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Chronicles in Ordinary Time 26: Four Decades…

February 27, 2013

heroes

Today was my 40th Rebirth-day. Four decades in this walk of faith, a walk called Christian. My life has a soundtrack, as it is with many others. I think my life began in high school—Senior English—when ‘Captain Bob’ played for us the soundtrack to “Man of La Mancha:”

“I shall impersonate a man. His name is Alonso Quijana, a country squire no longer young. Being retired, he has much time for books. He studies them from morn till night and often through the night and morn again, and all he reads oppresses him; fills him with indignation at man’s murderous ways toward man. He ponders the problem of how to make better a world where evil brings profit and virtue none at all; where fraud and deceit are mingled with truth and sincerity. He broods and broods and broods and broods and finally his brains dry up. He lays down the melancholy burden of sanity and conceives the strangest project ever imagined – -to become a knight-errant, and sally forth into the world in search of adventures; to mount a crusade; to raise up the weak and those in need. No longer will he be plain Alonso Quijana, but a dauntless knight known as Don Quixote de La Mancha.”

Church and faith were never a part of my upbringing. My parents, according to legend, were active in the church until their early adulthood. I was told once that my Dad was a lay preacher at some point in his early adulthood. Something drove my parents away from The Church. I was in my twenties when I first walked into a church sanctuary.

Listening to the story of Don Quixote was my first real lesson in the concept that one could live for something beyond one’s own life. I found the album during my first months at Oregon State University, and listened to my bootleg recording for years. In those years I learned to spot Christians from great distances, and to avoid them. My only real knowledge of what they had to say was that they said too much. We had ‘coffee houses’ in college; they had little to do with coffee, and much to do with folk songs. I could always tell when the Christians were about to sing, because they always had to explain the meaning of their songs; as if the song were so poorly crafted that it could not tell its own story…

I remember lying on my bed, for hours in the dim, listening to the songs of Judy Collins, Rod McKuen, and so many others. Dreary songs that matched my newfound understanding of just how crappy the world has become. Rescued by the Draft Lottery from a possibly short life in Vietnam, I lived among war protesters, dopers and murder. A young girl who lived two floors below me, was murdered one night; as it turned out several months later, she was murdered by a high-school aged kid whose emotional development didn’t match his intellect. She was murdered because she wouldn’t have sex with him…

In my third year of college, having transferred to University of Oregon, I was introduced to the concept that the Creator of the Universe had entered life in the form of Jesus Christ. At some point I made the connection that this incarnation was similar to when I picked up a rock, and found a bunch of wriggly creatures trying to escape the light. Unpleasant little creatures; what would it take for me to love those creatures enough that I would give up my life as a human to become a wriggly creature, so that I could share what I knew about Life with them… Multiply this by Infinity, and one comes close to the story of Jesus.

February 26th marks my ‘official’ entrance into the Kingdom, but it’s really the date that I audibly accepted the concept that I was willing to accept the Creator’s presence in my life. The journey of my acceptance into Faith took years.

the universe in his hands_1

Having come to an understanding of the concept that one could be “so heavenly minded that they are no earthly good,” I decided I wouldn’t walk that path. Many believers walk the high road that parallels the ‘Valley of the Shadow.’ I decided to find a path along the wall of that valley. Similar, I suppose, to my scaling the banks of the Sandy River as a young boy, looking for the ‘right’ place to fish. I never fell; I came close many times. I was carried downstream by the current one time, because I had stepped further out into the river, again looking for that ‘right’ place; my grandfather running alongside the river, trying to reach me with his pole…

You know what I’ve put myself through
All those empty dreams I chased
And when my body lies in the ruins
Of the life that nearly ruined me
Will You pick up the pieces
That were pure and true
And breathe Your life into them
And set them free?
And when You start this world over
Again from scratch
Will You make me anew
Out of the stuff that lasts?
Stuff that’s purer than gold is
And clearer than glass could ever be
Can I be with You?

