We're Following The Star, 6

David:

We shall not cease from exploration

And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time.

......
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
When the tongues of flame are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one.

T. S. Eliot
from The Four Quartets

Image: Table of the Magi by David Orth

Jim:

I think my epiphany is 61 years in the making ...a very very slow epiphany: The star is family ...the star is old friends (like Jesus and Mary) ...the star is new friends (like David and Robin) ...the star is love. LOVE!

Image: La Sagrada Familia - The Sacred (or Holy) Family by James Mangum

Robin:

just saying so

sometimes makes all

the difference

the star is always there

to be followed to be

watched

just saying so

reminds us

commits us

Image: Just Saying So by C. Robin Janning

We're Following The Star, 5

Christmas now. It’s not just one star, but many stars. Too many stars to count. It is a great light pulsing, beaming from every direction. Light for the Christmas that is born in every heart …in every dawn that pushes away the darkness.

David:

Jim:

Robin:

A new year arrives during these twelve days of Christmas, bearing a spark that promises enough light for all ...however and in whichever direction we travel.

Christmas Eve

But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart. (Luke 2.19)

Over the previous nine months, Mary has entertained an archangel, said yes to becoming the mother of the Son of God, made the journey to visit Elizabeth, and lifted up a song of hope that has endured across centuries. She has waited with Elizabeth, made the journey back home, and traveled with her husband Joseph to Bethlehem to be included in the registration ordered by Emperor Augustus. She has labored to give birth to her son, enfolded him in strips of cloth, laid him in a manger, and welcomed those who came to marvel at what had come to pass.

Luke tells us that in response to their amazement, Mary treasures these words in her heart. Luke’s description conjures an image of a woman who, amid the tumult of angels and signs and visitors and miracles, holds all these happenings in a place of stillness. Among the memories of nine months of adventures she never could have imagined, Mary embodies a sense of wonder that is quiet and deep and wise.

Words: Jan Richardson at The Advent Door: “Revisiting The Secret Room”

Image: “Mary Treasures All These Words” by C. Robin Janning

We're Following The Star, 4

David:

I feel a little out of touch again

And exhausted and wind burned
But now I feel well on down the road …

So (whispering softly to the gentle,
Frightened bird of our fluttering hearts),
Be still, and know the
vast varied darknesses of God.

Do not flinch from any Truth
breathing out whatever breath.

Jim:

Epiphany: A Christian feast celebrating the manifestation of the divine nature of Jesus to the Gentiles as represented by the Magi.

Advent began on my birthday this year. The next day, November 30, Robin, David, and I began “following the star.” Today, December 13, my epiphany arrived with the first line of Robin’s poem: “It’s about Mary.” What should have been obvious to me for many years became obvious. My art has always been about Mary.

I have painted her and carved her hundreds of times. With and without the Christ child. Each time my art takes me away from her, she calls me back. Her image calms me; comforts me. Despite all my doubts about so-called traditional religion, her hold on me has never loosened.

I was a psychology major in college, but came to believe all of it was a crock. Except for the theory of the mother-son dynamic. I was not close to my mother, or should I say, she was not close to me. So, I suppose that Mary became my surrogate mother. I was raised in the Catholic church and began attending Catholic school when I was five. So I saw Mary a lot. At a most impressionable age and during a most trying time, I saw her almost daily. The incredible statues, paintings, stained glass windows. She always had a beatific smile…just for me.

So today I will start my new carving. A giant cypress knee in which I can already see Mary holding baby Jesus in her arms. It is going to be a good day.

Robin:

it’s about Mary
right now
this star we follow
about finding
the transformation
point where
we say yes
like she said
yes

We're Following The Star, 3

David:

I woke up from one those nightmares that come out of “nowhere”. I knew it had something to do with Following the Star – or rather Not Following the Star – which is in fact where I have to start.

I live on ten acres. There is no development in sight. But when I walked out into the front yard of my dream, there were some one hundred No Trespassing signs marking a convoluted circle around the house. Some developer had come in the night and staked out a ridiculous new property line for me and clearly they were flaunting this barrier and putting it in my face. A row of yellow signs divided my driveway in two, they left me a patch of grass outside the front door. On one side of the house the signs were staked right up to the foundation line. I was stunned. I imagine if I had gone back in the house, I would have found the signs in there, too – blocking my way to the bathroom.

