Sunday with Van Gogh...

There is a massive Van Gogh exhibit taking place in Ottawa this summer and we're heading off to see it in an hour.  In light of my observations about beauty and social resistance yesterday - and as part of my on-going summer reflection - let me share with you some words from Mako Fujimura (one of my favorite artist theologians.)  Writing about Van Gogh in the context of a college commencement address, Mako notes:

Not many know that Vincent was born in a lineage of Dutch Reformed pastors and he himself trained for and desired to become a pastor. It was only when the church rejected his plea, that he instead opted to work as an evangelist to the poor. Among the poor, he lived with them in a Franciscan devotion, living in squalid conditions. The church authorities who sent him there was appalled by the conditions Vincent chose to live in, rejected him again, and pronounced him "unfit for the dignity of the priesthood." Vincent spoke five languages and wrote fluently in three. Today, his many letters are considered by Dutch literature experts to be one of their masterpieces of epistles...

So let us consider the Starry Night, the famed landscape he painted in Arles. Notice that at the very center of the painting is a white Dutch Reformed church, which did not exist in Arles. Vincent imported a church building of his childhood, pasting it into the landscape of Arles because he wanted to create a parable of his own life.

If you are to take out the church (place a pinky over the church) from the painting, the whole painting falls apart visually. It is the only vertical form, aside from the dominant cypress tree on the left, which juts out to break the horizontal planes. The cypress tree and the church are two forms that connect heaven and earth. Without the church, the cypress tree takes over the swirl of movement, and there's no visual center to hold the painting in tension between heaven and earth.

Notice, too, that homes surrounding the church are lit with warm light, but the church is the only building in the painting that is completely dark. Herein lies Vincent's message: the Spirit has left the church (at least the building), but is alive in Nature. If you follow the visual flow of the painting, your eye will cycle upward, but still anchored by the church building. Our gaze will end up on the right upper hand corner, at the Sun/Moon. Notice it is not just a moon, or a sun, but a combination. Vincent wanted to show that the Spirit of God transcends even Nature herself, that in resurrection, in the New Earth and the new Heaven, a complete new order will shape things to come...

Art poses questions; art probes into our lives as living parables. So the question I ask of you is this: What do we do if Vincent is right; what do we do in a culture in which the light of the Spirit has gone out of the church buildings and instead went swirling into Nature and into the margins of the life? What do you do in a culture in which the church stands as a structural homage to the moral underpinning which keeps the world from falling apart?

(Read the full essay here @ http://www.makotofujimura.com/writings/the-starry-night-biola-university-commencement-address-may-2012/)

Like Mako I have come to see how essential it is for the church to not only be welcoming artists into our communities so they might share their works, but we must be nurturing and forming new artists who are eager to share the light of the Creator with the world in new ways.

Creating beauty as social resistance...

As we've wandered about Montreal and Ottawa over the past 10 days, Di and I have had a lot of conversations about what creating beauty means in our ministry.  It is NOT an incidental -like lace - as some choose to think; nor is it antithetical to Christian formation, acts of social justice or radical hospitality and compassion. Rather the creation of beauty is both a sacred gift shared with joy AND a spiritual discipline born of grace. No less an activist than Dietrich Bonhoeffer realized that nourishing beauty - and sharing it freely - is one way to celebrate the unearned and gratuitous  blessings of God made flesh in Jesus Christ.

For most of my life so-called justice advocates have denigrated the commitments of artists as ancillary and/or less valuable than activity that changed social policy or opposed unjust and unloving realities. This divide was true in the Old Left in the US before the 60s and was part of my experience coming to age after the Beats.  In fact, the old guard "commissars of culture" nearly drove Bob Dylan out of making music by their obnoxious insistence that he keep writing social justice anthems instead of exploring the muse of art.  Thank God he heard the Beatles singing "I Want to Hold Your Hand" on the radio while driving towards New Orleans.  "I want some of that," he realized, "only with a totally American groove" and "Subterranean Homesick Blues" and so much more was born. 
Paul Simon said much the same thing reflecting on the 25th anniversary of "Graceland" -his mind-boggling song cycle of poetry and world music - that broke the UN trade barrier against South Africa in order to create art with actual South African musicians. In a recent documentary about the importance of Simon's creation, he said: “When the artist gets into some sort of disagreement with politics,” Simon asks in the film, “why are the politicians designated to be the ones to tell us, the artists, what to do and we’re supposed to follow — otherwise we’re not good citizens or we’re not good?”  In other words, why is beauty considered the lesser sister to other forms of activism?      

