Proverbs 8:1-4,
22-31
Psalm 8
Romans 5:1-5
John 16:12-15
Recently I was
fortunate enough to spend five days working with the iconographer Peter
Pearson. Now, if you know Joyce Tanner,
our diocesan iconographer, you will know that Peter is her teacher. So, with Joyce and many others, I was able to
take instruction from the teacher’s teacher.
In the hall of St Timothy’s Roman Catholic Church in Morro Bay, Peter
led our group in prayer and painting. It
was a powerful experience, as I was challenged to see my efforts, and my reactions
to my efforts, in the wider contexts of my own spirituality. For example, delighted by the beauty being
revealed on the board, or in the play of some particular colors, I found myself
asking why I was so much less aware of the beauty of those colors played out in
the creation around me, in my everyday comings and goings? Equally, frustrated by what seemed a
mis-stroke of the brush or crooked line, I was brought face-to-face with my general
frustrations at the imperfections of life, as well my tendency towards unnecessary
worry and anxiety. In the process, the
icon was incredibly forgiving; why cannot I be the same? The process, became for me a prayer of gentle,
but honest self-examination.
It seems that when it
comes to icon writing, no matter how much we may think we are forming or
creating the images, the image itself is forming or creating us, at least as
much – if not more so. Certainly, this
is one of the crucial dimensions of praying with icons more generally, that in contemplating
them we are drawn not only towards the reality to which they point, but also
that the image itself in its composition and color draws our mind and spirit to
contemplate ourselves in its light. The
tenderness in the eyes of Mother of the God,
may gently confront us with the need to open our hearts towards places and
people in our world where compassion is most needed. The longing face and outstretched hands of
the Magdalene seeking to come closer to the risen Christ, may accuse our own
lukewarm commitment to the resurrection life.
The forward-leaning kings following the star and carrying their gifts to
the new-born Christ, may draw our hearts and minds to seek that Christ more
completely and offer to him our talents and abilities more willingly for the
work of his kingdom. Like all prayer, praying with icons is about entering
into the reality before us – physical and spiritual – and letting the encounter
change us.
When we gathered in
Morro Bay, Peter led us in writing – the technical term for icon painting –
writing an icon of the hospitality of Abraham, the story from Genesis in which
three wandering strangers are welcomed and served by Abraham and his wife
Sarah. It is an ancient theme in
icon-writing, and in the oldest representations Abraham and Sarah are shown bringing
food to the three young men – later perceived to be angels – and their servants
preparing it. However, in the early 15th
century the icon writer Andrei Rublev created a “new” image of this narrative
in which, as Peter writes, “[he] captures the essence [of the scene] by eliminating
elements that would obscure the understanding of who is seated at the
table.” From the early days of the
Church, Christians saw in this story of Abraham’s and Sarah’s encounter a
pre-figuring of the Trinitarian mystery later to be revealed, and so in his
rendering of the scene Rublev strips away all the traditional elements in order
to highlight this reality. In so
doing he gets to the heart of why we have icons at all: as windows drawing us
beyond themselves so that we might palpably contemplate the mystery they
represent. They invite us to stand face-to-face
with the reality being signified, but also with the reality of ourselves and
our world; and they call us to transformation of both. The simplicity of Rublev’s Trinity does all
this as we are drawn into table fellowship with the three figures gathered
there. They welcome us, without
overwhelming us. As mentioned
previously, in early iconic representations of the Hospitality of Abraham the
space before the table was peopled with other figures – Abraham and Sarah
offering food to the three angels as well as a servant killing the fatted
calf. However, Rublev, by dispensing
with these figures and motifs, leaves an open place before the table. Here there is nothing to come between us and
this deep mystery of our faith.
Look for a moment at
the card accompanying today’s bulletin.
It is a representation based on Rublev’s masterpiece. Gathered round on three sides of the table
are the three figures: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. You, we, the Church are at the fourth side, being
welcomed not only to the feast, but to the very life of the Trinity. While in earlier representations of the
event, it is Abraham and the Sarah, that is, humanity, that offer a welcome and
hospitality to the divine figures, in Rublev’s it God himself who is the host,
who like the figure of Wisdom in the Hebrew Scriptures cries: “[Come,] my fruit
is better than gold, even fine gold, and my yield than choice silver” (Proverbs 8:4, 19); and who like Jesus in the
Gospel calls: “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy
burdens, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28); and who like God in the
book of Revelations urgently invites: “The Spirit and the bride say, Come. And
let everyone who hears say, Come. And
let everyone who is thirsty come. Let
anyone who wishes take the water of life as a gift.” (Revelation 22:17) In this one image is revealed what is at the
heart and end of the Christian enterprise – an absolute sharing in the life of
the divine, triune mystery which is God.
The welcome is spoken, the water of baptism is set out, as is the bread
of the new life, and the Lord beckons all who will listen, welcomes all who
will come.
This is, of course,
only one reading the icon, but at the immediate present a helpful one. As we enter the season after Pentecost, it is
helpful to remember we do so in the presence of and in fellowship with
God. As we witness Harper’s baptism and
as she is welcomed to the Eucharistic table, it is helpful to remember our own
baptism, and come ourselves to the Lord’s altar renewed with a vision of God’s
compassionate care, and absolute passion for his people. The beauty of an icon lies not primarily in
its color or composition or even subject, but in its in-exhaustive simplicity;
like any image of the divine or the holy, an icon’s meaning or significance can
never be fully plumbed. Indeed, much
depends on our mind-set and concerns as to what truths it may yield as any
given point. To paraphrase St Augustine,
properly understood, they are mysteries ever ancient and ever new. Nevertheless, honestly encountered, carefully
attended they will yield for us glimpses of truth, invite us into ongoing
dialogue between the human and the divine, strengthen us to serve God’s world
in a pattern of beauty and holiness.
If you have no icons,
get on which might be meaningful for you, better yet enter into the prayerful
process of creating one. In the
meantime, take this simple card and spend some time listening and watching for
God’s invitation to you.
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