The beauty and wisdom of iconography is that we can see old, familiar events in a new, restorative way. We are invited to contemplate the manger tableau in Bailey Hindmarsh’s Unto Us a Child is Born with wonder and with curiosity. Ironically, in Hindmarsh’s mini manger menagerie, the scene features paradoxical animals watching over the Babe, underscoring Isaiah’s prophesy. The absence of the traditional iconography of the Mother of God and Joseph with their child ignites our curiosity, imagining them on the periphery.

I wonder if this linocut print invites us to consider what kind of animal we might be and how we might behave. For instance, as a leopard, we sometimes change our spots depending on sticky situations, or we morph into timorous little lambs, uncertain whether or not to trust God. Other times, we act like a cowardly lion when living life on our terms, or we yearn for a life of ease like a foolish yearling wanting to nuzzle road apples and eat them, too.

Whatever the paradoxical animal we might experience at times—good, bad, or indifferent—one relationship impacts how we see God; sometimes the way we interact with God is contingent on the effects our fathers have had on us.

I wonder which, if any, of the following statements represent how you would announce the Son-providing God of the Bible: 1) God sent his son; 2) The Father sent his son; or 3) Abba—the Arabic word translated as Daddy—sent his son. Perhaps, these three demarcations differ for some readers depending on individual life experiences. For example, my father died of cancer when I was 16. My relationship with him was loving and nurturing in spite of family dysfunctions. He was not a hugger or a mess-up-my-hair kind of dad. Just 16, I was beginning to develop my personal values and adult decision-making ventures without the locking-horns angst toward parental authority. Conversely, my older brothers, who grew up in the 60s but didn’t remember it, fought with him. One particular day, when I was ten, I stood at the doorway, hearing my 16 year-old brother and Dad arguing in the house, wrestling and grunting, and then my brother running away, yelling.

As for biblical Old Testament stories, many fathers betray, belittle, and abandon their children: Isaac plays favorites (Genesis 25:28); passive David is nonplussed with his sons (II Samuel); and Mannasseh sacrifices his children (II Chronicles 33:1-6) to name a few. The Old Testament identifies God as Father 15 times. Besides his holiness, perhaps the noticeable omittance of identifying God as Father is partly due to poor examples of human fathers.

On the other hand, in the first four books of the New Testament, Jesus references God as Father over 165 times. Jesus, who arrives in a manger, grows to be the fulfilling-prophet Son of God, and announces truly good news: to whatever degree we have interacted with earthly fathers, we can vulnerably connect with our heavenly Abba…our Daddy. This is the cozy, compassionate Abba who “kisses each star,” longing to embrace us and kiss us; Abba who’s “thrilled to adopt the pulsar beat” and hold us close to his heart like John the Beloved resting on Jesus’ bosom; Abba who, because of the Son saying yes to everything his Abba asks, is “new-birthing us into fellowship” right now.

Imagine encouraging those you know and those you meet for the first time during these 12 days of Christmas, that they, like you and I, can know God as Abba intimately like he desires us to experience him. Jesus ushers into humanity a divinely deep relationship with Abba. This is gospel; this is good news.

New-birthing Us

A stable father sees his serene son

sleeping, starry-straw embracing him,

like a million galaxies one-by-one

smiling eternally, never growing dim.

Heavenly Abba kisses each star

thrilled to adopt the pulsar beat,

as Milky Way reads a heavenly memoir

narrating novae redemptive feat

So that kingdoms can come together fast—

the one way high in glorious heaven

then on earth with us, Peace-Prince at last

for that good, and just, and loving succession—

Our offspring spying who’s lying in the manger

relays unabashedly the greatest gospel news to say:

stable parents then saw their some-day Easter Son,

new-birthing us into fellowship with Abba today.

-Casey Giffen

Star of Wonder

An Epiphany Reflection 

 As you view Maureen Steward’s Star of Wonder, imagine being one of the three wise men standing in awe at the star of Bethlehem. The star has stopped. Beams of starlight reveal, reflect, and reinforce the ultimate reality of the incarnate Christ, your Messiah in flesh. Joy overwhelms you.