A slight paraphrase of the Rich Mullins song. This life has nearly ruined me. Thirty years of pain, once again increasing, as I battle neuropathy. My balance is shot, my endurance is shot, my hands are beginning to shake enough that more and more of my art has to be digital…I can hold onto a mouse, and move it with my wrist, when my fingers won’t hold still. The computer at the school where I teach a digital art class has a stationary mouse with a track ball; there are days when I have trouble convincing my fingers to locate the correct place to grab a file. Empty dreams I’ve chased…

I’ve learned that this life, this long and short time here, is merely an eyeblink in the timelessness of Eternity. I’ve learned that I’m not a body with a soul, but a soul with a body.

Maybe the reason for the pain
Is so we would pray for strength
And maybe the reason for the strength
Is so that we would not lose hope
And maybe the reason for all hope
Is so that we could face the world
And the reason for the world
Is to make us long for Home
Well I know you’re past the point of broken
Surrounded by your fear
I know your feet are tired and weary
from the road that you walked down here
But just keep your eyes on Heaven
and know that you are not alone
Remember the reason for the world
No ear has heard, No eye has seen
Not even in your wildest dreams
A beauty that awaits beyond this world
When you look into the eyes of grace
and hear the voice of mercy say
Child, welcome to the reason for the world

Thank you, Matthew West, for putting words together that I haven’t been able to…

the universe in his hands_2

 

 

 

 

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Chronicles in Ordinary Time 25: Yearning to Breathe Free

January 24, 2013

Liberty

I started teaching art in a middle-school, after-school program this afternoon. Two classes, once a week. One digital, one traditional. The first class was survival, the second was a disaster. My battered body complained for about 4 hours after I returned home.
Teachers don’t get nearly the credit they deserve.

When I was in my middle-school years, I lived in almost entirely White neighborhood in Portland. While not particularly prejudiced, I lived in a White world. I was First Generation on my Mom’s side of the family; Second Generation on my Dad’s side. My family came from Scandinavia. I didn’t go to school with African Americans until high school, and was generally in a different program. I knew a couple of Asian kids. My first real conversation with an African American was during my third year of college.  Nearly all of the surnames I heard were of Western European origin.

My class list was filled with surnames I’ve never seen before. Eastern surnames and Western given names.
While many people of my generation would be distressed over the loss of the ‘America’ they grew up in, I see my class lists as evidence that America is working.

“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!

So many seem to feel that the Golden Door should have been locked and bolted after they arrived.

I see right-wing comments on Facebook nearly every day, speaking of all the people who are taking handouts that aren’t deserved. I don’t go out of my way to meet people, but in 60 years I’ve only met one man who seemed to think that the world owed him a living. For many years, his wife supported that notion; and she worked her tail off, working herself into illness many times.

While I know almost nothing of my Norwegian and Swedish roots, I never forget that I am an immigrant son. My forebears came here looking for a better life. I don’t really know if that better life was found, since I know nothing of the life they left. It is only Grace [unmerited favor] that Scandinavians don’t have brown skin; living so far from the Equator. Americans have never been particularly welcome toward peoples of darker skin colors. Americans used to be opposed to Irish and German immigrants; but they blend in more easily.

C.S. Lewis, in his Reflections on the Psalms, writes that history is filled with writings that have more depth than was originally understood. Prophecy is realized in retrospect, when predictions are discovered to be true; and meanings appear that weren’t possible in an earlier time.
I am of the opinion that the Founding Fathers, when they wrote, “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness,” they were probably talking about White Males. History has enlarged that meaning toward, ‘all [American] humans’.  My hope is that one day it will mean that all people are equal. We aren’t there yet.

We have a Black President; one of the most reviled Presidents in our history. Both adulated and reviled. I am of the opinion that President’s Obamas Nobel Prize was an acknowledgement that at last a Black Man could accomplish that which Americans brag about, but don’t want to see happen. As someone recently quipped [referring to drones], ‘probably the first Peace Prize winner with a hit list.’

