The Master's Artist: The Last Christmas Without You

Sixpence None the Richer has a Christmas song called "The Last Christmas Without You." It considers the advent waiting from Mary’s perspective. "I feel you heart beating
/ Inside my own skin," the song says.

This advent, as my own belly swells, I’ve been contemplating Mary.

Who was this woman–this child, really–who so readily accepted God’s
blessing and burden? Who took on motherhood and its accompanying joys,
sufferings, and, in this case, shame? Who set aside her own dreams and
desires so that God’s word might be fulfilled?

Read The Last Christmas Without You at The Master’s Artist.

The Master's Artist: Red Wine or White?

Today on The Master’s Artist, I get a little soap-boxy. (Sometimes you just have to get these things out of your system!)

An excerpt:

The waiter on stage rung the bell, and the action froze. The couple–on
their first date–had come to an impasse: red wine, which goes with
beef and seduction, or white wine, which pairs with chicken and
commitment? The audience, most of whom sat at tables around the stage,
voted. Numerous times during the show, the waiter stopped the action to
tally the audience. Slap him or kiss him? Should Jeffrey propose,
refuse to propose, or go to the bathroom? Occasionally, the waiter
asked for a volunteer and for a moment, an audience member would
traipse on stage and join the show.

Now, how does that get soap-boxy, you may ask? Because I then talk about how art teaches us presence, commitment, and interaction, something I fear we’re losing in our ADD Internet world.

Not that all Internet is bad (or Internet is all bad). I love my community here. But this can’t be all, and I’m still working through what it means to be here and there. So I decided to work through it a little via blog (to prove the impossibility of separating the two).

Plus, what is the Internet good for, if not a good diatribe now and then?

Read the entire rant here.

The Master's Artist: The Artist Priest

Today at The Master’s Artist I consider how we as believers offer our art as a sacrament.

A taste:

We kneel at the altar, our hands cupped, palms up to receive the sacrament. The priest presses a wafer onto my fingers.

"The body of Christ, the bread of heaven," he says.

I lift the wafer to my tongue, crack it between my teeth.

A white-clad chalice bearer follows the priest. She dips the cup to my lips. "The blood of Christ, the cup of salvation."

The
wine rinses the bits of wafer from my mouth, washes down my throat.
With bowed head, I cross myself, lingering for a moment before
returning to my pew.

In this way, with a community of believers
(and, most likely, unbelievers), I experience the presence of God.
This, in essence, is what the sacraments are: the presence of God. In
turn, as a member of the Body of Christ, I am called to live
sacramentally so as to incarnate Christ’s presence in the world around
me.

Read the rest here.

Artuality: Advent

Advent holds ideas of waiting, anticipation, peace, hope, incarnation, justice. I think of Mary, her hands rubbing her belly. I think of the shepherds, searching Bethlehem. I think of the wise men, following a star. All waiting.

We wait still. We wait for peace on earth and goodwill toward men. We wait for justice. But it’s not an empty waiting. This waiting embodies hope, the kind that is sure of what isn’t seen.

Yet.

We anticipate the day when heaven meets earth, when God’s will be done on earth as it is in heaven.

How does the Advent season inspire you artistically? I’m not a poet (as you shall see!), but in honor if Emily Dickinson’s birthday, I’m celebrating Advent today with a poem. Four pictures came to mind as I thought of this idea of waiting.

His belly round
from hunger,
under his arm, he holds
a suitcase and a
gun.
He searches the
dump
for scraps and pieces
for his sister. She cries
and cries and
cries. Desire of nations,
come.

Her belly round
with child,
in her hand, she holds
a paintbrush.
She prepares the
room
and stacks diapers
on the table. A
suitcase stands
by the door for the
night. Desire of nations,
come.

Her belly round
with cancer,
in his hand, he holds
hers.
She trembles with
cold
and pain. The
machines beep, and needles
pierce
her skin. Desire of nations,
come.

His belly round
with bassdrum,
in his hand, he holds
a mallet,
ready to beat
the rhythm. Mark
time mark.
The lights
in the stadium
shine bright, hiding
the judges
from view. Desire of nations,
come.

Now it’s your turn! How does Advent inspire you? Use Mr. Linky below to link to your posts, and leave a comment so I know when you add your link.

Merciful God, who sent your messengers the prophets to preach repentance and prepare the way for our salvation: Give us grace to heed their warnings and forsake our sins, that we may greet with joy the coming of Jesus Christ our Redeemer; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.
(Second Sunday of Advent Collect, from The Book of Common Prayer)