Sacred arts...and crafts?

At some point during last weekend's workshop, I decided to search for my copy of Pope JPII's "Letter to Artists." I wanted to reread what he had to say about this "noble ministry." Passages like this one still resonate:

In producing a work, artists express themselves to the point where their work becomes a unique disclosure of their own being, of what they are and of how they are what they are....For the artist, art offers both a new dimension and an exceptional mode of expression for his or her spiritual growth.

After reading this the first time, I expanded my hifalutin' definition of art to include crafts. For decades I'd made nasty fun of the glue gun-decoupage-scrapbooking needlework-beading-polymer clay-baking crowd. They weren't artists. They certainly weren't creating art. And I knew this because I'd started art lessons with oil painting lessons at age seven and dropped out of a B.F.A. program at age 20.

I repent my snobbery. Mea mongo culpa.

God is quite the kidder. I now have a crafts closet bursting with glass beads and jewelry findings, acrylic paints, colored pencils, paper punches and decorative scissors, glittering sequins, tin milagros, papier-mâché hearts, unfinished wooden crosses and eggs, miniature silk roses. File folders are filled with images of Jesus, the BVM, cats, flowers, lambs, saints. I futz with decoupage. I used to bead rosaries.

I've got a bucket of molding clay destined to become angel wings and a stack of gold melamine servers that look exactly like halos. I have big plans for the two dozen tiny fluffy yellow chicks I found in Michaels three years ago. During Lent, I haul out the paint-by-number copy of "The Last Supper" I found on sale for $9.99. My efforts may not always end up looking great, but my encounters with color, form, image, and texture are always divine.

A "real" Catholic

I'm grateful to RJ for checking in via email, surmising correctly that I've been a bit swamped but still hoping to read how I'd define a "real" Catholic. This morning I say the heck with billable work! Let the cats chow down dry food!! It's time to reveal what I mean by being a "real" Catholic.

While I've added a humor label to this post, I am not entirely kidding as I zoom in on cultural identity. Remember, please, that I always view my Catholicism through the lens of Judaism. This means I do not limit Catholicism to a religious identity, although our religion and faith practices inform any cultural identity we may have. To this point, I recommend reading (or rereading) Andrew Greeley's book, The Catholic Imagination.

Jews use the term Yiddishkeit for a way of being and doing that is most definitely Jewish without being religious. My own cultural identity as a Jew remains quite intact. I'll take on in the kitchen any other Jew who says otherwise. Choose your weapon: brisket? lokshen kugel? cholent? gehakte leber? Great, now I'm not only defensive but hungry.

Catholics, especially those of a certain age, also have a sense of cultural identity that simultaneously includes and supersedes religion. Catholics who, for example, break out in giggles or groans at the mere mention of plaid jumpers.

Years after I'd passed through the formal period of Mystagogia, I discovered that I was becoming a real Catholic. I realized this the first time I exited church immediately after receiving Holy Communion. Last autumn, my Catholic identity was affirmed by a cradle Catholic friend, one who has won awards for her faithful, generous service to the Church. Here's our exchange:

"I'm a real Catholic now. Guess what I did while a video was shown yesterday in lieu of the homily?"

"You reorganized your purse?"

"Nope. I whipped out a copy of America magazine and read it until the Mass got back on track."

Her laugh was an embrace. Am I a "real" Catholic? I believe so.

Blogging as an Occasion for Sin

Not even two full months into into blogging and already I'm encountering occasions for sin. Here, I am not referring to stumbling upon skank-a-delic material on the Internet. I am referring to envious and lustful feelings. Even more specifically, I am experiencing blog traffic envy and site statistics lust.

Ruth (aka, Wheelie Catholic) says my latest obsession with optimization tools and traffic is normal. An experienced blogger, she says I'm right on time, if not slightly ahead and this last part certainly cheers me up, having been bred to overachieve and all that.

I know I can overcome this descent into separative consciousness. I managed to do so when, as a new author, I spent way too much time checking and rechecking the amazon.com ratings for my books. I got through this particular dark night by praying, "God, I thank you for the many gifts you have given me. I humbly turn my sales numbers over to you." Amen? Amen!

So *that* explains it! (Judaism's Legacy #2)

This morning's calendar post from Aish.com lets me know it's 15 Shevat, which is:

Tu B'Shvat, the New Year for the Trees....In Jewish law, this means that fruit which has blossomed prior to the 15th of Shevat could not be used as tithe for fruit which blossomed after that date. The custom on Tu B'Shvat is to eat fruits from the seven species for which the Land of Israel is praised: "...a land of wheat and barley and (grape) vines and fig trees and pomegranates, a land of olive trees and (date) honey" (Deut. 8:8).

