Even Junk Can Inspire

 We look with uncertainty
beyond the old choices / for clear-cut answers
to a softer, more permeable aliveness
which is every moment at the brink of death;
for something new is being born in us / if we but let it.
We stand at a new doorway,/ awaiting that which comes . . .
daring to be human creatures, / vulnerable to the beauty of existence.
Learning to love.
    — Anne Hillman

If you are anything like me, you may feel like your inspiration, creativity, and productivity are not where you would like for them to be at the moment. We each have been through a lot lately, and we are all carrying so much. And in the midst of it all, difficulties, injustice, and violence in our world do not take a break. Finding balance has been enormously challenging. And even more challenging is our desire to create beauty, connection, and meaning out of all the “stuff” we juggle. This is why I was so moved and encouraged by a quotation I read recently by contemporary Danish artist Olafur Eliasson: “Art is about finding creativity in the gutter next to you.” I understand that to mean that even junk can inspire. The garbage and debris that we desperately want to get rid of may hold a prized insight. Our faith may find a brilliant gem or an essential advocate if we take the time to sincerely notice the “waste” we are tempted to throw out. Balance, in other words, may be as much about releasing unwieldy expectations as it is about strength and steadiness. The hope our souls are looking for may reach us in the most unexpected ways. We are challenged to see beyond the surface of things and into the heart.  Our faith—as well as art—teach us that.

See you in church,
Christy

God Plays No Favorites

 If there are a “chosen few” / then I am not one of them,
if an “elect,” well then / I have not been elected.
I am one who is knocking / at the door. I am one whose foot
is on the bottom rung.
But I know that Heaven’s / bottom rung is Heaven
though the ladder is standing / on the earth where I work
by day and at night sleep / with my head upon a stone.
    — “(2006) I.” Wendell Berry

If there is one thing that this seemingly never-ending pandemic has taught me, it is humility. I do not have all the answers. My decisions are often flawed. I am dependent on others. I am not invincible. And there is a grace in acknowledging this humility. Beyond the inconvenience, frustrations, and grief of this time, there are opportunities to live more deeply into our interdependence—to celebrate how connected we are—whether our connections are in person, online, or in spirit.  

As Wendell Berry suggests in his poem above, God plays no favorites. We are all on this journey together—standing on the earth. And even Heaven’s bottom rung is still Heaven.  Beauty abounds, even when it is difficult to see. Opportunities are present, even when they take more intentional looking. Inspiration is possible, even when we feel drained and empty.

And it is in this spirit that we enter the liturgical season of Lent. Humbly. Openly. Trusting that what we need most will present itself. And knowing, always, that we are not alone.

See you in church,
Christy