Art as a door into prayer

I have a certain place in my living room where I go to keep my morning watch and then return to from time to time throughout the day. My chair faces a window with a view of trees and sky. I also keep certain works of art nearby, to help me focus on life and give me courage.

On the stand by the window sit a copy of an icon of Pantokrator Jesus and a picture a friend drew/prayed for me in the Zentangle art style. On the wall above the stand is an original painting of a forest stream.

On another wall I see an original painting of three Aymara women, a crafted wooden picture of a Bolivian village, and a reproduction of Rembrandt’s “Return of the Prodigal Son.”

 Pantokrator Jesus

The original of this icon is a gigantic wall mosaic in the Hagia Sophia in Istanbul, once a Christian cathedral, later a mosque, and currently a museum that is trying to restore and blend the art of both religions. Several years ago I stood before this mosaic and felt moved. In the original Christ is accompanied on either side by his mother Mary and John the Baptist. His two fingers represent the double nature of Christ, both man and God, a response to one of the controversies of the 5^th century. I love the tender expression on the face of Jesus. I sense his love and care for me.

Zentangle drawing by Miriam Bock

Miriam prayed for me while I was doing research in Bolivia during January and February. She used this art form to focus her prayers. It’s full of symbolism. The center of the piece, the goose (which emerged and surprised Miriam) is a Celtic symbol of the Holy Spirit. The more ordered squares in the bottom represent the discipline and order of research, and the egg is the hidden treasure I hope to discover. The drawing also contains a playful spirit, the sprouts of poems, and the eyes of God continually watching out for me. There’s more, as I keep discovering. It’s a visual blessing and reminder of the life God offers me.

Forrest stream by Dave Vanderveer

My brother-in-law is a gifted artist. He’s also a generous person. I admired this painting, so he gave it to me. I love the way the light skips off the water. I can almost hear the stream singing over the rocks and the breeze in the trees. It speaks light and life and Spirit.

Three Aymara Women by Oscar Tintaya

Oscar Tintaya is a Bolivian artist who is becoming well known in his own country. He is also a Quaker, and he is my friend. This painting reminds me of the high aesthetic values of the Aymara people, as well as the mystery of this culture. These three women, seated in the market place, aren’t about to let you into their world. And yet God has opened the doors. I continue to marvel at the beauty and mystery.

Wooden picture of an Aymara village

This picture, by an unnamed Bolivian artisan, is formed of tiny slivers of wood artistically arranged to show a village in the foothills of Mount Illimani. Again, the beauty and mystery of the Bolivian landscape and the Aymara culture bring up a spirit of wonder and gratitude.

Rembrandt’s “The Return of the Prodigal Son”

I bought this reproduction of Rembrandt’s painting in The Hermitage in St. Petersburg, Russia, after having stood for an hour in front of the original. Henri Nouwen’s book of the same title was the key that unlocked this work. The picture draws me into the unending story of the father’s love, the possibility of redemption.

Even though a Quaker (with our reputation for stressing reality above symbolism), I’m also a poet with a love for art and a responsive nature. Art helps me pray, and I need all the help I can get.

Of course, the Original is far more beautiful than all these works. Sometimes I just close my eyes and enjoy the presence.

Quakers in context: Russia

Part of the genius of the early Quaker movement was the way it prophetically spoke to its context, 17^th century England. The doctrinal emphases as well as specific testimonies addressed concrete needs and abuses in the surrounding society. These emphases included an acknowledgment of the centrality of Jesus, present and active in the midst of his people; the need to drop forms that had lost their integrity; and values such as simplicity, peace, equality and honesty. Many of these have proved transcultural and trans-temporal. They are lived out today by people in yearly, regional and local Friends meetings around the world. Each cultural context encourages a different expression, while certain threads hold true and allow us to maintain a larger sense of family as Friends.

This cultural adaptation—“contextualization” is the word—is necessary for a movement to take root in a place. A healthy contextualization holds true to the basic tenets of a movement while engaging with the local culture, both affirming and challenging culture. Finding this balance is not easy.

Among the purposes of our recent trip to Russia were discerning how God is at work in that place and what part Friends could play. Of course any reflections I have after only 11 days in a place as vast and complex as Russia will be superficial—more the observations of a spiritual tourist. My apologies. This is a beginning.

I draw heavily upon conversations with our hosts, Johan and Judy Maurer, people who are dedicated to knowing, loving and serving Russia. We were also privileged to attend the Moscow meeting and visit Moscow Friends House. And we’re learning something of the small but significant history of Friends in Russia.

Here I just want to present some preliminary reflections on what Friends have to offer Russia. What aspects of our doctrines and testimonies would lend to a genuinely contextualized gospel presence in this place, at this time?

