Dancing with David: David and Jonathan

David, before taking the throne, lived in the palace as a servant to King Saul. He defeated the Philistine champion, Goliath. He became a champion of Israel, himself. He played the lyre before Saul in his royal court. And he became good friends with Saul’s son, Jonathan. David and Jonathan shared a covenant of equal respect. Jonathan gave David his robe and sword. They were the closest of friends. As time goes by, Saul became jealous of David's popularity and plotted to kill him. David had to go on the run from Saul. In a tearful embrace, the two princes said farewell. The love and kindness of Jonathan made it possible for David to escape death. And that grace remained a part of David's soul for the rest of his life. We should all be lucky to have at least one friend that “has our back” and inspires us to live in gratitude to grace.

Although this is not one of my favorite renderings from this series, I still think it sums up the moment well. It depicts that mournful goodbye. The quiver, worn by Jonathan, alludes to the signal he used to warn David. The embrace has strong lines around the arms. This is that kind of hug that is more like a body slam full of emotion. The tears seem a bit sappy, but they serve as a symbol. These men were crying. Yes, men can cry for their friends. We should not feel it a weakness to cry for our brother. And we should dare to love others so strongly.

PSALM 15

LORD, who may dwell in your sanctuary?

Who may live on your holy hill?

He whose walk is blameless

and who does what is righteous,

who speaks the truth from his heart

and has no slander on his tongue,

who does his neighbor no wrong

and casts no slur on his fellowman,

who despises a vile man

but honors those who fear the LORD,

who keeps his oath

even when it hurts,

who lends his money without usury

and does not accept a bribe against the innocent.

He who does these things

will never be shaken.

Dancing with David: David and Samuel

The prophet Samuel is about to anoint a new king, but doesn’t know who it will be. Only God knew who among the people of Israel would have the qualities to be king. To everyone’s surprise, the one called to be king is a young, scrappy, shepherd boy named David. And I think an even bigger surprise to David.

This drawing depicts the moment of David's anointing. I wanted the scene to convey a baptismal-like moment. As the oil drips on David’s head, he is being called by God to live a special life. For the rest of his life, David lives out the call. Sometimes well. Sometimes poorly. In our baptisms, we are claimed by God and called to live special lives. Lives that only God knows we are capable of living. Only God knows the kind of person we are meant to be. Only God knows our hearts. Our limits. Our true gifts. In some ways, it feels like we are flying blind on how to live out our calling. But we go on—trusting in the One who knows us and believes in us.

PSALM 139

O Lord, you have searched me and known me.

You know when I sit down and when I rise up;

you discern my thoughts from far away.

You search out my path and my lying down,

and are acquainted with all my ways.

Even before a word is on my tongue,

O Lord, you know it completely.

You hem me in, behind and before,

and lay your hand upon me.

Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;

it is so high that I cannot attain it.

Where can I go from your spirit?

Or where can I flee from your presence?

If I ascend to heaven, you are there;

if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.

If I take the wings of the morning

and settle at the farthest limits of the sea,

even there your hand shall lead me,

and your right hand shall hold me fast.

If I say, ‘Surely the darkness shall cover me,

and the light around me become night’,

even the darkness is not dark to you;

the night is as bright as the day,

for darkness is as light to you.

For it was you who formed my inward parts;

you knit me together in my mother’s womb.

I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

Wonderful are your works;

that I know very well.

My frame was not hidden from you,

when I was being made in secret,

intricately woven in the depths of the earth.

Your eyes beheld my unformed substance.

In your book were written

all the days that were formed for me,

when none of them as yet existed.

How weighty to me are your thoughts, O God!

How vast is the sum of them!

I try to count them—they are more than the sand;

I come to the end—I am still with you.

O that you would kill the wicked, O God,

and that the bloodthirsty would depart from me—

those who speak of you maliciously,

and lift themselves up against you for evil!

Do I not hate those who hate you, O Lord?

And do I not loathe those who rise up against you?

I hate them with perfect hatred;

I count them my enemies.

Search me, O God, and know my heart;

test me and know my thoughts.

See if there is any wicked way in me,

and lead me in the way everlasting.

Dancing with David Through Lent?