Well... it isn't - and at 60 I have finally come to confess and celebrate this fact.  I think that has been part of what this vacation has been about for me, too - going deeper into the creative spirit - so that I can be more faithful in ministry.  As the Occupy people like to say:  The beginning is near...It is rather like St. Paul made clear:  there are different gifts and calling for different people - all are needed - and NONE are unnecessary.

There is more to say about this - and I will - because we have some deep work to do in Christian formation as well as finding beautiful ways of sharing compassion in the world as a faith community.  But let me me be clear:  creating and nourishing beauty is NOT incidental or inferior to other acts of social resistance. There are bullies who will insist otherwise, of course, and ideologues and those with a one track mind, too.  And let's be honest:  some artists are just too precious to work with as well.  But, in our bottom-line, market obsessed, consumer driven world of addiction and manipulated crisis, beauty is a counter-cultural way to feed the soul that is born of grace and joy.  It was good to talk about this again in a deep way tonight at supper - and we returned to it after hearing a young jazz band perform in a funky dive - noting that although they weren't great they were reaching for the prize and sharing beauty in public - something we need to support.

I really like the way the water color artist, Ann Schaffer, put it here:

My paintings are about beauty and the power of beauty to resist all that is soul stifling in this world. My current paintings of flowers are all about beauty and the power of beauty to resist all that is soul stifling in this world. I have long been inspired by how those with the least in the most difficult circumstances create beauty out of nothing in a declaration of life, existence, and resistance to the oppressive circumstances that surround them. Just as the Cherokee nation, herded onto reservations in Oklahoma in the 1800’s by an oppressive government, beaded their ration cards. Just as in the poorest shanty towns of Nairobi, where I saw pieces of colored glass hung in windows. Just as the quilters of Gee’s Bend Alabama took their old clothes and turned them into works of art to shelter their bodies. All these acts and many, many more say to me….’We are human and you can’t have our souls.’ The making of beauty and of art says that we are alive and we have this beauty within us. (see her paintings and read more @ http://klebesadel.com/2011/06/09/a-beauty-manifesto-art-as-resistance/)



Loving Ottawa...

Whodathunk, ya?  What a cool place we've discovered in Ottawa!  Ok, we're totally down with the easy confluence of French/English here.  And we're very interested in the creative way Ottawa blends the arts and festivals with economic development - we come from a small New England town exploring the blessings and curses of this experience - so we're taking in the new Van Gogh exhibit this weekend. I don't know all the politics - and will be reading more about the record and intentions of the current Tory government -but it is clear things are happening here. 

I was knocked on my butt when we came upon the beautiful gardens, trees and Victorian buildings.  This free, open public space that is well-cared for and well used speaks volumes about a society that cares for its people.  Now as I wrote earlier, this was un extraordinaire jour froid  (chill day) - Lord, we slept past noon - and then just wandered around checking out the local street vendors, farmer's markets and book stores - so I'm in a tres mellow mood.  But the beauty of this place is remarkable! 

And after our nap (OMG how embarrassing) it was more wandering until we found a Thai place for dinner. Following the lure of potential live music we headed towards Parliament Hill.  And while we never got there, we did become smitten by Notre Dame Basilica and the Canadian Peace Keepers Monument.  Let it be noted that I am a sucker for public art that evokes the complex challenge of caring for the common good - and damn but this monuments gets it right! It was very moving to me the way the artist was able to visually and emotionally capture the sacrificial depth what it means to keep the peace in a broken and violent world.

As we explored the beautiful parks at the North of the city and watched families of all shapes and varieties take in a hot summer night amidst the flowers and trees, I was washed over with a sense of gratitude.  Tomorrow we'll go full tourist and see what Parliament Hill has to offer - I already love the architecture - and maybe take in a late film at the nearby ByTowne Cinema (Take This Waltz is our current choice.)

As the day comes to a close, here's a picture that says it all: the blending of cultures in ways I still can't fully grasp...

Le nec plus ultra en jours de vacances...

Today is TOTALLY chill... le nec plus ultra en jours de vacances. I'm reading Canadian poet, Michael Ondaatje, before heading out to find a book shop that specializes in English lit.  What a geek, heh?  Here's one that is stunning.  (My mind is in slow mode so I'll just let the poet speak for me today.)

All night long the hockey pictures
gaze down at you
sleeping in your tracksuit.
Belligerent goalies are your ideal.
Threats of being traded
cuts and wounds
--all this pleases you.
O my god! you say at breakfast
reading the sports page over the Alpen
as another player breaks his ankle
or assaults the coach.