Last time I reflected on this journey, I managed to get out of my cave and make it up into the starlit view from the tower. Now I’m back down on ground level and opening my front door. Maybe I was ready to start out on a journey. Maybe I was just letting out the cat. Regardless, some developer is out there blocking my way, blocking my view, and advertising their claim on me. I pulled out a couple of signs and threw them down, but it would not be that easy. Something inside knows the signs are mine – I allowed them to be there – I am ‘the developer’. I live in this world of illusion and preoccupation with myself. I’m terrified of getting old, or loosing the studio, or the house, of not affording my friend-wife’s medications, or having my art dry up from the inside. I’ve allowed Netflix and caffeine into my space (again) to make their claims and set me down on the couch-of-my-life. These are all the low-level comfort/addictions of a typical middle class life – and the unconscious fear of the unknown that goes along with it. The dream is sign – a sign made up of signs. I’m not being clever, I’m just getting it.

The Three Wise Men, the Kings of the Orient, represent a kind of inner soul bravery of spirit, a curiosity that trespasses barriers, an expansive outlook, a search for our Origin that leads out into far flung territories, something that follows a Star. This is all rung out of us here in the West – in the West-of-our-lives – doesn’t matter if you are reading this in China – we all have a ‘West’ – a place of safety and drunkenness with safety. A place in the self with a lot of very human preoccupations and No Trespassing signs. The signs and barriers are there - even when we don’t see them - especially when we don’t see them.

Who is it that follows a Star? I know what follows a pop song, a pretty woman, the warmth of the sun. But who or what follows a Star? What travels in the night sharing the road with thieves and vampires? Who were these stargazers from the east who seemed to know something, who set out from their high towers, who crossed borders at will? We domesticate them in crèches, Christmas plays, gold foil, and colorful robes. But they remind me that not all who seek the Child, who carry word of the Child, are churched, catechized, circumcised, or circumspect.

I roll over and put my feet on the cold floor. The cat wants out.

Image: Wounded Bird Table by David Orth


Jim:

Advent = Arrival
 
Arrivals, by definition, are momentary states. They last an instant. Arrivals are both ethereal and ephemeral. A letter arrives. A child arrives. A Christ child arrives. We try to find ways to hang on them. We read letters over and over. We take photographs and make scrapbooks of and for our children. We go to church, we pray, we celebrate Christmas.
 
This has always been my struggle. Trying to stay in the moment. I am always looking ahead. To the next project; the next adventure. When my first child was born, my wife and I looked forward to his arrival. For different reasons, I’m pretty sure. But, when he was born she was able to stay in the moment. To hold him and…just love him.
 
I was already looking down the road. To when he would be able to talk to me. Start laughing at my corny jokes. When he would first play t-ball. When he would bring home his first girlfriend. Would I be afraid when he got hurt or became ill?
 
I did the same with my first daughter when she was born. Amazed at actually having a baby girl. Amazed at how it all happened. Then, with the arrival, the looking ahead. And the same with my last two daughters. They’re all grown now. Wonderful adults. It went by too fast, while I was thinking about the future. My wife enjoyed and savored every moment with them. She still does. We’re divorced now.
 
The advent of Advent brings it all home. This trip with Robin and David will be a rather melancholy one. Not in a bad way. It has made me actually stop and look back on a wonderful life. I am allowing myself to be nostalgic.
 
I love the Nativity story. How Christ’s arrival was foretold. How men, the powerful and the meek, followed a star. His arrival was over in a moment. But His story will live forever. It would be nice if we could hold onto it for the entire year. I wonder if Jesus minds that we take Him for granted sometimes?
 
My thoughts are scattered now. All the pictures in my head are a bit out of focus. Robin and David, my path has not become clear. No star yet. But, I am looking forward to this trip. A new destination lies ahead. A new arrival.
 
