After the Great American Eclipse, I’m reminded once again how great and wide is the love of our God. We say, “Our God,” as if we could own or possess the one who holds us, since God is beyond our knowing or possession. We can own a boat, a house, or a work of art. In the bad old days before the Civil War in America, people once owned other human beings. We fought a mighty conflict so our nation could be made up of free people, all of whom have equal rights. Unfortunately, not all have equal opportunity.
In America, we are so privileged, we often look at most everything through red, white, and blue lenses. We don’t take off our “American eyes” to see as God sees. To make this point, the Great American Eclipse actually began over the Pacific Ocean, so perhaps whales and sea birds would have been the first to experience it. When the eclipse reached land in Mexico, those in Mazatlán saw it before anyone in Texas did. I have lived in Texas, so I know they like to be the “first, best, and biggest” in everything, so they’ll ignore the fact this eclipse actually was seen by others first.
We don’t need to be first or best to deserve God’s love and providence. God proves God’s love for us every day the sun rises and sets. God gives us the rain in its season and grass for the herds to feed upon. We don’t have to exclude others to get God’s love, for God’s love is wide enough to include all. A God, who can call an entire universe into being with just a word, has the infinite resources to love all fully and completely. We are the finite ones, having limited resources and understanding, who find the need to limit God’s love to a few.
We tend to think in human terms of competition, in which one person gets a blue ribbon or a trophy and everyone else is a “loser.” That’s the Rickey Bobby of Talladega Nights school of theology. God made the entire universe, even tiny Pluto, which our astronomers demoted from planet status to a dwarf planet in the Kuiper Belt. Just because we relegated Pluto to a minor status doesn’t mean God diminishes God’s love, care, and concern for God’s creation.
When we have the opportunity to view an awesome event of creation, such as a total eclipse of the sun, we have to consider ourselves privileged to be alive and part of God’s care. When the moon fully covers the sun and darkness falls upon the face of the earth where you stand, the cool air touches your skin, and your heart burns within. The excitement and rush of energy is so great I had to shout! I’ve heard some people cry. I guess I’m an exuberant sort.
On 20 August 1892, “The Times” published an article by Kipling, “Half-a-Dozen Pictures”: it was one of a series of travel articles called From Tideway to Tideway. The article described a visit to an art gallery and Kipling’s reflections on the failure of most painters to match the beauty and vitality of the world around them. He offered some attractive verbal sketches of his own, though it wasn’t part of his purpose to contrast the approaches to nature of writers and painters. His main concern was to urge artists of all kinds to get out and see the world for themselves: (Letters of Travel 1892-1913 p. 40):
Now, disregarding these things and others – wonders and miracles all – men are content to sit in studios and, by light that is not light, to fake subjects from pots and pans and rags and bricks that are called “pieces of color”. Their collection of rubbish costs in the end quite as much as a ticket, a first-class one, to new worlds where the “props” are given away with the sunshine. (Letters of Travel 1892-1913 p.77).
Eight days later, the same article was published in the New York Sun. This time it closed with the untitled poem ‘When Earth’s Last Picture is Painted…’ which changed the article’s emphasis from an exhortation to artists to become travelers and pioneers, to what sounds very much like a manifesto for realism in art:
“And only Rembrandt shall teach us, and only Van Dyck shall blame:
And no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for fame,
But each for the joy of working, and each, in his separate star,
Shall draw the Thing as he sees It for the God of Things as They are!”
Four years later, Kipling changed the first line of that stanza to:
“And only the Master shall praise us, and only the Master shall blame,”
Kipling, the son of an artist, knew the true joy in life comes from one’s dedication to whatever work is in hand, and the task of the Artist is to convey to others the excitement and wonder of an expanding world. By changing the last line from artists’ names to the Master, Kipling heightened the spirituality of his poem. The artist’s task isn’t merely to render a faithful image of the landscape or person before them, but to bring forth all the inner energies and personality they see and feel.
This is why we don’t copy nature, since it’s three dimensional and we have a two-dimensional surface on which we make our marks to represent what we see. Perspective is our visual language to fool the eye into believing our flat surface has depth. Often we paint abstract shapes and colors because these are the best means to convey our emotions about an experience. Photography captures one way of seeing, but painting can render emotions with brush strokes and colors.
I subscribe to a wonderful poetry series by Steve Garnaas-Holmes, which I receive daily. This poem’s theme of universal love spoke to me as I felt the in-flooding joy of God’s creating power during the Great American Eclipse:
I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. —John 10.16
We think we’re being open-minded
when we include “all of us,” Protestant and Catholic,
Orthodox and Coptic, as if we see the whole landscape.
But the pasture and the Shepherd are far greater than that.
Believer, unbeliever and other-believer alike
are all shepherded, each in their own language.
And still there are more, and more other, sheep.
Like, well, sheep.
Do not the deer and otter, whale and fungus
follow the Shepherd faithfully?
Is not the bird migrating its continents shepherded as well?
Christ is not the partisan figurehead of a religion,
Christ is the infinite embodied grace of God,
the Shepherd of all Creation,
who leads rivers to the sea and winter into spring
and each of us into life.
So there are still other, and more “other,” sheep.
For Copernicus isn’t done with us yet:
we admit the sun doesn’t revolve around the earth,
but we still think God does.
No, little one: we are in a small corner.
Yet even the far galaxies,
the trillion trillions of stars and their planets,
and yes, their doubtless forms of life,
are also under the calm eye of the Shepherd,
and follow the Shepherd’s voice.
All of us, Baptist and Sufi, fish, bug and bird,
earthling and alien, village and nebula, all are one flock. One.
And, behold, even on the remotest planet
in the farthest flung galaxy—like ours—
or the most desolate spot in a life like yours,
under the loving gaze of the Shepherd who seeks out the one,
there is no one who is not at the center.
May you each find joy in your working, each in your separate stars, and draw the Thing as you see It, for the God of Things as They are!
Joy and peace,
Cornelia
When Earth’s last picture is painted – The Kipling Society
Steve Garnaas-Holmes: Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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