We export ‘American Democracy’ as if it was a proven product, forgetting that this is still an ongoing experiment. It’s worked for 237 years, having wiped out the indigenous population. The nations of the other continents existed LONG before we were even thought about. I do not believe in the ‘divine right of kings,’ nor do I believe in the Empires of the past. This country frequently appears to be attempting to create an American Empire, a plutocracy. As Churchill stated, “democracy is the worst form of government; except for all of the others that have been tried.” Can we rule ourselves?

Perhaps my students and their peers can finally make that happen.

Declaration cover

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Chronicles in Ordinary Time 21: Politics

October 28, 2012

A warning from the outset: if you are planning on voting for Mitt Romney, you probably won’t like what follows. The efficient person will therefore not waste time by reading this. If you are like my brother-in-law, it will only raise your blood pressure , and you won’t like most of what you read.

I am not expecting to change anyone’s mind, nor am I trying.

I finished this image in 2008; I began it on that night in 2007 that Hilary Clinton conceded that she would not be the Democratic candidate for President…

Commemoration of President Barack Obama’s election to the Presidency of the United states

The quotations above, from the Declaration of Independence, from President Abraham Lincoln,  Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and President Barack Obama all share Dr. King’s hope:

I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.”

Four years later, I find that I am voting against Mitt Romney and the Republican party platform, more than I am for President Obama. Prior to the 2008 election, I was a registered Republican, and voted for Republican candidates for something like 40 years.

I created the image above because I was honoring what I thought was impossible–that a person of color could ever become President of these still-racist, not-very-united States.

I am about as ‘white’ as one can be–from the color of my hair to the coloring of my skin. I spend most of my life in my office  in Oregon; I haven’t spent any significant time in the sunshine for years. I am also a first-generation immigrant to this amazing country. My forebears came to this country from Norway and Sweden; presumably to find a better life than they experienced in their home countries. I have never had that kind of courage; and have only found one other place than Oregon that I’d prefer to live–the expensive Hawaiian Islands. My ‘adventure’ in freelancing has made it so that we can’t afford to live elsewhere- I invested the ownership of two ‘free and clear’ houses into mortgages that have supported my business.

Not entirely coincidental to the campaigning of recent months, I’ve been listening to “Yes We Can-Voices Of A Grassroots Movement”– an album of music commemorating the Obama Presidential campaign. The music is interspersed with quotations from Dr. King, as well as from Senator Barack Obama:

“The fundamental belief that I am my brother’s keeper, I am my sister’s keeper, that’s the promise we need to keep. That’s the change we need right now” Senator Barack Obama

Many Conservatives apparently hate that quotation; because they believe that this is not part of the American Constitution. For them, somehow this belief translates into the concept that people don’t have to care for themselves; that they don’t have to achieve based on their own efforts. That people who advocate this kind of thinking want the government to take responsibility for their lives.

I am my brother’s keeper. I do not believe that the Government should take care of all of my needs.

I am a follower of Jesus Christ. For the last 40 of my 60 years, this understanding has been the foundation of my life. Nearly every decision I make is filtered by this belief. I don’t always make the ‘correct’ decisions. Or, perhaps more accurately, the consequences of these filtered decisions don’t always end up with results that I assumed would occur.

Many of us hear the words of Dr. King, and hope is rekindled. Many of us hope for a country that operates in a way where human failing doesn’t have the final vote. We hope for a perhaps-utopian vision where people treat each other with respect, honesty and fairness. Where elected officials truly serve their constituencies; rather than the desires of a Special Interest group.

The subtext I see in the hundreds of email messages I’ve received from Progressive groups  in recent months, is that the Presidency is bought. The party that raises the most money wins. Granted, there is a ‘trickle-down’ effect that benefits certain portions of the advertising and printing services in our country.

What happened to the notion that character and belief determines the outcome of elections?

In my opinion the Obama Presidency has been a disappointment. A recent PBS documentary included a scene from a Hilary Clinton speech, where she said, in effect, that Senator Obama was naive, if he thought that the desire for cooperation would have any impact on Washington. She was correct. It’s a naive thought. Our government has been corrupted by money and power; reflective of many of our citizens.

