"Annunciation to Joseph of the Root of Jesse," multimedia* collage, 2019.
Response to Advent Quiet Morning.
*Sidewalk chalk on concrete board, papercut bond paper, and Sharpie on transparency.
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This morning, I facilitated a series of related readings for Advent Quiet Morning. Each of the three sets of readings—"Emmanuel," "Annunciation," and "God with Us"—followed a pattern: a brief passage from Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a reading from scripture, a short piece of creative non-fiction, a poem, and a prayer. After each set, participants were able to stay where they were or scatter throughout the sanctuary and adjoining spaces to respond to the readings in silence, prayer, in writing, or in artwork for fifteen to twenty minutes.
The readings represented voices from different faith traditions within Christianity—Lutheran, Catholic, Orthodox, Methodist, Episcopalian, Non-denominational, and Agnostic. That wasn't planned but it was a surprise that was rather welcome, as these poets reflected upon the Annunciation and the Incarnation and their various writings overlapped and echoed one another, finally seeming as though one voice was speaking.
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The sanctuary was filled with candlelight from the candle trees on the altar, the Advent wreath, votives, and a couple of larger candles, which meant the sanctuary was also filled with shadow. The sanctuary was filled with the scent of black cherry incense. The sanctuary was filled with silence once each reading ceased.
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Halfway through the first silence, in the midst of shadow, as I was walking from one room to another, I stopped. I stopped because I had a holy vision, the first I've had in probably twenty years. Unlike earlier visions, this one was primarily auditory.
Behind me somewhere (through the shadow and the stone walls of the sanctuary) the darkness was peeled back and there was a brief glimpse of the light of heaven accompanied by the singing of what I assume to be choirs of angels. How does one "see" light that is behind one's self? How does one hear song in the midst of silence.
The only other noises I heard throughout the morning were traffic along the road at the side of the church, the currents of the furnaces, crowing of the neighbor's rooster, cawing of crows sitting on the telephone wires above the road, and the calling of gulls sitting atop the church. None of which even approximates the singing of angelic choirs.
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Fortunately, the vision didn't last too long, although it's brevity didn't quite match the amount of time that passed in "reality." And I was able to continue with the following readings with a vigor and vitality that I cannot claim as my own.
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For the rest of the day, I felt "off." I longed for additional quiet. I took a nap. I felt groggy. After dinner, however, I was able to finally respond to the reading with artwork that I couldn't do during Advent Quiet Morning since I needed to "keep things moving along."
I initially intended to only chalk a piece of artwork, but things changed during the process of creation. Working from the narrative of the annunciation to Joseph, chalked angel wings also served as fiery leaves of a tree growing from the skeletal stump/root of Jesse. Angel and tree and child and vision of Emmanuel mingle with one another.
Quiet breeds quiet. Vision fuels vision. Response begets response. Amen.
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The set lists.
Emmanuel
- Dietrich Bonhoeffer.
- Matthew 1:18-25.
- "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel" by Linda Gregerson.
- "Mosaic of the Nativity" by Jane Kenyon.
- Prayer.
Annunciation
- Dietrich Bonhoeffer.
- Luke 1:26-38.
- "A Sky Full of Children" by Madeleine L'Engle.
- "Annuciation" by Scott Cairns.
- Prayer.
God with Us
- Dietrich Bonhoeffer.
- Psalm 146:5-10.
- "I Praise, I Exalt Your Name: Psalm 146" by Daniel Berrigan.
- "Where Does the Temple Begin, Where Does It End?" by Mary Oliver.
- Prayer.
