Around the world on October 31, men, women and children don costumes ranging from cute to creepy. Halloween is now the second largest holiday after Christmas, and, whatever your beliefs, whatever your perspective on this day, you will be hard-pressed not to encounter one or more costumed undoubtedly darling tot asking you for a “trick or treat!”

While there are a variety of valid reasons for both participating and choosing not to participate in the more popular Halloween traditions (wearing costumes, trick-or-treating), there is one thing that I think the day helps me to remember: the importance of dead people.

When I say ‘dead people’, I’m not talking about zombies, vampires or any other versions of the undead that you’ll see in costume and on the screen (TV or movie) today. It may be easy to get fascinated with the macabre or frightening—and there is some sociological evidence that zombies are tapping into a certain post-modern angst that we all feel —but I think there something uplifting to be found in focusing on dead people, without the gore and guts.

You see, most of us are addicted to the new, the current, the popular. If you’ve ever been overcome by a desire for the newest device, the latest fashion or even a desire to visit the new restaurant in town despite the fact that you hate Mexican, you know what I mean. Popular culture pushes us toward what’s “this minute”, relegating yesterday’s experiences into the place of the passé, the uncool. If you own an Apple product of any kind, you’ve felt the dejection of having whatever your newest thing is surpassed by the next-newest.

And that’s why I like dead people. Dead people aren’t interested in keeping up appearances, aren’t up on the latest trends, and really don’t care if you have the most recent do-dad. On top of that, most of the dead people who have written things down have lots of really wise things to say about the spiritual life and how to live well with God (before and after you die.)

If you’d like a primer, Renovaré just came out with a wonderful compilation of writings by dead people—being dead was, in fact, one of the criteria for being included in the book. It’s called 25 Books Every Christian Should Read, and despite its somewhat intimidating title it is a great entrée into the spiritual classics. There are 25 entries, each with a small excerpt of important writings of really smart (you guessed it) dead people. There’s some history of what the person did before they were dead, and some helpful thoughts and questions for reflection.

Alternately, you can do what I did which was slog, ahem, suffer, ahem, swing through a semester’s worth of the spiritual classics in seminary. Personally, I think picking up 25 Books and learning which of the dead people you’re most drawn to is a better idea. Then pick up a full-length version of their works and get to know them a little more deeply. Dead people can be a lot of fun.

Today I am honored to welcome a guest blogger to the Anam Cara blog—my colleague, friend and constant source of inspiration and hope, Christine Valters Paintner. Christine is a spiritual director, author, retreat leader and speaker, as well as a supervisor of spiritual directors. Her Abbey of the Arts is a wonderful place to find rest for your soul. Christine's most recent book, The Artist’s Rule: Nurturing Your Creative Soul with Monastic Wisdom, is one of my favorite's to come out this year on the spiritual life and next week I'll be doing a giveaway for a copy. I asked Christine if she would write on "art, delight and the spiritual life." I know you'll enjoy her insight as much as I do…

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The law of Wonder rules my life at last

I burn each second of my life to love

Each second of my life burns out in love

In each leaping second love lives afresh.

–Rumi

 

When Tara asked me to write about art, delight, and the spiritual life it was really that word “delight” which shimmered for me.  Summer for me is a season of savoring sweetness and delight, of relishing the gift of abundance as I walk through our weekly farmer’s market or watch my dog romp and play in wide open fields or cherish long warm evenings.

A former theology professor of mine, Alex Garcia-Rivera (who sadly passed away last year), taught me a great deal about beauty.  “Beauty,” he would say, “is that which moves the human heart.”  I loved that definition, so simple and yet profound.  When I cultivate beauty in the world through my art I am seeking to savor that which stirs my heart and offer that experience to others.  I am giving honor to my experience of delight and trusting it as a source of wisdom for understanding the nature of the divine moving through my life.

Trusting our delight and what moves our hearts can sometimes be challenging for those of us who grew up in traditions suspicious of such things.  It takes practice to remember the goodness God lavishly proclaims again and again in the creation story.  When my teaching partner Betsey Beckman dances the creation story she says the words “it was so good” after each moment of creation with such utter conviction and joy that I remember the real meaning of those words. I feel them stir something in me – a recognition of the deep goodness of the creative act.  It takes practice to cultivate our attention to where this kind of wonder arises spontaneously in our hearts and give it room to breathe fully.

Art is rooted in a deeply-felt experience of meaning.  Through art we give can form to our delight.  Sometimes through art we explore grief or other difficult emotions, but giving these a place for expression, we allow them a way to move through us and offer us wisdom.  We open up space for the possibility of delight to arrive again. 