The fact that the Obama Presidency has had only limited success in overcoming the greed and selfishness of corporate-serving Republicans in Congress isn’t a reason to give up on The Dream.  A family member of mine is convinced that President Obama is the worst president since President Carter. Coincidentally, the only other President in my lifetime that was overtly Christian in his words, policies and actions. Fortunately, Jimmy Carter, the former-President, has been able to accomplish more in this world than he ever would have as a former-Governor.

President Obama’s military policies belie his Nobel Prize for Peace. However, my belief is that the Nobel Prize was given to the first person-of-color to become President of a country that still believes that ‘all white males were created equally’. The rest of the world knows this truth, and knows that Americans live with the fantasy that that we are far better than we behave. The rest of the world remembers Hiroshima, Nagasaki, the Japanese internment camps, and the slaughter of our indigenous population; the policies of the State of Arizona, and similarly-held white-only prejudices.

“I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.” Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

I still have a dream that our country can live in harmony. That people of all colors, all nationalities, all religious beliefs can share the earth equitably. That we can assist other countries in their growth without becoming their overseers.

It’s probably just wishful thinking. But what’s the alternative?

 

 

 

 

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Chronicles in Ordinary Time 20: Freelancing

September 16, 2012

1950's fashion models

The images above are for a fashion-industry product launch that is supposed to happen in the near future.

A long time ago, in what seems like another lifetime, I was involved with a direct sales organization. While I had some talent for selling alarm systems and water treatment systems, it wasn’t a way of life that interested me. I had aspirations for the potential lifestyle, but in order to have that lifestyle,  I was trying to be someone that I  really did not want to be. I did gain some valuable insights into Life, and the experience changed me in a positive way.

One of the things I found most valuable was to find out whether or not an ‘expert’ really has any experience with the subject being taught, or whether the information comes from books and classes; and has never been practiced. I once met a man who was teaching a college class in Small Business. When I asked him about his experience, I discovered that his only ‘Small Business Experience’ was the Small Business classes he had taken in college. He’d never owned nor operated a small business. He didn’t have any life experience to pass on to others. But he was getting paid to teach students who wanted to learn how to run a small business. This doesn’t make sense.

When I started this blogging gig [a form of marketing], I decided that I would only write about things I’ve experienced; rather than attempting to present a picture of myself that isn’t real. The other night I spent a couple of hours retouching some images for a client– removing some unwanted inches and some unsightly cellulite. She’s using the images on a personal website; but the reality is that her published appearance will be an illusion. In our media-rich world of the present, it is very difficult to separate illusion from reality.

Back when dinosaurs ruled the earth, it never occurred to me to do much research regarding college and career paths. In high school I drew; and enjoyed technical illustration. I assumed that since I could do that in high school, I would be able to do the same thing in college. Bad assumption. When I arrived at Oregon State University, my only options for drawing as a major were architecture and art. I didn’t really want to spend my life drawing houses [I never had grand aspirations], and I’d always heard the term “starving artist”. Majoring in ‘starving artist’ seemed like a waste of time and money, so I chose architecture.

My first career, after my 5 years of college and my professional degree in Architecture, was construction. I soon learned that all that was needed for being a contractor was a pickup, a Black Labrador, a hammer and a Skilsaw. I never did find a Black Lab. I had children, instead.

In between careers #1 and #2, I worked briefly for an architect; and confirmed that I didn’t want to spend my life drawing houses– more specifically, apartments. And yet, career #2 found me reviewing house plans for Building Permits. I eventually ‘graduated’ to high-rise buildings and block-square commercial developments. Life is humorous…

On doctors’ orders, after 14 years with the City, I moved on to career #3–that of a Building Code/architectural consultant; and freelance commercial artist/illustrator. My self-description varies with the month and the nature of the work I’m doing. At present, “commercial artist” is the favored description. Partially because no one uses that terminology anymore…

I really can’t recommend the life of a freelance commercial artist. Generally, it sucks. I spend far more time marketing myself than actually earning any money. The images above were ‘pro-bono’–the only income I might derive is from referrals somewhere down the road. Someone else, in theory, will earn some money because I created the images. However, I volunteered for the opportunity,  so I’m not really justified in complaining. I would prefer a world where I got paid for the hours involved in creating the images.