Image: Following The Star, by James Mangum
 
 
Robin:
 

daylight hours
the star leads more
indirectly
now I trace its
path its rising
and falling
in the faces and
places around me…

Image: Dancing Through Shadows by C. Robin Janning

We're Following The Star, 2

David:

I spent an hour yesterday sloshing through a vast scrap yard looking for a headlight for my van. It was pretty much a scene out of Mad Max – Mad Max after a long Midwestern drizzle. The sun and the mud were in my eyes and I couldn’t see any stars – biblical or otherwise. The day before yesterday I had hit a deer on the road – no way to miss it. It ran off and I hope it is ok, but it knocked out my headlamp and put me in a fresh funk – a simmering mix of guilt, anger, and distress. Not a big rolling boil – not my style – just a simmer. But still I’ve definitely got something cooking. I see that I have been taking little moments like this personally. Seems like there are a lot them lately. So this is the cave in which I begin my journey. I’d love a star, but not sure I can see stars from “here.”

That’s a start actually. Just seeing myself laying here in bed, pinned down at first by self-pity. A kind of straightforward confession without the groveling. Staying here with myself and letting God see me. Fortunately, you don’t have to sit in a particular way to meditate (though sometimes it helps). Staying with it, but somehow no longer “in” it. A star has risen inside me. This for me now is prayer. Not asking God to fix things – that just hasn’t been working for me. But just watching myself lying here things cleared up for a while. Not getting great visions of the Cosmos or the Child. Just some starlight. It illumines the night. Not permanently, but for a while. So now I know there are stars and there are also places from which it is difficult to see them.

So today, the residual starlight is still there. It’s not a pinpoint in the sky. It’s not brilliant. It’s just a sense of a gentle light – a place inside that is not pinned down in a cave. I’m not on the road yet. But today I’m out of the cave and up in the watchtower. It’s better up here. In the starlight.

Image: Watch Tower Urn by David Orth

------------

Jim:

Since we are speaking of kings, Peter King, the sportswriter, has a featurette in each of his Monday Morning Quarterback columns: Factoid of the Week That May Interest Only Me. I will paraphrase Mr. King with my Factoids of Advent That May Interest Only Me:

Being an English major and a writer, words fascinate me. I have been away from the church, any church, for a long time now. So when we are talking about Advent, I felt a good place for me to start was refreshing myself with the definition. I went to Merriam Webster Online Dictionary and found this:

Main Entry: Ad•vent

Pronunciation: \ˈad-ˌvent, chiefly British -vənt\

Function: noun

Etymology: Middle English, from Medieval Latin adventus, from Latin, arrival, from advenire

Date: 12th century

1 : the period beginning four Sundays before Christmas and observed by some Christians as a season of prayer and fasting

2 a : the coming of Christ at the Incarnation b : second coming

3 not capitalized : a coming into being or use

Two things which I did not know jumped out at me: Advent also means the Second Coming; and it comes from the Latin, adventus, meaning arrival.

So, never one to leave well enough alone, I broke the Latin, adventus, down into it's etymological least common denominators (if that is even a concept). In Latin, ad carries the idea of "in the direction of". And ventus, in Latin, means wind, rumor, or favor. So reassembling the word from its Latin roots, adventus becomes "in the direction of the wind", or "in the direction of a rumor", or "in the direction of favor". Based on the story in Matthew 2: 1-12, any of these definitions of adventus would work quite well, e.g.: 7Then Herod called the Magi secretly and found out from them the exact time the star had appeared. 8He sent them to Bethlehem and said, "Go and make a careful search for the child. As soon as you find him, report to me, so that I too may go and worship him."

And still, I would not let it go...so I looked up the current colloquial definition of "ad": a public notice...and a definition of "vent": to give often vigorous or emotional expression to ...putting those 2 together kind of works too.

And there you have it: My Factoids of Advent That May Interest Only Me

Image: Star by Jim Mangum

------------

Robin:

it’s not what I’ll take

but what I must leave behind…
oh, look at the moon

I’ll take everything
and just walk slowly

Image: My Blue Moon by C. Robin Janning

We're Following The Star, 1

In that innocent moment, fences down and doors unguarded, an idea arrived. Unexpected. Not entirely uninvited. Call it radical or call it risky or call it an interesting quest… We’re following The Star.

“We” is David, Jim, and Robin.

Challenged and inspired by our own internal and external constellations we’re following the star across (neither down, nor up) an Advent path. We bring our own maps and tools and gifts, committing to the journey and to sharing.

