It was 10 degrees Sunday morning. Not my ideal "wake up early to go install artwork at church" kind of morning. But alas, I did it. And I'm glad. The church I attend, Fountain Square Presbyterian, asks artists in the congregation to create work to hang throughout the seasons of the church calendar. I chose to make work for Epiphany, a season that is often outshone by Advent and all the holiday hubub. I also chose to interact with the windows in our (rented) sanctuary, because they are just so darn lovely. I mention that our space is rented because I had to take into consideration the possibility of having to take down & put up this work multiple times throughout its duration. My desire for a large, impactful, consuming piece was reconciled with the short-term practicality by using muslin, watercolors, and a few wooden supports. I call it 'Soaked in spirit and in truth,' and it hinges on the idea of the 'thin place.' The idea of a ‘thin place’ is not uncommon. We are drawn to places that feel ethereal, that persist with the feeling of being close to the divine. Found in old Celtic traditions, modern Christian beliefs, and even in travel culture, is the idea that these physical spaces hold something metaphysical within. A celtic proverb states “Heaven and earth are only three feet apart, but in thin places, that distance is shorter.” Tied to this idea, I think, is our longing for retreats and getaways to beautiful vistas and temperate climates. How many retreats are taken in the mountains, reaching towards the sky in hopes of getting closer to God or another idea of the divine? We are physical beings, so it makes sense that we would seek the natural world in our methods of worshipping a supernatural God. We see His creation all around us, and while some mundane scenes may not always scream of His character, we are quick to see the golden light cast upon the trees and call it His handiwork. Or as we stare into the foggy morning, the sense of the mystical unknown leads us to dwell upon His power. Our need of physicality to understand holiness is bound so tightly with scripture. In Exodus 3, Moses is called to the burning bush, hearing his God command him to take off his sandals, for he stands upon holy ground. Both terrifying and beautiful, God pulls in the physical when He is near. Mount Sinai, with its deep crevices and honey-colored sands, is the space where God revealed Himself to His people, where He declared “I AM,” amidst thunder and lightning, smoke and fire. But He did not stop there. In John 4, Jesus says to the Samaritan woman, “..believe me, a time is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem.” A time when the physical will not be the only thing tying us to our God, a time when thin places will be everywhere. A time when we all can approach the Father with full confidence that He is with us and He is for us. That confidence is possible because of the very season we have just celebrated. Through Advent, our powerful God, manifested in a small child who grew into our perfect Saviour, came to save not only His chosen nation, but every human being. And we now enter into Epiphany, the season where God revealed His eternal plan to all, even to those who seem unworthy. “Yet a time is coming and has now come when the true worshipers will worship the Father in the Spirit and in truth.” Christ is pointing us to the familiar ‘already-not yet,’ a tension-filled dynamic that leaves us aching with the hope of His arrival to fully heal our broken world. If we truly believe and hope for this, then let us worship in Spirit and in truth, in our own little thin places that we’ve created through our own spaces, our own communities. In an effort to encourage the FSP congregation in that mindset, I created the work you see below. The windows are thinly veiled, reminding us that we are not yet seeing the full picture, yet light peeks through colorful stains, giving us glimpses of glory. My hope is that these banners, soaked with the colors of Indiana landscape, swaying in the light of the windows, will serve as a reminder to take off our sandals, stand upon the holy ground we’ve been lead to, and declare that He IS, and always will be. While I feel a little big-headed typing this, I have to say that photos will just not do this piece justice. The watercolors separate into bands of pigment around each shape that is just not captured here. The breeze from the heating vents creates soft movement of each banner. And being surrounded by people who know and love you, who hope and ache and struggle and believe with you, gives much more depth to these veils.
So, let me know if you'd like to see this piece in person. Otherwise, join us in your own thin place, aching with your own hopes and holding close your own community. Soak. it. up.
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