Thoughts: Articles of Faith

Many years ago, when I was looking to buy my first house, there was a lot of doubt as to whether it would come to pass. I did not make enough money to qualify, I had little cash for a down payment. But I had found a house I liked, and almost as a symbol of faith, I bought a bed for the extra bedroom we would have, even though nothing really pointed to my being able to pull it off. And it came together. Yes, it took time, but I ended up getting an unexpected new job, and some unexpected money came in, and my realtor, who also was my mother in law, gave her commission towards the down payment and voila! It happened.

That's been something I have done repeatedly in my life, made investments in things I wanted, even if life and logic, the world's logic anyway, did not point clearly to things working out. And generally, they have. I did the same thing on my second house, and for the one I have now, buying something specifically for the place I did not have, then waited for life, the universe, God, to somehow re-arrange things for me. I've done it on jobs I applied for that I really wanted, investing in things that would apply specifically to the work I wanted to do. I've done it at times of spiritual or creative crisis - made the investment in things, or in emotional energy (or both) towards the progress I needed to make.

Some people might call that tempting fate, or trying to trap God into doing what I want. I don't see it that way, however. I think of these as acts of faith. Or, since often they are things - a bed, a desk, a computer, whatever,  perhaps they are articles of faith. Whatever they are, they are part of my fabric at this point in life. Part of my way of saying that I believe enough to risk.

I don't do it willy nilly. You won't see me buying a Mercedes or something crazy. But I think it is important to show, to people, to the world at large, to God even, that I am not just waiting for something to happen, but that I am willing to risk to make it happen.

I see it this way, I think: There is risk in anything, even doing nothing. In fact, I think there is MORE risk in doing nothing, in just waiting for fate, another person, circumstances to change; than there is in doing something, anything, even something wrong. I don't care what "it" is - work related, personal, spiritual, love - there is risk in not doing and risk in doing. To me, the risk in letting the universe act without my input and action is far more than the risk of buying something, or doing something towards what I want. Do I fail? Yeah, I do sometimes. Do I have success? Yeah, I do sometimes, more often, in fact, than I fail.

At this point, at my age (56), my house is full of these articles of faith. And, when things are not going well, or how I want them, I can look at these things and I am reminded that God is good. That he not some obstacle to overcome, or some dis-interested observer, and that he delights when his children work towards their own hopes and dreams. That things might not work out just how I want them in terms of the details, but that when I work towards something, invest in that something, take the risk.... things will be well.

What a joy that is, to look around my house and see these reminders. They give me, not just confidence that I will survive, but the confidence to dream. Even when it makes no sense whatsoever.

Tom

PS - The picture is of a painting my dearest Rona gave me, which was my article of faith that somehow, even though there was no money, and no path, I would somehow get to Venice. A couple of years later, despite it not making sense, we did, spending a week there, and a week in Rome. That trip re-invigorated my soul.  Now, I have another picture, bought at an auction for only a few bucks, yet very nice, of Notre Dame. Guess where I want to go next? I have no idea how, but......

Poem: Night Walk

Night Walk

You have been walking in the dark,
through forest paths you feel more than see,
moving by memory, by habit, by hope,

somehow stumbling less
than you deserve, believing
that in time you will emerge

to the early evening light,
that after your night wanderings
seems utterly

bright.

========================

The poem was inspired by the picture, which was taken in nearby Rupert, Vermont. (You can click on it for a larger version.).

Tom 

Poetry, Chains of Dust

Chains of Dust

It is a habit,
nothing more.

a habit,
binding like chains,

captivating,
crippling,

dangerous, yet
strangely safe,

 a sweet poison,
no less deadly

for it's comfort,
no less false

for it's
longevity.

It is a habit,
nothing more,

a catechism
of lies become truth,

cradling you
over the chasm,

weak as a baby
at it's soft,

threatening promises.
It is a habit,

and only you
cannot see

the chains
are made not of steel,

but of fog,
waiting for the morning sun

that only you
can unleash.