I believe this explains my sudden near-primal urge to haul the artificial Christmas tree up from the basement -- during Ordinary Time. It might also explain why I'm jonesing for a childhood lunch treat of cream cheese and green olives on date nut bread.

The Healing Power of Sacred Arts

I'm back in front of my computer after a weekend visit to the 12th century. I was at a workshop with Jed Gibbons. Jed is a Chicago-based designer and craftsman who specializes in illuminated miniatures using historic pigments and techniques.

Years ago, I noticed his workshop at the St. Michael Institute of Sacred Art at Enders Island. This island of sanity is where I first studied iconography with Vladislav Andrejev and then Peter Pearson. I never made it back for the week-long workshop in illuminated miniatures. As it turned out, I wouldn't have to.

This fall, I discovered Jed would be teaching this sacred art form at a nearby parish. There was a weekend option. How could I not register for it? Never mind the convenience factor, I've known for months that it was time for me to get back to spiritual basics. This always means returning to regular prayer and Eucharist, as well as opening myself up to the healing power of sacred arts. I had returned to making music during Advent. Clearly it was time to reenter the sacred through visual arts. (Factoid about me: I studied Art & Design at Rochester Institute of Technology from 1969-1971.)

Jed characterizes his workshop as "transforming the mystery of color into the color of mystery." It was all that and more. It was prayer. It was meditation. And it was community built, in part, through the grace of painting sacred images under a magnifying glass with a 20/0 round brush along with twenty-two other faithful souls. And an over-the-top wonderful potluck lunch.

I had the unexpected blessing of sitting next to a Biblical Studies professor and Coordinator of the Great Spiritual Books Program at the Immaculate Conception Seminary School of Theology at Seton Hall University. We yakked almost nonstop about Scripture, Catholic publishing, Catholic-Jewish reconciliation, the Catholic blogosphere, and myriad other topics which, as far as I am concerned, more than made up for how much I goofed up the landscaping around the depiction of St. John on Patmos.

Being a "practicing" Roman Catholic

My new e-pal finally wrote back to define "orthodox, practicing and believing Roman Catholic." Armed with two academic degrees in theology, RJ is surveying people "somehow involved in the public square," hoping to convey that "there are all these serious Catholics out there in all walks of life!" I wonder how RJ defines "serious." Sure hope a quirky sense of humor is included.

Since I don't follow the Eastern Rite, I qualify as a Roman Catholic, albeit one who loves stuffed dolma and whose home is filled with icons. Here's RJ's definition of practicing:

basically one who fulfills his or her weekly Mass obligation on Sundays and who receives the Blessed Sacrament at least once a year. Beyond that, one who tries his or her best to live out the commands and teachings of God as revealed by Christ in the Spirit, entrusted to the Church. And of course this takes into account the "we are all sinners" caveat.

Yay! Looks like I'm a practicing Roman Catholic and not just because of the "we are all sinners" caveat. So maybe I don't always fulfill my weekly Mass obligation on Sundays. Maybe now that I've been practicing for a while, the Vigil Mass on Saturday counts? How about attending Mass during the week? I think that boosts my grade by a +.

Of course I receive the Blessed Sacrament at least once a year. The Eucharist is "the source and summit of Christian life." Look! I can quote from Lumen gentium!! I also receive the Sacrament of Reconciliation more often than once a decade. I do my best to live my faith, trusting that God will always provide another growth opportunity.

Yes, I'd say I'm a "practicing" Roman Catholic. I also have evidence to prove I'm a "real" Roman Catholic. I'll have more to say about that in another post.

Fixating on What Jesus Would Say

Ok, now I'm really fixated on what Jesus might say about being an "orthodox practicing and believing Catholic." Not like fixating on WWJmS is anything new and different in my life. I frequently find myself in this zone. Believe you me, it is not as simple an exercise as the cheesiness of those woven WWJD bracelets might suggest. There's a lot for me to ponder before I can come up with even a smarty pants answer like the one in my previous post.

For one thing, I devote time to wondering whether Jesus would be speaking in Aramaic or Hebrew. Yes, I do realize that for most of the time the right answer is Aramaic. That doesn't stop me from wondering about when Jesus might have spoken in Hebrew. Nor does that stop me from amusing myself by wondering what, had he spoken Yiddish, Jesus might have called his apostles. Especially Peter.

