Onward

Henri Matisse, Goldfish and Palette, 1914

Years ago, when the Museum of Modern Art had a large room filled only with paintings by Matisse and a bench against the wall by windows, I would sit with my painting teacher, the man who led me to Christ, to look at people. When they approached a painting of a still life on the left wall, we marked where they stood to enjoy it.

Again, someone would stand to the right of the center of the painting and within a step of where the last person stood. “See?” my teacher would say. “That is where Matisse stood in relation to the still life when he drew it.”

By this he meant that the lines which Matisse made from the point of his beginning—you could call it a vanishing point—direct a viewer to stand where the artist stood.

In the gospels, one can see that Jesus’ point of beginning, call it a vanishing point if you like, is God the Father. The Father is always Jesus’ point of reference. If you look at Jesus, you face the Father.

William Blake (1757-1827) Christ’s Entry into Jerusalem, Glasgow Museums

A couple of days ago was Palm Sunday. Several people discussed their spiritual journeys with me on that day on which we remember Jesus’ journey into Jerusalem where he would die. The conversations seemed to me to be no coincidence. Just as with the spectators in the museum and Matisse, when we enter Jesus’ life through the art of liturgy his life orients us.

The art of Jesus’ life is not limited in time or dimension, rather it is a Way that he welcomes us to. Jesus’ point of reference, God the Father, the One with whom he was at the beginning, is always carried within himself, all the way to the cross.

As with the still life by Matisse, when we enter Jesus’ life, we become centered in the beginning. And we become carried forward. With Jesus as the Way tucked inside ourselves, notwithstanding the global pandemic that stopped all of us in our tracks, in spite of all division and death, our lives find direction.

To love this life and so lose it, as Jesus said, or to hate this life and keep it eternally, as He also said, speaks to there being no way to go except forward, from birth to death and along the points that lie between. How will we go? is the question.

Poetry, which our poetry mission consultant Evan Craig Reardon says is always about death, or love, or poetry—“poetry” means creative process, I would say—is a gift that many of us bring on our way. Similar to what the mystery of the cross of Christ bears, poetry, born of mystery, also holds space for mystery. It can seem that a poem willingly lays itself down to bear our life, and reading poetry can become a way of life.

Here is what Evan has to say about the role of poetry in our mission in the arts:

Poetry is an integral part of the Christian faith. From the Psalms to Simeon’s song in the Gospel of Luke, through to John Milton and the Metaphysical Poets, and in modern times with TS Eliot and Denise Levertov, poetry has long played an essential role in articulating the Christian faith. Poetry expresses a kind of thinking about God and Christ, about the difficulty of living that way of life, and about the beauty of holiness and the majesty of praise.

The Poetry Mission at the Cathedral of All Saints seizes on this legacy of profound creativity to lead contemporary Christians into a deeper union with Christ, while still attending to the vision of poetry in itself. Poetry is ultimately a discourse about God in the same vein as philosophy and theology, but a unique way of leading thought into ever deeper communion with God and God's Mystery.

You, dear audience, I know is not one that must be sold on the benefits of reading, but, like me, you might feel intimidated by poetry. However this finds you, I want to invite you to join us for the Hidden Cathedral Poetry Celebration—an online series of readings and ruminations around contemporary Christian poetry which will last all Eastertide. I hope you will enter this journey with us and allow yourself to be carried along.

Poet Marly Youmans has been working away at preparing a series of diverse offerings for us. You can hear her invitation and introduction to her series by clicking HERE.

If you received this blog post in your inbox, you are already subscribed to be part of the Hidden Cathedral Poetry Festival. If not, you can do so below. And please forward this to a friend.

And, a note for those interested in studying spiritual direction……

Here is an opportunity led by one of our past poetry presenters—Holy Ground is a program for forming spiritual directors led by Sister Katherine Hanley, CSJ, PhD, known at our cathedral for leading a workshop in the poetry of George Herbert in September of 2020. Sister Kitty and her fellow presenters are currently deciding if they will offer the program again in October of 2021. If you are interested, click HERE for a pdf to learn more.

May you have a blessed Holy Week. See you for poetry in joy of the Resurrection on Monday when we hear our first poet, Leonard A. Slade, Jr. read with his magnificent voice from his most recent book, Selected Poems for Freedom, Peace, and Love.

~ Brynna Carpenter-Nardone, Cathedral Arts Missioner

At Home with George Herbert and Sister Kitty

Last Sunday afternoon in the nave of The Cathedral of All Saints, we enjoyed reading and praying through poems of George Herbert with Sister Katherine Hanley, CSJ, PhD, known as Sister Kitty to her students and many friends, many of whom were once her students or those who know her through spiritual direction.

We called it a retreat, and so it was. I strain to describe an event that was both communal and a private experience for each who was there. George Herbert’s poems seem to also sprout from liminal space defying description. He referred to them as “a picture of the many spiritual conflicts that have passed betwixt God and my soul.”

Times being what they are, we questioned whether to have this event that was postponed in Lent in the Cathedral at all, or to have it on Zoom, as we have done with other poetry events since the pandemic shut-down. Sister Kitty, who has mastered Zoom, said she would prefer to be in the Cathedral. I found that most were willing and able to come, and I daydreamed the masked retreat as another would a masked ball.

After the event Sister Kitty wrote:

It was a joy for me to see the faces and to see people nodding, giving me thumbs-up, diving into their purses to take notes, and being there together.  I felt that we were a community even with the spacing! The cathedral was a perfect venue and Herbert would have been delighted, I think.

