement continues to be evident in modern churches helps us appreciate the significance of Justinian’s innovative plan for the Hagia Sophia. For the longitudinal Roman-derived spatial arrangement, evident in the basilica plan above, led in the West to the the placement of altars as well as the clergy attending them at one end of the building. Over time, these longitudinal basilica plans influenced Western medieval architects to design Gothic churches and cathedrals based loosely on the Latin cross, where the longitudinal length of the nave replicates the tall upright base of the cross, upholding the horizontal arms.

A common floor plan for Western, Latin, longitudinal church design (entrance at the west end; altar placed in the apse at the east end; nave is shaded)

By contrast, Justinian’s Hagia Sophia plan, widely influential in the Christian East, and subsequently adopted in Islamic architecture for mosques, is based on what is commonly called the Greek cross, where each of the four ‘arms’ of the cross are of equal length. Plans based upon the Greek Cross therefore lend themselves a to placement within a square and or a circle, rather than within a rectangle. They also provide scope for the placement of a large dome over the central and main part of the building.

Plan of Hagia Sophia (with an apse, but with a spatial arrangement based upon an equal-armed cross)

The effect of this Greek Cross-based development in church architecture has a symbolic significance in the liturgical use of buildings based upon it. The altar, even if placed near to one end of the building, sits more closely toward the center of the structure and within the resulting worship space. To be sure, the liturgical use of such church buildings in earlier centuries, and the theological views of those who worshipped in them, often implied hierarchical understandings of church membership, something common in the Latin West, as well. [Imagine what was subtly – if not intentionally – communicated when clergy were observed sitting in the places associated in the prior realm with public officials and the exercise of their offices.]

Yet, it is interesting to observe how a preference for Greek Cross (or circular) shaped building plans has received increased attention in modern liturgical renewal. This is because liturgical spaces based on such plans lend themselves more readily to a revived understanding of the Eucharist as an activity of the whole church, and not just of some who are designated if not also elevated to lead it, and provide its benefits.

In a subsequent post I will reflect on some further architectural features of Hagia Sophia and of designs based upon it.

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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Pentecost: The Beauty of Unity Amidst Diversity

Peter Warden, Pentecost (1985)

Paul’s stirring words to the Ephesians assert an abiding truth: “There is one Body and one Spirit; there is one hope in God’s call to us; One Lord, One Faith, One Baptism, One God and Father of all.” Paul was focused on the God-given and true things that unite us, that hold us together, and which give us life. Yet, in contemporary American culture, everything now seems to center on how we differ from one another. How might we hold both insights together?

Some years ago, I discovered Peter Warden’s wonderful contemporary painting about the post-Resurrection Pentecost event, which reflects the presence of such differences among us as people. Warden’s painting is based on the well-know story from Acts, chapter 2. The painter portrays the disciples together in their upper room retreat. But, in this case, the first Christian community is gathered in a 20th Century Scottish attic! The painting seems to capture the disciples just at the moment when the mighty Spirit-wind and tongues of fire appear. In other words, the disciples – as Warden depicts them – are not yet bound together, and not yet ready for mission.

Though they are in the same room, these disciples show few signs of unity. They react against one another, as much as they may talk together. Notice how this is suggested by the alternating warm/cool color palette that Warden has used. We also want to notice the suggestively peeling wallpaper behind the group. Can you see the pattern that the artist has created with the lower part of the rendering of the wallpaper?

If you look closely, you can see how Warden has used his depiction of that scrappy wallpaper to suggest Leonardo Da Vinci’s famous painting of the last supper. Da Vinci’s painting has also suffered the fate of being on a peeling wall. Peter Warden portrays a group of people with a shared history, who were brought together by Jesus at their earlier supper with him. But now, after his death, they find themselves regressing, regressing to their before-knowing-Jesus identities, and falling back upon their differences from one another.

Yet, as the painting’s title suggests, in just this moment God’s Holy Spirit finds them. Just as, through the Church, God’s Spirit finds us. When God’s Spirit finds us, we are grafted into the Body of Christ. In the process, we come to perceive who we really are. For we receive a new baptismal identity in Christ.