Welcome to my world. I once spent nearly ten minutes during a psychotherapy session wondering about this very thing while my Conservadox Jewish therapist listened. And the DSM-IV category for that would be?

Next, I get all bollixed up about whether the Jesus I imagine speaking is the historical Jesus or the Jesus of Holy Scripture. Should I be thinking historically critically or allegorically? I try to do both simultaneously, which can be exhausting -- in an exhilarating kind of way. I believe my willingness to engage in this intellectual exercise would inspire Jesus to say that I am clearly a Jew of some sort, and most welcome to hang around with him.

My New Interview at Blog Village

Happy to report that yours truly is the featured Blog Villager at Blog Village. The interviewer, whose nom de web is The Gatekeeper, sent lots of questions about writing and publishing. And I am never at a loss for words about words.

I'm touched that she characterizes me as "funny, witty and very gracious." Good thing we never talked or corresponded before my morning tea, especially because Blog Village (click on sidebar widget to troll BV) includes only family friendly blogs.

Am I a WHAT?!?

I am relatively powerless over incoming e-mail. When the teeny tiny envelope icon pops up, I usually click on it immediately to see what might yank me away from whatever I was supposed to be doing but probably wasn't anyway. Got that? Great! Moving right along.

This afternoon when the teeny tiny envelope icon popped up, I clicked. The subject line: Religion?

Now you'd think, given what I mostly write about, I'd be accustomed to seeing "religion" in a subject line. Indeed I am, but the question mark generated some "ological" angst. What epistemological, ontological, phenomenological, or theological challenge would await me? Turned out to be all the above:

I was hoping you'd confirm for me (or state otherwise) that you're an orthodox practicing and believing Roman Catholic.

After determining that I was not being goofed upon by one of my Catholic pals, I hit the reply key.

I wanted to know what motivated (read: possessed) this person to contact me. I also wanted to know how this inquisitive soul defines "orthodox, practicing, and believing Roman Catholic." I almost can't wait to find out. Meanwhile, I'm pondering WWJS. I'm thinking Our Lord and Savior would push back with a key question of his own, like, "what's a Catholic?"

Father, Son, and Holy Spirit knows I'll have more to say about this real soon.

So *that* explains it! (Judaism's Legacy)

Thanks to Aish.com, I awake each morning to a post titled, "Today in Jewish History." I find these both illuminating and useful. Much of the content I add to the list of evidence I summon to explain Judaism's legacy to my sisters and brothers in Christ.

And then there's the stuff that helps me understand why certain distinctive features of my own Jewish identity remain so durable. This morning's post provides a great example of what I mean by this. Today is 1 Shevat:

On this date, as the Jewish people were completing 40 years of wandering in the desert, Moses gathered the entire nation and began his farewell address. Moses' speech would continue for 40 days until his death, as described in the Book of Deuteronomy....

Aha! Does this not fully explain why I have a primal dislike for hiking, a primal fear of boating, and a primal aversion to long-winded homilies? I believe it does.

About that yoga center...

A couple of years ago, someone wrote to Marcellino D'Ambrosio at The Crossroads Initiative to question the wisdom of featuring The Catholic Home on his ministry's website. This person had discovered my marketing communications work for Kripalu yoga center -- toward the end of the 20th century. This person, who apparently had never read anything by Anthony de Mello, S.J., was very concerned. Thus ensued a terrific exchange between me and the ever gracious, sensible, and smart Dr. D'Ambrosio. Note: He still stocks my book.

I have more to say about my yoga years, specifically this: ghee whiz, cut me a break. Anyone who knows anything about contemporary Judaism knows that for American Jews born between 1948 and 1953, futzing around with Hinduism would be as central to our spiritual formation as having a bar/bat mitzvah. Plenty of them would end up picking oranges on an Israeli kibbutz and making a pilgrimage to India. Not me! I would end up peeling carrots in Massachusetts.

As a matter of demographic fact, the proportion of Jews either visiting or in residence at Kripalu far exceeded the proportion of Jews in the general population. And feature this factoid: much of the pranayama, hatha yoga, chanting, meditation, puja, and fire ceremonies took place before a towering mosaic of St. Ignatius Loyola in the main chapel. During an earlier incarnation, the building had been a Jesuit novitiate. No regrets about this pit stop on my spiritual journey. I loved my time in and around that yoga community (née ashram), later depicted in all its delightful weirdness by Stephen Cope.