This is Epiphany.

          Consider what leads to this Epiphany. The wise men, also known as kings or Magi, had settled themselves in a receptive position long before setting out on their journey from the east. They learned to discern. That discernment resettles when the Magi avail themselves to trusting a mysterious dream and opting to travel back to their country by an alternate route rather than returning to the nefarious Herod determined to kill the Christ.

          At Monte Vista Chapel, formational conversations are encouraged in order to resettle us: we experience Abba’s love by observing what’s happening in our lives, we listen to the Holy Spirit’s invitation, and we cooperate intentionally as we journey with Jesus. This what-would-Jesus-do-if-he-were-in-our-shoes posture allows us to do life by discerning, and then produces wisdom to see the unseen and to hear the unheard. Epiphany invites us to sit with Jesus, allowing the Trinity not only to envelop us, but also allowing us to experience an “approximately correct” spiritual stance.

          Discernment, wisdom, epiphany…these are mysterious concepts, divine descriptors which humble us while any possible pride evaporates. If we tend to look for a self-imposed, epiphanic discovery—one where we are not comfortable with mystery but prefer knowing answers thus eliminating Trinitarian mysteries—we might undergo a season just like any other season. Perhaps Thomas Moore received an epiphany when he stated, “At best we can never be more than approximately correct when we speak about spiritual matters. The part that remains unknown and unspoken gives our words and ideas the emptiness they require.” This season of Epiphany provides a paradoxically “purposeful, selfless destination” where we die to our ways of searching for an epiphany yet live with our sitting in overwhelming joy. Set aside a sacred space for “emptiness” this season so that the Trinity can interact with you, fulfilling your longing to become and to do.

Water Into Wine 

An Epiphany Reflection 

Cindy MeKenna’s acrylic on canvas Water into Wine illustrates a “…contemporary depiction of the first miracle of Jesus…” The calendar comment provides a beautiful reminder: “Trusting in Jesus, we are assured that the abundant life God intends for all is full of the splendor of God’s glory.”

The inspiration for The Satisfying Wonder of Water is soaked with God’s glory. I wonder if some of the same H2O molecules morphed throughout the Old Testament into the New Testament. Parting the Red Sea. Flowing water from a rock. Dousing water on a fiery alter. These are astonishing interactions.

Then we read of Jesus’ first miracle in John 2:1-11. Enter Jesus. A wedding ceremony. Six stone water jars. Imagine the uber-satisfaction on the face of the banquet master, on the face of the bridegroom. Talk about an epiphany! What happens? “He (Jesus) thus revealed his glory, and his disciples put their faith in him.” The Trinity perpetuates glory. The disciples put faith and trust into their Rabbi. All from the rearranging of a few molecules.

Last month, folks who call Monte Vista Chapel home pondered the beginning of Epiphany: “…that Christ Jesus manifests God. Jesus is the One to follow. We sit at his feet in this season, learning again what we are called to be and to do.” The “to be” is glorious. All of humanity, each individual body composed of roughly 60 percent water, we are created in God’s glorious image. The “do” part is divine, too. Like the twelve disciple who trust their Rabbi—a soul-satisfying relationship much more significant than a creed, tenet, or doctrine—we are called to do the discipleship marriage dance. We two-step in step with the Trinity as we go and make disciples. We tango with those in the name of the glorious Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. We foxtrot to teach what Jesus commands, especially as coined by Dallas Willard in the Discourse on the Hill commands. The organic “miracle” of conversion ensues, just as miraculously as water into wine, but not based on our “to do.” The miracle of inner transformation takes place on a divine dance floor where the Trinity is in step with the soon-to-be-convert disciple. It’s a waltz with the Trinity serenaded by a this-is-my-beloved love song. For the satisfying soul we long for/ is the Vine where wine will pour.

Gethsemane – mixed media/photograph by Lin Eizabeth Priss

Gethsemane

A Lent Reflection

    In Lin Eizabeth Priss’ mixed media/photograph Gethsemane, something about the slitted opening of the veil and spying the tree in the background is fascinating. It’s an image that balances the essence of Lent, a forty-day intentionality designed to deepen our discipleship with Jesus with a both/and outlook. Exiting Epiphany, a season to wonder why, allows us to enter Lent, a season to say hello to how we journey with our Rabbi.

