Confronting the Face

Afraid I haven't had the time to write about my experience in Watonga. I do more writing at work than is probably safe, or wise, and it has been especially busy at work this week. Also, it took me a couple of days to get my schedule back in synch after being on "Indian time" in Watonga. My past few evenings have been busy as well, since I've been attending a lecture series by J. Philip Newell. I attended a lecture series presented by Rev. Newell last year, and wrote about it here, here, and here.

It's been interesting, attending this series on the heels of my trip to Watonga. Added to that is my reading of The Life of Pi, which is the most spiritual novel I've read in some time. So, I'm on a mini-retreat, in a manner of speaking.

The title of Rev. Newell's lecture series is "A Celtic View of the Stages of Life," and it is based on his book One Foot in Eden. One of the basic tenets of Celtic spirituality is that people are essentially good. This is in obvious contrast to the dominant view, that we are born with Adam's stain of sin. But, the Celtic view is that God created everything, including humanity, as basically good.

This view is not romantic; it does not deny the reality of evil in the world, or the reality that humans will make selfish & egotistical choices that has negative (evil) consequences. However, where Augustine would say the evil is who we are, the Celts would say that the good is who we are.

Rev. Newell's lecture on Tuesday concerned infancy. The deep Celtic sense is that God may be perceived in an infant's face - the innocence, joy, and love is all there. As illustration, he quoted William Blake's Cradle Song: "Sweet babe, in thy face / Holy image I can trace" (Songs of Innocence, Dover, 1971, 50). Philip even suggested that we keep a picture of ourselves as infants nearby to remind ourselves of our true nature.

And that is where my defenses went up. As I think I have mentioned, I was born with a facial deformity — thanks to years of surgery, it's barely noticeable, but I still carry the pain of the school-yard taunts. I do have a picture of myself as an infant, and it is monstrous (in the literal sense of the word).

Or, could it be that I have internalised those school-yard taunts as reality?

The presentation ended with "Contemplative Journaling", a sort of automatic writing as prayer. Philip challenged us to hold that infant face in memory. Just as we entered this time, I remembered a painting of the Boy Jesus which I have over my desk at home. My entry, presented here unedited, became a transcription of my life with the Boy Jesus in my place

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The boy Jesus walking with grandfather
playing chinese checkers in eternal afternoons.

The mis-shapen face like warped glass;
the playground boy infected by burs and his love-longing.

The tender boy with foriegn face
training the sparrow at his throat
training the robin & the poor will.
The thin child training for heart song.

The boy Jesus forgiving those who jeer & call him names;
he does not strike them down —
he loves them and seeks only love in return.

The boy Jesus eating pudding in grandmother's kitchen.
The boy Jesus learning her love,
training in her song.
Training in the beauty of her love.
Training beyond the funhouse mirror of his face.

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Next, we meditated on Jesus speaking to us through the scripture passage "To such as these (children) is revealed the Kingdom of Heaven." Here's the prayer that came out of that time:

Blessed are you, Brother Jesus,
you heal my face & make it new.
Through your fiery spirit I have sweated away
The playground mask
Every taunt & slur is burned away
Blessed are you, Brother Jesus, mighty to save
You protected my innocence against violent attack
You trained me
You made my soil rich, deep, and loamy
So the wounds would be seeds
Seeds of song
Seeds of caring
Seeds of your infinite life-giving Love.
Amen.