These words by Joan Chittester carried the idea and brought us together for this journey.

“…Waiting — that cold, dry period of life when nothing seems to be enough and something else beckons within us — is the grace that Advent comes to bring. It stands before us, within us, pointing to the star for which the wise ones from the East are only icons of ourselves.”

So, as respectfully as we can, we salute those icons and then just as respectfully begin to diverge, branch out, make a trail.

Here we go.

We Proclaim The Interconnectedness

We mean peacefully to weave our own strand into the web of life as it exists here and now in our neck of the woods. We repudiate the dualism—and the myriad forms of power-over that it spawned—which has pervaded our human culture for so long. Instead, we proclaim the interconnectedness of all beings and claim being for all manifestations of creation. We claim our authentic voice as self-reflective beings—we have something to say about how we shall live on the Earth.

Words: From The Bluestone Manifesto by the Community of the Holy Spirit

Image: Photograph by C. Robin Janning

Go Find It

" ...God has spread a whole lot of spirit around out there, and we don’t always recognize it. We’re supposed to go find it and figure out how to bless it and join it, and keep spreading it around."

Words: The Most Rev. Katharine Jefferts Schori: Sermon at Closing Eucharist of Montana Diocesan Convention; Holy Spirit, Missoula, Proper 21B

Image: "The Blessing Cross" by C. Robin Janning

For Angels

Spirited light! on the edge
of the Presence your yearning
burns in the secret darkness,
O angels, insatiably
into God’s gaze.

Words: Hildegard of Bingen

Image: "Knowing Lights" by C. Robin Janning

Prayer

Prayer
is the breath of the soul,
the life energy of the spirit.
It is the story of the interplay
between God and me.
It is the link
between the inner and outer life.

There is no formula for it beyond the need
to nourish it with both words and silence.

The prayer of words is simply meant
to fill our minds and thoughts
with an awareness of the nature of God
and the attitudes of soul needed
to immerse ourselves in the God-life
until we melt into the presence of God within.

There the great silence of God becomes
the central, major focus of our lives,
the anchor of our hearts,
the stabilizer that carries us
through all the moments of life
on a straight course directly to the heart of God.

Words: Joan Chittister from The Breath of the Soul: Reflections on Prayer (Twenty-Third Publications)

Image: Red Maple and Russian Sage by C. Robin Janning

Trip To Memory

long ago
down a dirt road
in a New Mexico ghost town
falling down church
falling down life

from self-inflicted wounds
so much collateral damage
a child’s hot tears
a wife’s withering dreams
a husband’s blind regret

a heart was carved
in the tilting wooden cross
broken heart?
sacred heart?
hard to tell

now I see it again
that old adobe church
the tilting, splintered cross
mirage? dream?
hard to tell

the weathered heart remains
and from this distance casts light
where other hearts have healed
on this long and winding journey
this redeeming trip
to Memory.

Words and Image by James Mangum and C. Robin Janning

Full Of Grace

“I invite you into a new way of seeing Mary. We must recapture and reclaim Mary and see her for what she is… an active agent that moves through us through the presence of the Holy Spirit.”

Words: Bishop Steven Charleston from an article by Nan Ross, in The (Episcopal Life) Daily, Issue 4, page 13.

Image: "Mothering Arms" by C. Robin Janning

Breaking Locks

“… To live the life that I would love,
To postpone my dream no longer
But do at last what I came here for
And waste my heart on fear no more.”

Words: John O’Donohue in “To Bless the
Space Between Us: A Book of Blessings, 2008

Image: Gary E. Smith (Photographer)
C. Robin Janning (Painter)

Collaborative Art

The image shown above is a collaboration between a photographer and a painter. While the mechanics of how a collaboration might proceed are many and varied, it seems that what is absolutely required is the ability to see beyond the individual heart and into the universal heart. When this happens, what is born of collaboration will be art that speaks more than one language.

Infinite possibilities exist. Which means nearly an infinite number of chance collaborations never happen. To me, it makes those that do happen...and that do work magically and wondrously...infinitely special.

Words and image by James Mangum (photographer)
and C. Robin Janning (painter)

Ashes, Stones, and Flowers

In Memory of All Victims of War and Terrorism

For vibrant lives suddenly
and shamelessly sacrificed,
we lift up the ashes of our loss,
O Source of Life.