We may not trust these things that pull on our heart because we don’t believe that we truly are “artists.”   We may resist the places where we feel discomfort.  I have recently given myself over more fully to dance.  I am definitely not a “professional” dancer nor do I have anything that closely resembles a “dancer’s body,” and yet I am finding that trusting fully my body’s desire for movement and the delight that stirs in me through this form of expression is unleashing deep wells of joy in my heart. 

This is how we become artists of our everyday lives.  We listen and tend and honor the deep impulses within us.  We begin to trust our own heart’s movement toward joy.  We start to see how simple moments are ripe with possibility:  tending to a garden with our senses fully alive, savoring the preparation of a meal for loved ones, witnessing the unabashed joy of children playing, witnessing our own opportunities for this same unbridled joy.  Whether we write or paint or dance or sing, what matters is showing up for the possibility of delight.  What is important is making room for the creative spirit to stir our hearts and to honor this with some form of expression, to grow more at ease with a spontaneous response to the joy wanting to be unleashed.

How often do you give yourself fully over to something which kindles a deep joy and delight?

What are the art forms which are calling to you but you resist because you fear you are not an “artist”?

What might happen if you simply embrace the joy that comes from this practice, knowing that you are cultivating room for more delight in your life?

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE is the online Abbess of Abbey of the Arts, a virtual monastery offering online classes and other resources to integrate contemplative practice and creative expression.  She is the author of several books including her two newest: The Artist’s Rule: Nurturing Your Creative Soul with Monastic Wisdom (Ave Maria Press) and Lectio Divina—The Sacred Art: Transforming Words and Images into Heart-Centered Prayer (SkyLight Paths).

 

As a contemplative, and one who finds a great deal of value in reading the spiritual classics (and well-written novels), it’s rare that I find myself recommending a more contemporary author in the area of spiritual non-fiction. Yes, there are good memoirs out there. Yes, there are good, if somewhat popcorn-like, books on the spiritual life. In some ways, I find “spiritual life” books to be the equivalent of ‘chick lit’ for the soul. Enjoyable, but not about to create much thought, let alone much change. That doesn’t come out of a place of cynicism (Kyrie eleison), but rather a realization that as a culture we’re not all that interested that often in chewing our food.

Further, I’m really not one to recommend a book that I haven’t all-the-way read yet. I take my recommendations seriously. No one pays me for them, and I want to make sure that I’m being responsible with how I suggest my readers, friends and directees spend their very precious time.

Which all leads up to a Friday Favorite that is somewhat of a surprise and a trend-bucking joy to me. I’m currently near the end of a hurry-up-and-buy-it-now book called Somewhere More Holy: Stories from a Bewildered Father, Stumbling Husband, Reluctant Handyman and Prodigal Son. It is one of the best spiritual memoirs/God-hunting/yearning for the sacred books I’ve read in a long time. I’ve gotten what I ever so cheesily call “Wild Goose bumps” on my arms by an arresting, beautiful, convicting or sacred thought in every single chapter of Tony Woodlief’s touching story.

I’m enjoying it so much, I’ve been using excerpts as meditations in spiritual direction sessions. I’ve been reading parts of it to friends over dinner. I’ve been whispering chapters to my husband while we lay in bed reading.

Somewhere More Holy takes a look at the concept of home and family, and re-sacrelizes them. The author writes for the Wall Street Journal and WORLD, among others. Through his own story, he ushers us back into a world where home meant something sacred, and what we do in the home matters.

You can pick up a copy of Tony’s book here. You can also read more about Somewhere More Holy at the website dedicated to the book. And if you’re interested in more of his writing, you can check out Tony Woodlief’s website here.

If you haven't seen or read this recent letter by artist and creative Makoto Fujimara, you definitely should.

 

A Letter to North American Churches

This was delivered at the Eighth Letter Conference for the Epiphaneia group in Toronto.  The presenters were asked to write a letter to the churches of North America in the style of the Revelation letters in the New Testament.  The full version will be published in their anthology in 2011.

 

Dear Churches of North America

 

I speak to you as an artist.

 

An artist’s relationship with you has not been easy;  we are often in the margins of your communities, being the misfits that we are. Artists often sit in the back, if they come to church at all, wear black and look menacing to you.  But many of us, actually, sit in the front, we volunteer, and are first to be with the poor. You just don’t notice us.  Some of us are even up in front preaching, and you call us pastors, but we consider ourselves really artists of the Word.  Some of us are crusading against the wrongs of the world, and we can get attentions of the “Kings” of this world because our songs are so popular. 

 

Read the rest of this letter here.