When I thought of daughters
I wasn't expecting this
but I like this more.
I like all your faults
even your purple moods
when you retreat from everyone
to sit in bed under a quilt.
And when I say 'like'
I mean of course 'love'
but that embarrasses you.
You who feel superior to black and white movies
(coaxed for hours to see Casablanca)
though you were moved
by Creature from the Black Lagoon.

One day I'll come swimming
beside your ship or someone will
and if you hear the siren
listen to it. For if you close your ears
only nothing happens. You will never change.

I don't care if you risk
your life to angry goalies
creatures with webbed feet.
You can enter their caves and castles
their glass laboratories. Just
don't be fooled by anyone but yourself.

This is the first lecture I've given you.
You're 'sweet sixteen' you said.
I'd rather be your closest friend
than your father. I'm not good at advice
you know that, but ride
the ceremonies
until they grow dark.

Sometimes you are so busy
discovering your friends
I ache with loss
--but that is greed.
And sometimes I've gone
into my purple world
and lost you.

One afternoon I stepped
into your room. You were sitting
at the desk where I now write this.
Forsythia outside the window
and sun spilled over you
like a thick yellow miracle
as if another planet
was coaxing you out of the house
--all those possible worlds!--
and you, meanwhile, busy with mathematics.

I cannot look at forsythia now
without loss, or joy for you.
You step delicately
into the wild world
and your real prize will be
the frantic search.
Want everything. If you break
break going out not in.
How you live your life I don't care
but I'll sell my arms for you,
hold your secrets forever.

If I speak of death
which you fear now, greatly,
it is without answers.
except that each
one we know is
in our blood.
Don't recall graves.
Memory is permanent.
Remember the afternoon's
yellow suburban annunciation.
Your goalie
in his frightening mask
dreams perhaps
of gentleness.

We arrived in Ottawa...

There is a different groove happening here in Ottawa - I like it - but it is VERY different than Montreal. Both Di and I are beat:  I think 8 days of Jazz Festing was enough.  So we got in, rested, showered and walked around a bit before retiring early.  It was sad but sweet to say "a beintot" to both Montreal and Jesse...

I suspect that we'll sleep LATE tomorrow. We were going to head off to the Blues Fest - one of our favorite indy bands Lake Street Dive from Brooklyn/Boston are playing and that is just too kewel for school - but the pricing doesn't really work for us (we don't want to spend the whole day!) So, we'll take in the Van Gogh exhibit, prowl around somebook shops, museums and check out the indy theatre. 

This is probably as close to heaven as we'll ever get, yes? It is a blessing to share this rest with my honey... I am grateful.

Our last night in Montreal...

Daughter Jesse arrived safe and sound yesterday afternoon.  We took a quick tour around Marche Jean Talon - come on every girl needs a salmon crepe after a long trip, oui? - before heading to Rue St. Denis and some gypsy jazz a la "Les voleurs de poulets" (the chicken thieves) at Diese Onze. (She's gone back to explore the shops and stands this morning because it is such a cool place.)

Then it was out to the Jazz Fest where in the space of an hour we heard an 18 person, smokin' hot dance band from Brooklyn, a French reggae band and a blue ensemble with a horn section.  We'll do some touristy things together today - le Vieux Montreal for sure - and maybe a small jazz club to close the day. This has been a great leg of our vacation - and there's more to come tomorrow - that has been made even more sweet by Jesse's arrival. We hope that next year her dear husband might be able to join us, too.

Tomorrow we head through farmland towards Ottawa - a new town to explore - that is not only the capital of Canada but rests on the edge of Quebec.  I am glad that there will be a francophone presence as well as a whole new groove to experience. Qui savent ce qui va se passer?

Ma fille aînée arrive aujourd'hui...

For our final two days in Montreal, oldest daughter will drive up from NYC to spend some time with us.  She, too, was smitten with the travel bug early on and we can't wait to show her around our "home away from home."  One place that we'll hit tonight is Dieze Onze - a totally French bistro jazz club - where the night starts with "gypsy jazz" a la Django Reinhart.  It is small and intimate with just enough attitude to create an edge. And with a good try at French, the Francophones will happily go bilingual!  (check it out @ http://www.dieseonze.com/)

Tomorrow for sure we'll take her to Marche Jean Talon, the lovely open air market right around the corner from our flat, that is a visual and tasty delight.  And we'll likely close the day strolling the free music at Jazz Fest. It will be a bit like camp at night, given the fold-out bed in one big room, but hey we used to all go tent camping so... there you have it.  I'm curious to know what else she might want to explore - le musée d'art contemporain might be fun - and the upstairs jazz lounge is hot.  We can't miss le Vieux Montreal and maybe just a stroll through one of our favorite neighborhoods, too?

