feeling the depth of God's love." Walter J. Harrelson
What seems like many years ago now, I was in Seminary. This was a time in life that was full of growth, self awareness, rebirth and tremendous loss. The path for all of us is a winding and lonely one sometimes. When we see new life and healing on the horizon, we often forget the loss and grief that scatters the trail ahead.
During one particularly dark period a wonderful and gifted friend shared with me the healing and comfort she found in the arts. One that was particularly helpful to her was that of mosaics. The picture that I share above is the first piece I ever did. She lead me through the process and allowed me to experience the coming together of broken pieces.
My first assignment was to go find a piece of something, preferably wood, that I wanted to work on. There was renovation happening on campus and the dumpster was full of scrape wood. As I approached the big green metal box, I noticed that the cover was far from able to close, as it was so full. Sticking out of the side was this piece of wood, one I could easily carry and one that was not damaged. This would be the foundation of the work.
In the Book of Common Prayer that is used in the Episcopal Church there is a collect that will forever be my favorite.
"O God of unchangeable power and eternal light: Look favorably on your whole Church, that wonderful and sacred mystery; by the effectual working of your providence, carry out in tranquility the plan of salvation; let the whole world see and know that things which were cast down are being raised up, and things which had grown old are being made new, and that all things are being brought to their perfection by him through whom all things were made, your Son Jesus Christ our Lord; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen."
As I slowly pulled this piece of wood from the dumpster, I knew that somehow, all things were being made new. I trudged back to the studio and presented my find. It was graciously accepted. I was next given a bag of glass tiles, some newspaper and a hammer. "Go outside, wrap the bag in the newspaper and smash the pieces with the hammer to break up the tiles." This seemed easy enough. There was a concrete ledge outside the studio. I carefully wrapped my bag in newspaper and began to lift the hammer and brought it down with a very satisfying thud. This was just the beginning. I loved smashing those tiles. My guess is I forgot the tiles and just got such satisfaction from releasing the anger, from feeling powerful, from feeling alive, that it took on a life of it's own. At some point I stopped and unwrapped the bag. Dust. I can't help but think of the Ash Wednesday Liturgy, "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return." Dust was all that was left.
Gathering my supplies and putting them under my arm, I slowly returned to the studio and showed my guide what I had done. With a wonderful and very loving expression, she handed me another bag of tiles and suggested I go try again. I must have needed to do that, but that maybe this time I could bring back some pieces. This was when I began to know that we were doing far more than creating art. With God's help and a wonderful guide, I was going to find a way to piece my life back together.
We are just leaving Epiphany and the celebration of the light. Even in the dark times I have come to know that God is there with us. Perhaps the light is just beyond our sight, perhaps all we can see is a shadow. But in that dumpster and with dust and eventually pieces of glass, together came a cross that at it's center was God's light and love. We seldom know where that is going to lead us, we seldom know how the pieces will look. But at the center is the light.
After sitting peacefully at a table, creating a shape and placing the broken pieces in glue, I could see it coming together. I came to love the work that was before me. As in so many things in life, the next stage was waiting. Waiting for it to dry and become stable. I packed my bags up, thanked my guide for that time and promised to be back the next week. Life was calling me back and I felt far more prepared to enter it.
The next week, I discovered to my horror what the next step was. Entering the studio was fun and exciting. I was looking forward to visiting the work and enter the next step. I was given a pile of dust, told to add water to it until it was just the right constancy and come back. The grout was funny stuff, but I got it to a point where I believed it to be good. Off I went, back to my guide. Now, with gloves on I was to completely cover my work with this goop. What! What if it ruined it, What if I didn't like it afterward, What if??? The grouts job is to bring all the pieces together, to be the very thing that makes it all one. To use it most effectively, the original piece must disappear and something new will emerge. Letting go, trusting my guide, trusting the process, letting go.
With my hands I began to dump piles of this goop on my art, I began to cover the light and color so that it could not be seen anymore. Smooth it all over, be sure that no spot is forgotten, no crevasse left unfilled. It was to stay this way for a little while, but eventually I was to take it to the sink, wash away the residue of the grout. I was to only leave what was needed to make the piece complete. As the cloth moved over the surface, the light began to show through, color surfaced. As what was not needed feel away, it became clear that something truly had been made new.
I keep this piece, not because it is a magnificent piece of art. This work reflects the path that is our life with God. We are all called to those hard and painful places. There are times of darkness and times of tremendous light. Life is often lived in the middle.
When I reflect on this piece, I am reminded that I continue to be called to trust God, to let go, to trust whatever process is present in my life today, to surround myself with wise guides and companions, and to know, really know, that all things will be made new.
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