The season of Lent has begun. It is a time of contemplation, meditation, prayer and preparation before Easter. Traditionally, we reflect on the moments in the life of Jesus leading up to his death and resurrection. We turn our eyes towards Jerusalem and follow the journey there with Christ. For these Lenten blogs, let us add some layers to that. Let us fix our eyes to Jerusalem, but further back in time. To another King of the Jews. To King David.

David’s story is full of triumph and tragedy.  Scandal and grace. His life was filled with war, sin, and pain. Yet, he was  remembered for being “a man after God’s own heart.” He’s attributed to writing many of the psalms in our scriptures. Psalms of human honesty before God.  And he dared to dance with joy before the Ark of God when others considered it to be irreverent. 

During these weeks in Lent, I plan to post some charcoal drawings illustrating some stories from the life of David. They were designed to be bulletin covers for a Lenten sermon series called “Dancing with David.” They were made a few years after I graduated from college. Unfortunately, I don’t remember much from the sermons (Sorry John).  But it is interesting to look on these drawings again with older eyes. Some of them are artistically “just ok”. But others are rather nice. I found the charcoal adds to the moods of Ash Wednesday, fasting and Lent.  

And to add music to the dance, I plan to add a psalm that I think connects well with the story.  At first, I thought reflecting about David during lent is a bit of a stretch. But after hearing the psalm that ushered in our Lenten season at our Ash Wednesday service, I’m convinced that the story and songs of David can add much to our Lenten experience.  

Shall we dance?

Love

Here is another painting form the series “Consider the Lilies.” A rose to help us consider “Love.” You can read more about the series in my last post on “Hope.” This is actually my first and only attempt to paint a rose. I have plans to do more. This rose is is in a misty environment. It has drops of water on the petals which I think adds depth to the meditation on love. Ok. You creative types will probably say that roses are so cliche. But the rose can still have some interesting insights to love. Its colors are passionate. It has many complex layers that unfold as it blooms. It appears delicate and vulnerable, yet stands strong against fierce storms. And it even has a bittersweetness in its thorns. As Valentine’s day approaches, please take a moment to ponder how profound is the concept of love, and how fortunate we are to possess the ability to love. Here is a favorite Bible passage of mine about love from the letter of First Corinthians, chapter 13. Ok. You Bible types out there will probably say that this passage is so overused. But like the rose, it is worth looking at with a deeper gaze of faith and wonder.

Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.

I pray that we all take some time in our lives to “stop and smell the roses” and thank God for the gift of love.

Hope

Here in Middle Tennessee, we don't get much snow. We traditionally get a couple of snows a year. Only one of which accumulates to over an inch and a half. A blizzard by our standards. The thing is, we in the south get more ice than snow. Folks from the north laugh at how we freak out over the smallest dusting of snow. Whenever we get our "Big One" for the year, the whole place pretty much shuts down. This weekend, our area got a beautiful 2 to 7 inches of snow/ice. And there is much excitement in our neighborhood. But after the snow passes, we are left with a long season of cold and drab. By now, winter is getting old. I'm sure the folks in the north long for spring much more the we do. But even down here, where there is rarely snow, we too long for the warmth of spring.

Crocuses are heralds for the reign of spring. They are among the first signs telling us that new life is on it's way. They dare to bloom when all else is asleep and frozen. They remind us that death is but a season and that life will bear fruit again. They bring us hope for new beginnings. I bet we long for God's grace even more earnestly than we long for spring. And so we hope. We wait. We watch.

So I felt that it is appropriate today to post a painting of hope represented by a crocus blooming from the snow covered earth. This is one of three paintings in a series I like to call "Consider the Lilies." It is inspired from Jesus' lesson to not worry about what we will wear or what we will do. But rather consider the flowers of the field. They do not labor or toil, they just are. And they are beautiful by just being what they are. I wondered, "What other lessons we could learn from the flowers in our world?" So far, I only have three painted. But I'm convinced there will be more paintings in the future. The three I have completed were grouped in a set. They were "Faith, Hope, and Love." Paul tells us these three truths will remain when all else in the world is gone. The greatest of which is love.

But for now, let us consider hope.

