It was not a silent night. It was a night of labour; the effort and pains to bring a new life into the world. It was a night of chaos; the struggle to find a safe place for a family and the fear for the health of a mother and infant boy. It was a night of oppression; the force of a mighty army and the whims of an arrogant dictator that forced a nation to crisscross the land; the oppression of sin that separates a creation from it’s Creator.

It was a night of change; the night when the whole earth shook at the sound of an infant’s cry; the night when hope of peace shattered the shroud of despair; the night of joy and reconciliation; the Divine night when mercy brought God himself to live among us.

May the hope of that night bring you joy and peace so that on this night we, too, may rejoice in the presence of our Savior. Amen.

When I posted the pen pictures I noticed how infrequently I’ve posted on my blog the past few weeks. It’s been a combination of hitting a dry spell and an increased fascination with painting. In some ways painting hasn’t had it’s desired creative effect. Instead of inspiring creativity for writing, it’s replaced my writing. As I think about it, I think there are two reasons for this. The first is that my level of artist, painting is rather easy. That isn’t to say that painting is easy, it’s that I’m a novice painter with no real expectation of anything more. Painting is an avocation I desire to develop. I have no hope of one day hanging my work in a gallery. Writing, on the other hand, is a passion that borders on obsession. My desire isn’t simply to produce good writing. I want to produce something great. That involves intense thought and diligent effort. Writing requires the expenditure of significant effort. My painting is a leisure activity. Writing is work.

Now that I’ve made this discovery, it’s time to go back to work.

I’ve been quite distracted this past week. It’s been the culmination of the end of the semester in my art class and a furious attempt to produce another “Rembrandt Parables” podcast.

I’m pleased to announce that the next podcast has been posted on the “Rembrandt Podcasts” page of this blog. I everyone enjoys the story. You may notice a change in podcast format. Someone mentioned they weren’t able to download the first story onto their iPod. I hope this version allows people to download the story.

Enjoy!

Is it my imagination or is world wide weirdness on the rise? I was bumping around the internet when I discovered this headline on a news website: “Unconscious Man Found Lying Dead on the Floor”. I had to wonder how they knew he was unconscious. A couple of days later I was watching TV and saw a toothpaste commercial that featured a dentist named Dr. Fang. Perhaps Dr. Pain wasn’t available.

Along those lines, I’ve come to the conclusion that pomegranates are not a lazy fruit. It takes a certain level of commitment to purchase a pomegranate. It’s not as convenient as siting back and mowing down on an apple. Pomegranates take perseverance, commitment, determination and patience. In the world of self-indulgence and self-gratification, pomegranates are a test of character.

In this brief moment of weirdness, let me offer one more thought. There are two kinds of people on the world: those who think there are two kinds of people in the world and those who don’t.

P.S. I wrote this post while watching TV. Just as I published it this announcement was made: “House Hunters International is going global!” Perhaps its just me, but that not only seems redundant, but I think its saying the same thing.

Language is the medium. Words are the values. The imagination is the canvas. The artist applies layers of meaning with skill and precision; writing and rewriting until the masterpiece conforms to the intention of the artist. Or perhaps the artist conforms to the intentions of the masterpiece.

The words lay dormant on the page until confronted by the reader. Silently they lay in wait, like strokes of paint, reading to leap into the mind’s eye and tantilize the reader. Great writing, like great art, doesn’t entertain. It engages the viewer. The masterpiece lures us in and together we commune. The masterpiece whispers complexity and truth. We are invited to participate, to reply from our experiences and complexities. We moved beyond language into a union of the soul.

This has been a thoroughly frustrating week for writing. I had planned to rework a Rembrandt Parable, then record it as a podcast. All that changed when I reread my story for an audience Sunday night. There are few things so terrifying as reading a story for a group of people and discovering I have to improvise several sections. The tepid response validated my suspicions.

The several attempts to settle down with my story were thwarted by the myriad of trifles that impose themselves on our lives. I was finally able to sit down with my story for a few minutes this morning. It still hasn’t met with my satisfaction. So, the struggle continues.

A few years ago we decided to purchase a car. When I applied for the loan I discovered the existence of another person in town who shared my name. I also learned that my namesake has a very poor credit history. In order to secure the loan I needed to sign an affidavit promising I wasn’t the other person.

Just this week I met someone who actually knows my namesake. I learned that this other person actually stole from his own mother. He has a criminal record and has established quite a notorious reputation in the city. I couldn’t help but wonder how much of that reputation has unintentionally splashed on me. I wonder if there are people who hear my name and automatically associate me with this other scoundrel. A good name is valuable. How unfortunate would it be if my reputation was tainted because of someone whose only connection to me was a name.

It’s very disconcerting.

I’ve been spending my devotional reading in the book of Daniel. Once you past the great stories surrounding Daniel and his three friends you come to Daniel’s apocalyptic visions. I’ve always struggled with visions of the end times, mostly because I have no idea what they mean. Perhaps even more frustrating are those folks who are more than happy to explain them.

What I find so refreshing with Daniel is that he shares my confusion. After one vision he confesses that he doesn’t understand what it could possibly mean. The other vision bothered him so much that he kept it entirely to himself. It’s refreshing to discover a Biblical character who is so honest. I think it would serve the modern church to embrace his example. Why do Christians insist on explaining everything in the Bible, especially concerning passages that lack clear meaning? (I’m specifically referring to those that point to the future.) Acting with authority is not the same thing as owning it. Perhaps an honest, “I don’t know” would be more of an appropriate response than some convoluted explanation that is based on an interpretation that lacks any substantial foundation. It’s better to be honest than to appear right.

I’ve taking this painting class at the local community college. So far it’s been a great learning experience. The greatest challenge I’ve faced this far is translating my imagination onto the canvas. I’ve also learned the truest test of art appreciation. Most people, when examining someone else’s work, will say how much they like it. I don’t want to claim that most people are being disingeuous when they say that, but flippant praise does seem to be the norm. I’ve discovered that the truest praise the willingness of someone to hang your work on their wall. That means they think enough of your work to make it part of their daily experience. And, just in case you’ wondering, no one has done that with my work. Not yet, anyway.