=====================

The picture is of a set of keys my son got a while back, part of a large collection of keys he has. Yoy can click on it for a larger version.

Tom

Poem: Serenity

Serenity

Serenity.
It comes
not
in the seeking;
not in the chasing,
but in the stillness
within,

a willingness
to release,
to empty,
to make room
within,

to open yourself
to the peace
that is not yours to take,
but God's
to give.

----------------------------

The picture was taken on Rupert Mountain, not far from my home. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom

Faith's Role in Creativity

"Because creativity can be a plunge in the dark, faith provides us with the bridge, ladder and whittler's tool we need to capture the imprint of the hand of God and bring it into the light."

This quote is buried in the middle of a wonderful reminder of a post from Melissa Moskowitz, who writes a column in the Jews for Jesus site. There is a reminder in the form of a history lesson from Genesis, then she presents some very practical advice on how to use what we know for a better creative life.

Good reading. Go read it here.

Tom

Poem: More

Poem: More

Be gentle with yourself.
You are more
that you imagine, more
than those you barely let in
see, more
loved than you can dream of, more
powerful than you understand, more
dreamed of, more
able to bend like grasses in the wind, more,
so very much more,
than you will allow.

============

The picture was taken near West Pawlet. VT. You can click on it for a larger version.

Poem: January Ice

January Ice

It is frightening,
standing on the river's edge
in the uncertain morning light,
the ice, white and covered
with a then glaze of snow.
Underneath,
you feel the current,
dark and dangerous,
a part of your past
that once plucked you from the shore
and broke you against
the boulders and logjams
that lie hidden under the surface
like sin.

Afraid? Of course you are.
You have felt the cold terror
and wonder if the ice,
hard from a new season,
will carry you, strong as God,
of let you fall
forever in the abyss,

and you wonder,
as you look at the warm light
glowing in the windows on the far side,
as you watch the smoke curling, calling
you home,
if you have the courage to take
a single step.

===========

The picture was taken near Greenwich, New York. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom

Poem: The Limits of Power

The Limits of Power

Oh, you can change things.
Don't get me wrong.
Of course you can.

You can repaint a room,
get a new job,
change your mind,
open your heart,
or close it like a wall of stone.
You can tremble in fear,
or decide to stand firm
in the midst of that same fear.
You have the power to be vulnerable,
strong, or both
at the same time.
You have the power to claim your vision,
to dare to dream,
or not.

You can use your power,
offer it to another,
lock in a closet for safekeeping,
or squander it wildly like a summer thunderstorm.
You can aim it like a weapon,
or with mercy, be gentle
like a mother's arms, touching others, offering
love, or healing, or hate,

But that is where it ends.
With you.

Anything else is an illusion,
a rainbow, a beautiful lie
without end, ephemeral,
a dream,
and nothing more.

================

The keys are from a big box of keys that Rona bought my son at auction. You can click on the picture for a larger version.

Tom

Poem: Psalm 62:8

Psalm 62:8

You are a child,
the dust and din of battle
swirling like a dervish around you,

At your age, your middle years, you know
that there is no end
to the confusion of life,

that you are just a tiny part
of some war far greater than yourself
and your part is somehow

both insignificant
and vital, and that in the end,
you are not your own. You are forever
a child.

but you look into the whirlwind
with confidence,
not in yourself,
who has failed again and again,

but in God,
who bears you through the valley
on tender, unyielding arms.

=============

This verse was from my bible reading this morning, and is so apropos to where I am just now. It reads simply "Trust him (God) at all times."

