Archive for the ‘Gospel of Matthew’ Category

Groundwork

September 19, 2011


Where God Grows © Jan L. Richardson

Reading from the Gospels, Year A, Proper 21/Ordinary 26/Pentecost +15: Matthew 21.23-32

Hello, finally! The past few weeks have brought wonderful travels—my annual reunion with a group of girlfriends from seminary, plus a trip with Gary for a retreat that we lead each year for folks who are in the ordination process in the Florida Conference of the United Methodist Church. As I continue my own unfolding path in ministry, it is always heartening to be with each of these groups: those whom I shared the seminary experience with (two decades ago now) and whose lives and ministries have taken intriguing twists and turns, along with those on the retreat who are en route to ordination and who are closer to their seminary days and newer to the vocation of ministry.

Though I’m back home for a bit, I’m finding this is a time for regrouping in the studio. This week, in which the gospel lection gives us the powerful image of a vineyard and the fruitfulness it offers, is a good time to remember that creation has its own rhythms. I’m in a fallow time in my artistic life. And while this can trigger frustration and anxiety (“Will I ever create again??”), I have also learned (and those closest to me are good at reminding me of this) that times like this usually precede a creative shift, which is cause for excitement. It’s a good time to hunker down, to keep showing up at the drafting table even when what’s emerging there seems awful (crap is great fertilizer, after all), and to return to the basics, including painting a big new batch of the papers from which I create the collages, which in itself will provide good inspiration. I have a fistful of yummy new paints and am eager to try some new directions in my color palette.

When fallow times come around, it’s good to remember that attending to seemingly small things—like buying new paints, clearing out and re-creating a workspace, refilling the creative well, and returning to the basic elements of the creative process—prepares the ground for new life and growth to take hold. As in a vineyard.

How about for you—what season is your soul in? Fallow or fruitful or somewhere in between? Is there some small step you could take that would make room for God to grow in a new way in your life?

For a previous reflection on this Sunday’s gospel, I invite you to visit Where God Grows. And whatever season you find yourself in, I wish you many blessings!

[To use the “Where God Grows” image, please visit this page at janrichardsonimages.com. Your use of janrichardsonimages.com helps make the ministry of The Painted Prayerbook possible. Thank you!]

Where Two or Three

September 3, 2011


For What Binds Us © Jan L. Richardson

Reading from the Gospels, Year A, Proper 18/Ordinary 23/Pentecost +12: Matthew 18.15-20

I’m sorry not to have a new reflection this week, with being on the road & etc. But I have a previous reflection on this week’s gospel lection and invite you to visit For What Binds Us.

Happy Labo(u)r Day weekend to those celebrating the holiday! And many blessings to you.

 

Blessing in the Shape of a Cross

August 23, 2011

Image: Blessing Cross © Jan Richardson

Reading from the Gospels, Year A, Proper 17/Ordinary 22/Pentecost +11: Matthew 16.21-28

Following so close on the heels of Jesus’ encounter with the Canaanite woman, who would not release Jesus until he healed her daughter, this week’s gospel reading confronts Peter—and us—with the demand to let go: not of Jesus, but of any impulse we have (and, oh, my goodness, I have them) to lock him into our own plans. Pondering this passage as the story of the Canaanite woman lingers with me, I find myself wondering: How do we discern what we should be fierce about? How do we choose what we will hold on to, and what we need to release?

“If any want to become my followers,” Jesus says in this passage, “let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” Some crosses are made of what we take on; some crosses are made of what we let go. Always, the cross that Christ invites us to is the place where our desires and Christ’s desires find their place of meeting, and all that distracts us from Christ falls away.

Where is this place in your own life? How do you discern what you will hold on to, what you will claim and fight for, and what you will release? How does this choosing, this discerning, draw you closer to Christ and to what God might imagine for your life?

Blessing in the Shape of a Cross

Press this blessing
into your palms—
right, left—
and you will see
how it leaves its mark,

how it imprints itself
into your skin,
how the lines of it
meet
and cross

as if signaling you
to the treasure
that has been in
your grasp
all along.