I never have tried to get a job as an illustrator/commercial artist. I’ve learned that I really don’t make for a good employee; I’m too opinionated about my work. I don’t like being told to create something I disagree with. Sometimes I have to make design decisions I don’t like, but I do it voluntarily, rather than by being told to, ‘do it, or else… ‘ I prefer the option of choosing to decline the opportunity.

I was paid for the images below. They are images that are in the background of a much larger composition– “extras” in Hollywood terminology. The scene in which they are present is based on  a scene from the movie “Titanic”. The cast was selected from people in my portfolio; images created for other purposes. I wasn’t paid much for these particular images, but I was paid to draw while watching a movie. Can’t beat that.

I spend 2-3 hours per day trolling Craigslist; looking for ‘creative gigs’ across the country. I often spend an hour or two adapting a prior illustration to fit with a particular job description that interests me. When I was a Building Contractor [CEO of a corporation, for that matter], I was taught that a 4% return on a mass marketing campaign was a good return. 4 out of 100; more accurately, 40 out of 1000. One might have to go through 900 rejections before the first positive response is received. That’s a lot of rejection, if one looks at in that manner. It’s better to simply regard it as valuable information, and the cost for a success.

My experience with freelance illustrating is fairly similar. I think I get more favorable responses than 4 our of 100 jobs I inquire about.  It might even be as high as 10%. I don’t do the math; it can be discouraging. Out of the jobs I do get responses for, I probably earn something similar to minimum wage, if I count every hour I invest in a project. However, not every hour is a justifiably billable hour. Sometimes I have to do a lot of experimenting to finally arrive at an idea that works. Billing a client for experimenting is probably justifiable, but at the end of a day of experimenting, I might not have anything of value to show the client for that day’s work. I try to base my fees on what I think an outcome is worth, rather than the amount of time invested on my part. Not necessarily a smart way to do business, but I rarely have clients who complain about my work.

It would be smarter to get a job; and I’m continually thankful for the retirement income I earned from my 14 years working for the City. We manage; and we’ve had to live a limited lifestyle. We don’t travel, we don’t eat out much; we rarely go to concerts or do activities that cost money to attend. We don’t buy stuff that we really don’t need.  For some, this would be intolerable. For those who want to live the lifestyle advertised on television: don’t become a freelance artist.

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Chronicles in Ordinary Time 19: The Power of Story

August 25, 2012

Last night I finished the last, and 100th episode of Stargate:Atlantis; not without a measure of sadness. The Story is over.  Prior to that I watched the 213 episodes of Stargate: SG-1. The better part of the sadness is the realization that I was working on my laptop during most of the episodes, so I can watch them again and still have the story be fresh.

I saw some of the SG-1 episodes when they were first aired; this was back in the time when we didn’t have a television in the house. We borrowed my Mom’s portable TV on occasion; and watched TV at her house on Sundays. Back in the early ’80’s, when I was self-employed as a building contractor, I used to watch “Cheers” and “Hill Street Blues” every Thursday night. At some point I finally realized that NBC wasn’t paying me to watch their shows; and I was turning down opportunities to bid on remodeling jobs, fearing that I might not return on time… So, the television went into the closet. When we moved to a different house, the TV did not accompany us. Our children grew up having television as a special event. They read a lot of books.

I got into this illustration gig to be a storyteller.

children's book jacket: Oregon At Last

Oregon At Last by Lillian Foreman, Scholastic Press, digitally colored graphite drawing

This is the cover of my first illustrated children’s book; one might think that people here in Oregon might be familiar with it. However, it was part of a 5th grade curriculum package for Scholastic, and they never bothered to market it in Oregon…

Back in the days when the world was in black and white, before color had been invented, I went to the bookmobile every week, and returned with a stack of books; mostly science fiction, if memory serves. The bookmobile was a mobile library. A converted bus with library shelves instead of seats, the bookmobile was used as a supplement to regional libraries. It had a regular route, and helped me get through my elementary school years. I had a small portable television in my bedroom, but there were only 5[?] channels available, and the selections weren’t necessarily interesting.