The picture was taken in Sterling, NY, at a Rennaissance Festival in early August. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom

Poem: Bachelor's Buttons

Bachelor's Buttons

It has been hot and humid for weeks,
unnatural weather for your northern latitude,
steamy and draining, sucking the life
from you and the once lush garden

behind your wood frame house.
You stand on the rough board porch
as the bright sun drains the color
from your vision, except

for the bachelor's buttons,
the bright blue weeds at the edge of your fence line,
their strong hues dancing, laughing at the sun,
like a lover whose roots run deeper

than those who have left them on the side of the street
like refuse, knowing that in the end,
those roots, burrowed down, down, down
to God's life-giving water,

are the source of color, joy, and life.

==============

It's wildflower season up here in Vermont. Those who know me well know I have a tendancy to cut around the patches of wildflowers in my yard, so the yard is pocked with patches of batchelor's buttons and buttercups right now. My neighbors probably think I am nuts (or drunk), but I like the color and hate to cut them down. You can click on the picture for a larger version.

Tom

Poem: Recipie for Happiness

Recipe for Happiness

It's simple really, all you need
is a bed, good light, a book,
a bit of food in the cupboard,

A friend or two to share your heart with,
unafraid.
The rest has nothing to do with what is

out there. but instead what is within:
the ability to see
that God will provide

not what you want,
but what you need.

------------------------------------

The picture was taken at Hildene, the Lincoln family home in Manchester, Vermont. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom

Artists’ Group Unites Faith and Creativity

Regular readers and friends know that I have long thought that faith and creativity are closely linked, so I read with interest this press release.

Tom


The Council of Interfaith Congregations of the United States announces the launch of the American Interfaith Artists' Group (AIAG). The non-profit association seeks members of all religious backgrounds interested in expressing their faith through creativity.

Rev. Tammy Monroe, an interfaith minister and AIAG director, said the faith-based group aims to share the artistic expression of the interfaith spiritual experience in varied forms. "Our intention is to educate the public about interfaith values and multi-faith spiritual expression while teaching about the world's religions and faith paths through art," Monroe said. National and local exhibits are scheduled throughout the year.

The AIAG accepts works from a variety of genres and mediums, including paintings, sculptures, multi-media and performance art. The group currently has 50+ members of numerous faiths from Christianity and Islam to Buddhism throughout the United States and is accepting new applications. For more information and to sign up for the AIAG’s free online newsletter, visit www.interfaithartists.org or email tmonroe@interfaithartists.org.

Poem: Luke 6:48-49

Luke 6:48-49

It has rained for days,
a drizzle really, nothing threatening,
lacking the dazzle and violence
of a summer storm,

or the long deluge of April,
a rain hardly bothersome, a bit cold
falling for five days, slowly
soaking the ground to overflowing,

melting the winter's snowfall,
until the quiet rain becomes a rush
of water, a torrent built
one misty drop at a time,

overflowing the creeks,
turning the brook beneath your house
into a roaring lion, violent
and powerful,

reminding you of your father's temper,
of the swift turn of friendship to passion,
so rapid you blink
and the riverbank is gone,

the house next to you, gone;
the graceful willows that grew
along the floodline, gone,
and you gaze in fear, wondering

how this slow rain so gentle
became so powerful that nothing survives
except the bridge of a house
you call faith.

===================

Luke 6:48-49 reads:
^" He is like a man building a house, who dug down deep and laid the foundation on rock. When a flood came, the torrent struck that house but could not shake it, because it was well built. But the one who hears my words and does not put them into practice is like a man who built a house on the ground without a foundation. The moment the torrent struck that house, it collapsed and its destruction was complete."

The picture was taken in Pawlet earlier this week. You can click on it for a larger version.

Also, I am trying something new, and I hope it works. If it does, and if people like it, I'll start doing more of it. Because part of poetry is the sound of the words, I have recorded this poem into an audio file. If I have done this right, you can listen to this file by clicking here.

Let me know what you think.

Tom

Poem: Lent

Lent

You sip your tea,
slowly savoring
the tang of orange
and the sharp taste
from Ceylon.

You down the stairs of your hotel,
and stop at the front desk
to discuss the weather,
and the temperature
of the clerk's life.