Except that these riches
you will count
not by what you hold
but by what you release,
by what you lose,
by what falls from
your open hands.

—Jan Richardson

P.S. For an earlier reflection on this passage, click the image or title below:


To Have without Holding

Related posts:


Lent 2: In Which We Set Our Mind Somewhere


The Shape He Makes

[To use the image “Blessing Cross,” please visit this page at janrichardsonimages.com. Your use of janrichardsonimages.com helps make the ministry of The Painted Prayerbook possible. Thank you!]

Return

August 16, 2011


A Thin Place © Jan L. Richardson

Reading from the Gospels, Year A, Proper 16/Ordinary 21/Pentecost +10: Matthew 16.13-20

Gary and I just returned late last night from our two-week trip to the marvelous Grünewald Guild in Washington State. As we begin to settle back into the rhythm of our life here in Florida, I am full of gratitude for the hospitality that I always find in the company of the folks who gather at the Guild. I am also itching to get back into the studio and to offer up some fresh fare for you here at The Painted Prayerbook. In the meantime, here’s a previous reflection on this week’s gospel lection—still edible after three years, no refrigeration necessary:

The Thin Man

I do have a fresh new post at my Sanctuary of Women blog; I welcome you to visit A Spiral-Shaped Sanctuary for a glimpse of the Grünewald Guild and the wonderful Celtic spiral labyrinth there.

Blessings to you!

[To use the “A Thin Place” image, please visit this page at janrichardsonimages.com. Your use of janrichardsonimages.com helps make the ministry of The Painted Prayerbook possible. Thank you!]

From Feast to Feast

August 9, 2011


The Feast Beneath © Jan L. Richardson

Reading from the Gospels, Year A, Proper 15/Ordinary 20/Pentecost +9 (August 14): Matthew 15.(10-20), 21-28

We had a wondrous Liturgical Arts Week here at the Grünewald Guild last week, which drew a splendid community of folks from around the country who shared in savory times of conversation, creating, and community worship and reflection. Our theme was “Garden, Table, Story,” and among the highlights was a Saturday evening feast beside the lovely Guild garden. The feast was dreamed up by faculty member Laurie Clark, who brought it into being with her intrepid creative collaborators.

Gary and I are lingering at the Guild this week. He’s using it as home base while he does some traveling for his concert tour around Washington State, and I’m giving myself the week to rest, read, do a little writing and pondering and dreaming, and soak up the spirit of the community that’s gathered at the Guild this week.

I am a happy camper.

In the spirit of giving myself some Sabbath time, I’m not offering a new lectionary reflection this week but would be delighted for you to stop by an earlier reflection on this week’s gospel reading:

The Feast Beneath

As I continue to savor the stories and images shared around last week’s tables, know that I’ll be with you in spirit as you reflect on this story of the woman who claimed a feast on behalf of her daughter.

And speaking of feasts, this week holds the feast day of Saint Clare of Assisi. For a reflection I offered in celebration of the day, click the image or title below:

Feast of Saint Clare

Many blessings to you, and may you find much sustenance for body and soul in these days.

[To use the “Feast Beneath” image, please visit this page at janrichardsonimages.com. Your use of janrichardsonimages.com helps make the ministry of The Painted Prayerbook possible. Thank you!]

Blessing on the Waves

July 31, 2011


Night Passage © Jan L. Richardson

Reading from the Gospels, Year A, Proper 14/Ordinary 19/Pentecost +8 (August 7): Matthew 14.22-33

I am flying westward as I write this, arcing across the country toward Washington State. Gary, who is already there getting started on a string of concerts, will scoop me up from the Seattle-Tacoma airport tonight, and tomorrow we’ll arrive at the Grünewald Guild, eager to dive into the Liturgical Arts Week that lies ahead.

Sitting (and sitting and sitting) in this metal tube as it hurtles across the United States, I’m thinking about Peter in his own vessel, and where we place our faith, and where faith comes from in the first place. I find myself recalling Marge Piercy’s poem “For Strong Women,” where she writes about how strength is not inherent in us but rather something that we enact, as wind enacts a sail.