Shortly after 10 continuous hours of chanting our guru mantra, I switched to the Holy Name, but not because breathing in "Jesus" and breathing out "Christ" got me through 108 mala beads any faster than om namo bhagavate vasudevaya. Jesus Christ was making a whole lot more sense than the guru we ended up firing. Yes, we fired our guru. I eventually ended up becoming Catholic.

By the way, the interest in Buddhism among Jews which ramped up during the 1990s is something I've never quite understood, even after reading Roger Kamenetz and then Sylvia Boorstein on the matter. Okay, so the fixation on suffering makes sense, but the food? Gag me.

Prayed Upon

Approximately two years ago, I started telling people about another significant part of my life. For two years before that, only a few trusted friends knew I worked four jobs and that one involved providing personal assistance to someone with quadriplegia. What began as a part-time job has become a core feature of my life -- and identity. I'm still sorting through why I decided not to talk much about this until relatively recently.

With the exception of one published piece, I haven't written about it, either. For one thing, I've been busy writing about other things, but I suspect the really real reason is that I just wasn't ready. Hearing from Elizabeth has prompted me to start writing about disability issues from my perspective as a PA, and with the blessing of the person I assist.

Elizabeth is a smart cookie. She figured out I'm a PA and after reading some of my blog posts, asked that I comment on the following:

Christians tend to pester me about not praying for healing enough or they stop talking to me because my life now is so different from what it was, but say, "I'll pray for you" which sort of sounds like "see you later....like never" because I've heard it so many times. Several have gotten quite angry because I say that I believe that God's hand is doing this -- that I believe in many ways that God has prepared and strengthen me for becoming disabled. Can't say I know why! But many seem very frustrated that there are not exact answers, that I get sicker or that I am in more pain and there seems no meaning to it.

You mean "some" Christians, yes? I offer this to start: I'll pray that you meet good Christian folk who won't pester you about "not praying for healing enough." Good Lord. If you have the energy the next time this happens, please consider asking whether the person is talking about you being healed or cured. While you're at it, try asking whether they're talking about disability or illness. These are not the same, although illness may indeed lead to disability. In either event, it's possible to be healed in mind and spirit while the body is disabled -- or even terminally ill.

I write this with confidence, based on my experience providing hospice care in the past, my current role as a PA to one of the most spiritually healthy people I've ever met, as well as my own 20+ year dance with a chronic, incurable-but-not-life-threatening and sometimes debilitating physical illness.

In my own situation, a turning point came at a retreat when, during Mass, in response to reciting, "Only say the word, Lord, and I shall be healed," I heard the Holy Spirit whisper, "You already are healed, you just don't know it." That I didn't also hear, "you idiot," proves it was the H.S. My overwrought psyche would have engaged in such negative self-talk.

Your ability to see God's hand in what's happening as you become more sick and disabled is not only evidence of grace but of your own spiritual maturity. I'm not surprised that you have trouble explaining your deep knowing (e.g., God's hand). Mystery defies easy explanation.

As for interpreting, "I'll pray for you" as dismissive, you may be correct. But not always. Sometimes, saying "I'll pray for you" has about as much authenticity as asking, "How are you?" Having caught myself doing this, I vowed to write out my prayers in a journal so I could see if I had, in fact, prayed as promised. Very illuminating or, as some Christians would say, convicting!

About Today's Mass (January 2, 2008)

The priest celebrating today's Mass wore a white vestment underneath a chasuble with green shamrock appliqués tumbling down its front. Huge shamrocks. Tumbling. Bright green.

Being a visual-kinesthetic learner, I generally welcome visual assists to prayer and meditation. Having recently realized this, I've developed compassion for those who read missals and hold, if not actually pray, the Rosary during Mass. I, in fact, have taken to packing my pocketbook for Mass as if I were taking a long road trip with a toddler. A copy of Magnificat, my personal journal, and colored pens keep me anchored in prayerfulness rather than distracted. Hey! At least I'm not tossing Cheerios into the air and racing matchbox cars along the kneelers. Not yet, anyway.

But I found the shamrocks disturbing. Seeing them along with red poinsettias and deep green Christmas trees made me want to check the calendar to make sure I hadn't somehow time tripped forward to March 17. Alas, I didn't have my liturgical calendar with me -- no room for it in my purse, so I had to wait until arriving home to do that. Instead, I got myself anchored in the reason for this season by shifting my gaze to the nativity scene which, I am pleased to note, did not include leprechauns.