For the lives that continue,
haunted forever by the pain of absence,
we lift up the ashes of our remorse,
O Wellspring of Compassion.

For the conflagration of flames and nightmare
images forever seared into our memories,
we lift up the ashes of our pain,
O Breathing Spirit of the World.

For the charred visions of peace
and the dry taste of fear,
we lift up the ashes of our grief,
O Infinite.

For all the deaths that have been justified by turning
the love of God or country into fanatical arrogance,
we lift up the ashes of our shame,
O God.

As we cast these ashes into the
troubled water of our times,
Transforming One,

hear our plea that by your power they
will make fertile the soil of our future and
by your mercy nourish the seeds of peace.

For the ways humanity pursues violence
rather than understanding,
we lift up the stones of our anger,
O Breathing Spirit of the World.

For the ways we allow national, religious and
ethnic boundaries to circumscribe our compassion,
we lift up the stones of our hardness,
O Wellspring of Compassion.

For our addiction to weapons and the ways of
militarism we lift up the stones of our fear,
O Source of Life.

For the ways we cast blame and create enemies
we lift up the stones of our self-righteousness,
O God.

As we cast these stones into this ancient river,
Transforming One, hear our plea:

Just as water wears away the hardest of stones,
so too may the power of your compassion soften
the hardness of our hearts and draw us into a future
of justice and peace.

For sowing seeds of justice to blossom into harmony,
we cast these flowers into the river,
O Source of Peace.

For seeing clearly the many rainbow
colors of humanity and earth,
we cast these flowers into the river,
O Infinite.

For calling us to life beyond our grieving,
we cast these flowers into the river,
O Breathing Spirit of the World.

As we cast these flowers into this ancient river,
Transforming One, hear our plea:

Just as water births life in a desert and gives
hope to the wounded, so too may the power of
your nurturing renew our commitment to peace.

Words by Rev. Patricia Pearce, Pastor of Tabernacle United Church, Philadelphia, and Rabbi Arthur Waskow, Director of The Shalom Center

Image: photograph by C. Robin Janning

Theology Of Creativity

"I would suggest that the first step in reflecting on a theology of creativity is to understand that one of our fundamental creative acts is to create our conceptions of divinity. The tasks, then, of theology and the mission of the Church invite us to examine the concepts we create and how we carry out the call to be co-creators of goodness, truth, beauty, and holiness. Our ideas and thinking about God form the backdrop of all that we do and all that we create.

In the words of Miles Davis, one of the world’s greatest musicians: “I’m always thinking about creating. My future starts when I wake up every morning. Every day I find something creative to do with my life.”

Our faith in God rests on our belief that God is the Creator — the Uncreated Creator. As people interested in the power of creativity, we know deeply that we were created, are created, in the first place. And we believe we were created in the image of God.

I suspect that to be made in the image of God has to do with our ability to be rational, to be stewards of the earth, to represent God to each other. Called into covenant with God, the covenant could be read this way: I set before you life and death. Choose to create life, choose to create goodness, choose to create the beautiful, and choose to create the truth through the art of your actions."

Read it all here. The article also comes with a soundtrack: Miles Davis, Blue in Green, which you can listen to here.

Words: The Rev. Mark Bozzuti-Jones

Image: Assumed Into Heaven by C. Robin Janning

This Is How

as Jesus is pulled
from his earthly tomb
this is how we arise

this new green growth
crawling from the gnarled wood
of our own crosses

as blades of grass
pushing through
the stony path

on Easter

Image: Diane Walker

Words: C. Robin Janning

This Jesus

Like many artists and photographers before me, I discovered this crucified Jesus beyond religion, through the lens of art and service.

This Jesus, I found, doesn’t leave. He stays with us and each day we decide if he will remain crucified, or come down from the cross to feed the poor, to shelter the homeless, to love the unloved, to walk in the world again.

(Note: The crucifix shown above sits on a side-wall in the sanctuary at St. John’s Episcopal Church in Plymouth, Michigan.)

Image and words: C. Robin Janning

Mother Of Worlds

have mercy on us
as we begin this walk
with your son

Words and image by C. Robin Janning