I think so, too, because Herbert instructed a friend to publish his poems only if he thought they would help people. A minister said to me recently, “Times are hard because ‘church’ means we know ourselves when we are together.” Herbert the poet brought us together with Sister Kitty, but I was also aware among the eyes and masks of the ministers, teachers and private persons—those who stand in the gap of spiritual conflict—of Herbert the man and priest.

Here are some of your reflections:

I was an English major in college and grad school, so going back to the poems of George Herbert was a treat. And since those school days, I've been on a faith journey as an Episcopalian, so his images, ideas, and language resonant even more. Sister Kitty is a fine teacher.

I found that the historical context and Sister Kitty's love for Herbert's poetry made the poems come alive when she read them. As a priest, I also found the Dean's reflections on the poem Aaron very thought-provoking. Thank you for hosting this event.

I would have liked to have heard a recording or performance of some of the hymns based on the poetry. Since this was a retreat it may have been nice to have some extended time for silence and reflection on the poetry.  Maybe start earlier in the day? It is always a pleasure to hear Sr. Kitty.  I was also touched by the Dean's remarks and sharing of a poem.  A great day.

It was great! Would love more Sister Kitty Time!

Thank you. It was so wonderful.

“The Collar” is the poem that spoke volumes to me! The words that jumped out to me were; “leave thy cold dispute of what is fit and not. FORSAKE THY CAGE.”

"Love (III)" ia a favorite Herbert poem, that served as inspiration for a favorite Vikram Seth poem, “Host,” written in response to Herbert's "Love (III)"  after Seth purchased Herbert's home. 

Host

I heard it was for sale and thought I’d go
     To see the old house where
He lived three years, and died. How could I know
     Its stones, its trees, its air,
The stream, the small church, the dark rain would say:
     “You’ve come; you’ve seen; now stay.”

“A guest?” I asked. “Yes, as you are on earth.”
     “The means?” “… will come, don’t fear.”
“What of the risk?” “Our lives are that from birth.”
     “His ghost?” “His soul is here.”
“He’ll change my style.” “Well, but you could do worse
     Than rent his rooms of verse.”

Joy came, and grief; love came, and loss; three years –
     Tiles down; moles up; drought; flood.
Though far in time and faith, I share his tears,
     His hearth, his ground, his mud;
Yet my host stands just out of mind and sight,
     That I may sit and write.

---

Consider joining us on Zoom which is surprisingly well-suited to small groups reading poetry, for a W.H. Auden group meeting once a month October through May led by Evan Craig Reardon. Click HERE to learn more about it, and HERE for a free Zoom session with Evan on poetry on the Dean’s Forum next Monday.

In All Things

A spiritual director said to me last week, “It sounds as though you are spiritually weary.” “What does being spiritually weary look like?” I asked. “Having too many notions,” she said.

I had just told her I was looking into being an associate with the Order of Julian of Norwich, painting the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius, and saying the Daily Offices. We speak only by telephone now and I wonder if she smiled as she spoke.

I smile now as I see myself struggling through the dark toward the spiritual life like a last lighting beetle of summer.

Reading poetry has helped me feel more connected to God and others lately than any new practice. Gerard Manley Hopkins, a poet and priest who I think also exhausted himself at times by excess of notions, seems to have worked his way through darkness by light of his writing.

My own heart let me more have pity on

My own heart let me more have pity on; let

Me live to my sad self hereafter kind,

Charitable; not live this tormented mind

With this tormented mind tormenting yet.

I cast for comfort I can no more get

By groping round my comfortless, than blind

Eyes in their dark can day or thirst can find

Thirst's all-in-all in all a world of wet.

Soul, self; come, poor Jackself, I do advise

You, jaded, let be; call off thoughts awhile

Elsewhere; leave comfort root-room; let joy size

At God knows when to God knows what; whose smile

's not wrung, see you; unforeseen times rather — as skies

Betweenpie mountains — lights a lovely mile.

We read Hopkins in our last poetry workshop at the Cathedral. If you would like to join us for A Retreat with the Poems of George Herbert, an evening Dean’s Forum with poetry, or a journey with the poems of W.H. Auden, click on the titles to register.

“Jackself,” from what I gather, is a made-up word with which the speaker gently chides himself as a mere human who cannot, who ought not, try to wring a smile from God. “Jackself” reminds me of “Brother Ass”— what St. Francis called his body—his way of his gently embracing his human tendency toward self-absorption.

“Finding God in all things” is what St. Ignatius directed others to do. If you have lived in this world without asking yourself to see God’s presence in its horrors, and in your private misery, and you begin to prostrate your mind before these things and watch for God, it will change the way you see these things.

Holding this practice is to be as the lighting beetle of late summer who seeks the true source of light until its death. Many of us have spent much of our lives exhausting ourselves trying to find ourselves in all things. By seeking rather to find God in all things, we become free from self-absorption, and might find ourselves loving anyone.

But claiming a religion of love when we have no thirst for the font of love in Jesus Christ, God’s only perfect son poured out in death for the chronically spiritually dehydrated, is like trying to wring a smile from God. “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,” Jesus says in the Beatitudes. Often the best thing we can do is to look within and name our thirst.

Where was God in this past week—from where did true life flow? I saw and heard God in a mother, Julia Blake, whose son Jacob Jr. was shot by police on Sunday. She used her tragic momentary spotlight to ask for prayer and to prophesy to the world.

As we read in Isaiah, God also talks about love when anguished over how what we do does not reflect God or God’s family. You can see and hear Julia Blake give her full statement HERE. Let us pray we recognize our thirst in her words.