Richard Rohr describes how art can serve as a gateway to mystical experience and deeper knowing:
There must be a way to be both here and in the depth of here. Jesus is the here, Christ is the depth of here. This, in my mind, is the essence of incarnation, and the gift of contemplation. We must learn to love and enjoy things as they are, in their depth, in their soul, and in their fullness. Contemplation is the “second gaze” through which we see something in its particularity and yet also in a much larger frame. We know it by the joy it gives.
Two pieces of art have given me this incarnational and contemplative insight. The first is called The Ascension of Christ by Hans von Kulmbach (c. 1480–1522). It portrays the two human feet of Jesus at the very top of a large painting of the Ascension. Most of the canvas is taken up by the apostles, who are drawn up with Christ through their eyes, as his feet move off the top of the painting, presumably into the spiritual realms. The image had a wonderful effect on me. I too found myself looking beyond the painting toward the ceiling of the art museum. It was a mystical moment—one that simultaneously took me beyond the painting and right back into the room where I was standing.
The second piece of art is a small bronze statue of St. Francis, located in the upper basilica of Assisi, Italy. Created by a sculptor whose name is hidden, the statue shows Francis gazing down into the dirt with awe and wonder, which is quite unusual and almost shocking. The Holy Spirit, who is almost always pictured as descending from above, is pictured here as coming from below—even to the point of being hidden in the dirt! God is hidden in the dirt and mud instead of descending from the clouds. This is a major transposition of place. Once we know that the miracle of “Word made flesh” has become the very nature of the universe, we cannot help but be both happy and holy. What we first of all need is here!
Both these pieces of art put the two worlds together, but from different perspectives. Yet in both images, it is the Divine that takes the lead in changing places. Maybe artists have easier access to this Mystery than many theologians. I doubt if we can see the image of God (imago Dei) in our fellow humans if we cannot first see it in rudimentary form in stones, in plants and flowers, in strange little animals, in bread and wine, and most especially cannot honor this objective divine image in ourselves. It is a full-body tune-up, this spiritual journey. It really ends up being all or nothing, here and then everywhere.
The Transformative Power of Art
Father Richard shares his contemplative practice of visiting art museums:
I believe good art has the power to evoke an epiphany. Sometimes, when we can’t take our eyes off a picture or work of art, an epiphany is happening. We don’t yet know what we’re knowing while the wisdom of the unconscious is being ferried across to the conscious mind. Carl Jung said great art presents an “archetypal image.” [1] On one of my very first speaking trips away from Cincinnati, I visited the St. Louis Art Museum. They had an exhibit of Claude Monet’s water lilies; some paintings took up the whole wall. It was a quiet weekday afternoon, and as I went from room to room, I found myself getting quieter and happier, quieter and happier. When I walked out into the sunshine after the exhibit, I felt like I floated home. I wasn’t waiting for an epiphany, but I think I was granted one anyway. I don’t know that I had a new piece of doctrinal information or theological insight, but the experience connected me to something deep and true within. To this day when I’m in a city and have some time free, I go to an art museum.
Folk artist and Living School alumna Lourdes Bernard writes:
Art invites audiences to consider the spirituality and transformative power of images. Engaging art offers respite, contemplation, even as it shares powerful, inspiring, or difficult stories. Art images are real and alive and have the power to change us and cause change.… They can shift our perspective on what we thought we knew and understood about a subject. Too often, art is considered decorative, and it is significantly more than that. Engaging with art means we have to slow down to allow a new experience to enter which perhaps cannot be accessed in another way. It can be an expansive experience. [2]
Richard continues:
I believe good art, good poetry, and true mythology communicates, without our knowing it, that life is not just a series of insulated, unrelated events. The great truths—when they can be visualized in images—reveal deep patterns, and reveal that we are a part of them. That deeply heals us, and it largely happens beneath our conscious awareness. A great story pulls us inside of a cosmic story. If we’re Christian, our cosmic story is the map of the life of Jesus, the divine conception, ordinary life, betrayal, abandonment, rejection, crucifixion, resurrection, and ascension. It all comes full circle. We might not really believe it. We might not have surrendered to it or trust it, but if we can, it makes us much happier people. Our happiness is on a surface level, of course, because suffering is everywhere. We don’t close our eyes to the world’s pain, but on a deep, unconscious level, a cosmic story offers us healing and coherence. Good art gives us a sense that we belong in that story, we belong in that world.
