- Matthew 6:28
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The opposite of beauty is not ugliness; the opposite of beauty is legalism. Legalism is hard determinism that slowly strangles the soul. Legalism injures by giving pragmatic answers to our suffering. When Jesus asks the world to consider the lilies, to consider beauty in the midst of all the ashes around us, his request is full of promise, for he is both the Source of beauty and its Subject.
His own history is one that takes so seriously the goodness of the created world that he joins us within it, taking even our profound wounds upon himself, and presenting in his body the hope of a creation made new.
Paying attention to the ephemeral, being willing like Mary to risk and to recognize beauty, is in and of itself restorative because it is paying attention to him. Here, both the anxiety-addicted and the attention-overloaded can find solace in a different sort of kingdom: one in which there is room for the paradox of a fleeting world with eternity in its heart.
The daily liturgy of lilies comes with unceasing care and attention for all who will see it, the gift of a God who revels in the creation of yet another flower, the details of another sunset, the discovery of even one lost soul. Consider the lilies; how they grow. They neither toil, nor spin. Your podcast has started playing below.
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We believe that the world makes more sense when we have a right view of God and the world. Learn about RZIM. It would be there. With a flick of a switch, there it would be. But he would not be in it. He would never be in it. Water Lilies, Claude Monet, oil on canvas, Search Our Media Library.
Give Our speakers, events, and all our content is entirely supported by donations. Condensation had stuck it there like a handlebar moustache. I thought to mention it to her as she tilted her head in assessment of my presence. Apparently I posed no threat and she was content with her adornment because the two of them waddled out a place for themselves in the grass directly across from me. When I stood to leave, I thanked them for their company.
Pouring rain So off I went on a circuit of the Gardens and then into one of my favorite haunts. I walk in to witness two of the baristas teaching themselves how to juggle with sweet potatoes. The two of them: You can juggle??
WAIT, Here! And they toss me three apples. The next fifteen minutes or so are filled with laughter and a lesson on the basic principles of juggling. And then I sat down and did some work The world is full of fresh hells and is unraveling at so many seams Thursday, June 20, The Divine Octave. Several mornings of my recent retreat were spent on a wharf in Lunenburg, Nova Scotia.
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I was drawn there for the spacious quiet, for the water, the horizon, the creak of the pilings and cries of the birds, and, honestly, the comfortable chairs close enough to the edge to prop up my short legs and with arms wide enough for a notebook. The sun was warm, the boat traffic local, the peace expansive… It was a satisfying perch. This was helped along by the book I was reading—Saudade by Anik See. So far, each one of these beautifully bound essays has reminded me of the smooth pocket-stones I carry with me.
Weighty, present, solid, company. Each one has a story to go with it, each one has its place. Just as my hand is sometimes drawn to hold a particular one of the stones at a given moment, I selected a particular essay to read one of the mornings at the wharf. Little could I have known ahead of time the ache of beauty and aha and YES!
The easiest way to picture the golden section in nature is to imagine the cross-section of a nautilus shell, growing outward neatly; beautifully in proportion to the previous later of spiral. It is this relationship that is ever appealing to us, wither in the form of the human body or in musical scales, or in the relationship of text to a page.
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In other words, if double-square books i. And, how easy to translate that into primary flavour chords in cooking; primary rhythmic chords created through sentence structure; primary aural chords in line break choices when writing poetry….
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Again and again, the call to pay attention. To be absolutely present and keenly aware of the effect desired, the effect achieved… yet,. In choosing the proportions of type and spacing, as well as the proportions of the page, a harmony should be suggestive, not obvious. Again, so broadly applicable. They can be wonderful nuggets of humour and yet are also exceedingly obvious in rhythm and rhyme scheme. Milk and mashed potatoes harmonize obviously.
Yet, beautiful flavour emerges from that dance. The key…the struggle…the fun of the process…is the right relationship piece of artistic creation…. And sometimes we need to find ourselves somewhere other than where we usually are to notice, to take that in…to again tune our senses to the divine octave at play in creation. This came to me just before I put the bookmark in, packed my bag, rose from the bright green chair on the wharf and noticed that there was a jellyfish in the water….
The precision has to slip away so that what matters most is the text or image on the page. It is exactly like jazz. That knowledge—that part of the process is long past and you are entirely satisfied just being there to put your fingers on it, to listen, or look, or read: to appreciate it. And I thought about the Psalmist who wrote of the Inescapable God… What I know is that you made me, you are with me, you encircle me, no matter where, no matter what, you Are…the holy and mysterious golden proportion of Love…and that knowledge is beautiful and just a bit overwhelming.
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And I am grateful. Monday, June 17, Sanctuary. We come as we are—no hiding, no acting, no fear.
We come with our materialism, our pride, our petty grievances against our neighbours, our hypocritical disdain for those judgmental people in the church next door. We come with our fear of death, our desperation to be loved, our troubled marriages, our persistent doubts, our preoccupation with status and image. We come with our addictions—to substances, to work, to affirmation, to control, to food. We come in search of sanctuary, a safe place to shed the masks and exhale. Rachel Held Evans, Searching for Sunday , p. Sanctuary of place and person-.
All embracing:. A refuge of perspective. A new slant of light,. You who named each one,. You who knows each contour, texture,. You, whose beckon and draw. I rest and journey. You, the moon and sun alike—.
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- Luke 12:27 "Consider the lilies, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin...".
You, whose shadow. Sanctuary people, sanctuary spaces:. Kimberly M. King, RSCJ. Friday, June 7, Here in Halifax, and elsewhere, it has been a grey stretch of time, these last months. Grey and rain; grey and fog; grey and something between rain and fog; Grey. Yet still the Public Gardens green and bloom in technicolor because that is what trees, flowers, and plants are called to do. And in fact, the grey watery light helps those colours stand out in greater relief.
I believe that an awareness of that, the salvation of that, has been important these weeks, locally and more widely afield. In this world that is such a mess globally…a little grey-light dampness helps highlight even the smallest shoot or bud or action or person that holds the startling promise of contrast, beauty, life, Spirit. Trees, bulbs, seeds, acting out of their fullness of purpose, make that manifest. Humans too…. The difference being that we need to choose it: choose to act out of that fullness of purpose. And it seems to me, as a person of faith, that purpose is Love.
Which looks like decency; justice; compassion; solidarity; honesty; respect; openness; and more… toward God, toward Earth, toward one another.