I grew up with the illustrations of Howard Pyle and NC Wyeth as well as several of their contemporaries. When I decided to do this illustration gig in the 1990’s, I envisioned following in the footsteps of Norman Rockwell. As big as my feet are, I knew I would never fill those footprints.

I was thrilled when I had the opportunity to enter the world of one of my childhood heroes, Sherlock Holmes…

A Scandal in Bohemia

A Scandal in Bohemia by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Digitally-colored graphite drawing; copyright Steiner Korea

I continue to hope that this will be followed by another Holmes opportunity in the future, but it seems unlikely, at this point.

Stories teach us to dream; they show us what and who we can be. Music, movies, books, stories around the campfire… these are the elements that can shape our lives. Stories can lift us beyond our circumstances.

Would we have cell phones today, if not for Star Trek and Dick Tracy?

 

 

 

 

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Chronicles in Ordinary Time 10: Advent

December 16, 2011

[“Adoration of the Magi” acrylic, inspired by a Norman Rockwell painting: http://www.mjarts.com/port_1a.htm ] Chris Tomlin: Amazing Grace (My Chains Are Gone)

Did you know that Jesus wasn’t a Christian?
He was a Jew. All of His followers were either Jews or were seeking something More for their lives. These believers were later called “Christians,” but they referred to themselves as “followers of the Way.”
He probably wasn’t born in the Winter.
The “Wise Men from the East” didn’t arrive at the stable and the manger. Jesus was probably around 2 years old, when the Wise Men arrived. After the Wise Men left Herod the King, having told him about the birth of the promised Messiah/King, Herod ordered the deaths of all of the male babies 2 years old and younger.
But it makes for a good story.
For today’s times, I prefer this Advent Allegory by Jonathan Gray:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XOlVheWcfhA

The Emperor Constantine legalized/”officialized” Christianity in the 4th Century. The Church has been messed up, ever since, confusing the Way of Faith with the ways of commerce and politics.

When the Holy Roman Empire moved into northern Europe, the priests re-purposed  the ‘pagan’ religious winter festivals into Christian feast days, so that Christianity would be more palatable to the folk they found there. This is human nature. Parents do it with their children all the time.

My Christmases, when I was a child:

This was taken in the mid-1950′s. I’m the kid looking at my cousin, Carol [Sunny]. Not sure why I wasn’t looking at the camera. Sort of symbolic, in a way, I’ve always looked in directions the rest of the world doesn’t. I still have the bear on the floor in front of me. These days, with my messed-up peripheral sensory nerves, I miss flannel-lined jeans [my cousin Jim, on the right, is wearing a pair]. My cousins, Bruce and Wendy are between Jim and I.

My first Advent was in 1973. That’s the year that I learned that the Eternal and Infinite Master of the Universe had, at a point in history, entered Time and Space. Seemingly impossible, unless one is Omnipotent. In 1973 I realized that this event was sort of  similar to my lifting up a rock, and deciding to become one of those crawly things scurrying around, under the rock. Only on a Much Larger Scale…
For 30 or so years, the incarnate Eternal apparently didn’t do much that one might expect from the Creator of the Universe. Jesus did the same sort of stuff that we do. Our Creator knows what it feels like to be human. Our Creator knows our struggles. At the same time, our Creator knows that our time here on earth is like an eyeblink in the span of Eternity–the existence for which we are created.
For three or so years, Jesus did the sort of things that the Creator of the Universe might be expected to do, and as a result, the religious leaders of the day arranged for His crucifixion. They wanted Him gone; only He came back, and told His followers that death wasn’t The End, it was simply The New Beginning…

I try to live with the message of the incarnation in my life, every day, as much as I can. It’s a little harder at this time of year. So many people are madly involved in celebrating Something Else. When our children were small, we got more involved in “Christmas”–there is something magical about the expression on a child’s face, their belief in the ‘magic’ of the lights, the presents, the wonder of the whole thing. A shadow of what the shepherds might have felt when they were in the presence of angels.