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| Second-Guessing God’s Mercy |
 If Naaman’s story ended in verse 19, we might assume it was included in the Bible to illustrate the superiority of Israel’s God. After all, he healed Naaman’s leprosy when no foreign gods could. Or we might think the story was intended to foreshadow the day when people far beyond Israel’s borders would give the Lord their allegiance and worship. These ideas are certainly present, but it’s the conclusion of Naaman’s story (verses 20-27) that contains a surprising twist and the primary lesson of the chapter.As Naaman’s caravan heads back to Syria, we are introduced to a new character named Gehazi. He was Elisha’s servant. He disagreed with Elisha’s refusal to accept any of Naaman’s gold or silver. “My master was too easy on Naaman, this Syrian, by not accepting from him what he brought. As surely as the Lord lives, I will run after him and get something from him.”Gehazi’s words reveal that his disagreement with Elisha’s decision not to take Naaman’s wealth was all about identity. He belittles Naaman’s identity and elevates his own. Gehazi is an Israelite, one of God’s chosen, covenant people. He worships YHWH; the God who lives. Naaman, on the other hand, is dismissed as “this Syrian,” an idol-worshipping gentile. In other words, Gehazi believed his status as an Israelite entitled him to take something from this foreigner.Beyond being a gentile, Naaman was introduced at the beginning of the story as the leader of Syria’s armies. In this role, he often invaded and plundered God’s people. Gehazi may have seen Naaman’s offer of gold and silver as an opportunity to take back the wealth that rightfully belonged to Israel. It wasn’t just greed that motivated Gehazi, but vengeance. Why Elisha would pass up the chance to plunder the man who had plundered his people was inconceivable to Gehazi. So, he makes a vow, in YHWH’s name, to “get something from” this Syrian. Gehazi would self-righteously do for his people what Elisha did not.Gehazi fits a pattern we see throughout the Bible of self-righteous characters chafing against God’s mercy. Jonah is a vivid example. When the Lord extended mercy to the city of Nineveh, “it displeased Jonah exceedingly, and he was angry.” “This is why I made haste to flee to Tarshish,” Jonah complained, “for I knew that you are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.” Jonah then asked the Lord to take his life: “For it is better for me to die than to live.” The melodramatic prophet was so angry at God’s mercy that he would rather die than live in a world where his enemies are forgiven.And Jesus illustrates this attitude again in his parable about the prodigal son in Luke 15. When the rebellious younger son came home, and the father embraced him and threw a celebration, the older son was livid. “Look! All these years I’ve been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!” (Luke 15:29-30).Like Jonah and the older son, Gehazi carried a sense of superiority because of his identity. I am righteous; he is a sinner. We are God’s chosen people; they are idol-worshipping pagans. Therefore, I am entitled to God’s mercy and blessings; they are not. Interestingly, the outcome of this self-righteous arrogance is not revealed by Jesus in his parable, nor is Jonah’s fate revealed. Both stories end without resolution. But not Gehazi’s. His fate serves as a clear warning to those who would second-guess God’s mercy.DAILY SCRIPTURE JONAH 4:1-4 2 KINGS 5:1-27 WEEKLY PRAYERfrom Basil of Caesarea (330 – 379) May the Father of the true light—who has adorned day with heavenly light, who has made the fire shine which illuminates us during the night, who reserves for us in the peace of a future age a spiritual and everlasting light—enlighten our hearts in the knowledge of truth, keep us from stumbling, and grant that we may walk honestly as in the day. Thus we will shine as the sun in the midst of the glory of the saints. Amen. |