Part of this reflection takes place in light of the Orthodox Church, a tradition deeply embedded in the history of Christianity in Russia. This tradition today presents a paradox. In one sense, it has become largely irrelevant to the vast majority of the Russian people. According to Nathaniel Davis, ten years ago only about 1.5-3% (up to 6 million people) of the traditionally Orthodox people in the whole country attended a service on a non-holiday week, and these were primarily women in rural areas (2003, A Long Walk to Church: A Contemporary History of Russian Orthodoxy). And yet, as Davis affirms, “…the Russian Orthodox Church manifests a luminous faith. It plays a key political and spiritual role and has immense influence. It remains the largest community of believers in all but the Islamic south and east. It is one of the few institutions widely and deeply revered in Russia today.”

We had the privilege of attending two Orthodox services in Moscow and I was impressed by the sense of glory the architecture, icons, chants and pageantry produced. I also enjoyed meeting and talking with several Russian friends of Johan and Judy, one being a young woman who is a practicing Orthodox believer and others who are resentful of the tradition.

Based partly on conversation with Johan and Judy and partly on observation, I see several Quaker points of contrast to Orthodoxy that address the problems people have with the older tradition. Quakerism offers the absence of hierarchy and a community where everyone can participate, where laity and clergy merge. Quakerism also offers direct access to the Scriptures and encourages people to commune with the “Presence in the Midst.” The inclusion of justice, peace and mercy in the whole gospel message is another powerful draw, as well as the emphasis on integrity and honesty.

In common with Orthodoxy, Quakerism values the person of the Holy Spirit and contemplative devotion.

I love the Orthodox emphasis on glory, and yet as I stood in the worship services, almost overwhelmed by the beauty and pageantry, I wondered where community and personal transformation were to be found. I wondered if the priest ever looked people in the face. And I remembered that Paul’s teaching that the church is to be “to the praise of his glory” was written to the poor, marginal people who were part of the Ephesian church.

There seems to be something in Orthodoxy that corresponds to the Russian spirit. Here I’m speaking intuitively and more as a lover of Russian literature than as a person with real life experience in the culture. I think Russia demands that glory, passion, beauty and what Paul refers to as “the breadth and length and height and depth” of gospel truth be part of her spirituality. This is transcendence, and Russian Orthodoxy emphasizes the transcendent otherness of God. But Russia’s people also seem to long for the imminence of community, values that touch everyday life, and the very Presence in the midst, with or without the splendid trappings. The call may be for a gloriously splendid simplicity.

The Quaker heritage bears both transcendence and imminence in its DNA.  We are (or have been) those who quake in the presence of the wholly/holy Other One, and at the same time we are those who call themselves Friends of Jesus. Our Friendly side is alive and well. And while we may need to call down the wind of the Spirit to fan the flames and revive us as Quakers, it’s still who we are.

Is this part of what Quakers have to offer Russia?

Beneath the streets of Moscow

I’m in that strange transition time between leaving one planet and landing back on my home planet. We left Moscow six days ago and have been in meetings in Miami. Due to a glitch in our ticket, we have one more day here in Florida before heading on to Oregon.

I woke up this morning, as I have woken up every morning for the last week, submerged in the subways beneath the streets of Moscow. In some of the dreams I’ve become separated from my friends and find myself lost, unable to read the signs, surrounded by hundreds of people all in purposeful motion. The roar of the frequently arriving trains on both sides of the platform, the possibility of numerous levels of platforms connected by long escalators, and the ominous presence of the abrupt unguarded drops down to the tracks—these all weave through my dreams and send me groping for the light of day.

Variations on this dream have been recurring several times a night, and this tells me I need to pay attention.

My actual experience of the subways of Moscow was positive, in part due to Johan and Judy’s excellent guidance. The subway experience is just one aspect of normal life to them. Yes, we had to keep alert, eyes on the guide, stick together and move quickly. And our jaunts from one place in the city to another often involved transfers from one subway line to others, usually on different levels. But it was all part of the adventure.

I found the Moscow subway system amazing. An immense but logically organized labyrinth of tunnels, tracks, platforms, levels and escalators links the city and offers a highly efficient transportation service. Not only well lighted and with ample signs and maps, the different subway stations are works of art. It seems that Stalin, the instigator of all this, decided he wanted the subway system to be as splendid as the theaters of the day. We didn’t get a chance to explore a theater, but “splendid” is a word I might use to describe several of the subway stations. Chandeliers, frescos, sculpture, paintings, floor mosaics—if it weren’t for the swiftly moving crowds, I’d have been tempted to slow down and take it all in.

Speaking of the crowds, they also amazed me. In all the rush and crowding, a certain orderliness reigned. People did not push, even as we funneled into the narrow openings of the escalators or rushed to get on a train before the doors closed. Even though people avoided making eye-contact, courtesy prevailed. This may have more to do with Russian culture than with the subways, but I was impressed.