          In my early fifties, I experienced my first Ash Wednesday service. It was in the quaint sanctuary of the then St. Francis Anglican Church in Turlock. My curiosity carried me into a marvelously mysterious event. The aroma of the scented candles soothed my soul, inviting me to sit in awe and satisfaction. The icons welcomed my spirit to see Christ in new ways: he looked at me and loved me with unfathomable compassion. Although I was ignorant of the Latin inscriptions, the scripts spoke to my intuition, reminding me that the Holy Spirit speaks with clarity in a supernatural fashion. I appreciated welcoming one another with a “Peace be with you; and to you as well.” greeting. My friend informed me that the ashes about to be fingered on my forehead were the ashes burned on the previous Palm Sunday. Curiosity did not kill this cat, but it did create a question: how was I to live out a season of Lent?

          For decades, my Catholic colleagues had arrived at school with ashen foreheads and a pale tale of giving up something. Whether it was chocolate or libations, the intent was to sacrifice in order to grow closer to our servant savior. My curiosity kicked in anew. I discovered that giving up something for Lent was one side of the coin. What flipped my lid was cashing in on the entering into something for Lent. That first experience with Lent was intriguing. I gave up playing Candy Crush on my tablet (I didn’t own a cell phone), and I entered into writing a poem each day of Lent. What a gift God had given me. By giving up something that had become a numbing activity, I entered into a renewed sensitivity for creativity. What a joy for me to tap into one aspect of Creator God’s character!

          The prayer for Lent meant dusting off my preconceived notion that the event was bent on wearing ashes: “Remember that you are dust, and unto dust you shall return.” Never was a blessing so accurate and sobering. By sporting ashes, we deny and become reconnected with the Trinity. However, prior to us dying and returning to dust, we have the choice to live life within God’s desire for us…a life of Shalom. “Lent to Remember” is an attempt to convey creatively the transition from the interlude of Epiphany to the grateful reality of Holy Week and Easter. Moreover, the poem reminds us that we are not parts—we have a body, we have a soul, and we have a spirit, we have an intellect as separate parts—but that we are one, whole. You and I, simply put, are: we are a body, a soul, a spirit, an intellect. We are not four-leafed parts; we grow as one. With Lent, we experience a both/and counterintuitive and opportunistic prospect—not a sacrificial have to, but a discerning want to—a time for living a way of life that is fully human, fully alive, fully Shalom.

The Cross: The Word Became Flesh and Moved into the Neighborhood – Barbara Sartorious Bjelland

A Holy Week Reflection

Reflecting on this season of Lent, I have been fascinated with the giving up and the entering into aspects, even though the nefarious, atrocious events occurring worldwide affect me immensely. This season of Lent has allowed me not to turn toward my bellybutton, but to stomach how to love my neighbors, but in order to love others well, I must become like Jesus.

Intrigued at the end of Epiphany, I gave up carbohydrates for Lent and entered into a renewed reading of Henri Nouwen’s book Jesus A Gospel. I had purchased this gem at Yesterday’s Books on March 9, 2012, for $8.00 (I use the sales receipt as a bookmark). That year was my first experience interacting with Lent. Yet, it is the written illumination after the title page which allows the light of the Trinity to shine on this gem of a reading. It reads…The whole message of the Gospel is this: Become like Jesus.

To journey with Jesus during Lent is to become like Jesus, even when giving a lackluster attempt to give up and enter into. Perhaps like some of you, I, too, have experienced challenging times these past 40 days, namely within family relationships and relational interactions, albeit distant from daily hardships of domestic and international events. At times, I’ve wrestled with angry feelings, envious feelings, and sad feelings. By the Father’s grace, I’ve learned that those feelings do not define me. For instance, I am not an angry person, an envious person, or sad person to the degree whereby I’m defined as not enough, regardless of the depth of those extremely real emotions. Rather, I am beloved, just like Jesus’ identification when hearing the Father resurfacing during his baptism: This is my beloved son in whom I am well pleased.