You pause as you walk out the door,
and breath deeply, taking in
the orange glow beyond the trees
that signal morning's meandering start.

In the office you pause to write a poem,
and listen, listen, and listen some more
as those around you, somehow aware
of your aura of endless time,
pour out their hearts instead
of merely reporting the day's events.

On the drive, you park at the edge of town
to watch the glowing clouds
as they waft past the church,
a peaceful parade in the near dark.
And then,

you work, more slowly, resisting
the urge to gallop through your day,
to give in to the myth of speed
ignoring the illusion
that faster somehow
means more.

And through a miracle,
no less gets done,
as if in giving up, the universe
has re-arranged itself
to give you everything,
and more.... peace.

==========

The picture was taken in Pawlet, Vermont. You can click on it for a larger version. And yes, I am trying to give up speed for Lent. It's harder than it looks.

Tom

Poem: Sunday at the Shore

Sunday at the Shore

A small child stands at the window,
hair waffling in the wind,
still as a statue, staring
outward to sea as you watch, and

for a moment, that child is you,
looking past the moment
to a great beyond,
wondering at what lies beyond,
fearful of the magnitude of a universe
so far reaching, hopeful

for a God so loving
that even in the vastness,
his eye is firmly fastened
on you.

==============

The picture was taken in Miami, Florida. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom

Creativity and Faith

I like this post from blogger John D. Cook : " Creativity is difficult. When you are being creative, you’re living by faith. You don’t know what’s next because the created, by definition, is what’s never been before. So you’re living at the edge of something in which you’re not very confident. You might fail: in fact, you almost certainly will fail a good part of the time. All the creative persons I know throw away most of the stuff they do."

Is he always this thoughtful? Well, from the posts I read, he is. Good reading!

Tom

Poem: A Sudden Wakening

A Sudden Wakening

You wake,
uncertain
if the light you see

is morning,
the beginning
of the day's joy,

or night,
where all around you
fades to black;

and you hesitate,

afraid
to step out in the not quite light,
afraid you might be left
alone and stumbling
yet

hungry, always hungry
for the light.

=============

The picture is of the trees behind my house. Kudos to my visiting Mom, who saw this out the back door and pulled me from my reading to enjoy, and capture, the moment. You can click on the picture for a larger version.

Tom

Poem: Light Never Dies

Light Never Dies

The light flickers,
blown, despite the glass walls,
by the night wind
that winds down the mountains,
through the trees,
past the rustling creek below
and somehow,
works past the windscreens
to the flame,

Like life and your own walls,
flickering,
afraid of the night, unsure
of the power
of light, unsure of it's persistance

and endurance, not believing,
despite the evidence, that it
will last until morning, and even
should the wind blow it out,
that in the face of darkness, God
will set his match to you
again and again, for he knows
what we do not, that light never dies.

============

The picture was taken in a friends garden. You may click on it for a larger version.

Tom

Poem: Still Standing

Still Standing

The season behind you has been cold,
rabid with wind and rain,
a season of pain,
it's icy pellets
like knives to your heart,
cold daggers
that nearly pierced
your soul.

But you survived
and today, stand,
perhaps not tall and proud,
but secure
that no matter the wind,
your roots clamber deep
into the stone,
a foundation
stronger than the winds
of this season,
and the next.

=============

The picture was taken at the Hildene estate, the Lincoln family home in Manchester, VT. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom

Poem: The Soul of the Tool

The Soul of the Tool

There are faster ways to do this,
to cut and carve the unyeilding wood
to something soulful,
to unleash the angel
deep within your broken heart,
and discover the dancing balance
of tenderness and strength
needed
to create not a fortress
but a cradle.

Yes, there are quicker paths
than the slow, hard work you do,
day after day,
with ancient tools,
outdated but effective
in carving
an elegant
eternity.

============

The picture was taken in Williamsburg, Va. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom