Commencement

[ kuh-mens-muhnt ]

noun

1. an act or instance of commencing; beginning:

   the commencement of possibilities.

2. the ceremony of conferring degrees or granting diplomas at the end of the academic year.

3. the day on which this ceremony takes place.

On May 31, 2024, in honor of their 50th Reunion, eight of 17 folks in the Class of 1974 who elected Studio Art as their major put on a Pop-up art show in the Rotunda on the Lawn at the University of Virginia. The idea for the project came up during a conversation over coffee five years ago in 2019. The hook was, that 50 years later, some of us were still making art, and wouldn’t it be a kick to see what that looked like?

Commencement is both a coming and a going.

After hours, weeks, and months of planning, we came together and made this show happen, the likes of which had never been done before. It offered the opportunity for coming together to connect again — with each other, as well as the joy and satisfaction of making something.

Where are we going from here? That remains to be seen. Let the possibilities commence to happen. I’m hoping they’ll be grand!

The Urgency of Doing

“I have been impressed with the urgency of doing. Knowing is not enough; we must apply. Willing is not enough; we must do.” — Leonardo da Vinci

As the sand continues to slip through my metaphorical hour-glass, this quote (also attributed to Goethe) is pressuring me in a big way. Part of the urgency is our upcoming Reunion show… details here. The other part is the pressure that comes from my lifetime struggle with procrastination and my addictive reliance on deadlines to keep my motion moving forward.

The show is under two weeks away. Time to edit. Just keep breathing. We’ll muddle through, always do. Just do it!

It’s all good.

A poem: I'm going to live as an artist

I show up in the world

to work (maybe I switched that

around and about)

At work to work

Where do I work? What’s the address?

On the corner of 1st and

Unknown.

No desk for me

I’m a surface guy—

Horizontal, vertical

these are the planes I fly.

A brush with fame and

a brush with a future

Stand oil and English

turpentine— oh the

smell of heaven.

Color glistens as it’s

squeezed out of its sleeve,

islands of pure hue

dot the palette

awaiting the rising tide

of color, wild and wide.

— Richard Rumble

High expectations

Hope. And expectation. Are these words synonyms? Or do they define different ends of the same spectrum? How are they connected? Which of these is under our control? What lessons do these words, these concepts teach us?

How important is it to have them present in one’s life? I mean, is there such a thing as a minimum daily requirement of hope? Or expectation? (“Honey, did you take your expectation today, like I told you?”) 

Can one live one’s life without one or the other (or both) of these words? How foundational are they to a healthy existence? (At this point, I’m wondering: can I write an entire article in the form of running questions?)

Recently, I heard the author and contemporary theologian Brian McLaren define expectation as: “Disappointment that hasn’t happened – yet.” I laughed when I heard this because I’ve lived this experience. I recognize it as a pattern in my life – generally with me being a primal instigator of much disappointment. And thereby earning the title of expectation spoiler extraordinaire.

So, are both hope and expectation fragile? Expectations certainly can be. But I think of hope as being more sturdy. Durable. Enduring. Not so lightly dashed. 

Perhaps sturdiness is all relative, and dependent on its respective source. Wishes and expectations come from within ourselves. And they can be so fragile. As such, have very little assurance of coming to be. Sometimes, hope, as a verb, is also ephemeral. Elusive. “Did I get that right? Gee, I hope so.”

But hope, as a noun, is a different thing altogether. Hope comes from without. We place our hope in things outside of our own selves. And hope is enduring. In the visual vernacular of Christianity, the virtue of hope is sometimes portrayed as an anchor. An anchor provides a safe mooring, preventing one from perilous drifting. 

In his first letter to the Corinthians, the apostle Paul wrote about the three virtues essential for a solid Christian life. “And now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love.” Faith is a gift. Love we can generate. And hope? We aspire to hope. To me, hope is a deep yearning for that far-off time or place where, in the wonderful words of Dame Julian of Norwich: “All shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”

I have faith that place exists. And, I would so love to see it. Do I expect to get there? Dear God, I hope so.

Wishing and willing

Thy Kingdom come, thy Will be done …

I wonder. For all the times the Lord's Prayer is prayed, by me and millions of other folks, how does God’s will get done? Each and every time we say that prayer, at the outset, we delineate a far reaching goal: connecting the coming of the Kingdom with successfully doing our Lord’s will.