Summer has begun - finally - for her and another year of teaching NYC middle-schoolers is past. I think she stopped to visit her sister in Massachusetts before heading North.  I know she is looking to chill and I hope we can aid and abet her even for a short time.
Then we're on to Ottawa - a whole new adventure - and she goes stateside for a bit before heading off for some European adventure.

We'll travel through about two hours of farmland on the way from Montreal to Ottawa and indulge our retirement fantasies along the way.  Now that we're feeling more settled with our pidgin Quebecois French we're going to keep our eyes open for places just one hour outside of Montreal for future journeys and explorations.

Je suis reconnaissant pour cette journée...

There was a time when I hated birthdays - the entire decade in my 40s was the worst - but I wasn't too keen on them in my 30s either.  Things shifted when I hit 50 - perhaps I quit taking myself quite so seriously or something - but as the Beatles' sang, "Its getting better all the time..." and I think that is true.

Today I turned 60 - à Montréal, ils disent: aujourd'hui, j'ai été 60 ans - and we did three of my all time favorite things:  first, we sat around drinking tea and talking throughout the morning; then we walked through one of our favorite neighborhoods (Rue St. Catherine) to a bookstore where we spent the afternoon browsing; only to close the day at a Middle Eastern eaterie called RUMI.  (My dear daughters got us a gift certificate because, as Di said, "What else could they give their Dad at 60 but a guest pass to RUMI?"  He being a favorite poet and all...)

i was ready to tell
the story of my life
but the ripple of tears
and the agony of my heart
wouldn't let me

i began to stutter
saying a word here and there
and all along i felt
as tender as a crystal
ready to be shattered

in this stormy sea
we call life
all the big ships
come apart
board by board

how can i survive
riding a lonely
little boat
with no oars
and no arms

my boat did finally break
by the waves
and i broke free
as i tied myself
to a single board

though the panic is gone
i am now offended
why should i be so helpless
rising with one wave
and falling with the next

i don't know
if i am
nonexistence
while i exist
but i know for sure

when i am
i am not
but
when i am not
then i amnow how can i be
a skeptic
about theresurrection and
coming to life again

since in this world
i have many times
like my own imagination
died and
been born again

that is why
after a long agonizing life
as a hunter
i finally let go and got
hunted down and became free

It was a long schlep from the Metro stop - one of the things I enjoy most about Montreal is all the walking through different neighborhoods we get to do - but the humidity broke last night so it was sweet and we wound up in the Outremont area (for those Louise Perry/Inspector Gamache fans.)  After yet another two hour dinner, we walked to Les Thes David for some loose tea - and I found that they still stocked my all time favorite called chai citrouille (pumpkin chai.) 

Thank you to everyone who sent me birthday greetings throughout the day - it was very humbling - and I am touched by your love. As this day comes to an end, I am grateful to be alive...

On turning 60 at the jazz fest...

Today is my 60th birthday - what a trip - and last night we went to see Victor Wooten and his crackerjack band at Club Soda in Montreal.  It was a jazz-soul-funk extravaganza and this is one of my favorite venues. Five years ago we saw the indescribable Cinematic Orchestra here - and earlier in the week the amazing Bill Frisell - and now Wooten. In every way, Wooten embodied the best of the tradition:  it was an integrated band of great talent and he gave everybody room to fly.  They, in turn, followed him with precision and affection so that the whole room was blessed by the music they created.

+ Wooten, of course, is the bass player for Bela Fleck and the Flecktones - and this current incarnation of his music masters is only a few months old - so they are still finding their way into the groove together. But last night they were playful and creative with everything from Wooten originals to covers of Chaka Kahn and Stevie Wonder.

+ And there wasn't a real guitar in the house - all the string players were on various forms of the bass guitar - over which Wooten played Hendrix-like solos or Clapton-like melodies. Sometimes a keyboard filled out the sound, but mostly the 4 bass men, 2 drummers and vocalist found ways to blend and harmonize with one another so that the guitar was never missed.  And from time to time Wooten and his main musical consort, the head of the bass department at the Berklee School of Music in Boston, played Allman Brothers-like solos on thier bass guitars with a touch of funk.  Freakin-amazing.

Later, as we walked through the extensive Festival grounds, the breadth and depth of talent that has been brought together for this festival struck me as beyond comprehension. Think of it: 10 days of the best players from all around the world playing in every kind of style and sharing their gifts in both free and paid venues from 11 am to well past 2 am!  As we walked about in the cool Montreal air @ 10 pm, a 20 year old French blues woman with a full brass ensemble was tearing it up on vocals and guitar.  And we've only scratched the surface...

There are a couple of probably unrelated thoughts are swimming around my head this morning as I give thanks for the gift of my life...