We sometimes think of faith primarily as an act of will, a disposition that we can summon up by our own efforts if we work hard enough at it—which can prompt guilt in those times when we’re having difficulty calling it forth. But perhaps faith acts more like the strength that Piercy writes about; that it doesn’t reside solely in us, waiting for us to muster it, but that it comes as we open ourselves to it, unfurling ourselves to be moved by it, to be propelled, to leave the familiar places we have known and to let go of our accustomed ways of moving through the world.

I’m a big fan of discernment, of taking time for prayerful reflection and conversation when an invitation presents itself or an opportunity stirs. One of the gifts of discernment is that it enables us to live with intention and mindfulness rather than merely reacting to everything and living by impulse. Yet it’s also true that I’m capable of discerning something nearly to death as I ponder my way through possibilities. So Peter comes as an intriguing messenger and companion this week, inviting me to wonder if there’s a leap—even a little one—that Christ might be calling me to make. Peter nudges me to remember that faith isn’t something that we have to find on our own; that Christ enacts it in us as we open ourselves to the voice that calls to us across the waves, and step out toward it.

How about you? What is compelling your attention and intentions these days? Amid all that tugs at you or tosses you about, is there a deeper invitation, a more compelling call, an opportunity to open yourself, a leap that would draw you closer to the Christ who is making his way toward you?

Blessing on the Waves

I cannot promise
that this blessing
will keep you afloat
as if by lashing these words
to your arms,
your ankles,
you could stop yourself
from going under.

The most this blessing
can do, perhaps,
is to stand beside you
in the boat,
place its hand
in the small of your back,
and push.

Be assured that
though this blessing
is eager to set you
in motion,
it will not
leave you forsaken,
will not compel you
to leap
where it has not already
stepped out.

These words
will go with you
across the waves.
These words
will accompany you
across the waters.

And if you
find yourself
flailing,
this blessing
will breathe itself
into you,
will breathe itself
through you

until you are
borne up
by the hands
that reach toward you,
the voice that
calls your name.

P.S. For a previous reflection on this text, visit Night Passage. And if you’re celebrating the Feast of the Transfiguration on August 6, here are a couple of reflections I wrote for Transfiguration Sunday (which some denominations, including us United Methodists, celebrate on the last Sunday after the Epiphany).

Transfiguration: Back to the Drawing Board

Transfiguration Sunday: Show and (Don’t) Tell

[To use the “Night Passage” image, please visit this page at janrichardsonimages.com. Your use of janrichardsonimages.com helps make the ministry of The Painted Prayerbook possible. Thank you!]

Enough

July 24, 2011

Image: A Gracious Plenty © Jan Richardson

Reading from the Gospels, Year A, Proper 13/Ordinary 18/Pentecost +7: Matthew 14.13-21

This week finds me preparing to leave for my beloved Grünewald Guild, a remarkable retreat center located in the Cascade Mountains of Washington State. Devoted to exploring and celebrating the connections between art and faith, the Guild is a place of sanctuary for me―a place where I “find my tribe,” as my artist friend Peg Carlson-Hoffman (one of the folks who first introduced me to the Guild nearly a decade ago) puts it. And it is a place of sustenance, where there is nourishment that feeds my soul throughout the rest of the year, when creative community is more challenging to come by in my daily life.

I’ll be serving as the keynote speaker and pastor in residence for the Guild’s Liturgical Arts Week, which will take place August 1-7.  Our theme for the week is Garden, Table, Story. I am terribly excited about the delicious theme and the connections amongst garden and table and story that we’ll be exploring and savoring in those days. We have a fantastic faculty for the week―visual artists Laurie Clark and Kristen Gilje plus my singer/songwriter husband, Garrison Doles, who will be teaching a sacred storytelling class. Though focusing in particular on the rich symbolism and liturgy of the Eucharist/Communion as it takes place in worshiping communities, we’ll be giving lots of attention to how we find the presence of the sacred at many different tables, and how we find our way to the table in the first place. The Guild’s lovely garden, which feeds us in body and soul each summer, will be a major player all week as we savor its gifts and explore the imagery that gardens provide.

