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Peace Be With You | St. Mary's Birthday Art
Hello, St. Mary’s! Kelley here.
Last month, our church turned eight, and our custom is to have someone in the community make an art piece to reflect on the past year. When Fr. Danny asked me if I’d be interested in creating something, I thought of a lot of ideas: most of them complicated, admittedly few of them particularly relevant to the purpose of this commission! So I mulled them over and prayed for the following weeks, nothing really rising to the surface.
But one afternoon, I was sitting on the back porch at Humphreys Street reading Serene Jones’ Trauma and Grace: Theology in a Ruptured World. In one of the chapters, she works with a story found at the end of the Gospel of Luke (You can read it in Luke 24:28-43). In this series of events, Jesus mysteriously shows up at a supper meal with the disciples at Emmaus, but they do not recognize him as their teacher and friend; at least, not until he takes the bread, blesses and breaks it, and shares it amongst them. Then, the disciples return to Jerusalem and Jesus once more appears to them and says “Peace be with you!” - and this time, they are scared. They think he’s a ghost. But Jesus says, “Look at my hands and my feet. It’s really me!” And once again, he eats with them; this time, they share a meal of fish.
I’ve always been drawn to these final verses of Luke because of how human they feel - the disciples experience disappointment, sadness, and doubt: Dr. Jones reminds us that the loss of their leader is profoundly traumatic. She also writes about how Jesus’ own body bears the marks of trauma, too; there is something profound in this idea that his resurrected being still carries his humanness.
At the same time, Jesus and his friends also share in joy, in wonder, and in companionship. For despite it all, Jesus blesses them with peace. He invites them into nourishing relationship.
This story isn’t easy. Individually and communally, we’ve all lived through some difficult events not only in this last year, but for several years, and maybe more. We are not a community that asks you to leave your loss or your doubt or your questions at the door, and I thank God. We are a community that asks you to bring who you are, inviting all into sharing the bread and the cup (and the occasional picnic!). I also see the ways we practice blessing each other with the peace of Christ that meets us in our very being. This is reciprocal: sometimes we need to be the ones who say “peace be with you,” and other times, we need to be the ones to receive it.
I chose the block print medium because I’ve really been inspired by several artists who work with it, especially in justice movement spaces. I chose “Peace be with you” as the central image because it feels like the moment on which this story hinges; but you’ll notice Jesus’ hands still bear the marks. I placed the bread and fish on either side because this narrative is bookended by those shared meals. The other neat element about this medium is that it is easily copyable, so do let me know if you’d like me to pull a print for you! :)
I am truly grateful to work with St. Mary’s. Thank you for your wide welcome and generous presence. May peace be with each of you!
A Blessing for Caregivers in Hard Times
For the caregivers, the parents, the aunts and uncles, the nannies, the friends and godparents, grandparents and foster parents and anyone who feels the weight of loving another human being:
Blessed are you, shepherds of little lambs. May you remember that you, too, have a shepherd, and that you are also a beloved lamb.
Blessed are you who hear the latest headlines and think, “I can’t imagine,” and who hug your little ones extra tight at the end of the day, grateful that they are still in your arms. And blessed are you, whose arms have been empty. May you be comforted.
Blessed are you who are scared to death, and who drop your kids off anyway, hoping they will be safe. May your worst fears go unrealized and your souls be stilled.
Blessed are you who press palms gently against foreheads checking for fevers--you who have kept close watch over such fragile creatures in a global pandemic. May you find reprieve from constant vigilance.
Blessed are you who make pediatric counseling appointments and wonder where all of the anxiety is coming from. May the loving voice of God be louder than the voice of guilt or shame.
Blessed are you who second guess decisions big or small, about healthcare and school and finances and what to make for dinner. May you find peace even when you aren’t sure.
Blessed are you who referee sibling arguments, police homework deadlines, assign chores, and sometimes forget it’s your turn to pick up from school. May some bit of order be restored to you today.
Blessed are you when you fall asleep in the car line. May you find rest in a God who cares about our bodies.
Blessed are you who lose your cool, who apologize, and who pray you aren’t traumatizing your children. May forgiveness and grace be yours.
Blessed are you who feel like the birthdays and milestones are coming faster every year and who don’t feel quite ready to let go. And blessed are you who feel like graduation day can’t come soon enough. May time be kind to you.
Blessed are you whose little people are still becoming. May you trade in your dreams and expectations for the reality of who they are and may the fullness of their humanity be a gift to you and to the world.
Blessed are you whose family doesn’t look like everyone else’s. May you remember Jesus and his chosen family of misfits and outcasts and people who don’t always get along and may you know there is a place for you there, too.
