Nevertheless, the trip is worth every minute. In fact the entire trip is a prayer.
Saint Chapelle On this trip to Paris with my daughter and grandchildren I have very little time to blog, much less to pray. Maybe you’ve seen some of the pictures on my cottagebythesea blog. Of course praying can be done while walking the streets, but I have to be careful to watch for the little green man on the traffic light that tells me it’s safe (more or less) to cross. So admittedly, I’m distracted from my prayer. That’s why when we do sit down in one of the extraordinary gardens, or when we visit a church, I am apt to remember to pray and to actually do so. I’m learning one again that distractions, which include an active life, can take away from intentional prayer, which I seem called to do.
Nevertheless, the trip is worth every minute. In fact the entire trip is a prayer.
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I didn’t have time this morning to sit in my special pew in Santa Trinita to contemplate the pieces of art that had been speaking to me all the other mornings in Florence. But the memory and message goes on, as does my faith journey. I am reminded of how the first ending in Mark’s Gospel has the disciples fleeing. But then the story goes on, and as we know, it continues to this day. Here’s how the story went for me day after day in Santa Trinita. Maybe you can find a story of your own in my pictures and questions. The Annunciation, Lorenzo Monaco (1424) What is God’s call to me/you? What is God announcing that I/you should do? The Adoration of the Shepherds, Domenico Ghirlandio (1943), What was birthed in me/you? What is being birthed now? Altar showing the Risen Christ above Christ on the cross. What do I/you have to surrender to? What do I/you have to suffer? What hope does Christ give me/you? Coronation of the Madonna, Bicci di Lorenzo (1430)
What particular joy awakes me/you? Coronation of the Virgin, by Bicci di Lorenzo (1430) This morning I lit a candle (the one the right) for a friend who is having surgery. Sometimes the only thing we can do for someone is pray, but that is a mighty act if you are graced to believe in prayer. I like that there is another candle next to mine, a candle lit by someone praying for someone in need. Candles flickering together in community, the light of God shining. What a hopeful image in the midst of all the suffering in the world. The other day on www.acottagebythese.net I wrote about my visit to the Convent of San Marco, one of my favorite places in all of Florence to find silence, solitude and simplicity. Ascending the staircase to the floor of the monks cells is always an intense spiritual experience, because Fra Angelico’s awe-inspiring 'Annunciation' confronts me at the top of the stairs. Mary seems to be saying, “Who me? How can this be to birth the Christ?” Fra Angelico has me saying the same words about God’s call to me. The possibility of a call from God is so intellectually preposterous that i often dismiss the idea before I even consider what the call might be or mean. But when I’m in front of this painting I keep hearing the specific call to pray for people, which is something I can do. It is the call to surrender that is a mighty big challenge, and may be why I spent so much time before the crucifixes that Fra Angelico painted in many of the cells. Santa Maria Novella I didn’t grow up with crucifixes, nor are there any in my present day church, so when I come to Italy I am particularly aware of the many times I see Jesus hanging on the cross. Our Protestant crosses are plain, empty, suggesting a Resurrected Christ, a message of hope. Sometimes it feels like we are just bypassing the suffering. On this trip, however, I find myself spending time in front of these crucifixes. Of course many are masterpieces, painted or sculpted by renowned artist of the late Middle Ages and the Renaissance. Just today, standing in one spot in the nave of Santa Maria Novella, I was witness to three: one carved out of wood by Brunelleschi, one painted by Giotto, and another painted by Masaccio. These crucifixes help me remember the suffering in the world (the hunger, genocide, poverty, sexism, racism, illness) and in individuals that I know personally. In order to pray for those suffering, I have to spend time with it, and looking at a crucifix is one way to keep me there before moving on too quickly to the Resurrection. A crucifix reminds me of the Christian message and gives me a way to imagine suffering as a ‘necessary’ way to peace and to God’s kingdom now and forever. In my www.cottagebythesea.net blog I wrote about my upcoming trip to Italy. I leave next Tuesday and will be there a month: two weeks in Rome, two nights in Assisi, one in Cortona and the rest of the time in Florence. I be traveling alone, which is my choice. But of course, as far as I’m concerned I don’t really travel alone; I travel with God; walking, sightseeing, chatting, praying. It may sound strange, but I never feel lonely; I cherish this day-after-day time sitting in the mystery, breathing in the natural beauty, and speculating about the way of life in all the historic places I visit. Rome boast 500 churches, many built upon previous structures; some built upon Roman basilicas, which were public buildings in ancient times. Then there are all the sixteen-century baroque churches prominent throughout the city. One of my plans is, in as many churches as I can possibly visit, to light candles for the people I pray for. Annunciation, Fra Angelico I collect postcards of annunciation scenes. I have quite stack of them, mainly from Italy, where you can count on finding at least one annunciation painting or fresco in every church. Although Mary’s presentation is unique in each one, there are certain standard accessories in each picture. Mary always sits or stands on the right, Angel Gabriel genuflects on the left, and a column separates the two of them. Sometimes God is depicted in the upper left hand corner; the Holy Spirit, often in the form of a dove, hovers over Mary or is in flight toward her. We can study each annunciation picture through the specific social, cultural, artistic and historical moment in which it was painted. For example, we might observe Mary elegantly dressed, sitting in a rich Renaissance architectural settings, looking up from her reading, with the patrons who commissioned the work kneeling before her. I love to study these annunciations through such intellectual lenses, but I am also drawn to the spiritual interpretations that they offer. And it is then that I am attracted to a simple Mary. My absolute favorite is the fresco by Fra Angelico at the head of the stairs to the monks’ cells at the Convent of S. Marco in Florence. Mary is in simple, peasant garb and her hands folded in front of her as she stares, in what feels like a combination of disbelief and fear, at the Angel Gabriel announcing the news. Isn’t that the way we feel at that moment of awareness that God’s calling to us? Out of disbelief: “I can’t believe, God, that you’re calling me to pray for people.” Out of fear: “I’m afraid I’ll let you, God, and all those people down.” As far as I’m concerned, the annunciation is the most humbling of all the stories in the Bible. “Who me?” “Yes you.” Last month, on my travels to and from the cottage, I listened to Ross King’s Michelangelo and the Pope’s Ceiling on audio tape. It was filled with technical details about frescos and pigments, and descriptive details about every fresco Michelangelo painted in the Sistine Chapel. When I got home I would take out my art books and examine the pictures. With all of this so fresh in my mind, you can imagine my elation and gratitude when I received the following link. Turn up the volume and fly around the Sistine Chapel. http://www.vatican.va/various/cappelle/sistina_vr/index.html |
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