I’m pleased to be heading for the Guild with the taste of this week’s gospel reading in my mouth. The feeding of the five thousand (plus) is a story that reminds us of how Christ is so persistent in calling us to the feast, even in those places where there are no actual tables at hand. The story draws our attention and imaginations to how Christ spins the miraculous from the mundane and provides abundance where, to our eyes, there seems only lack. The tale of the feeding bids us remember how little it sometimes takes to make a feast, and that where there is blessing, there is enough. And then some.

Blessing of Enough

I know how small
this blessing seems;
just a morsel
that hardly matches
the sharp hunger
you carry inside you.

But trust me
when I say―
though I can scarcely
believe it myself―
that between
and behind
and beneath
these words
there is a space

where a table
has been laid
a feast
has been prepared
all has been
made ready
for you
and it will be
enough
and more.

―Jan Richardson

P.S. For a previous reflection on this passage, visit A Gracious Plenty. And if you’d like to take a last-minute trip to the Cascade Mountains and linger with us in the garden and at the table and with the story, we have a few spots still available at the Liturgical Arts Week―come join us! More info here at the Guild’s website.

Also, I just launched a completely redesigned website at janrichardson.com a few days ago―I’d love for you to come by and visit! Pull up a chair, I’ll pour you a cup of tea…

The Old and the New

July 22, 2011

Reading from the Gospels, Proper 12/Ordinary 17/Pentecost +6: Matthew 13.31-33, 44-52

In the spirit of this week’s gospel lection, I have something old and something new for you (and something blue as well, for good measure). I’m sorry that it’s another week without a new reflection on the gospel reading, but here’s a link to an earlier post on the passage from Matthew; click the image or the title below.

Something Old, Something New

Now for the new: I’ve posted a reflection for today’s Feast of Mary Magdalene over at Sanctuary of Women. Happy feast day!

Feast of Mary Magdalene

And also in the “new” department—I’m excited to share the news that I’ve launched a completely redesigned version of my main website and would love for you to stop by and sit a spell!

janrichardson.com

Many blessings to you, and may you find treasure in the old and the new.

In the Weeds, Again

July 15, 2011


In the Weeds © Jan L. Richardson

Reading from the Gospels, Proper 11/Ordinary 16/Pentecost +5: Matthew 13.24-30, 36-43

With some recent traveling and being immersed in a project, I’m sorry I haven’t managed to post a new reflection this week. I’ll be back soon! In the meantime, I invite you to visit a previous reflection I wrote on this week’s gospel lection at In the Weeds.

If I were writing a blessing for this week, it would be something about how the blessing does not live in the wheat alone, but in the process of sifting and sorting through what’s present in the landscape of our days, and in finding—amidst whatever seeks to distract or disturb or damage us—the sustenance that is always there. A blessing that requires movement on our part, and giving ourselves to the kind of growth that happens as we seek clarity and purpose in the presence of challenges and resistance and complications.

And you? What sort of blessing would you write this week?

Whatever weeds may be present in the landscape of your life right now, I wish you peace and the agility to move and grow amongst them.

A Blessing with Roots

July 5, 2011


Getting Grounded ©  Jan L. Richardson

Reading from the Gospels, Proper 10/Ordinary 15/Pentecost +4 (July 10): Matthew 13.1-9, 18-23

During our recent Saint Brigid’s retreat, we were treated to a poetry reading from Father Kilian McDonnell, one of the Benedictine monks of Saint John’s Abbey, where our retreat took place. Having been on the retreat a few years earlier when Fr. Kilian came and shared his poems, I had been looking forward to his return visit with much anticipation.

For most of his life Fr. Kilian (who I first introduced in this post at The Advent Door) has worked as a theologian—teaching at Saint John’s University, writing scholarly books and articles on systematic theology, and taking a leading role in ecumenical work. At 75, in his so-called retirement, Fr. Kilian began to write poetry. In an essay that he wrote eight years after his poetic beginnings and included in his first published collection of poems (Swift, Lord, You Are Not), Fr. Kilian describes how, while reading a poem in the New Republic, “I said to myself, ‘I think I can do as well.'”