Are wishing and willing connected? Where is the tipping point between wishing that something might happen and willing to make it so?  To that end, I believe we each have parts to play, key roles, in the fulfillment of our Maker’s master plan.

Some years ago, I visited my parents while they lived in their old house at the end of 52nd Street in Virginia Beach. Across the street from the house is Crystal Lake, where my Dad kept a sailboat moored. There was a nice breeze blowing and he invited me to go for a sail with him. Once we were underway out on the lake he asked if I’d like to take a turn at the helm. “Sure!” I replied as I clambered aft to the tiller.

As I sat back there, tiller in hand, suddenly I was unsure about what had to happen next. Where was the wind that was keeping us moving? How does one stay in its flow? “Mind your point of sail,” my father kept admonishing me. “Right, Dad,” I replied. “Uh, what’s a point of sail?”

“Look off the bow of the boat; what do you see?” he said. “Just a bunch of trees on the far side of the lake,” I replied. “That is not specific enough to be helpful. Pick one that's distinctive and head for it,” he suggested. “What if I pick the wrong one?” I said.

“There is no wrong one – just make your choice. That establishes your heading. Once you have a direction, then you can make whatever adjustments necessary to keep you on course. Understand?” he asked.

“I get it!”

And thus I received my first sailing lesson, plus, an incredibly valuable life lesson. Picking and choosing are integral components in navigating the waters of our existence. And as God’s children, we are endowed with the capacity of free will. This capacity can be used for good, or ill – it’s up to us to decide.

This responsibility can be heavy at times. At other times, it can be exhilarating.

I have not seen God’s final chart or plan for the Kingdom, but I believe we must move on anyway, often sailing by the seat of our pants. When it comes to taking action, the only tell-tale on which I can rely is this: “Will this build up the Kingdom? Or, tear it down?” In God’s grand scheme, am I saying yes? Or no?

I’m wishing for yes. And God willing, may it be so.

Chasing rabbits

Ah, the thrill of the chase! There's nothing quite like it, is there? We are born to pursue things in this life. To honor that inclination is a good thing. And to recognize how this tendency toward hot pursuit sometimes leads to frustration is a wise thing.

One Friday not too long ago, 35 middle school kids from Temple Beth Ahabah came up to Richmond Hill for a retreat weekend for their Confirmation class. Their energy and enthusiasm was inspiring. If there is such a thing as reincarnation (does God grant us spiritual Mulligans?), my wish might be to come back Jewish. I love how connected some Jews seem to be to life, to love, to each other.

For a long time I envied my Jewish friends for their seemingly effortless ease in playing games of worldly success. Were they smarter than me? More savvy? Somewhere along the line, a Jewish friend explained how his theology allowed for the love of God, but that love is all here now. For him, there was no afterlife. This is all there is. This is it. You get this one chance — you best make the most of it.

What? No after-life? The thought of an eternity with nothing going on was too much for me to handle.

Christians do believe in life hereafter, and that belief in Eternal Life shapes our choices. Choices in this world may have ramifications in the next. We live torn between realms, as if we're chasing two rabbits. I saw how liberating my friend's theology was — how it simplified things. His field of focus was limited to here  and now. What elegant simplicity.

When it comes to decision-making, I often struggle. How does one decide between a good thing, the right thing, and, the best thing to do? Deep down, I want to do the right thing, the best thing, the thing that God wants me to do. Or, that God needs me to do. How does one figure out which is which?

In the RUAH School of Spiritual Guidance, we devote a whole study section to discernment. (Ignatius of Loyola spent the second half of his life studying how to discern; we spent a weekend — it’s not much, but it's a start). We are not robots, programmed to execute God's will. We are not God's puppets, responding to the tug of a string in our soul. God endowed us with our own free will. And God is curious to see what we come up with. Seeking God's will is not a test, it is a dance.

We come to know and do the will of God through active engagement in a process of desiring, discerning, and choosing. George Herbert said it well, “Enrich, Lord, heart, hands, mouth in me — with faith, with hope and charity, that I may run, rise, rest in Thee.”

Pursue the prey. And pray the pursuit. Ah, the thrill of the chase! There's nothing quite like it, is there?

Life, neat & tidy — or, down to earth?