Our new identity builds upon and transforms the uniqueness of our natural, biological-identity. Our baptismal-identity emphasizes a new way of seeing ourselves in relation to others. Now, we also celebrate what we share and have in common, rather than simply emphasize our practical awareness regarding how we are unique and different from others.

Through hearing and reading Scripture, and in our fellowship with others in Jesus’ beloved community, we learn something very important. It has to do with this matter of our identity. We learn that the “Who am I?” question cannot rightly be answered apart from the “Who are we?” question. And, in turn, the “Who are we?” question cannot rightly be answered apart from another question: “Who are we made to be?” Once we ask, “Who are we made to be?”, we are on the threshold of discovering, perhaps for the first time in our lives, who we are meant to be and become, both as individuals, and in community.

Here is the truth of the great feast of Pentecost: God’s Spirit has come down! God’s Spirit has come down upon, and within, people who are sometimes alienated, and who often fall short of God’s mission. Preoccupied with ourselves and our own pursuits, we are gifted with the experience of transformation. We are drawn into relationship. As we are, we find meaning and we find purpose. We discover who we are, as we discern what we are called to be and do together. The mission of God brings both mercy and meaning. In it, we discover a shared life in God’s Spirit-shaped Kingdom.

John Nava, Pentecost, 2012

The quote from Ephesians is from the Book of Common Prayer Baptismal Rite adaptation of Ephesians 4:4-6. I have featured Peter Warden’s Pentecost painting once before, though without reflective comment, in a post offering Family Devotions during Covid, on May 30, 2020.

Further note: last week I was fortunate to walk down the same central street in ancient Ephesus upon which Paul surely often walked, while – according to Acts – he was there for two years. In writing the words quoted above, Paul was likely responding to the Ephesians’ devotion to the fertility mother goddess, Artemis, and the great temple they had built in dedication to her.

The Mystic Rumi’s Burial Place

The burial place of the mystical Sufi poet, Rumi, in Konya, Turkey

Here are some photos from a recent visit to the mausoleum of the mystic Sufi poet, known in the West as Rumi. It is a very holy place for many who visit there.

The honorary coffin cover, sitting far above the entombed remains of the mystic Rumi

A Persian style multi-faceted dome in the same building

An interior view showing some of the remarkable calligraphy on the wall surfaces

A replica small space in the courtyard adjacent to the mausoleum

Encountered Beauty / 8May24

Hittite Lions, Ankara Archaeological Museum

This is the first of a series of occasional posts featuring images of encounters with beauty while traveling. Today’s post features images – of things both ancient and modern – from Ankara, Turkey.

Under the leadership of the founder of modern Turkey, Ataturk, the preservation of historically significant archaeological artifacts was provided for in the renovated remains of an ancient fortress in Ankara. This is where the Hittite Lions, from about the time of the Exodus (pictured above), are now located (in the Museum of Anatolian Civilizations).

Upon Ataturk’s death, an architectural design competition was initiated for a proper mausoleum for the remains of the beloved national founder. One feature of the magnificent resulting structure and grounds incorporates an abiding tribute to the Hittite history of lion gates and their statuary (below).

The Ataturk mausoleum is a beautiful mid-twentieth century structure, both modern in design and yet incorporating echoes of historic Turkish architecture. The travertine stone employed for the exterior gives the imposing building complex a warmth it otherwise would not likely have.

Ataturk Mausoleum, exterior, and bas relief sculptural panel

The mausoleum complex serves as more than a memorial to the national founder who is interred there, and is a focal point of national pride in remembrance of the Turkish War of Independence, so linked with Ataturk. To this end, evocative statues are located at the end of a long terrace (below).

A tribute to the woman who were a part of the Turkish War of Independence

Another bas relief sculptural panel from the Ataturk Mausoleum

I found the Ataturk Mausoleum to be a beautiful example of public architecture, a place that well serves large crowds on important occasions while possessing welcoming proportions and pleasing textures.

Toward Beauty

In Art, Faith and Life ~ STEPHEN HOLMGREN