Suffering with Job

Every now and then, we are reminded of the reality that bad things happen in life, and there's nothing we can do to stop it. The story of Job is one such reminder in the Bible. It is brutally honest in exploring the idea that we are helpless against the tragedies of life. It flies in the face of conventional wisdom that God will protect the faithful from calamity. Job shows us that faith does not protect us from tragedy. It only determines how we live with it. And I'm intrigued at how Job deals with his. He lost everything: home, family, his own health. And for a long time he waited to hear an response from God as to why God would punish him so badly. His friends tried to convince him that he must have done something wrong to make God angry. Job maintains his innocence. And when he get his chance to speak with God, he complains and confronts God. To which God replies "Where were you when I formed the foundations of the world?" in essence saying, "What do you know about the universe, little creature?" Job is silent. He then moves on to rebuild his life.

Every day, the world is filled with "Job" moments. Some are massive, like hurricane Katrina or earthquakes in Haiti. Some personal, like being diagnosed with cancer or loosing a loved one. All are moments where our support beams (money, family, faith, etc.) are swept out from under us. It causes us to question why a loving, all powerful God would allow such horrors to happen. Thankfully, God is big enough to hear our outcry and accusations of injustice and not be offended. God suffers along side of us and comforts us in gentle ways that no else can. It is one of God's great mysteries that we may never understand.

The Job story is living out in the lives of countless Haitians today. I recall a story about one Haitian man who survived the disaster along with his family and home. He wanted to do something to help in a helpless situation. So he went to the hospital and sat among the victims. He sat with them, held them, and listened to their stories. Such a story inspires me. During times of tragedy, I often lack the words to say and the ability to aid. But "just being there" for someone is something I think I can do.

This pen and ink drawing of Job spends most of its days in my closet. It's not the sort of thing we enjoy hanging over our living room mantle. But every now and then, it gets pulled out for reflection. Some have used it as a visual aid in classes on the story of Job. I guess life kind of goes the same way. We hide the ugly in our closets until we are ready to see it. So I bring it out today to share with you. And so, on this blog where beauty is often displayed, may Job always be with us to remind us and humble us. As dark as this drawing is, it is mild compared to the real portraits of pain and suffering in our world. I pray that when we meet Jobs out there in life, we may have the love to suffer with them.

Peace be with you all.

The Vine

Every fall, for the past few years, I have had the honor of exhibiting my work in an art show/sale for St. Matthew’s Catholic Church. The premiss of the show is to raise funds for the church by selling "faith-inspired" art. Although I’m not Catholic, this is right up my alley. Many of the pieces you will see on my blog have been in these shows. My wife, Rhonda, and I have an agreement: I can devote the time to paint for the show as long as I come up with something we would put up in our home in case it didn't sell. Fair enough.

The inspiration for this piece came from three origins. The first creative germ came from the Gospel of John, chapter 15. "I am the vine, you are the branches. Remain in me and you will bear much fruit." This scripture was read at our wedding, and has always been a core scripture for us. The second germ came from a childhood memory of Rhonda's. As a child, she used to play hide and seek under the beams of grape vines in a vineyard. She told of how light danced about underneath the canopy of grapes. She described to me how the support frames for the vines reminded her of a cross. And finally, Rhonda has always wanted a piece depicting the elements of communion in a natural way. So after blending the three ideas together, and doing some research, I created this piece entitled "The Vine".

There actually is a lot of things going on in this piece. At first glance, it looks like a cross with grapes hanging form it. But the support structure is actually "T-shaped". I deliberately hid that fact with a bunch of grapes to create the "allusion" of a cross. This makes the connection to the verse. It also speaks to one of the great "I AM" sayings about Jesus and God's Sacrificial Love that is the foundation for our love. There is a lot of light dancing about in the scene, peaking thru the leaves, ripening the grapes and casting shadows on the beam. This makes the piece very elemental with themes of Earth, Light and Communion. The grapes are turning to full ripeness. They are in the process of turning. Some faster than others. Not yet fully ripe. Not all green. So is the community of faith, or our own personal faith.

Happily for Rhonda, this piece never sold. Probably because it was really meant for her. It now hangs in our foyer. There is a lot of natural light in our foyer which accentuates the light in the painting. So if you ever stop by to visit and see it, you'll know the backstory behind it.

Wherever you are in the vine of God's Love, may you continue to bloom. And as we play in the fields of our God and come to the table of Grace, may this painting be a reminder of our identity and relationship to our Lord.