Blessed are you when the crises keep coming, when the emails don’t stop, when the phone rings with bad news, when another behavioral report comes in, and when everything is complicated and overwhelming when you’re doing the best you can. May you catch your breath and catch a break.
Blessed are you who pour out love again and again and again and again without any guarantee of its return. God’s love for you is limitless.
Amen.
"He tends his flock like a shepherd:
He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart;
he gently leads those that have young." - Isaiah 40:11 (NIV)
May God's peace be with you!
— Flo Paris Oakes
“With”
“Remember,” Kim said, “Mid-wife literally means, ‘with women.’ It’s an act of being with women in the pain and waiting of every part of women’s health, especially child birth.”
The OBGYN stared at me from the Zoom screen, her body recovering from a double mastectomy.
“With” is an understated preposition. Coffee with cream. Dancing with abandon. Surgery with complications. Being with child.
With is a word that binds together two or more things that don’t necessarily belong together. This little connecting word pulls up a chair and transforms the narrative without hardly being noticed.
To be with women in the pain and waiting—whether the waiting and pain leads to the cooing and crying of a baby or the icing and wrapping of scarred chest—is a bold binding. To be with women in these moments is a simultaneous declaration that these bodies are sacred, and these women are more than what their bodies can produce for the world.
“Midwifery God” by Britney Winn Lee
Remember, “Emmanuel” literally means “God with us.” It is an act of God being with humans in the pain and waiting of this creation’s growth, healing, dying and new birth.
God’s presence with us dignifies the soil of this earth, the flesh and bones of sons of Adam and daughters of Eve. Patiently sitting with us, Emmanuel honors this creation as a world worth more than it can produce. In dignity and honor we are invited to patiently wait,
For the healing of scars
For the mercy of death
For the growth of a child
For the opening of the womb
Whatever the outcome, we are bound up with our creator who will not let our labor be in vain.
In Advent we welcome God as our midwife, to pull up a chair and transform the narrative without hardly being noticed.
Oh come, oh come, Emmanuel!
—Rev. Shawna Songer Gaines
A Letter from Erin Martin
Our 2020 Art Project, by Erin Martin
Hi there, I'm Erin Martin.
I was pleased to be tapped for art making this year. So grateful to have an excuse to steal time and do something else with my hands during quarantine other than change diapers and clean the kitchen again.
I painted you a labyrinth on a service tray, and drew a version of it you can print at home.
I want it to be touched.
I want you to play with it.
I thought about you a lot while I worked. I imagined you holding this in your hands.
I imagined your faces. You young. You old. You peers. You pew fellows.
I was surprised how much I longed for you all as I worked.
Church and faith has been distracted at best for me since becoming a mother four years ago.
Guys, I didn't know I loved you all till I was drawing and imagining this in your hands.
Thanks for being church.
So, this tray commemorates a year when contemplatives were invited into new action through the Order of Bethany.
It's meant to be beautiful and functional, like the church.
The images inside—of traveling the labyrinth, of buds, blooms, bulb, and seeds—are all meant to convey some of the states of being we found ourselves in this year. And the gilding of gold space around each is my way of reminding us that each state was worth being in, perhaps even holy. I found myself praying for you while I drew—
Blessed are you stuck at home
Blessed are you trying a new thing
Blessed are you adding your voice to community
Blessed are you scattered
Blessed are you gathered
Blessed are you alone
Blessed are you sick
Blessed are you traveling
Blessed are you returned
Blessed is the disorder
Blessed is the reorder
Blessed is the waiting
Blessed is the wandering
Blessed is the attempt.
I wanted to give you a sculpture for a year in which we are physically unable to touch one another, or the table. It felt like redemption and hope to me to have art meant to be handled and shared once this is resolved and we are together again. When we are past Covid, and you see it, and you have a minute, travel the labyrinth with your finger.
Till then, please print the printable if you can. Glue yarn to the lines of the labyrinth, let it dry, and follow the groove with your finger into the center and back out again. It's surprisingly lovely. It's a tactile experience we can share right now. Try it with your kids.
Example of how to use yarn for your printable prayer labyrinth
Or, print another and color it with crayons. Print one and paint it. Post a photo of it online and let me see! We'll find a hashtag to use.
Or, color it as meditation. Color it and pray for folks it brings to your mind.
If you want to ask about symbolism or chat about art making with me, hit me up. I’ve found Marco Polo and stealing 5 minutes between toddler tea parties to talk like an adult is a gift in this season.
Peace.
Click here to access the printable PDF of this prayer labyrinth.