I told our children about Saint Nicholas, the real bishop, whose story somehow got transformed into Santa Claus. One year, to my complete incomprehension, there really were parallel lines on our driveway, and little round spots mingled among the lines…I still can’t come up with a more plausible explanation than the impossible presence of a sleigh and reindeer.

Advent. The time that marks the coming of our Creator into the world, with a message of forgiveness. We don’t have to continually beat up on ourselves, or beat up on other people in order to make our lives work better. We are accepted, the way we are; all we need to do is live in that state of acceptance. We can also become better than we are, because our Creator’s Grace can live inside us. Not so that we can experience magic, but to create wonder.

And, like Malchus, in the Garden of Gethsemane, we can be healed.

A blessed winter time of celebration, to you all.

Peace, and good will toward you all. May the coming year be filled with Hope.

Marty

 

 

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Chronicles in Ordinary Time 9: Occupying Our Hearts

November 13, 2011

This illustration was created for Ken Gunther, for an upcoming book to be published by Gaiadigm Books.

Somewhere in the eighties I started drawing Native American portraits, some of which were compiled in the image below [John_10-16]. The process of searching for new images became a study of our government’s treatment of the indigenous peoples who lived here before the Europeans came; and the slaughter of those Nations.

Nations. Our government recognized these peoples as Sovereign Nations, and prepared Treaties with these Nations; and then systematically broke all of the Treaties.

In the image below, the words in the oval on the left state that the purpose of most of the early colonies was evangelism; over time the presence of the Native Americans became an obstacle…

“Our manifest destiny is to overspread the continent allotted by Providence for the free development of our yearly multiplying masses.”
John Louis Sullivan, 1845

“In treachery, broken pledges upon the part of high officials, lies, thievery, slaughter of defenseless women and children, and every crime in the catalogue of man’s inhumanity to man, the Indian was a mere amateur compared to “the noble white man.” His crimes were retail, ours wholesale.”
Lt. Britton Davis, 1884

In the image below, the oval on the right offers quotations from half a dozen “Indians” who spoke words that should have come out of the mouths of Christians of that time. Words that echo what Jesus taught.

The Lakota used a metaphor to describe the Europeans who arrived on their lands.
“It was Wasi’chu, which means “takes the fat,” or “greedy person.” Within the modern Indian movement, Wasi’chu has come to mean those corporations and individuals, with their governmental accomplices, which continue to covet Indian lives, land, and resources for private profit.
Wasi’chu does not describe a race; it describes a state of mind.
Wasi’chu is also a human condition based on inhumanity, racism, and exploitation. It is a sickness, a seemingly incurable and contagious disease which begot the ever advancing society of the West. If we do not control it, this disease will surely be the basis for what may be the last of the continuing wars against the Native American people.”
…excerpt from Wasi’chu, The Continuing Indian Wars,
Bruce Johansen and Robert Maestas
with an introduction by John Redhouse
[ http://www.dickshovel.com ]

Evangelical Christians in the US seem to have a short memory. We talk about being a nation ‘blessed by God’ and overlook the slaughter of the Nations that were here at the beginning. We overlook Hiroshima and Nagasaki as crimes against humanity. And somehow we call our nation “blessed”. How can we justify these actions of the past as Christian actions?

The “Occupy…” movements of today, I believe, are a reflection of the some people’s recognition of the spirit of Wasi’chu among us. We live in a country of vast inequalities. I do not believe the answer is simply “redistribution of wealth”. When the wealthy refuse to be taxed at the same rate as the non-wealthy, at the expense of “social services,” I think we have a problem of Wasi’chu.

What Would Jesus Do?
I don’t know; the Gospels do not include any instances of “Occupy Jerusalem”. Jesus lived under the foot of an Emperor; and such movements would have probably ended with death and maiming.