He acknowledges that his career as a scholar writing theology “out of a dogmatic, abstract, highly authoritarian, text-bound tradition” and dealing not only with the scriptures but also with “conciliar decrees, papal encyclicals, episcopal pronouncements, all highly conceptual, content and meaning-oriented,” had not prepared him particularly well for a vocation as a creative writer. “Too much imagination in theological writing,” Fr. Kilian observes, “can bring you to the stake.” Even in his own monastery, Fr. Kilian’s turn toward poetry was looked on by some as, if not outright dangerous, then a frivolous pursuit; he tells in one of his poems of a monk in the community who says, “Kilian does not have/enough to do./He writes poetry.”

Yet he has persisted. And as he prepares to turn 90 this year, Fr. Kilian is anticipating the publication of his fourth book of poems (the first having been followed by Yahweh’s Other Shoe and God Drops and Loses Things). It’s due out next month and is titled Wrestling with God. During his afternoon with us, Fr. Kilian gave us a sneak peek of the poems in this forthcoming book.

Most of Fr. Kilian’s poetry finds its grounding in the scriptures. And while some folks with stereotypes about monks, poetry, and the scriptures—let alone a combination of the three—might suppose that a longtime monk who takes his inspiration from the Bible would produce poetry that is ethereal or sentimental, Fr. Kilian’s poems provide a wondrous witness to how the contemplative life calls us deeper into the world, not away from it. Part of Fr. Kilian’s charm and punch as a poet lies in his earthiness (evident in such poems as “The Ox’s Broad Behind”), as well as in his willingness to go deep and deep into the layers of the biblical stories and to confront and call forth, with his piercing poet’s eye, the complexities of human life in this world given to us by a God who is both marvelous and maddening.

I will tell you that it is a wonder to be in the poetic presence of someone who has been pondering the Word—praying with it, contemplating it, ruminating upon it—in spitting distance of a century. Although we are not all called to become poets, Fr. Kilian’s deep engagement with the Word offers a window onto a life where the Word has found good soil and has born fruit, as this week’s Parable of the Sower calls us to.

As I ruminate on this week’s parable, I find myself wondering: What soil—what earth—is the Word finding in our own lives these days? How do we seek out the Word—in the scriptures and in the person of Christ—in the rhythm of our days? How willing are we to go deep into the layers and complexities it offers to us? How do we take the Word into ourselves and let it take root across the span of seasons and years? What fruit are we called to let the Word bear in and through us?

A Blessing with Roots

Tug at this blessing
and you will find
it is a thing
with roots.

This is a blessing
that has gone deep
into good soil,
into the sacred dark,
into the luminous hidden.

It has been months
since the ground
gathered the seed
of this blessing
into itself,
years since the earth
enfolded it.

Sometimes
that’s how long
a blessing takes.

And the fact
that this blessing
should finally show
its first fruits
on the day
you happened by—

well, perhaps we shall
simply call the timing
of this ripening
a mystery
and a sweet grace.

Take all you want
of this blessing.
Take every morsel
that you need for
the path ahead.
Let its fruits fall
into your hands;
gather them into
the basket of
your arms.

Let this blessing
be one place
where you are willing
to receive
in unmeasured portions,
to lay aside
for a moment
the way you ration
your delights.

Let yourself accept
its inexplicable plenitude;
allow it to give itself
to sustain you

not simply for yourself—
though on this bright day
I might be persuaded
to think that would
be enough—

but that you may
gather its seeds
into yourself
like the ground
where this blessing began

and wait
with the patience
of seasons
and of years

to bear forth
in the fullness of time
a stunning harvest,
a plenteous feast.

P.S. For a previous reflection on this passage, see Getting Grounded.

[To use the “Getting Grounded” image, please visit this page at janrichardsonimages.com. Your use of janrichardsonimages.com helps make the ministry of The Painted Prayerbook possible. Thank you!]

Related artwork:

Into the Seed