Japanese artist Katsushika Hokusai’s “The Great Wave off Kanagawa” graced a shelf across from the clawfoot tub in the Victorian row house where I grew up. The museum-gift-shop version we had of the woodblock print was small and I don’t know that I ever took the time to examine it closely. But the image was familiar to me when I was looking to buy a new puzzle several months into the pandemic, after I had re-done all of the ones I owned.
Putting together the puzzle, I noticed the rich black, purples, and blues of the inside of the wave beneath the claw-like crests that stand out at any size. (I highly recommend taking a moment to make the image full-size at the above link.) And how did I miss the boats and the people in them? Their facial features are barely perceptible, so one has to imagine what they are feeling. Are they terrified that the boats will capsize? Are they weary from having navigated great waves many times before? Are they confident that they can hold fast amid the waters crashing around them?
Many of us feel like we are rowing boats under an immense wave.
When we’re overwhelmed, our troubles can take up more space in our minds and hearts than they are due. As Christians prepare for the season of Lent to begin next week, I don’t think I’m alone in all too easily dwelling on what I’ve given up in the past 11 months. I’ll keep making sacrifices for a greater good. (Not that eating meals with friends in our homes, spending hours in coffee shops, or wearing sunglasses without them fogging up was getting in the way of my relationship with God.)
Noticing what’s around me is a gift that breaks my focus on the negative. When I’m chopping vegetables for dinner, I can either ruminate about what I’m struggling with that day, or I can notice the vibrant colors of the rainbow chard. When I’m walking the dog, I can either worry about what might happen tomorrow or I can notice the light refracted from glass pieces in a mosaic mural on the side of an art gallery.
Noticing doesn’t mean ignoring challenges or suffering, but it reminds me that they are not all that is. Taking up that practice expands my view beyond what I’ve given up to the gift of what I still have.
Gathered and Scattered book update
“The Mount Pleasant Miracle: How one D.C. neighborhood quietly became a national model for resisting gentrification,” by Jefferson Morley in the Washington Post Magazine
I’m delighted that this article about the neighborhood where I grew up and where the Community of Christ was located for four decades highlights the Community transferring its building to a community health center, La Clínica del Pueblo, as a form of resisting gentrification:
A grand building that in another neighborhood might have become a high-end restaurant or retail outlet wound up as home to Empodérate (Empower Yourself), an HIV-prevention program aimed at transgender Latino youth.
Community of Christ member Bob Pohlman contributed in large measure to affordable housing efforts that have been crucial to the diversity that remains in the neighborhood.
Reading and listening
For lectionary columns and a possible sermon series, I have been reading 1 and 2 Samuel and books about them to help me delve into the many layers of these stories. Colleagues recommended the novel The Secret Chord by Geraldine Brooks. Brooks clearly did careful research on scripture and the ancient world and then imagined beyond what was recorded in the lives of David, Nathan, Abigail, and others. Reading the novel’s version of Nathan’s confrontation of David adds new depth to preparing to receive the words of Psalm 51 on Ash Wednesday next week.
Resonating with that psalm, lines from K.D. Lang’s song “Wash me clean” often come to mind when I’m meditating:
Wash me clean
Mend my wounded seams
Cleanse my tarnished dreams
The other song on my Ash Wednesday playlist (can I have a playlist with two songs?) is Leonard Cohen’s “Come healing.” I’ve incorporated the lyrics, a modern-day psalm, into Ash Wednesday services.
Prayer Pod: seven minutes of meditation
It has been lovely to coordinate logistics for this project. This episode, focused on mortality, features poetry reading and music by my friend and colleague Tim Kim. Like the practice of noticing, contemplating mortality can help us embrace the present moment.