In an interview with Gary W. Moon written in “Conversations
Journal” [ http://www.philipyancey.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/11/WhatGoodIsGod-Yancey-and-Moon.pdf ], Philip Yancey writes:
For one thing, Jesus didn’t live in a democracy; he lived under an occupying power, the most powerful empire of its time. In such circumstances, you can either accommodate the ruling power, as the Sadducees did, or violently oppose it, as did the Zealots. Jesus mostly ignored it. He said nothing about the brutality of the Romans or some of their nefarious practices, such as gladiator games, pederasty, and the abandonment of infants. His guiding principle, “[Give] unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and unto God the things that are God’s,” is wonderfully ambiguous (Luke 20:25, ASV).

GWM: So, if you could write a one or two-sentence prescription for the
church in the US and you were sure it would be followed, what would you prescribe?
PY: Spend less time and energy trying to clean up the culture around you—a task Jesus and Paul did not seem concerned about—and more time and energy creating a counter-culture that presents a compelling alternative while exposing the shallowness of its surroundings.

I don’t think I can say it any better.

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Chronicles in Ordinary Time 7: Vision

October 22, 2011

    I am fascinated by perception. What I see is not what you see. What you see is probably similar to what I see; but not exactly the same. On top of that, what we see isn’t really seeing, at all.

     Light reflects off of the candle; the image is reversed by the lens of our eye; and the light hits the rods and cones–light receptors–of our retina. The electrical impulses caused by the the light image reacting on the rods and cones, travel to our brain via the optic nerve. Our brain then translates the electrical impulses into a ‘virtual image’ that ‘appears’ in our brain. That ‘image’ seems to be similar to what we see on a TV or LCD screen; however we don’t have a screen in our brain.

    A particular shade of red may not be the same to me as it is to you. People with red/green color blindness have that which “…is the inability or decreased ability to see color, or perceive color differences, under lighting conditions when color vision is not normally impaired. “Color blind” is a term of art; there is no actual blindness but there is a fault in the development of either or both sets of retinal cones that perceive color in light and transmit that information to the optic nerve.”[wikipedia]

    People with Irlen’s Syndrome can only see the ordinary printed page properly through colored light or when colored paper is used. Black letters on a white page send scrambled signals to the brain. With my astigmatism, I can’t see lines clearly unless the lenses of my eyes are corrected by glass lenses worn over my eyes.

    Animals seen in an entirely different manner, both structurally–in the nature of their eye construction; and in the wavelengths of light that they see. Many animals see in the ultraviolet and infrared ranges of the color spectrum. [see list] They see things we cannot see without the use of technology–night vision goggles, etc.

     To take this a step further– our brains, our eyes are composed of millions of atoms. If one were to enlarge an atom to the size of a football stadium, the nucleus of the atom would be the size of a grain of sand. The electrons orbiting around the stadium would also be the size of a grain of sand. All the rest of the atom would be empty space filled with electromagnetic energy.

    Our brains, like the rest of our body, are really composed mostly of empty space [yes, those people actually were correct]. That which we know about our bodies is mostly comprised of electromagnetic energy found in the visible range of the spectrum. The visible portion of the electromagnetic spectrum is only a small portion of the entire range, which extends from low frequencies used for modern radio communication to gamma radiation at the short-wavelength (high-frequency) end, thereby covering wavelengths from thousands of kilometres down to a fraction of the size of an atom. In principle the spectrum is infinite and continuous. In principle, we are infinite and continuous.

     Isn’t this what faith leads us to?

forward to:
www.mjarts.com

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Storytelling…

September 5, 2011

To me, this is the heart of illustration– to tell a story; to make a story more clear and understandable by the use of images.

My fear, and my frustration, is always that I haven’t served the story well enough with my illustrations. This sometimes happens when I have to rush to meet a very short deadline.

Jesus told parables- stories- so that those who chose to listen to his stories would ask, “…why is He saying that? what does it mean?”

The ultimate answer to all of our questions is I AM– the story the Eternal told Moses. “You shall know this day and place it in your heart that the Eternal is God in heaven above and on earth below; ain od.” [Deuteronomy 4:39]

“ain od- a Hebrew expression in this verse meaning there is nothing else.” [Dr. Gerald Schroeder, The Hidden Face of God]

I believe that one of our purposes here on earth is to share our stories with others; to build stories with others; to pass on our stories to those that follow us.

Blessings, Marty

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