Living out of grace repeatedly, this is how I desire to be like Jesus. Living out Imago Dei is the whole Gospel, for me, for you, for the world.

As I performed a visio divina—a prayer practice to pray and to allow the Trinity to speak—I was drawn to the severity of Jesus’ suffering in Barbara Sartorius Bjellland’s The Cross: The Word Became Flesh and Blood and Moved into the Neighborhood. Moreover, like Jesus interacting in the neighborhood, I am called to do the same as he did in my sphere of influence: non-violently, compassionately, mercifully, and justly. This is the kingdom “Servant zeitgeist” way that changes me, changes you, and changes the world, but it takes a humble heart, all of the counterintuitive interactions—comparison, rivalry, violence, war, destruction—that drove Jesus to the cross. As folks who call Monte Vista Chapel home, let’s live the whole Gospel: Become like Jesus…

Brenda Stichter’s acrylic on canvas Then Sings My Soul represents numerous aspects of joy. Innovated with the cruciform structure of colorful musical staff and playfully painted piano keys, my imagination and appreciation for the season of Easter resurrects a rebirth of memories.
         

The first time I heard Keith Green perform Easter Song was 1978. He sang and played the piano at my church. His rolling-lilt combination of piano notes and his voice vocally presented the beauty of the resurrected Jesus. Far from “magical,” the joyous amalgamation of hope and healing reverberated within the Assembly of God sanctuary, bouncing off of the A-framed structured ceiling onto the orange shag carpet and long pews.
         

If interested, click the link to view a live performance of Easter Song by Keith Green. He explains and sings the beauty of Jesus. (Click here to watch) You will experience the same need and desire for us to cry out hallelujah with unabashed zeal, so refreshing to the soul, because as Green says, “…he (Jesus) wants to change your life.” That is what the resurrection of Jesus is all joyously about, a divinely transformed life.  After watching the Keith Green video, I wonder about the word “world” in his refrain:
 
Joy to the world
He has risen, hallelujah
He’s risen, hallelujah
He’s risen, hallelujah, hallelujah
 
My creative imagination envisions and returns to Jesus’ triumphal entry. He’s interacting with humanity prior to Holy Week, prior to Good Friday, and prior to resurrection Sunday. He reminds the Pharisees that even if people keep quiet with their hosannas, the stones will cry out. Perhaps an expanded aspect of joy in Green’s lyrics “Joy to the world” is the unfathomable energy erupting when Jesus initially is resurrected. The world—Earth, God’s creation and its original design of everlasting shalom—exudes joy, and that supreme joy is not just for we humans to experience. Regardless of how much we hallelujahize Jesus, the ALL of the living, non-human world has waited an awfully long time to witness such joy, fulfillment. Perhaps, like humans, creation sometimes just cannot help itself. It explodes with natural hosannas because it knows the true source of joy…the Trinity.
          This season of Easter which will end on June 8, for folks who call Monte Vista Chapel home, maybe we can organically convey to those outside the walls of MVC—whether or not these those folks worship the resurrected Jesus—that we desire to share what Keith Green shared: that the greatest healing is the healing of a sin-sick soul. In our desire of going out and making disciples—not converts—we can confess that we do not possess the power to perform that healing, but we do possess the conveyance of the resurrected healer for much needed restoration.
          How we interact is the key. We listen first; we talk second. Listen to discern if the sin-sick-healing-heart storyteller has been granted eyes to see and ears to hear. Then, ask if the about-to-be-healed storyteller would like to hear your resurrection story, a transformational narrative worth telling because spirituality is best conveyed when we become deeply human with one another. With this approach, there are no others. Truly, not until all are healed will we be healed; not until all are whole will we be whole; and not until all are healthy will we be healthy. Simply too much joy exist because of Easter to keep it to us; like us, too many sin-sick souls exist—not simply because they are selfish or prideful—who are waiting, like creation, to reverberate the resurrection joy Then Sings My Soul…