Original Art

Rabbi Zusya, when he was an old man, said: “In the coming world, they will not ask me: “Why were you not Moses?” They will ask me: “Why were you not Zusya?” *

Ever since I was young, I've loved being surrounded by art. Looking here and seeing one painting, and there another, has long fed my (A.D.D.) soul. To this day, my home and office are filled with art. “Nothing has changed,” I recently thought, until noticing one important change. I no longer own any prints, only original works of art.

I share this not to judge or put down those who own and enjoy prints, but, for me, I grew more and more interested in works of art that are one of a kind. To gaze at a painting of which I know there are no others lifts its value somehow, and I do not mean monetarily. It hangs on my wall as a unique piece, saying what only it can say.

I increasingly feel the same way about people. I have long believed that we are created unique works of art, but I remember trying very hard to be anything but. In high school (and beyond), I wore what others wore, used expressions common to my friends, and behaved as they did so I wouldn't stick out. It made me feel safe and offered a temporary sense of belonging. Looking back, I can see I was trying to be a print rather than an original work of art.

Later, when I graduated from college and began a career, I quickly headed to Brooks Brothers to buy suits and shoes to look like others. I even began wearing suspenders (which would have been fine if I worked at a private equity firm and not the public television station). Had I needed glasses, I'm sure I would have bought tortoise shell glasses and maybe even put mousse in my hair to complete the façade!

It’s embarrassing to admit, but I was desperate to be a print . . . one like others, rather than one of a kind. I denied strengths and hid limitations, but those are the very brushstrokes (pun intended) with which I've been painted. Looking back, I can see how much energy I spent trying to be a print.

Maybe it’s the stage of life I’m in, or my longing for deeper water, but I feel we are all called to be the people we were created to be, and say what only we can say. We are all endowed with strengths and limitations, just as we have stories of success and failure. Why not claim them all? Why not share them with others? Instead of looking and seeing what others do, say, or possess, we should look within, discover, or rediscover, what is uniquely us, and then offer ourselves for all to see and know. When framed in grace, all that we are becomes a wonderful work of art.

Yes, I know some around us might roll their eyes or question such self-exposure, but I have no doubt the one who created us in the first place will dance and celebrate that we are finally being the one of a kind works of art we were created to be. 

* From Parker Palmer's book Let Your Life Speak.

SOOOOOOOOO much!

“How much does Mommy love you? SOOOOOOOO much!” she says, as she stretches her arms as wide as possible. Her son giggles in the high chair as he eats his mush, even though he’s seen her do it countless times. *

In a school chapel in the mountains, there’s a stained glass window in front depicting Jesus as a child. His arms are spread wide, and I couldn’t help but imagine him doing as the mother did: “How much does God love you? SOOOOOOOO much!”

I know such a thought is beneath our desired theological sophistication, but it may be the only theology that matters. After all the books are read, scripture quoted, and sermons given, it may come down to this basic, but profound, truth.

*     When we are caught up in a recent or past mistake,

·      When we feel our careers are falling apart,

·      When we think we are our careers.

·      When our families don’t look or act like the dream we once held,

·      When the difference between what we say and what we do overwhelms,

 ·      When we play it safe because we don’t believe God has our back,

·      When we don’t play it safe because we want people to notice or like us,

·      When our bank account is low,

·      When our bank account is full, but we’re empty

·      When a friend or spouse disappoints,

·      When someone we know announces he or she is gay,

     When there’s a party and we’re not invited,

·      When others expect us to pick up the check,

·      When we look for happiness in all the wrong places,

We need to remember the lesson of the mother, the picture in the chapel, and ask the only question that matters: “How much does God love us?”

SOOOOOOOOOOOOO much!

* I must confess, I can’t remember my mother ever doing this, but have seen her arms stretched wide throughout my life, even when it was hard for her to do so.

Mirrors

Doug never met a mirror he didn’t like. For some reason, he and I seem to be on the same exercise schedule, and I’ve been unable to ignore his propensity to gaze upon his image in every mirror (of which there are many) in the gym. By the look of his physique, he has worked hard to get in shape, but celebrating the accomplishment has given way to celebrating himself. He struts for others to notice, grunts for others to hear, and, I must confess, I have never seen anything like it. Then I realize, I have.

There’s the successful businessman who lived in (and off) the shadow of his father’s accomplishments. In a small community, he was able to have a real impact, but soon impact gave way to prestige, accomplishments to appearance. The size of his contributions became based on surpassing others on the printed donor list, and Board appointments based on being listed beside other important people on the letterhead. Like Doug, everything became about the mirror.

There’s the community advocate who loved to help others. His passion and talent led to running for this office, then the next. With each new post came hunger for more, and before long he was running for mayor. Every move, like Doug’s, became calculated for maximum notice. In the process, his desire to serve became a need to lead. The mirror became his only focus.

Then there's the man who felt called by God to serve in ministry. It was a focus or purpose that filled him with deep excitement and gratitude, but eventually service gave way to achievement, obedience to accomplishment. The ministry became “his,” not God’s, and, instead of glorifying God, his work was all about glorified himself. In other words, his ministry became a mirror, not a window.

I now look at Doug in a different way. When I see him flexing before the mirror, smiling with great satisfaction, I realize how many mirrors surround me, and how easy it is to stop and stare at the image. His fixation is a call to avoid mirrors, to resist flexing, and simply go about the work I’ve been given to do with a grateful heart.