+ Last night a young man on the Metro (the subway) offered me his seat.  I declined with a smile and thought, "Commence au festival... and so it begins."  It was a kind and respectful offer - after all my wildass head of hair has gone mostly white by now and he was all of 20 - so I look ancient.  I figured 60 was a good time to quit with all the hair product I got into 7 years ago in Scotland.  There I went to an edgy shop, told the punk stylist to do something outrageous and came away with a lot of blonde dye and a shaggy "do" that I've more or less maintained.   But now it is time to let the true silver dominate... even if young men feel the need to give me their seats on the subway.

+ For half my life I have been doing ordained Christian ministry:  30 years!  We're going to mark this milestone later in September back in PIttsfield with some sort of party.  There has been talk of bringing together some musicians for this anniversary, too.  I've asked a friend from Canada if he might bring the Sunday morning message and I'll keep you posted about how the soiree is shaping up.  Let's just say I am grateful to have found a way to reflect on the Scriptures, pray with all kinds of music and musicians and do so in the spirit of compassion...

+ My dear daughters sent us a gift certificate for dinner tonight at Rumi's - a GREAT eaterie in Montreal - to mark our respective birthdays (Di turned 50 three days ago.)  I am deeply aware how blessed I am to have these young women in my life - and one will join us tomorrow for an overnight in Montreal!

+ And last but not least is my sweet heart Dianne:  she is a real companion in life who has strengthened and challenged me in ways I never would have done by myself.  She has shared love and hope and joy with me - gone through hell, too - and continues to be a quiet light in my life.

So, we''ll eat some croissants today, buy some tea and books later on and the feast at Rumi's in Montreal... who could ask for more?

Je ne peux pas attendre...

Nous allons voir ce soir, Victor Wooten au Club Soda!

Je ne peux pas attendre!

Emerging thoughts about a spirituality of jazz...

As many of you know, I have written and reflected a great deal about something I call a "spirituality of rock and roll."  It was, after all, the theme of my doctoral dissertation and continues to be part of my "spiritual practice" as a contemporary person of faith.  Over the past two years, however, I have been playing more and more jazz - for a variety of reasons - and while I will always want to get down and shake my ass to the backbeat, I know that I am experiencing a whole new set of practices that hold implications for the inward and outward journey.

So, as seems to be one of the blessings and curses of my life, I am feeling drawn towards articulating what I sense to be an emerging spirituality of jazz.  Now please note that when I write about spirituality, I am not discussing the vaguely sacred feelings about peace and love that are sometimes evoked by shared music (although I genuinely value that experience.) Neither am I addressing what the ancients once believed to be the point of music - helping us literally sense the presence of a holy order within creation - as our ears and bodies vibrated to the tones of mathmatics. 

No, I when I refer to spirituality I mean the spiritual disiplines and practices that shape and guide our lives born of a theological commitment and tradition.  Spirituality, you see, involves practices and habits established to nourish faithful living in the real world.  As a Christian, this means that I will want to ground my starting point in the life, death, resurrection and ascension of Jesus Christ. I will also want to search for clues within the Scriptures and traditions of this world with a deep sense of creative imagination, too.  For while I know that "time makes ancient truth uncouth," unlike New Age spiritualities I have no need to reinvent the wheel either. 

 For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:
² a time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
³ a time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
⁴ a time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
⁵ a time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
⁶ a time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to throw away;
⁷ a time to tear, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
⁸ a time to love, and a time to hate;
a time for war, and a time for peace.

Over the next few days in Montreal, I am going to try to sketch what this emerging spirituality of jazz looks like to me.  I have already begun to offer blog posts as clues bubble up from my thinking and experience but now is a time to go deeper.  One outline that resonates includes:

+ Theological foundations:  certainly a playful treatment of Genesis 2 and the creativity of nourishing a garden (rather than paradise) will be part of this reflection as will some thoughts about the Word being incarnated (John 1), new wineskings (Matthew 9), Jesus as the Lord of the feast and source of the unforced rhythms of grace (Matthew 11) and living fully as a spiritual sacrifice (Romans 12).

+ Spiritual practices: so far I have discerned three broad themes - listening, practicing and playing - as the disciplines essential to a spirituality of jazz with four aspects to each discipline.  (I am not going to list these today but will over the course of the following postings.)

+ Musical examples: it would be important to ground this within real jazz music so... stay tuned.

There is one other essential element to this project - sharing my writing within the context of an on-going review/critique/encouragement conversation with actual jazz musicians (some of whom share my faith commitments) - to minimize the bullshit.  This is a whole different groove so...nous allons le voir!