Lord, why is this life of mine so messy?  I’d like to think that if it were up to me, my life would be neat and tidy. Actually, there is precious little in my life that would pass for neat and tidy. So, what’s this big attraction I have for neatness?  

Neatness means no surprises, nothing unexpected. It demonstrates how well one has matters firmly in hand. Master of one’s fate. Living large and in charge.

Neatness is about no uncertainty showing. No rough edges. No turned up corners. No fuss, no muss. Neat may be tidy, but it’s not real life. 

Neatness is about appearances. It is all about control, and control of this life is an illusion.

Neatness as a life philosophy may be over-rated. 

Why?  Because, life is a messy business. You want a clear explanations — a solid understanding of what’s going on around you?   So sorry, dude, I can’t help you there. 

Dear Lord, keep me humble. 

Humble. The root of this is humus, the Latin word meaning earth. From this we get the concept of humility.

Humility. Grounded. Down to earth becomes of the earth. Of the earth means close to the ground, and that would be heading in a direction opposite to those lofty regions where pride dwells.  Ah, pride — that high opinion of one self, so richly deserved.

When pride takes a pounding, it hurts. We feel brought low. Grounded. As painful as this comedown can be, when it happens, often it can be a very good thing. 

Grounded is where the foundation is. Staying grounded helps keeps one in touch with one’s roots. How is healthy growth possible when one is cut off from one’s roots? 

We are born with a desire to ascend to the heights. How are we to cope with the strong desire for upward mobility? We live caught in a pull between the earthy and the heavenly, rising and falling. Riding up and down, living one’s life on a yo-yo string.

In high school, I was taught the lesson that a man’s reach should exceed his grasp, and our culture certainly admires and encourages this tendency. But a single-minded focus on ascendency is not in keeping with living a well-balanced life. 

Living well requires us to live with tension. Feet squarely on the ground, careful not to get too puffed up. If any part of us is to ascend, let it be our eyes, our prayers and our praise.

The Turning Point

As we run down the road, how do we adjust the trajectory of our lives? What’s it like for you? Quick! Turn here! Or, shoot, I missed it… guess I’d better turn around and go back?

Perhaps the question is determined by who is driving the vehicle. Who sits in the driver’s seat? And, who came up with this particular destination in the first place?

What we are talking about here is navigation. Global positioning. In our world of OnStar, MapQuest and smart phones, one need not remain directionally challenged. But how about spiritual direction? Where does one find the spiritual GPS app to help you along your spiritual journey?

I’m surprised how I have consistently embarked on significant life journeys with no solid idea where I was going. I’ve yet to do that in a car. I mean really, who gets in a car, fires up the ignition, puts it in gear, and then says “I have no clue where I'm going. I guess  I'll know it when I see it?” But I must confess, that is exactly what I’ve done — with college, with careers, wives, and children.

How do we know which way to turn?

The basic question is one of pilgrimage vs. wayfaring. There is a difference. Pilgrimage is linear, with a well-defined beginning, middle and end. The pilgrim’s journey is one of the road. Sure, there might be hardship and sacrifice, but you always know where you are going.

Wayfaring is far less specific. You set out, unsure of the exact end, but you’ll know it when you see it. Wayfaring is like traversing the deep blue ocean. Think Christopher Columbus.

It’s not as though one must choose one way over the other to get around in this life. But I believe we have an innate preference for how we like to journey.

The clearest model of this dichotomy I’ve seen is the labyrinth. Here at Richmond Hill, we have one, and it’s called the Jerusalem Mile. There is no right or wrong way to walk the Mile. Nothing to it but to do it. Step up, step in, just keep putting one foot in front of the other, and guess what? You will arrive at the center.

The object lesson here is two-fold. One, you have to show up.  And two, you must engage the process. Along the way, there will be reversals, switchbacks, and headings directly away from your goal. Just like real life.

But, if you stay faithful and stay the course, regardless of how many times you get turned around, you will reach your destination. Keeping some Scripture in the glove compartment is also a good idea.

Thy Word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path. — (Psalm 119:105)

Three peppers and a china bowl

In 2009, I picked up a paintbrush after a break of 34 years. I like capturing the light.

In April 2012, I began writing articles for the UPDATE, a monthly publication of Richmond Hill -- the historic monastery I now call home. I'm now posting these articles here.