"Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion! Shout aloud, O daughter of Jerusalem! Lo, your King comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on an ass, on a colt the foal of an ass" (Zech 9,9)
Again the early rise with my most eager one and a half year old. Exuberance of life as the light has barely permeated this room. And I have been trying to wake most slowly, while grasping the passage of this Lenten stretch and how quickly it is coming to a close. I am perplexed in my awkward interior gaze, having had a rush of time past--links to the me here and now from other Lenten journeys. Such a desire to experience spiritual progress, notable growth, deeper understanding of the mysteries of life, but feeling in some sort of incubation period--the weight of that Everlasting-not-yet. I know there is much work to be done within me. I know I am needing to embrace the absolute of the moment, and unwind this impatient desire to be living the New Jerusalem. But then there are gestures of mercy and encouragement in such simple ways.
We found the tiniest of crocuses blooming right outside the front door--beautiful in pale purple and yellow.
And I see this as a greater affirmation of hope, yes-simple, yet observed too from the interior castle into the world--even small miracles are still miracles not to go unnoticed. Ask and you shall receive. God's hand reveals--in the still and quiet, the small and seemingly insignificant, the barely audible riding on a breath of wind.
And I shall be content in this moment. I shall be patient. I shall gather all the Lenten boughs in my garden and count my blessings. I will learn to appreciate the mutability of time, always changing, always with greater purpose, and trust the path set forth that we are upon.
Time now to place a fond of palm on the ground for welcoming the Innocent--singing and rejoicing and filled with thanksgiving.
And that alone will be sufficient.
And so another shift--my main body of icons are coming home, while new ones are going forth to St. Joseph's Abbey on Holy Saturday. St. George is soon to open (do the Russians use this term in the sense of flowers blooming into the fullness of their color? perhaps...), Our Lady of Guadeloupe will start her journey on my table too as soon as her board is ready. As soon as I get my camera situation secured (in "borrowing" from an offspring), I am starting a place to track visual progress of my icon table. I have wished there was a place to see the process of other iconographers (and there are a few), but many are very impersonal (here I stand as a lone wolf--we are supposed to strip self away altogether, but herein rides a fine line...to make personal without self aggrandissement--and so I shall try...) I want to bring the act of creating--in the realm of writing icons--into a sphere of accessibility, of warmth and approachability for anyone. Mistakes and all. I see this more frightening in laying forth humility--I am constantly learning, correcting myself, and growing. I would like to actually die to self in this execution. So I am prepping A visual record. It just doesn't seem right to include here--I like to segregate the words from the images. So by Easter I hope to have something there.
The early spiritual writer John Cassian (c. 365-435)muses on the entry into Jerusalem (through the Palm Sunday procession)on four different levels:
1. LITERAL--the historic event--Christ riding into Jerusalem in procession acclaimed as King a few days before his crucifixion.
2. ALLEGORICAL--Jerusalem stands for the Church that Christ established by his death & resurrection--united to us through each and every divine service through word and sacrament.
3. MORAL--Jerusalem is the individual human soul that receives Christ.
4. ANALOGICAL--the eternal abode that awaits--The road to heavenly Jerusalem where the kingdom of god will bloom in its fullness.
(lifted through Solrunn Nes's book "the Mystical language of Icons")
'Today He hears the children cry "Hosanna!" while the crowd replies, "O Son of David, make haste to save those whom Thou hast created!"' (Mattins, tone 8)