Did I mention that the subways were clean?

So why these dark dreams? Why the fear? I’ve learned that my dreams, especially the dreams I remember, are about me, not the external reality they’re drawn from. In other words, this is not a critique of the subways of Moscow. It’s a call to attention.

To what? I’m not clear on that yet. Our Miami meetings have concluded, but I still feel the impact of the intense emotions as we worked through the complexities of a growing organization. At times the “roar” of the trains almost overwhelmed my senses. Is this the meaning? Or is it the specter of having to work our way through the maze of the social security system in a few years? That could certainly spark fear. Does it have to do with my reactions to difficulties in the extended family circle? Or is this about growing older?

I need to wait and listen. In the meantime, thank you, Moscow, for a fine adventure. And thank you for giving me a splendid metaphor as I explore the subterranean places in my own life.

(Written May 24, 2012)

Russia remembers

On stage in the public square, black clad

ballerinas, swaying, flesh out the moans

of Russia, mourn the loss of her sons

and daughters all those years ago. Bowing

to grief they push up against the brokenness,

move toward an uncertain mending,

as the old men and women look on,

knowing what they know. The crowd

around me, at once solemn and festive,

moves slightly with the dance. Above

us a grey sky hints of sun, but makes

no promises.

(Elektrastol, Victory Day, May 9, 2012)

Getting ready for Russia

How does one “get ready for Russia”? A country so vast, so extreme; a culture so different from ours, so mysterious; a history so tortured. Going as a tourist—the identity my passport assigns me—seems casually inappropriate. Russia demands to be taken seriously, even if the visit is only for 11 days.

Let me backtrack. The Board of Global Outreach of Northwest Yearly Meeting has invited Hal and me to go to Russia to visit Johan and Judy Maurer. They are not only “Friends Serving Abroad” (the board’s new term), they are our good friends. We look forward to spending time with them and getting to know their fascinating context. Russia.

I’ve been fascinated by Russia ever since I discovered Tolstoy’s War and Peace in high school. It’s probably my all-time favorite novel, one I still come back to every few years. To Tolstoy I’ve added Dostoyevsky, Pasternak, Solzhenitsyn and others. With all their differences, similar threads—usually in the darker colors—run through their works, weaving a tapestry that portrays a vast panorama, as well as an array of the details of human life, suffering, joys and dreams.

My vision of Russia may be overly romantic, so I’m trying to get ready by reading some books recommended by Johan.

A Long Walk to Church: A Contemporary History of Russian Orthodoxy (Nathaniel Davis) focuses on the years following World War II, detailing the persecution and survival of the church. Adding to that perspective, last night Hal and I watched the Russian film, “Repentance,” that also portrays the persecution of the church (among other dark themes). The ending scene is classic. An old woman walking through a town stops and asks another woman if the road she’s on leads to a church. On learning that it doesn’t, she scowls and replies, “What good is a road if it doesn’t lead to a church?” The old woman then turns and continues walking down the road alone. The film ends.

How Russia Really Works: The Informal Practices that Shaped Post-Soviet Politics and Business (Alena V. Ledeneva) has given me the sense that my many years living in Latin America provide part of my preparation for Russia. The author argues that “informal practices constitute generic responses to structural pressures in all societies,” and then goes on to flesh this out in contemporary Russia. When I read that the trust in personalized networks weakens “forms of generalized trust and trust in impersonal institutions, necessary for effective workings of politics, business, and civil society,” I see more similarities. One of my favorite lines is the author’s translation of a popular Russian saying: “the rigidity of our laws is compensated for by their nonobservance.”

Finally, Echoes of a Native Land: Two Centuries of a Russian Village (Serge Schmemann) chronicles how the traumatic upheavals in Russia’s history have affected one village and the individual lives of her people. That’s a lot of reading, and I admit that I skimmed many of the details, trying to get a feel for the writers’ main points.

I’m also re-reading two old favorites. It’s been so long since I read Dostoyevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov that, while the characters are familiar, much of the plot seems new. I’m also in the middle of one of my favorite books in Christian spirituality, Henri Nouwen’s The Return of the Prodigal Son. I’m re-reading this book because our trip plans include a day in The Hermitage museum in St. Petersburg where Rembrandt’s painting rests. Because of Nouwen’s reflections, this painting has already impacted me greatly. I’m hoping to be able to spend time with the Real Thing. While not Russian, it seems fitting that Rembrandt’s works, and this one in particular, find a home in this land. I sense similarities in depth and spiritual texture.

Or is my romantic imagination running amok again?

No, I don’t think it’s possible to get ready for Russia. I’m doing what I can. And I’m open for surprise.